“Sounds like a real jerk to me,” Blaise said with emphatic disdain as we walked from the parking lot of Six Flags Magic Mountain to the entrance of the park.

It was a little after 11AM on Friday morning. Poor Blaise had driven 45 minutes from his home in Palos Verdes to my dad’s house in Sherman Oaks and then an additional 20 minutes to Six Flags in Valencia, north of Santa Clarita. I was surprised to discover he was driving a different car. Instead of his beat-up Chevy Nova, he picked me up in a shiny red classic 1969 Ford Mustang. We had decided to take the 5-minute walk to the entrance instead of waiting for the tram that supposedly ran every 10 minutes.

“It’s his mother. She’s a real witch. She doesn’t like me. No, she hates me.”

“But why? Have you ever been arrested on a hidden weapon charge or robbed a bank? Fomented revolution in a Latin American country?”

“She hates me for what I am. She thinks it’s a choice that someone has. She doesn’t understand.”

“I’m afraid you’re talking in riddles—”

“Here’s the ticket booth,” I interrupted as I reached into my purse for my wallet. Aunt Lori had given me $40, enough to pay for admission and some food. I blanched when I saw the price of an all-day ticket: $12! But I handed the money to Blaise.

“It’s on me,” he said as he handed a ticket to me. He took my arm and we went through the turnstiles into the park.

“That’s more than your allowance for the week,” I protested. “You’re not working this summer so…”

“My gramps lent me some money. We’re covered for everything today. Don’t worry. Just keep your money. It’s okay. When I asked him if I could borrow his Mustang, he winked at me and handed me a hundred smackers.”

“It looks like it hasn’t been driven in a long time.”

“Yeah, he keeps it in our garage. He bought it when he turned 50. Grandma won’t let him drive it. She’s afraid he’ll do a James Dean on the freeway,” Blaise laughed.

The Freefall ride was Six Flags’ new attraction, only a few weeks in use when Blaise and I slipped into the long queue of excited expectant riders. The park had only been open for little more than an hour but there were already hundreds of people in line. The couple in front of us, holding the hands of their 7- or 8-year-old son, who was barely 50 inches tall, just meeting the height requirement to ride, informed us that it might be an hour-long wait until we finally got strapped into our cab, barring any interruptions in service. There had already been one this morning.

Freefall was a brand-new concept—taking riders 10 stories up an elevator shaft and dropping them down a vertical track before sliding them onto their backs. Blaise sounded like the couple’s 8-year-old son when he enthusiastically described what the experience of a “Drop of Doom” would feel like. It had the opposite effect on me. I was scared. First of all, I don’t like heights…

The line moved at a snail’s pace and the sun was climbing to its zenith in the blue, almost cloudless sky. The heat of this summer morning warmed the concrete beneath our feet, and I was beginning to regret wearing my stone wash jeans jacket. Although I must admit Blaise and I made an attractive pair with our similar denim outfits.

“Thirsty?” asked Blaise as he reached into the inside pocket of his jeans jacket. He offered me a swig from his flat plastic flask.

“Drinking already? It’s not even noon yet,” I admonished with pretend outrage.

“It’s just water. Trust me.”

The room temperature water went down my throat and seemed to cool me off several degrees. I handed the flask back. Blaise took a large gulp, the dopamine release affecting him immediately.

“More?”

“No, I’m fine. I’ll just take my jacket off and carry it. Aren’t you warm in that thing?”

“You’re an East Coaster, that’s for sure. It isn’t even particularly hot today. I grew up in The Valley before my parents divorced and we moved in with our grands. It’s usually 5 to 10 degrees hotter in summer than in the LA basin. Anyway, we’ll need jackets later tonight when we head down to the Sunset Strip to see my friends play at Grimaldi’s—”

“Oh, I almost forgot. Remind me to call my Aunt Lori later to tell her I might not get back home until after…uh…”

“I figure they open for The Blasters around 8:30.” Blaise scrunched up his face as he calculated the time. “I’d say I can deliver you to your front steps at around 9:45, 10 the latest. By the way, why do you call her your aunt. She’s your dad’s fiancée.”

