Chapter Eleven: Trailertop Hangout, Memory Bankruptcy

It took hours for the film crew to dismantle the set deep within the observatory. The studio rented the place out for the remainder of the day, so it wasn’t like there was any rush. The trailers would be carted off in the morning. Few members of the cast actually stayed in those trailers overnight when the shoot was in spitting distance of Los Angeles. There was some British stage actor staying the night in their private trailer, but that’s not important right now.

Night fell. The haze above the San Gabriel foothills was like the color of a television tuned to a dead channel—so black with a slight glow to it. A thick layer of haze filled the sky, obscuring most of the stars. I often wondered how these old observatories stayed functional in an urban environment. As it turns out, ‘rent themselves out for various movies’ was the answer.

Yuki☆ and I sat atop her trailer, observing the slightly clearer skies to the north.

“We don’t get terribly good skies in Tokyo, either,” Yuki said, kicking her feet off the edge of the trailer.

“You don’t have to go too much further north to get out of the light pollution,” I said.

Tokyo was… significantly larger as a portion of Japan’s economic, social, cultural, and governmental fabric in comparison to L.A.

“Do you get out of town often?” I asked. “Back home, I mean.”

“Well…” Yuki gave a coquettish look. “Before college and all this, there was my hometown…”

Together, we both tried to ignore that directory guy getting wide-angle shots of our rooftop hangout on his handheld camera.

Further conversation was interrupted by a blaring cry of a firetruck. Its lights could be easily spotted on a winding road far in the distance, while its siren spread far through the rocky shrubland. While there was no sign of any fire to speak of, the threat was ever-present this time of year.

“Hmmm.” I frowned. “I suppose you don’t have many forest fires in Tokyo.”

Yuki shook her head.

I tried to think of what we could have in common.

“Oh, there is one shared experience: earthquakes!” I blurted out, then immediately grew embarrassed.

Both LA and Tokyo were on the Ring of Fire, after all.

No sooner had I said this than did we both notice the nigh-imperceptible rumbling of the trailer.

“S-seriously!?” I said.

Did my words have some magic effect? A miniature tremor punctuated my exclamation.

“We have those back home too,” Yuki said.

The ground settled down. Our perch was safe once more. I briefly wondered if we could arrange for the observatory to show us its planetarium exhibit. It would beat staring up at a light-polluted sky.

“Miss Yuki,” came a voice from below.

“Yes, Janae?” Yuki gazed off the trailer’s edge.

“We need to return home,” said Janae. “If you wish to make it to the neighborhood before the gatehouse shift leaves for the night.”

That surprised me—I’d assumed such a swanky neighborhood would at least be able to splurge for full-time security.

Reluctantly, Yuki got up from her perch and prepared to climb down the trailer’s back-facing ladder.

“Bye, Mister Delivery Driver. See you tomorrow,” Yuki said.

“Bye.” I waved Yuki off as she disappeared from the roof.

I was left alone, looking up at the blurry sea of stars. Sometime later, my phone buzzed. The tip for the day’s one delivery hit my app. With a generous gratuity heaped upon such a large order, my bank account was secure. And just in time for my birthday.

The lot was now largely abandoned. I remained up there for a time, wondering what tomorrow would bring.

+++

It was late at night. Rather than haul the entire RV back to my reserved concrete lot, I pulled into a side lot and slept out in the relative quiet and comfort of the woods. I think I heard a bear poking around at some point, but the vehicle was secure enough that I could sleep without fear.

An alarm (okay, like a sequence of four alarms) woke me up around 7:30 in the morning. It was my birthday. It was also Yuki☆’s birthday, and the day of her house party.

Two notifications awaited on my phone. A reminder to arrive at the party around 9:30, and a reminder about the Texiera job at 12:30. Further burner-account texts provided details about the pickup and drop-off. Unlike the last job for the ‘family,’ there would be no meeting with Mister Texiera. Instead, I was given two addresses: one for pick up, one for drop off.

Pick up was… huh, in that parking lot where I picked up the tacos a few days back. Not far from my urban RV park. I could pick it up on the way to the party. Drop-off was downtown and had to be done specifically past noon, though. I had to either leave the party early or find an excuse to step out for a bit.

Wasting no time, I took off in the RV. Traffic was relatively lax this morning, and so I returned to my downtown slab. Sure enough, it was unused and awaiting my return.

It would be highly unfashionable to pull up to a swanky Beverly Hills in my RV. So I prepped my Vespa, taking it off its back-mounted hitch and preparing it for a mid-morning ride. First things first, I drove over to the currently-empty food truck lot and went looking for my designated package.

Most family jobs maintained numerous dead drop locations like this. The fake mailbox-looking thing in an unfitting urban camouflage grey was easy to spot now that all the food trucks were gone. I opened this box and discovered a package that would be hefty and unwieldy for an Amazon delivery. It took both hands to haul it up out of its hiding place. If it had to guess, this was some kind of electronics delivery. Not sure what the Texieras needed with a gaggle of unused RAM cards, though obviously I wasn’t opening the package up to confirm anything.

Alright, one job done. Just had a bit more than four hours until I needed to get it to its drop location. Plenty of time to stop by the party and—hold the phone!

Don’t people usually bring presents to parties? I had to find someplace that was open this early in the morning and buy Yuki something. In my defense, I’d spent the last year or two zipping around nomadically. Didn’t get much in the way of birthday invitations.

Potential embarrassment at receiving a birthday gift of my own while forgetting one for the birthday girl filled me with motivation. I locked the super-secret package into my flavor-preservation case for safekeeping. Then, I gunned it to the nearest shopping outlet.