It all made such perfect sense. The sparrow with the yellow circle on its chest tapping on my office window. The homeless man blocking traffic in the middle of rush hour on Wilshire. And all those damn little ¼-inch cuts all over my hands and wrists.
The realization seared a hole through my mind as I fell off the Belle Oaks Tower Suites balcony and down to the sidewalk twenty stories below.
I’m sorry. I’m getting ahead of myself. My name’s Harold. Harold Mayer.
_
Of all places, she had to throw the car keys into the bougainvillea. The fucking bougainvillea. Marina held Elyse’s face tightly to her chest so I couldn’t see her as she ran out to her car. I turned, jumped in and buried my arms in the tangle of vines, thorns, and purple flowers. If I’d known this was the last time I’d see my wife and daughter, I would have done, said something. But as it was, I had to find those damn car keys.
I looked at my watch. 45 minutes left. No, 43. Shit.
It was the bougainvillea that sold Marina on the house in the first place. “It’s so romantic,” she said as we walked under its canopy into the front courtyard. And that’s all it took. I dropped a down-payment, 50%, in cash, on the spot. And like that, we had ourselves a 2,300 square foot turnkey Mediterranean dream home in the canyons.
It felt good. Damn good. That first night we made love under the stars and she thanked me, would you believe it? She thanked me with tears in her eyes. I asked if it was worth it. All my time away from her - the late nights and business trips (the fucking around, which now in hindsight she probably suspected, I was convinced was still secret). She smiled. It was perfect.
Thank god! I pulled out my keys and ran back into the house. I grabbed the gym bag from under my custom-built desk and sprinted out to the car. I gripped the wheel. The sight of my hands was terrifying. Drops of blood from one hundred or so ¼-inch cuts all over my hands and wrists streaked down my arms. I licked ‘em clean, threw it in reverse, and floored it.
I looked at my watch. 39 minutes. Shit.
_
I made my first million off an iPhone app. PicTok. Think of it like a competition-style Instagram. Taking pictures for points. “What a stupid idea,” you might be saying to yourself. Yeah, but it’s a million dollar idea. My million dollar idea. And the numbers don’t lie.
See that’s my thing, I’m an ideas guy. I got notebooks full of them. “Yeah, so does everyone,” you might be saying to yourself. But the difference between me and you? I make them happen. And that takes non-stop, balls-to-the-wall strength, persistence, and willpower. I never give up. Never.
Anyway, I celebrated the milestone with a solo weekend in Vegas. That’s when I met Kari.
Sure I’d messed around a little after I got married, but Kari was a different story. I told Marina I was headed out to New York to meet with an investor, but really I was trying out this escort agency a business acquaintance had recommended. Once he gave me the formal intro, it was on.
Kari caught my eye right away. Red hair. Freckles. Athletic. I requested a date through their website and two hours later I was booking my plane ticket. It was the best weekend I ever had. Truly. And I’m not talking just about sex. Kari got me. She saw me.
I couldn’t get her out of my mind. Every free chance I had I’d sneak a trip out just to be with her. Once it was only for Sunday brunch. She got a belgian waffle and a mimosa. I got eggs benedict and a bloody mary. And I was back in time for Marina’s baby shower that afternoon.
_
It was just past 5pm and I had a business dinner scheduled down in Manhattan Beach. I kicked my feet up onto the desk and leaned back in my office chair.
Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap.
Sometime in the last year or so, this sparrow with a yellow circle on its chest found its way to my home office window. And for hours on end it would tap its beak on the glass. I tried everything. Reflective tape, high-frequency alarms, even a stupid miniature scarecrow. It’d work for a week or two, but sure enough that little fucker would come right back.
Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap.
“It’s just you, you idiot!” I was convinced he was tapping at the reflection of his own yellow chest in the window. I hurled a pen his way and I must have hit a sweet spot or something because the whole damn window shattered.
“Shit,” I laughed. The bird was gone.
