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girlfriend?”
    I shook my head. “That’s just swell. She was my ride home.” The spirit of Bogie abandoned me.
    I was screwed. Maybe I could sleep under the azaleas and figure out how to get home once I had more functioning brain matter. Did azaleas even grow in California?
    “Tough break, kid. Why don’t you call someone to pick you up?”
    My brain cells had a conference. I dug out my phone and dialed Sandy. No answer. A third brain cell regained consciousness and had a brilliant idea. I dialed Jez. He answered at the second ring. I began to explain my predicament, but halfway through, I realized I had no idea where I was, geographically speaking. I was describing the view when the more charitable of the heavies took the phone away from me and gave Jez the address. The conversation went on a little longer, and I had the distinct impression it was about me—especially the “completely wasted” part.
    “Yeah, we’ll look after him. See you soon, Jez.” He hung up and tossed the phone back to me. I fumbled.
    They parked me against a palm tree and told me to stay put. I was bored. I remembered the sole joint I’d tucked into my pocket before leaving home, and dug it out. It was battered, but still in one piece. I had no light. I detached myself from the tree to ask one of my minders. By the time Jez arrived, the three of us were best pals. Joe and Mike were really nice guys once you got to know them.
    * * *
    Jez pulled up in the Impala, top down, and nodded to the guys, who nodded back like they knew him. Jez knew how to arrive in style. I just swayed in place, returning his scowl with a grin. I couldn’t help it; he was an Edward Hopper painting come alive. I climbed into the car, still grinning. Jez’s scowl softened, and then he just shook his head. We snaked down to a road that wound its way across the hills. We had glimpses of the Valley and the coastal side at alternate turns. We were up high, and LA lay below us like a shimmering alien landscape.
    “Where are we?” I asked.
    “Mulholland Drive.”
    We descended into the lights. Most of the alcohol had burned out of my system, but the weed was still going strong. We took the surface streets—Jez avoided the freeways whenever he could. He had told me they were a perfect way to get from point A to point B without seeing anything in between. Jez preferred the sights. The lights, the people, even the sounds gave me a dizzy sense of déjà vu. I felt like we were inside a movie, something foreign, European—French New Wave, most likely. But we didn’t look the part. For one thing, Jez was too blond.
    “What?” he asked. “You’re staring at me funny.”
    “We’re in the wrong movie,” I confessed.
    “You’re a nut, you know,” Jez said with warmth in his voice.
    Hmm. Maybe we were in a Fellini movie… That could totally work. Anything could happen in a Fellini film. It wouldn’t hurt to be dressed a bit swankier, though.
    “You’d look good in a white suit, maybe with a fedora,” I declared.
    Jez cast a searching look in my direction. “You live a lot in your head, don’t you? It must be interesting in there.”
    “Nah, mostly just lonely.” Damn it. I tended to be too honest when high. He looked at me again but said nothing.
    At the next red light, I reached out to tuck his blond tresses behind his ear. I ran my thumb along its perfect shell. I couldn’t help myself; its fine curve compelled me. Jez tilted his head into my palm for a moment. Then he sighed and turned away. The light changed, we were moving, and the wind kicked his locks free. I fell asleep.
    * * *
    I saw Sandy the next day as my shift ended.
    I accosted her. “You left me stranded there alone!”
    “What are you talking about? You were tonsils deep in Mark last time I saw you.”
    “That’s not the point!” I retorted, feeling the heat rise in my face at the recall.
    “He’s a nice guy and just broke up with his boyfriend. After you two hit it off, I was sure