Free Blazed by Jason Myers Page A

on it and blankets sitting at the foot of it.
    There’re two walk-in closets.
    A bay window directly across from the door lets in more natural light.
    There’s an oak desk to the right of the doorway with a computer and printer on it, and a really nice dresser on the same side of the room as the desk.
    â€œThis is a really nice place,” I say as I walk to the middle of the room and set my things down.
    â€œI’m glad you think so,” she says. “We’ve lived here for five years and just love it.”
    â€œWhat’s not to love?”
    â€œExactly.”
    An awkward moment of silence follows.
    And then Leslie, she says, “I’m sorry we’re meeting under these circumstances, Jaime. It’s not the way anyone wanted.”
    â€œRight.”
    Pause.
    â€œYou’re implying that anyone ever wanted this meeting to happen, though.”
    â€œWell, yeah, I am. Of course we did, Jaime.”
    â€œI didn’t.”
    â€œOkay,” she goes. “I understand.”
    â€œNo, you don’t. And that’s not your fault, Leslie. But you don’t understand any of this.”
    â€œRight,” she says. “I’ll just let you get settled then.”
    â€œThanks.”
    Leslie leaves and closes the door behind her.
    Me, I lock it and then I dig the small sheet of foil from my suitcase and drop a blue on it.
    A minute later I’m coasting through the castle while the Fresh & Onlys song “Waterfall” echoes from the chamber.

27.
    MY FATHER WANTS TO GO his gallery in the lower Haight to meet with Savannah, and he wants me to go with him.
    Leslie says she’ll have dinner ready for us when we get back, even though I tell her I’m not hungry and won’t be anytime soon.
    The blue dragon takes care of everything I need.
    I’m wearing tight black jeans and a blue-and-purple-striped tank top. I put on my parka and dangle a black bandanna out of my right back pocket.
    My father drives his black Mercedes-Benz.
    Duran Duran plays from the speakers.
    We make a right on Haight and Ashbury. It’s totally unimpressive. Most of the people I see are a bunch of nasty-ass, strung-out-looking white kids with dreads and their dogs polluting the four corners of the intersection.
    It’s pretty gross.
    A couple of them are playing bongo drums, and I laugh because it’s so lame.
    Like, way to go, losers.
    All that 1967, “Summer of Love” bullshit is dead, and that’s a good thing.
    Fucking hippies.
    White kids with dreads are the worst.
    â€œThis is going to be a really busy week,” my father tells me. “I don’t know how much I’m going to be around.”
    I shrug. “That’s fine. I know this isn’t ideal for anyone. I don’t care if we hardly see each other.”
    My father seems irritated with my comments. He scowls and I smile. It’s perfect.
    And he goes, “What I was getting at is that you’re going to have a lot of free time, and I encourage you to explore the city. That said, avoid those fucking dirtbags hanging out on the corner.”
    â€œOh, I will, just for the sake of my nose. It looked like their skin was growing dirt.”
    My father laughs. Then goes, “A couple of those street-kid assholes followed Kristen for a couple of blocks one night and tried to rob her.”
    â€œJesus.”
    â€œShe maced them, though, and got away from them.”
    â€œNice.”
    â€œShe’s a tough girl. But you have to be careful, Jaime. Have eyes in the back of your head. Those losers will try something if they think you’re not paying attention.”
    â€œGot it.”
    â€œGood.”
    My father parallel parks in front of this bar called Molotov’s.
    That Misfits song “Hybrid Moments” blares from it.
    â€œThis is the Lower Haight,” my father says after we both get out of the car. “And that’s my gallery.”
    He points across