“You think I should call her mom?”

“Yeah, that would be awkward. Guess it’s alright to call her your aunt.”

“Oh no, it looks like we’ve got another interruption. See the sign?” I asked, pointing to the head of the line where a park employee was holding up a hand-written sign that read “Sorry. Minor Delay.”

Blaise couldn’t stop laughing when we got off the ride, an hour and a half after we entered the line that morning. It was almost 1 o’clock in the afternoon as we walked toward The Oasis Cafeteria, a massive indoor food court with, thankfully, air conditioning that offered up classic burgers, fries, and fountain sodas.

Although I was a little queasy from the Freefall experience that took only a couple of minutes but seemed like an endless terror, I was hungry for a substantial lunch. I instantly recalled how I had shut my eyes and grabbed Blaise’s hand with my own quivering paw. My scream as our cab plummeted was drowned out by the collective screams of dozens of riders. Next to me, Blaise was laughing hysterically.

The crowds marched toward various food stands and eateries as we weaved our way through the park. We came upon the park’s costumed mascots trying to entertain and otherwise distract the paying customers. As Blaise explained, they were the park’s original creations: The Magic Mountain Trolls. A group of colorful, shaggy-haired costumed trolls with giant oversized noses, long fingernails, and pointy ears, named Bloop, Bleep, King Blop, and The Wizard.

I think it was the one called Bleep who approached me when he saw Blaise and me walking by, Blaise laughing at me while I had a defensive frown on my face. From beneath one of the many folds in his costume, he conjured a bouquet of fabric flowers and offered it to me.

“For the prettiest girl in the park today.” He bowed and doffed his ragged top hat before walking away to rejoin his colleagues.

“You’re actually crying over some phony flowers given to you by a troll?”

“Yes, he was being nice…not like you.”

Blaise took my arm and locked eyes with me. “I’m sorry, Joey. I guess I forgot how…girly girls get. Even at fun things like bogus park rides. Forgive me?”

“I guess I forgot how…boyish boys get. Forgiven. Now let’s get something to eat. I’m hungry.”

“Get some lunch in your tummy and fortify yourself for all the rides we’ll be on this afternoon,” Blaise said with undaunted relish.

“Stop it! We’ll need to discuss the itinerary. There are other things to see and do in the park, you know.”

Blaise and I compromised. We went on a couple of his favorite rides, and I got to sample some of the other less nerve-shattering attractions that the park offered.

I sanctioned three of Blaise’s hair-raising rides: Colossus, a massive, record-breaking dual-track wooden roller coaster, The Great American Revolution, a steel roller coaster featuring a historic vertical loop, and Mountain Express, a compact steel coaster that was scheduled to be retired at the end of the summer. Blaise wanted to give it a well-deserved farewell ride. Call him sentimental.

Between rides, I chose to take in “Hooray for Hollywood,” a high-production musical review that was a nostalgic look back at Old Hollywood. It was good but I was most impressed by the air conditioning in the Magic Moments Theatre.

We caught the choreographed water-skiing spectacular at the stadium positioned by the park’s central waters, The Aqua Theatre. This time it was Blaise who closed his eyes for the duration. Then, as an attempt at mollifying him, we rushed to catch the BMX Bike Stunt Show, which featured extreme bike tricks, ramps, and high-flying acrobatics. For that, Blaise paid full attention…while I took a short siesta.

With our energy flagging and late afternoon upon us, we decided to relax, tossing floating fish food pellets to the beautiful koi fish in the park’s feeding ponds. I insisted on paying for the pellets that came from the coin-operated vending dispensers. I dug into my purse to pick out two quarters. Blaise laughed.

At around 6PM, Blaise tossed the last of our food pellets into the pond and took my hand.

“Rush hour’s ending. If we make good time, we’ll be at the club in an hour and a half. We can grab a bite to eat in the club and wait for my friends to play their set, then leave.”

“If it weren’t for the fact that your friends left us comps tonight, I’d love to stay at the park for their Friday Night Concert. It’s Motley Crue! First set is in an hour.”

