And so it begins …
“No one gives a shit,” said Tyler Hackett. It wasn’t a sentiment he chose to share very often, but he forgot how easy it was to inadvertently verbalize his interior monologue; although, given the fact his monologue was more or less continuous, it wasn’t surprising that some words would seek a willing ear.
Fortunately, Howard Fineman’s ears were deaf to Tyler’s involuntary verbalizations, and it was usually Howard’s habit to ask Tyler to repeat himself.
“Hmm?” murmured Howard, his eyes turned to the trivia game on the television overhead. ‘What was Hollywood Boulevard once called?’ posed the question. The answer was ‘c: Prospect Avenue,’ although Howard was mouthing the word ‘Hollywoodland,’ which was choice ‘a’.
“Nothing,” answered Tyler, turning from the crowd at the bar to the floor. He noticed his shoelace was untied, but such things were beneath his consideration.
The correct trivia answer appeared, Howard slamming his hand to the table in disappointment. “Who knew that?” he growled.
There was a reason Tyler chose to sum up humanity with such impassioned aversion. The reason eluded him until he observed Howard’s move his lips while reading the next trivia question. Was it possible to hate someone as much as he hated Howard? Their friendship was only a formality. Howard only invited Tyler because he had no other friends, and that was because Howard disliked everyone just as much as Tyler did.
The most important reason Tyler had for hating Howard was that Howard hated him. One of these days, Tyler planned to broach the subject, although it never felt like the right time.
“I’m writing my memoirs,” Tyler told Howard.
“Really?” answered Howard, punching in his next answer on the trivia game keypad. ‘What percentage of the world’s oil did Los Angeles provide in 1923,’ posed the question.
“I’m calling it ‘How Using Facebook Helped Me Realize I Didn’t Have Any Friends, and other Unexpected Benefits of Social Media.’
‘That should be good,” answered Howard, his eyes still fixed on the tv screen. The answer to the question was 23%. Howard got it wrong, slamming his hand on the table in disbelief. “Who writes these questions?” intoned Howard, anxiously awaiting the next question to appear.
“It won’t cover my entire life,” continued Tyler, nonplussed that he was talking to himself. “It probably won’t even cover my life at all since it’ll mostly be about the people I’ve known. I might even throw in a chapter about you.”
“Me?” answered Howard before mouthing the next trivia question.
“Maybe it’ll be an instruction manual on how to avoid friendship and love since those things don’t mean anything anymore and you’re only going to get hurt or at the very least disappointed by assuming they do.”
‘The original name for the city of Los Angeles was,’ asked the question. Howard guessed ‘el Pueblo de Los Angeles.’ The answer was ‘El Pueblo de la Reyna de Los Angeles.’
Tyler turned away, anticipating the slap on the table. He cringed when he heard it.
“I’d put it all on Facebook, telling everyone what I really think of them. But then I wouldn’t have any friends, and I’d have the confirmation I need that no one gives a shit, though who wants to believe that? Some people do give a shit. They must, right?”
“Sure,” answered Howard.
“You think it’s about connecting but it’s just a bunch of people standing on soap boxes shouting at walls. The problem is self-importance, and technology is only making it worse.”
‘What California mission was the base for establishing Los Angeles?’ asked the next trivia question.
“San Gabriel,” guessed Tyler.
Howard picked ‘Mission Nuestra Senora Reina.’
Once again, Tyler braced for the inevitable bang on the table. Only it didn’t come. Opening his eyes, Tyler saw Howard storming angrily to the restrooms.
The crowd roared with delight, on account of a hockey goal. But Tyler wasn’t interested in the game on the big screen plasma screen. He preferred staying home, but Howard wanted the company; and Howard convinced him to join him at the sports bar on Fairfax by reminding him he needed to take his mind off Hazel, the woman who still called herself his girlfriend although Tyler wanted nothing to do with her. Howard assumed Tyler was lovelorn, but nothing could have been further from the truth. With Hazel likely to drop by his apartment without notice, it was still better to spend the evening out than in.
Although the more time he spent out, the less time he spent devoted to his graphic novel, ‘Los Angeles Apocalypse,’ about how no one realized the city was suffering from an advanced form of decomposition because most people had become zombified remnants of their former selves and no longer cared about anything apart from accumulating Likes on their social media pages. To save the city, a handful of intrepid souls revive the dead because only the dead could regret their former indifference and push to preserve what they can. Only, the zombified humans are horrified by the return of the dead and are determined to rid their streets of them. It’s war. The barely living vs. those who wish they were still alive.
