As soon as my eyes are open I immediately understand why this is the “city of angels”. I swear that the light dipping through the lace curtains comes straight from heaven and that the voices chattering in the streets are saints. Tossing back the floral sheets(I couldn’t bear to withstand the comforters due to the heat), I peek beneath the mattress and pull out my prosthetic and fasten it as quickly as I can just in case somebody is looking through the window. I pull my pajama pants over it and smooth it down to make it look natural.

My hand-drawn fashion designs are neatly pinned up on the blue painted walls of my hotel room. Now, compared to the fashion designs of Giselle Wood Studios, mine look like a three-year-old childs finger paintings. This is THE designer studio to be a part of, If I don’t get this job, my career and life is over. I look at the clock reading 7:06 and jump up, instantly vanishing my unnecessary worries and start getting dressed. I pull on my designer clothes and primp myself into a picture worthy of a movie star. I put on my sunglasses and gather up my briefcase of portfolios by the door and close it behind me.
LA streets are much different from the ones I was used to. Throngs of people in sunglasses, shorts, and mini-skirts travel in packs on every sidewalk. Shops, restaurants, ice cream joints, and hairdressing studios line the streets with people popping in and out. On curbs, people call for taxis while families of tourists with sun-burned faces attempt to cross the traffic-jammed streets of sports cars, jeeps, limousines, and taxis. Speaking of taxis, mine should be here by now. I called ahead last night and specifically stated the place and the exact time they should be there and now they're three minutes late. I’ve been using this taxi company the whole time i’ve been here and they've been perfect every time up until now.
The taxi is seven minutes late. The driver apologizes profusely as he puts my briefcase in the trunk and opens the door. I climb in greatfully and offer him a reassuring smile the way any sophisticated women would. As the taxi winds its way slowly through the streets I glance periodically into my compact mirror and and sweep my dyed blonde hair over my shoulder and check my makeup, then look down at my outfit; a flowery tanktop with a short brown leather jacket,  a light blue skirt that goes to my knees and white high-heeled sandals.
“Miss Marina, we’re here.”
I straighten my hair one last time in my mirror while he takes my briefcase out of the trunk and opens the car door.  I swing my good leg forward and gracefully climb out of car and take my briefcase. After I pay the cab driver I walk straight-shouldered toward the magnificent skyscraper with deliberate and confident strides. Without hesitation I walk through the revolving door and into the waiting room of Giselle Wood Studios.
“Excuse I have a job interview with Mr. Chevalier.” I say to the secretary
“Name?”
“ Marilyn Marina.”
“Of course, he’ll be with you momentarily.” she says with a wide smile.
I offer a smile in return and cross the room to the row of velvet-cushioned sheets. No sooner have I sat down when the secretary calls lightly, “Mr. Chevalier will see you now Miss Marina.”
Swallowing, I stand up and go to the elevator. When I step out I’m in another beautifully tiled hall with pictures of famous actresses decorating the wall. I walk to the door and knock lightly.
“Come in.” calls a crisp sharp voice.
I smile again and enter his office with new-found confidence.

   I step back into my room three hours later. The interview as a whole only took an hour, but i’ve been spending the last two wandering the streets in a failed attempt to clear my head. Without thinking I run to my bed and collapse on it with a lump rising in my throat. An unpaid assistant secretary. Unpaid. I can’t afford to take a job that offers no payment, but at the same time I can’t walk away from it. After the interview I walked right to the hair salon and applied for a job. I’m sure I got it, but it's not what I wanted.
I’m busy making my dinner when my phone rings. I almost drop what i’m making in my rush for the phone. I completely forgot that it was eight.
I snatch up the phone and say, “Hello?”
“You know who it is Jean.”
“Orion, if you call me that again I will fly back to Boston and push you out of a window.”
“That’s your name, and besides, I’ve been your friend long before you were Marilyn Rose Marina the one who got away.”
“ You could too if you wanted to leave that hell-hole.”
“ The orphanage is not a hell-hole it’s purgatory for when I’m legally allowed to live on my  own.”
“ Fine have it your way. How are things going there?”
“About the same”, he replies in a bored voice
“Suspended again?” I ask casually.
“ Well as it turns out ditching school to graffiti the walls with writing speaking up about social issues, oppressive teachers, and a corrupt school system leads to expulsion.”
“Again?”, I say not hiding my exasperation and disapproval.
