Free Beyond the Pale Motel by Francesca Lia Block Page A

identified as Michelle Babcock, an aspiring actress and model. She was from Indiana and had come to Los Angeles to pursue her career while attending USC. She had last been seen after class leaving the USC campus, where she was studying library science.”
    It was my neighbor Skipper.
    Library science? I hadn’t even asked her what her name was.
    It’s not easy to fuck up a buzz cut, but I did it, nicking Stu’s brick-shaped head. His hand whipped out at me and I stepped back so he didn’t make contact.
    â€œBitch. What the hell?”
    â€œSorry.” Fuckface . Mascara-tainted tears stung my eyes.
    â€œThey should fire your ass. What’s wrong with you? If Bree wasn’t working here, no one would even come around.” He got up and walked out without paying me.
    I, or someone who had hijacked my body, shouted after him, “Good luck with Bree. She wouldn’t fuck you to save her life.”
    I wanted to walk down to the corner liquor store and bring back a bottle of Jack; I could almost taste the burn. Instead I called Bree and our sponsor, Shana, but they didn’t pick up. When I got home, there was a message from Dash, who had heard about Michelle Babcock. I erased the message before it was over; I couldn’t hear his voice. Not when I was alone in the night in what had once been our home, not after what had happened to Michelle. So I called Bree again and this time she answered.
    â€œOh my God. Your neighbor. Are you okay? Do you want to stay with us for a while?” I could imagine her twisting her lilac-streaked hair around her fingers the way she did when she was anxious, trying to soothe herself.
    â€œI’m okay. Stu didn’t help, though.”
    â€œWhat a fucker. Don’t listen to him.”
    She asked me again if I wanted to stay there, at least for one night, but I told her no. I didn’t want to leave the house again. When she hung up, I googled Michelle Babcock to see if there was anything about her that might explain why this had happened. The only thing I could see was that she looked a little like the other two women and that they were all model/actresses. Why hadn’t I gotten to know her? Did she have friends in LA? A boyfriend? I’d never seen her jogging with anyone. How alone had she been? What had she felt when that man, whoever he was, had clamped his hands onto her in the dark?
    When I couldn’t think about it anymore, I checked my Facebook page. There was a message from Jarell Hardin. His profile revealed the team he’d played for in the minors, that he was male and single. That he was interested in baseball, music, poetry, yoga, meditation. There were pictures of him coaching, scowling in a hoodie, smiling in a suit, playing baseball, cheering at a Dodgers game, holding a baby, hugging the same child a few years later, both of them serious, staring with round, brown eyes.
    How did anyone hook up before the Internet? Especially if you didn’t go to bars and get wasted. It was so easy online.
    Thanks for making my day with your smile and your Jordans , he had written.
    Thank you for being so cool to Skylar .
    He responded right away. He’s a great kid. With a hot godmother.
    My body contracted gently. And a very, very hot coach, Coach.
    Nice, he messaged.
    Truth, I messaged back.
    Hey, we need some face time soon. I’d like to get to know you better.
    Sounds good.
    Even Bree, who slept with a lot of guys, would not have approved. I hardly knew him at all. And he was Skylar’s coach. But I told myself that made him a good guy, probably, and Little League was a better and safer reference than FU Cupid, especially with what was going on out there in the streets. Besides, I knew how to keep my relationships with men separate from my love for Skylar. And Jarell had come into my life at exactly the right time.
    At that point even if I thought he was dangerous, I might have decided it was worth it. The possibility