My phone was blowing up. I checked the caller ID but had no idea who it was. I picked up. It was Kari. She was frantic. Half-crying, half-screaming. They were coming to get her, she said. She didn’t know what do. Who, I asked. These crazy Russians. She owed them money. A lot of money. And she needed it now.
“What? Where are you?” I asked.
“I’m in L.A.” she said.
“You’re here? Where?”
“Belle Oaks Towers. On Wilshire. Downtown,” she replied. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know who else to call-”
“How much do you need?” I asked.
She hesitated.
“A hundred. Thousand.”
See, here’s where you’re probably thinking to yourself “So you fall in love with a hooker. A high-class hooker, mind you. But it’s obvious that you’ve got money. And she comes calling to you for one hundred thousand dollars saying that a bunch of crazy Russians are after her?!? Hang up the phone!!!”
“Don’t move. I’m on my way,” I said, dumping out a balled-up wad of sweaty clothes from my gym bag.
What’s 100k to an ideas guy like me?
“Hurry. They’ll be here by 6. Room 2086. Don’t be late.”
“I’ll be there,” I said. “I love you.” The words flew out of my mouth without me realizing it. Maybe I thought that it’d calm her down. Maybe I actually meant it. I opened my safe and started shoveling as much money into that gym bag as I could.
I checked my watch. I had an hour to get Downtown. I stood, turned and there was Marina sweeping up the shattered glass under the exploded window pane.
“It’s not what you-” I said to Marina, dropping the gym bag to the floor.
“Harold,” she said calmly as she lowered the dust pan and broom to the ground.
“I-” I began.
“Just stop.”
Seeing the look on Marina’s face, the detachment, the indifference, I could tell it was over. That for her it had been over for a long time. She turned and walked to the baby’s room.
I stood there watching as my wife, the love of my life, grabbed her purse, picked up my baby girl and walked out the front door. I was there, fully aware that between my legs was a dirty gym bag full of one hundred thousand dollars that I was going to give this girl, a call girl, I met online. I knew all of these things, but somewhere deep inside I was convinced this still wasn’t me.
Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap tap.
My mind was screaming. “She’s gonna leave you? After everything you’ve given her? After everything you done? Fuck her, the ungrateful bitch!” I grabbed my gym bag and my car keys. My car keys?
“Marina!” I yelled after her.
I heard a scraaaaape and looked out the office window. Marina was running my car keys down the entire length of my Mercedes convertible. I ran out to the front courtyard, right in time to see her toss them into the bougainvillea. That goddamn bougainvillea.
_
I sped down the narrow canyon pass. It was rush hour and all eastbound streets were sure to be packed. I weaved in and out of traffic through Beverly Hills and down to Olympic. If Olympic’s packed, try Pico, I mumbled to myself.
I was making good time. I was sure I’d make it. And I was going to save Kari, goddamnit. I had to.
I gripped the wheel tightly. The Downtown skyline loomed large through my front windshield. Shit. My hands and forearms were bloody again. I reached over and one-by-one wiped them off on the outside of the gym bag. I turned left up Alvarado. Wilshire was close. I floored it and took three blocks in no time. Here came Wilshire and I screeched around to corner to the right.
Holy shit! Gridlock. I threw it in reverse, looked in my rearview and saw that I was pinned in. I slammed on the brakes. To the left, to the right, everywhere cars. I leaned out my window and saw that a half-block down, someone, a homeless man and his overturned shopping cart were blocking all lanes of eastbound traffic. And as the honking and screaming grew louder and louder, the man waved his arms like a conductor, orchestrating the rising cacophony with a smug self-satisfaction etched across his face.
Time check. 5:54. I threw it in park, grabbed my gym bag, and hopped out of the car. Five blocks in six minutes. I can do this. I bowled through a small crowd of curious onlookers standing curbside and ran as fast as I could.
My head was throbbing. I couldn’t remember the last time that I broke into an all-out sprint. It felt kinda good.
Two more blocks to go and I ripped the watch off my arm, threw it down to the sidewalk.