“Don’t be like that, you’re not the mother I never had and besides it’s your turn now, what’s been going on?”
I ignore the word ‘mother’ and tell him about the interview and the ‘job’ as an unpaid intern and my application at the hair salon. When I’m finished there is a long silence interrupted only by the faint static. Finally he says slowly, “ Are you sure this is what you want?”
I stop with my mouth half open about to say something but start twisting the phone cord around my finger instead. He seems to sense my anger and frustration because he rushes on, “ It’s just that, if you’re not going to get money for this than how is it worth it? You’re not even designing anything and you could you use the money from this other job instead of doing both and making yourself exhausted. Sooner or later you have to go after what you really want instead of what you think is acceptable.”
I’m squeezing the phone so hard that my fingers are turning white, “ I gotta go to bed, long day tomorrow you know.”
“I’m just trying to help-” but he doesn’t get a chance before I slam the receiver down.
I walk back to the kitchen and start to furiously finish my dinner. What does he know? Two years younger than me at sixteen he still thinks I’m the one that needs a helping hand. At least I got out of there instead of pretending that I’m content. I meant him when we were both orphans, him at an orphanage, and me at a girls home and I’m the one that pushed my dark past aside and moved on. He can’t pretend to know me when he doesn’t even know himself.

A week later I arrive at the salon for my second day on the job. I’ve gotten to know most of the girls who work there already and my extensive studies at the Fashion Institute have prepared me well. After styling six people’s hair I join the other girls on me shift for lunch across the street at an outdoor cafe filling quickly with people. Circular glass tables are scattered in the cobblestone patio with silk white napkins, silver forks, spoons, and knives in front of each seat. Couples laugh together as they hold hands across the table, and parents with fidgeting children look hassled as they wrestle them into long tables under umbrellas. Waiters in tuxedos that look painfully hot are bustling around with trays of food and notepads with lists of orders.
As we take our seats I glance around apprehensively and smooth down my leg and glance into my mirror. After we order, my fellow employee Eliza says, “Hey Marilyn you should stop by my parents country club tonight, we’re having a huge party for my brother and everyone is welcome.”
I pause, there's obviously no work I need to do for the internship and a good party would certainly liven things up a bit. “ Sure I’ll be there” I reply with a smile. But when I look over at her she’s already immersed in another conversation
That evening after work I’m getting myself ready for the party. I’ve re-dyed my hair blonde and applied my best and most expensive makeup. I’m dressed in a short skirt and flowing blouse with my red high-heels. As I cross the room to grab my purse something catches my eye. I still don’t see why I take out that notebook every night. It’s not like I’ll actually be able to put my thoughts down in writing anymore. The part of my life where I thought everything could be explained and understood by words spoken or written just the right way is gone. Feelings and concepts of confusion, injustice, pain, suffering, and hatred are not made any more bearable in words than in complete silence. But still, something about that aspect always seems to draw me in. I used to write quite frequently actually. In Boston writing was my one source of magic. Whenever I snuck into Orions orphanage I would show him some of my manuscripts and he would read them every chance he got.
A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts, I adjust my fake leg and march to the door feeling puzzled. I don’t remember inviting anyone over. To my shock, standing in front of me is Orion, his raven black hair swept over his forehead with a crooked grin on his face.
“What the hell are you doing here?!” I exclaim almost at a shout.
He seems unfazed by this and replies, “ Our conversations since are disagreement last week have been so awkward, and I figured this would be a great time to get out of the orphanage and to actually speak to you face to face.”
It takes me a moment to compose myself before saying, “ Well you’re going to have to wait until tomorrow because I’m going out to a party tonight and I really don’t want to be late for it.”
“ A party?” he says astonished, “With who?”
“ My friends from the salon”, I reply easily, “ I’ll come and talk to you tomorrow if you tell me where you’re staying.”
He ignores the last part and rolls his eyes, “ Really? You don’t really strike me as the social cosmopolitan girl. You’re more of the type that wants to surround yourself with people to escape your own thoughts, but not let them get close enough to really know you so that way they can never leave you and never betray you.”
“ If you’ll excuse me I’m quite late, we’ll talk about this tomorrow” I reply in a steady voice, hating the fact that he can see right through me, as I push past him and walk out the door without looking back. I look in the mirror twice more as I walk down the street unable to keep my conversation with Orion out of my head. What is happening here? First I didn’t get the job, second I found out that I’m completely broke, and worst of all, I’m having fights with my best friend. Was he right? Am I making the right decisions about what I do, how dress, where I work and my whole future in general? And since when have I ever doubted myself and the way I live my life, last night I almost wrote again. I had sat down and picked up my pen before realizing what I was doing. No, he’s just putting thoughts in my head. Everything is fine, i’m fine and my life is fine.