“I didn’t know you were into glam metal.”

“I’m not but they’re really big right now. It’d be something to see.”

“Nah, you’ll like The Strip better. The clubs there are really on the leading edge of today’s sounds.”

“That sounds like a line you’d hear on KROQ-FM.”

“Well, sure, but it’s accurate.”

“I’ve got to make a phone call to Lori. Let her know I’ll be back late. 9:30 you said, right?”

“Give or take 15 minutes.”

I walked over to a bank of payphones and plunked my coins into the slot. I dialed Aunt Lori.

“Hello?”

“Lori, hi! It’s Joey. Blaise wants to go see his friends’ band on the Strip. We’ve been comped. So, maybe I’ll be home around 9:30, 10?”

“Is it an all-ages club? Otherwise, they might card you at the door.”

“Yeah. It’ll be OK. I’ve got to go. Blaise is waving at me.”

“Is he treating you well, Joey?”

“He’s been the perfect gentleman. We had so much fun today. I’ll tell you all about it when I get home.”

“Don’t stay out too late, honey. Your dad’s driving down from Santa Barbara early tomorrow morning. He wants to spend the 4th with us. We’re going to the fireworks display at Dodger Stadium on Sunday night! Excited?”

“Yeah, real excited. Gotta go, Lori. Bye.”

I hung up and ran after Blaise as he beckoned near the exit turnstiles.

“That was easy enough,” I said to Blaise as we were seated at a table near the stage by a cute server. Blaise noticed.

“Hey, they’re my buds. They wouldn’t do me dirty by forgetting to have us added to the guest list.”

I picked up a menu from the stand in the center of our table.

“You know what you’re getting?” I asked.

“Yeah, The menu’s pretty basic. What do you say we order a pizza to share?”

“Sure. Pepperoni and mushrooms?”

“With extra cheese,” Blaise added. He snapped his fingers at our server. She came over and took our orders.

“That was kind of rude. Snapping your fingers at her like that.”

“Ahh, waitresses are used to it. Would you rather I shout across the room at her?”

“Let’s change the subject,” I replied, annoyed. “What are you doing for the 4th on Sunday. Are there parades or festivals in Palos Verdes on the 4th?”

“There might be. I don’t know. Since I’ve been living with my grandparents, if the Dodgers are at home on the 4th, my gramps always takes us to the game, and the fireworks show later that night. He’s got season tickets right behind the Dodgers’ dugout. The whole family has to go. It’s a snooze fest but it makes my grandparents happy, I guess. The only good thing about it is we go to El Compadre on Sunset just blocks away from the Stadium after the game and before the fireworks display. We always make reservations well in advance since it’s packed to the rafters during the season, especially on weekends. So, what’s your plans?”

I allowed the frisson I felt to subside before choosing my words carefully. “Uh, my dad is coming home for the weekend. He wants to do something for the 4th but it’s not set what we’re doing. Maybe The Hollywood Bowl concert. They have a fireworks display too.”

“It’d be great if you guys went to the Dodgers game too. We could get you three into El Compadre as well. My grandparents are in good with the manager. They could just push two tables together.”

“Yeah, if only…”

I was surprised. Blaise’s friends’ band was called The Western Sons, and they played a brand of country rock that the rock literati were starting to call Cow Punk. Their setlist was mostly covers, including a couple of songs by Rank and File, Gram Parsons, and The Blasters (who they were opening for). They were quite good. I guess you can never judge a book by its cover, as they say.

Blotto and Cortez met us outside the club 15 minutes after they finished the set. It was only 8:30. The sun had set 20 minutes before, but we were solidly in the twilight of the evening. Cortez lit up a cigarette and puffed away, sneaking sideways glances at me as Blaise and Blotto discussed their plans for the rest of the night.

“Monk is bringing the van around and we’re heading up Mulholland Drive to one of the pullouts so we can look down on the city of lights, clear our heads, celebrate our first gig on the Strip, etcetera, etcetera. You guys should come along. We just have to pick up a couple of six-packs.”

