Karolina Waclawiak - How to Get into the Twin Palms

I got out of the shower and the blood was still coming out of my ankle. I didn’t try and stop it. It got on the bathmat too. I trailed it through the apartment, onto the Berber carpet. I opened a bottle of wine and went from room to room drinking from the glass. Bleeding on the rug. I tracked it everywhere. I hadn’t sufficiently washed all the dye out of my hair and it was dripping everywhere too. I didn’t care. I already knew I wouldn’t get my deposit back. I had done too much here.

When I walked out of my apartment I had tight pants, push-up bra in place, and my hair red and fiery. The crocheted curtains across the street moved and the apartment lights glowed in the darkness. I walked down the street and over to the Twin Palms. I didn’t know what I would do but I saw myself walking up the stairs and knew I was doing it. I was walking up the stairs and stared at myself in the mirrored wall. The color was good. The light from the streetlamps behind me made it glow like a halo. I heard talking. I walked slowly, the stairs creaked, and I walked slower. I started breathing again and when I got to the top step of the stairs I turned left and saw the wall of frosted glass. There was a light show reflecting on it. I wasn’t sure what it was supposed to be, a neon pitter-patter of raindrops? I didn’t know what kind of effect they were going for. There were cutouts in the frost of the glass and I leaned forward, trying to look through. A man in a dress shirt walked up the stairs smoking a cigarette. He was staring down at the carpet and didn’t see me peering through the glass until he was almost on top of me. I turned around and smiled at him. He inhaled his cigarette and looked me up and down. I spoke quickly.

“I’ve never been up here. Is it a restaurant?”

“It’s for special events only,” he said.

“Oh.” I looked at him. Stood against the frost. “I always pass by. I live in the neighborhood. It looked interesting.”

“I’ll let you in for 100 dollars.”

I turned and looked through the glass, as much as I could see. Nothing was happening in there. “For what?”

“Private party — 100 is for all the free vodka you can have.”

“I don’t see anyone in there.”

“You come back later with 100 dollars, I’ll let you in. You look like you could have fun here.”

I smiled. Maybe I had been wasting my time with Lev. The fact was still that I didn’t have 100 dollars to wander in alone. It wasn’t the same. “Can I just look inside?”

He nodded. “For 100 dollars.”

“It’s okay. Thank you.”

He wouldn’t let me pass. Almost pushed his groin against me as I walked past the railing to get back downstairs.

“Bring money back and I show you around.” He winked at me when he said it and I wish Lev had seen him do it. I wondered if he’d strike him or not.

I walked down the carpeted stairs as quickly as I could and ran down the street. Lev wouldn’t have struck him. I knew that.

I got into my car and started driving. I saw myself in the rear-view mirror and moved up, checked out my torso, pushed my boobs down. I drove toward the smoke, toward the fires.

I drove on the 5 along the L.A. River. It was empty except for a trickle. We were having a drought, again. There were trees in the middle of the river. Graffiti on the sides. Corrugated roofs and low warehouses on the other side. I never came over here. I didn’t like it. Sitting in traffic I watched the water move slowly, watched people with carts walk along the side of it, along the concrete, a dull, fake yellow under the freeway lights and orange sky. The smoke was filling the sky in front of me. I thought I should have a mask on for where I was going but it was too late to get off the highway. I didn’t know my way around Glendale or Burbank and was afraid I’d get lost.

Where did Lev live?

This was over the hill. This was the valley, where he pointed to when I asked him to take me home. Did he and his wife live in a beige stucco house? Fenced in and valley sensible?

It didn’t matter. I was getting closer to the fires. I saw them on the sides of the freeway. I saw fire trucks in the distance. I wasn’t sure how close they were going to let me go but I was going to push it. I wanted to get close to the fires too.

I saw fire jump over the road and go to the other side and crawl up a tree. The hills were smoldering. Everything was charred and black. Trees were black and gnarled and had charred nubs for limbs. They were detouring us, the only cars left on the freeway. I moved along with the cars and didn’t know where I was. The smoke was thick and I was on a road that had flares on it and there were policemen with smoke masks waving us on and pushing into the hills. Firefighters too. They rushed past, toward the fires, and I craned my neck to see past the masks. I put my windshield wipers on. The ash was coming down like rain and I couldn’t see. I opened the windows and started to cough. I needed a mask. I rolled the windows back up. They were stopping the cars in front of me, asking where they were going. I had no answer when it was my turn and coughed out the window at the policeman. I was directed to make a three-point turn and head back to the 5 and back to Los Angeles. There was no place for me here. I wasn’t trying to save my home or go to the shelter. The policeman frowned. He didn’t know what I was up to, but he didn’t like it, made me drive back down the interstate. I couldn’t get my bearings straight.

I took the 170 to the 101 and headed back to Hollywood. Past the car dealerships and the mosque, the deaf children’s school. Nothing made sense anymore. The giant neon cross on the hill was leaning down toward me. I opened the window and breathed in the air. It was blowing in my face and it felt fresh and I felt like I was flying. I accelerated and when I saw red taillights in front of me I quickly pulled off the freeway onto an exit, careful not to lose my stride.

THE HOLLYWOOD DOWNTOWNER WASN’T ONmy way home but I went anyway and the ash was thicker in the pool now. The desk clerk had stopped trying to clean it. It was coming down harder now, harder than the last time I was here, but I didn’t care. I didn’t want to go home. None of the lights were on in the rooms, I tried to glaze my eyes over 214. The pool was bright blue, lights shining up and breaking through the film of ash. I took my shoes off and sat at the edge of the pool and stuck my legs in. It felt cool. I got up and took my clothes off but kept my bra and panties and climbed on the diving board and started to bounce. Hanging down over the water I wanted a space to open up, to not have the ash. The board was old and creaked with each bounce. The light clicked on in 214 and I jumped into the water and went under, broke through the ash and swam around under the water until my lungs hurt. I stared up at the surface and saw ash closing up the hole I had made and saw the desk clerk running around on the side. I stayed down a few more seconds to make him sweat, to have a dramatic rise to the surface. I let air bubbles rise up first, and then I followed.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

I opened my eyes and smiled at him. He didn’t recognize me at first and then he did.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m swimming.”

“You can’t just do that.”

“No one’s here.”

“You don’t know that,” he said.

The door opened to room 214 and we both inhaled sharply. He was coming down with a towel and this time I would ask more probing questions.

I swam around the middle and waited. He sat down in one of the poolside chairs near the desk clerk, who said something to him I couldn’t hear. I went under again. I swam toward the bottom, as far as I could go and touched the rough bottom and stayed there until I couldn’t anymore. Then shot myself up, back to the surface.