The inside of the country club is blinding at first with red, blue, gold, and purple strobe lights painting colored dots on the dark blue carpet. There is a bar on the far left side crowded with people sitting on stools, ordering their favorite c***tails topped with tropical fruit. A chrome, silver disco ball reflects the strobe lights as it twinkles above the couples dancing to the rock music blaring from the band onstage. In the closest corner, a buffet of exotic food served by chefs in white uniforms stretches to the bar. Circular tables with dark purple table-cloths are scattered around the hall to the right, where flushed dancers in their short skirts and dress pants go to socialize among themselves. That is where the other girls are waiting. Eliza waves me over, as soon as I cross the floor she says, “Let’s dance!” and I feel her arm loop through mine as she guides me to the dance floor. I automatically shift to her other side so my fake leg doesn’t brush against her real one.
As soon as I start to move I feel alive again for the first time in weeks. My mind immediately clears of all of my previous doubts and swings me into a blissful state. The future seems as far off as Pluto and as insignificant as a grain of sand on a beach. I have no idea how long I’ve been there until I open my eyes and the place is empty except for me and Eliza. She moves my arm over her shoulder and walks me to the door and into a waiting cab. She says something about one too many c***tails and how I totally went crazy. When she walks me to my door she says she’ll see me tomorrow and to get some rest. No sooner have I stepped inside then I’m on my bed and asleep.
My alarm clock blares into my eardrums and combines with the sound of my telephone. Every inch of my body aches as I hit the snooze button and reach for the phone without realizing who’s on the other end. “ Hello?” I croak.
“ For Christ’s sake you know damn well who it is!” a voice shouts.
“Orion, why are you calling?”
“ First you walked out on me yesterday, second you said you’d stop by or call me and you did neither, and third it’s four in the afternoon!”
“ Four! It can’t be I’ve missed my shift why didn’t anyone call me?!”
“ I tried at least seven times and you didn’t answer.”
“ Not you”, I say impatiently, “My girlfriends, they told me they would get me up.”
“ Get you up? Where the hell were you last night that you sound so hungover.”
“ Never mind it’s none of your business I have to call my boss to reschedule hours.”
“ No wonder your life is going down the tubes again, I thought that after all you’ve been through you’d know to stay away from this!
“ It’s not your business to tell me how to live my life. Especially you who are so damn scared of facing things that you’re living in a dream world.
“ Are you sure, I’m the only one? Tell me, if you don’t live in a dream world than what world do you live in because it sure as hell ain’t reality.
“ Don’t talk to me like that you one-armed, self-righteous coward!” This time it’s him that slams down the receiver.
I don’t bother calling my boss or going in for my internship that day, instead I call up Eliza and ask her if she knows any other night clubs in the city that serve alcohol. That’s how I live for the next two weeks, shopping during the day and clubs every night. I get a call from the hair salon to tell me I’ve been fired and another from the studio that says I’ve been relieved of my service. These don’t faze me anymore. Instead I feel lighter knowing that there’s at least one certain event in my future, that I’ll probably be bouncing from hotel to hotel serving jobs as either a bag lady or a prostitute or both. My notebook has been locked away for weeks.
A thunderstorm that night interrupts my plans to go to a club across the city. When it storms, I think about loneliness. Loneliness leads to awareness, every boom of thunder reminds me of chaos and disorder, and every bolt of lightening reminds me how quickly things can change. Alone in my hotel room I start to think of mistakes. I start to think of the storm building inside of me. A flash of lightning brings me back to Delaware, to my old foster family, to the shouts and screams and to the places I used to hide in protection from the bullets that were his fists. The car ride, he was drunk and angry and careless and he smashed right over the guard rail with me in the backseat. I’m in a hospital room with blurred faces looking down on me. I’m on a stretcher going down a white hallway while a nurse rushes along beside me and tells me calmly that I won’t be able to feel my leg anymore, and that they’re removing it to avoid infection. I’m out of the hospital on a subway with the social worker to Boston unconsciously adjusting my prosthetic, he looks over from the seat across from me and smiles...