Blaise looked at me fleetingly and then, before I could speak, agreed to hang out with the band.

“I’m parked on one of the side streets here.”

“Not your grandfather’s Mustang, pendejo,” Cortez sneered.

“Don’t use bad Spanish words in front of the lady, Cortez, but, yes, it’s the Mustang. You think I’d be seen cruising the Strip in a Chevy Nova?”

“I thought the Mustang rarely left the garage,” I said.

“This is a rare occasion, isn’t it? Come one, let’s hurry before I get ticketed.”

“I don’t know, Blaise. I told Lori I’d be home before 10.”

“We’ll get you home by then. It’s only 8:30 now. It’s a 15-minute drive from Mulholland to Sherman Oaks. Plenty of time. Are you in?” asked Blotto.

Against my better judgement, I nodded affirmatively and placed my hand in Blaise’s.

“Give us five minutes to bring the car around,” Blaise asserted, as we turned the corner of the block.

The band’s van stopped outside a liquor store some blocks from the Strip. Blotto stepped out of the van and motioned to Blaise to get out of the Mustang. They conferred for a minute before heading off in opposite directions. After a couple of minutes, Blotto came back to the front of the liquor store, accompanied by a man in his thirties, wearing a rumpled sports jacket and several days’ growth of beard on his face. The three of them animatedly discussed some proposition being made by Blotto to the man. Finally, I saw Blaise reach into his wallet and take out a single bill of unknown denomination. He handed it to the man, who greedily grabbed it and went inside the store. It seemed like he was in there for an eternity, but the man stumbled out of the store and handed over a paper bag filled with a rectangular object or objects to Blotto. They nodded at each other and Blotto ran back to the van, cradling the bag in the crook of his arm. Blaise ran back to our car and plopped into the driver’s seat.

“What was all that about?” I asked.

“That’s the “Front Man” routine. You find some chump to go in and buy a couple of six-packs. Let him keep the change and everyone’s happy. I gave him twenty. His change comes to more than half that. Nice coin for 5 minutes of work. Don’t they do this on the dirty streets of New York?”

“I wouldn’t know. And I’m from Long Island, not the city.”

“You’re a good girl. I know. I know.”

The guys in the band knew the territory like the back of their hands. We took Sunset Boulevard east all the way to Highland Avenue, turned left, and took Highland straight up past the Hollywood Bowl. Turned left onto Cahuenga Boulevard West, then made a sharp left up onto Mulholland Drive from the east side. We kept to the eastern stretch of the Drive, looking for an unfinished or informal pullout without gates or restrictive parking signs. The official overlooks like the Hollywood Bowl Overlook close their parking lots at 6PM and the cops will tow your car if you leave it while strolling the area.

Success! The guys found a spot where they could pull completely off the roadway and park surreptitiously. The downtown Los Angeles grid lay glittering below us. The moon was rising in the darkening sky. Half a dozen cans of beer were being opened as the sound of tabs being lifted and carbon dioxide being released filled the air. Cortez and Monk climbed on top of their van and threw their heads back, gulping their beer hungrily. Blotto came over to our car and tapped cans with us.

“It’s a beautiful night in the city of lights, my friends,” Blotto declared as he swigged his brew.

“You seem extra excited, Blotto,” I noted.

“We found out just before we went on tonight that The Blasters want us to open for them on a bunch of their dates on the current tour, mostly in SoCal. The specific dates are being finalized by our manager and their manager. We’ll keep you posted.”

“Salut! You guys are going far, I know for a fact! I wish I had musical talent or talent of any sort. I’m such a loser.”

“Don’t say that Blaise. I think you’re smart and kind of deep…in a strange way sometimes,” I affirmed.

“Tell that to every teacher I’ve ever had. They’d laugh you out of the room.”

“You need a little self-confidence, that’s all. You’re capable of great things. I can see it in you.”

“The beer is getting to you, Joey.”

“I’m not a drinker. Even beer makes me fall asleep. I’m getting a little woozy right now.”