Former employer Todd Russell suggested a storyline that pitted zombies against corpses, assuring him it hadn’t been done. Tyler had no interest in zombies, but realized it was an opportunity to illustrate a story that spoke to the dangers of indifference, one of his favorite themes.
It was like Todd to recommend something, only to shrug it off as worthless once Tyler had a finished product to show. Todd was skilled at appearing supportive, without ever having to lift a finger.
It was Tyler’s suspicion that Todd only wished him disappointment and heartache. As it so happened, Hazel was Todd’s assistant at Bold Endeavors, Todd’s interest in Hazel increasing the more Hazel chose to spend time with Tyler. Tyler was only an assistant to Bob Beman, a VP who got canned, which meant Tyler also got canned.
Tyler saw through the glad-handing and back slaps, concluding that Todd was only trying to disguise his contempt for Tyler by pretending to be his greatest ally. But none of Todd’s advice did Tyler any good. Besides, Bold Endeavors was anything but bold, publishing graphic novels about second-rate superheroes who fought against malcontents and revolutionaries; although Tyler preferred the malcontents because only the malcontents fought for a world free of favoritism, elitism and spoiled self-seeking pricks like Todd Russell who would have amounted to little if it weren’t for Daddy’s trust fund.
Hazel may have been pretty, but she would not hear criticism of Todd. In fact, she thought the world of the man, insisting that Tyler take Todd’s advice in all matters. She called Todd a genius, although Todd’s only genius was in keeping the publication running despite consistently inferior product. How was it Todd never published anything of Tyler’s?
Hazel cautioned Tyler to avoid dark subjects and to give readers upbeat, empowering endings. In Tyler’s previous works, his so-called heroes either failed or were too corrupted to accomplish anything. At least “Los Angeles Apocalypse” would permit the heroes to save the city. If a happy ending were all that was required to sate the public thirst for the easily digestible, perhaps Todd might consider “Los Angeles Apocalypse” worthy. If only Tyler could finish it.
To Hazel’s credit, she encouraged him to keep trying, although she said it might mean getting rid of the chip on his shoulder. He didn’t understand why being a realist implied a bad attitude. If he was cynical, it was because people could be such self-serving hypocrites, always quick to accuse others of inadequacy while failing to notice their own.
Hazel claimed to know Tyler better than anyone, but Hazel only saw a man she could fix; and Tyler didn’t want to be fixed. After all, it wasn’t the best of all possible worlds because Tyler could think of many preferable alternatives to the existing geopolitical framework.
Tyler called it quits with Hazel because she was overly critical of him and too quick to applaud Todd even at his megalomaniac worst. Tyler informed Hazel they weren’t a good match, to which she replied that he wasn’t trying very hard. He didn’t return her calls, yet she persisted, explaining she was determined to help turn his life around.
Realizing he thought far too much about Hazel Sternwood, he turned once again to the bar.
He hadn’t noticed the woman before, probably because her back had been turned. Only, this time, she’d swiveled her stool in his direction, her gaze distant as if she were imaging places she’d rather be. Her glasses did nothing to detract from her perfect features, layered curls rolling over her shoulders, a tasteful blouse and jacket along with an ankle-length skirt completing her surprisingly tasteful attire. Not only was she out of place at the bar, she would have been out of place most anywhere in L.A. He’d seen women like her in movies. Black and white movies.
He studied her, imaging another hero for his “Apocalypse Los Angeles” graphic novel, only with rugged clothing more appropriate for a woman of bold action and few words.
The moment she returned his gaze, he turned his attention to Howard’s trivia keypad, immediately regretting his embarrassment. He wanted her to know he admired her.
He glanced back to see a man in an oversized hockey jersey conversing with her; or was it in her general direction? They seemed ill-matched, but she politely acknowledged with a nod of the head and what Tyler suspected was some remark about how much better she’d look without her glasses.
The man in the jersey seemed pleased with himself, a friend joining him as he walked back to his fellow revelers, but she made no movement to follow him, not with her feet or her eyes. Instead, she turned once again toward Tyler.
Tyler knew he wasn’t prime cut, lacking perfect looks and wealth, but he had sufficient looks and charm to win a woman over, and had done so many times before realizing his affections had been misplaced. Relationships rarely extended beyond four months, unless a girlfriend, Hazel for example, refused to consider it over.
Howard reappeared, eyeing one of the games on the plasma screens as he resumed his seat.
“There’s piss all over that bathroom,” he noted, retrieving the keypad from Tyler.