“ What a night huh?” Eliza asks me as we sit in the crowded club.
I nod absently and take another sip of my drink. She leans over and starts chattering about some celebrity scandal she read about in a magazine that I would ordinarily be interested in. I smile and add a comment when one is needed. It’s only when he walks in that I falter. Eliza doesn’t seem to notice. I tell her I need some air and leave quickly before she can ask questions and meet him in the lobby.
“ What are you doing here?” I ask uncertainly.
“ Trying to find you. Apparently a lot of club owners have seen you around.” he says stiffly.
I take a step back recognizing his anger, “ Yeah I‘ve been around. “ I reply quickly.
All of sudden, “If you want me to apologize you might as well forget it. It’s clear to me now now that you don’t give a damn about me about you or about either of our futures. I may be a one-armed cowering dreamer but you’re just as screwed up as I am. You remind me of this city and every city. Your history is full of mistakes and scars and battles. Over the years you have been building yourself renovations, trading the old for the new, but there are still parts of you that are too run-down to be fixed and those are what I’m seeing now and those are the ones you try to not let people notice.
Fire seems to cloud my vision, “ I thought you of all people would understand. You, who at three years old sat next to me on that subway, removed your hat to show me the scars on your face and turned to the side to let me see your missing arm. Why is it so hard for you to understand this?!!”
“I can’t understand why you surround yourself with all this plastic and self-destructive s***!!! I have never cared so much about a person than I do about you, you were my everything, you showed me that after all i’ve seen there is still some real beauty in this world. But now I don’t know who you are.” he adds in a pleading voice with tears in his eyes. I want to scream at him but before I can he runs out of club.
By the time I get my feet to move he is gone. Hot tears clouded my vision as I run down the streets calling his name. After an hour I give up a run to his hotel. When I enter and ask for his name the clerk says he checked out over an hour ago. I wait until I get home before I sob. I can’t see and I can’t breath and everything inside me is whirling. He’s gone. He told me I was his everything. He’s gone. He told me I was beauty. He’s gone and it’s too late for me to say the same things to him.
That night my tears are dried but my insides feel like they’re crumpling like dead flowers. I’ve turned on the radio drown out my own thoughts but it only makes them more pressing. I should be feeling hungry but the idea of food makes me sick. To think of him is to think of autumn. His vibrant colors, changing and windswept are unpredictable and wild. You can never tell when another gust of wind will come, but you can always count on it to be there and blow you over. The problem is, you only appreciate its untamed beauty when the trees are skeletons. I had never appreciated his kaleidoscope eyes, his raven black hair and his goofy irresistible smile.
I open my eyes to the song playing on the radio. Hearing this song makes me slip back in time. I haven’t heard this since I was sneaking away from the girls into the orphanage to spend time with Orion. He used to play this every time he helped me through the window. He knew every word by heart until it became a part of me too. I listen to it until I think I can hear his voice singing me to sleep.

Five months pass, maybe six and I’m on my way to my job at the local grocery store. I’m dressed in casual jeans and a T-shirt and I almost feel perfectly fine. I used to be sure that beauty solved everything. I used to believe that that was the way to cover up mistakes and imperfections. Nobody should see the worst parts of me, and beauty disguised everything. Now I’m only sure that that has led me nowhere.
I walk home with my feet dragging in exhaustion. My brain so empty and numb that almost pass by him standing in front of my hotel room. He offers his irresistibly goofy smile. I stand apart from him my mouth wide open for what seems like forever before I stammer out, “ H-how d-i-d you g-get  h-h-here and w-why?”
“I just flew in this morning” Orion says quietly, “ I know it’s probably too late to say that I’m sorry, but I thought I’d try.”
“ You came all this way to apologize?” I ask incredulously.
“ I came all this way because I missed and I love and you are everything to me. I know there’s no way I can get you back but I couldn’t resist, a dreamers mistake.” he whispers.
Before he can say anything more I’ve flung my arms around him repeating the words ‘ I love you’ while he whispers them back. He then reveals to me that he sent in one of my manuscripts a year ago without my knowing and now it’s published, “which means” he says, we can afford an apartment.” We leave the hotel holding hands as we walk down the street that suddenly seems so different. Most people don’t see the beauty of an everyday city street. They walk right down it without realizing that all of history has been handed to them. That in that corner a young couple fell in love, on that crack in the sidewalk a mother looked into the eyes of her child, In front of that building two teenagers started a new life.