There it was. The Belle Oaks Tower Suites. It’s marquee was modern and minimal. I pushed through the revolving doors and into its sleek grey lobby. I took two deep breaths and tried to compose myself. Didn’t want to attract undue attention, especially with 100k in cash under my arm.
The elevator door slid open as I approached. I entered with a young European couple on vacation. I hit the button to the twentieth floor. They hit the twelfth. I caught the eye of the young woman and she smiled then looked down. On their way out, she nudged her guy companion and nodded my way. He looked at me, down to the floor, then back up.
“You alright?” he asked just before the doors closed.
I looked down. Blood from my right hand was dripping and pooling on the floor. I raised my hand up to my face and I must have clipped a vein or artery or something, because the bleeding never stopped.
Ding.
I ran out into the hallway. 2086, 2086. Damn these fucking hotel hallway signs. I ran to the right. I was feeling lightheaded. 2086 was slightly ajar. I burst into the room.
It was quiet. And empty. I slowly walked around the suite and saw that behind a sheer curtain on the far side, the sliding door to the balcony was open. I approached and there she was.
“Kari?” I asked.
She turned and snapped her cellphone shut. She was smoking a cigarette.
I didn’t know what I was expecting, but this wasn’t it.
“Are you ok?” I asked.
She avoided my eyes. I reached out to touch her. She caught sight of my bloody right arm.
“Jesus,” she said.
The sound of the hotel door shutting inside, and footsteps, heavy, slow footsteps walking my way.
“The Russians?” I asked.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered as she brushed past me, disappearing inside.
Three guys - two thick-necked and one wiry, and all of them definitely not Russian - made a semi-circle around me on the balcony. The leader, the skinny one, spoke.
“So here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re going to give Mike here that bag under your arm.” He nodded to the guy on my right. “Then, you’re gonna walk right back out that front door and you’re never going to see us ever again. You understand?”
I didn’t understand.
“Kari!” I yelled into the hotel room.
“Don’t worry about her.”
“Fuck you!” I tried to push past the ringleader but was held back. “Kari!”
The cold steel barrel of a gun pressed into my left temple.
“Like I said. You won’t be seeing Kari, or any of us, ever again.” The ringleader was calm. I was scared.
The guy to my right tugged on the bag, once, twice. And I finally let go.
“Good boy,” the ringleader said. I let out a whimper.
“Boss,” said the guy with the gun, nodding to my bloody arm.
“What the hell’d you do?” he asked me. “Get him a towel,” he said to the one without the gun.
I felt dizzy. Nauseous. My head was spinning.
“Easy there, buddy,” the ringleader said.
“There’s no towels!” said the goon from inside.
“What do you mean there’s no towels? It’s a goddamn hotel. Go help him,” he said to the one with the gun. “Jesus. You want to sit down or something?”
The ringleader turned towards the hotel room. I leaned back against the railing. My head felt heavy, like an anchor pulling me back and down. I felt one foot lift off the balcony floor. Then the other. I heard a commotion from inside the hotel room. A yell and a scream. Then weightlessness.
_
When Elyse was a newborn, I would spend hours watching her sleep. She was so small. So peaceful. So completely vulnerable. I remember feeling this deep sense of purpose. And at the same time this fear, this absolute terror rattling me to my core that this little life was my responsibility.
I sank deeper into my work. It was all I knew how to do. The money was rolling in and I was never around. We converted an extra bedroom into the home office, but it didn’t help.
I’ll admit that sometimes it felt like I’d surrendered the real me, the authentic me to this other version, to this guy that was all-business, all-the-time. And it didn’t take long for him to start running the show. But where was that guy now, huh?
I guess it’s true what they say. That time slows down and your life flashes before your eyes. But what really struck me was how perfectly the events of that day lined up to bring my house of cards crumbling down.
How closely I kept my own ruin without me even realizing it.
The ground was approaching fast. Maybe it was the lack of blood to my brain, maybe it was the shock. But I felt free. Weightless.
In just a few seconds it would all be over. And I wanted another chance.
Please, give me another chance.