“Get up. Let’s get out and take a look at the view. Get some air.”

We approached the railing and looked down. The lights of the city shone like gems in a crown of jewels. I stepped back to steady myself.

“I got you.” Blaise put his arm around my waist.

“You’re too young to give up on your future, Blaise. Your father took time to find his true calling. He’s living the life he’s always wanted. He just didn’t know it or how to achieve it when he was only a few years older than you are today. You’ll discover it soon.”

“And you, Joey. Are you as sure of yourself as you seem. Am I seeing a façade or the real thing?”

“That’s an odd question to ask someone you’ve only known for a week,” I observed.

“I guess I’ve never met someone as put together as you. You know who you are. You know where you’re going. You know where you want to end up.”

“You give me too much credit, Blaise. Underneath this impervious shell of self-certainty lies a limpid pool of fears, concerns, and doubts.”

“Did you have a good time today, Joey?”

“I had a wonderful time, Blaise. And the company was first-rate.”

We stared at each other for the longest time. Finally, Blaise cleared his throat.

“We were supposed to look at the view.”

Somehow we lost track of time. To be honest, I must have fallen asleep. Beer does that to me. I woke up in the passenger seat of Blaise’s Mustang. It was still parked on Mulholland Drive, overlooking the city. But Blaise wasn’t in the driver’s seat. Then, close by, I heard a trio of voices trying to sing the lyrics to “Something” by The Beatles. My eyes focused and I realized it was Blotto, Cortez, and Blaise singing. It was OK, not great, but OK.

Blaise must have noticed I was awake because he walked over to the car and leaned in.

“I didn’t want to wake you. You must have been pretty tired. All that walking in the park. And then the two beers you had—”

“Two! I had two beers?”

“Yeah, you guzzled it pretty good. But then you kind of passed out. So, I put you back in the car.”

“What time is it?” I looked at my wrist, but I forgot I don’t wear a watch.

“A little past 11. Sorry but Lori’s probably gonna be really mad. I’ll tell her it’s all my fault. Even so, I guess she’ll take it up with my grandmother. It’ll just be more evidence that I’m a complete failure.”

“Failure at what? You’re not my babysitter. I made my own decisions. I’m the one who used bad judgement. Not you, I mean. You’re a guy. You can stay out till all hours of the night. No one cares if you do.”

“It’s tough being a girl, I guess.”

“You don’t know the half of it, brother. Let’s get moving before I turn into a pumpkin.”

It only takes 20 minutes max to drive from Mulholland Drive to the 3800 block of Beverly Ridge Drive in Sherman Oaks. But when it’s after midnight and you’re almost three hours late getting home, it’s a big deal. Normally Lori’s pretty chill as a stepparent but it wouldn’t surprise me if she tore into me tonight. We parked a bit up the block on my instructions. There were lights on in the house. So, Lori was still up, waiting for me.

“I’ll get out here, Blaise. Thanks for a special day. You’re a special friend to waste your summer days showing me the sights.”

“It’s been a pleasure. I’ve had a great time too. Remember, we’ve got the rest of the summer to spend painting the town red.”

“I’ve got to leave for college the last week of August. Time is moving too fast.”

I leaned over and, after hesitating for a second, planted a tender kiss on his forehead. The look of astonishment on his face was almost comical. I jumped out of the car too quickly for him to say anything or return my kiss. I stood on the walkway as he drove off. That cherry red Mustang was iconic, even in the moonlight.

The front door opened and Lori peeked her head out. She was holding one of my boy mode t-shirts and a pair of sneakers in her left hand.

Barely above a whisper, she told me, “Go out back and put these on. Quick. And here’s some tissues. Take your makeup off. As much as you can.”

“What’s going on?”

“Your father came home tonight. He changed his plans. He’s in bed right now but he wants to see you when you get in. He’s a light sleeper, you know. Quick!”

Ten minutes later I was sitting on the sofa in the living room when I heard the slither slap of my dad’s slippers approaching. The look on his face when he entered the room bespoke years of paternal disappointment. He sighed heavily.