Unchained | Hiatus

Chapter 4: Living at a Pace That Kills

Brandi had lived at The Kingdom's apartment for two days. Those two days had seemed like a useless eternity, lounging around, jobless and nearly broke. Her fifty dollars had dwindled down to twelve dollars after paying the down-payment on the apartment of thirty dollars and getting food twice a day. A slight depression had set in, as well as curiosity as to where she could get more smack.

She hadn't forgotten about the phone number, but she had been too busy with her new apartment to worry about it. She had been sleeping on a bed with old sheets that came with the place and they made her nervous. They were just as dingy as the entire establishment, but she couldn't complain too much. She didn't even have a phone, a TV, food in her fridge; at least she had that thrift thread count. She had a couch like the couch that had been in Michael's apartment, and the same terrible pinstripe wallpaper that collected bubbles around the small window looking down on Sunset Boulevard. 

Today is going to be different, she promised herself. Rather than moping on her ramshackle couch, she was going to call Sin for Two and go out to the clubs at night in search of a person who would put them on. If the call went through, that is. Her confidence once again instilled after two days of sheer failure, Brandi took the number and her keys from her kitchen counter and left the apartment, locking it and testing it twice for precautionary measures, lest Michael find out she was living there and stop by to sort through her things again. Though she knew he was the least of her worries.

She sped down the unsanitary hall and slowed when she realized she had no reason to hurry. She turned the number over in her hand excitedly. If she didn't get the person on the other line this time, she'd call over and over until somebody answered. She skipped down the stairs that opened into the Kingdom and strutted toward the payphone at the door. She panicked for a moment when she realized it took two dimes for the machine to work until she remembered that the phone was broken and worked if she blew into the dime slot, as Gloria had explained to her.

She picked up the phone from the hook and blew into the coin slot. She dialed the number slowly and waited. It rang several times before clicking on the other end.

"Hello?" a cool, level voice sang over the receiver.

"Hello? Hello! Hi, this is Brandi Emery, I'm a singer from the Strip. The owner of The Kingdom gave me your number, said you were in search of a singer."

"I am, I am," she agreed with enthusiasm. "The name's Alex DeMatio. I'm the guitarist. You sing? Our band's called Sin for Two, but I'm not really partial to that name. Why don't we all meet at The Kingdom tomorrow, say three, and test you out? I know Gloria's got some spare instruments in the back. I'll just call this number if anything changes. Is this the screwy payphone?"

"Yeah," Brandi laughed. "That sounds great, thanks!"

"No problem, Brandi. Thanks for calling, I didn't think anyone would." She hung up and the line buzzed. Brandi returned the phone to the hook.

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Cigarette smoke wafted into Brandi's nose as she paraded down Sunset Boulevard-- in the road, for the streets were too crowded-- toward Gazzarri's. She turned to see two men slumped against the brick wall of the Rainbow, chain smoking and mumbling something about her as she walked past. She ignored them and continued on, her thoughts on the Strip.

It was amazing how quickly you could be sucked into the small little nation that was the Sunset Strip. Los Angeles seemed so far away, as did Arnold and the rest of the world. All that concerned the people slumbering above the ceaselessly livid bars was where to go on the Strip the following day after they woke up at one in the afternoon, realty still not present in their minds. The neon papers that had flown down the sidewalk, previously stapled to phone poles advertising lost things or wanted things, littered the ground permanently like a multicolored carpet. Life on the Strip paralleled no other, and the speed at which Los Angeles life carried on restricted any inhabitant from imagining a life outside all of the coming and going.