“That’s to be expected when people are drunk,” answered Tyler. “They see two urinals and piss in the one that doesn’t exist.”
“I didn’t ask for an explanation. Just thought you should know in case you had to go.”
Tyler’s thoughts turned to the woman at the bar, her gaze still distant. She looked utterly out of place and Tyler was of half a mind to guide her from the bar. Then she turned to the bar, retrieving what appeared to be a Long Island Ice Tea and drained it, a surprisingly unladylike thirst for someone so fastidious in her appearance.
What secrets did the woman keep? A woman of such contradictions always had many secrets. How he would enjoy coaxing them out.
“Did you finish your graphic novel?” asked Howard. He always asked, as if a graphic novel could be completed with a clap of the hands.
“No. It’ll take some time. It’s a big project.”
Howard nodded his understanding as he readied himself for the next round of trivia.
“I can put you in it, if you like?” asked Tyler.
Howard ignored him.
“Ever wonder what you might be like as a zombie?” asked Tyler before turning to face the woman at the bar.
She’d stepped away from the bar, en route to the front exit. Tyler was at a loss. He’d imagined crossing her path and striking up a conversation, but what if he never saw her again?
He stood up reflexively.
“Tread carefully in there,” said Howard, his gaze to trivia game on the screen.
“I’ll be back in a short while,” he explained before angling through the crowd in the direction of the front door.
He still didn’t know what to say to her, especially now that he was following her. If only she’d left something behind. He’d neglected to look.
Surprisingly, she was easily outpacing Tyler; which was fine because he didn’t want to know he was following her. But her purposeful walk, her heels clacking loudly on the sidewalk, revealed there was no interest in talking to anyone.
As she walked toward Wilshire, he began to feel like a creep. What could he say now that couldn’t have been said in the bar? And was anyone ever followed for something positive?
Tyler considered a possible back and forth. ‘Oh, Hi. Remember me at the bar. We looked at each other. My name’s Tyler. What’s your name?’
Pathetic, he decided. ‘Oh, hi. I couldn’t help but notice you. You seem like a fascinating person. Would you like to grab a drink sometime, get to know each other?’
Passable, he thought. ‘Excuse me, I noticed you back there and was going to say hi when you walked away. I didn’t want to lose the chance to get to know you.’
Closer. Yet the woman was still outpacing him. He figured that running would only draw attention to himself, and he didn’t want to frighten her.
She turned a corner. Now it was time to sprint, and he did. Reaching the corner, however, Tyler realized she was gone. Had she stepped into a car? Would she see him standing at the corner searching for her? Was she already relieved to have eluded him? She’d remember him from the bar and she would know to avoid him in future.
He stepped back out of view of the street, listening for a car to start. If there was a chance to get to know her, it was lost. He turned, taking weary steps back to the bar.
What surprised most people about Tyler was that, for an outspoken cynic, he still believed in destiny. Was it his destiny to love and lose, or was it his destiny to find it?
It didn’t help that he never used the word ‘love’, preferring the word ‘lust’ in the interest of calling it like it is. How could there be love for man who didn’t believe in it? ‘Love’ was just a word people exchanged at weddings before love soured to hate and a man and woman, or two men and two women he acknowledged, realized that love was never constant, a word shifting pell-mell in the wind.
His own mother refused any words of praise for his father; and yet she chose to marry him, exchanging the usual ‘I love you’s’ as if they meant something. Linked until death, or until someone skipped town.
Tyler father disappeared when he was an infant. He suspected and hoped his father was still alive somewhere, although he had no idea of how to find him.
He once called his birth ‘an immaculate conception’ His mother wasn’t amused, reminding Tyler there was nothing divine about his father.
Tyler approached the bar’s front entrance, slouching smokers greedily inhaling before resuming their libations inside. It occurred to him that he invariably thought of his mother whenever he lost in love. Was it because she didn’t believe in ‘love’ either? She was warning him of the road to heartache. But was she also discouraging him from even considering the possibility of ‘love’.
Tyler claimed his seat next to Howard. For someone who assumed such lofty ambition for himself, why did he spend so much time with a friend who thought so little about the state of the world? Then Tyler remembered that Howard’s apathetic dismissal of anything quality was added inspiration to defy indifference with art. Was it possible to be an artist and not be defiant to some degree?
“Did you step in it?” asked Howard.
“Yeah, I did,” answered Tyler defiantly.
Howard shook his head, mouth warped into a smirk at the thought.
Usually, I don’t read long posts, but it absolutely was worth the time. Nice article.
Thanks!