Los Feliz Blvd

Kisses on Sunset Blvd Vol 1

Los Feliz Blvd

A short story by Nathalie Martinez

We leave the studio on a Friday night with an unshakable faith that things would be better, even as the heaviness of life still lingered in our bones. Outside, Los Angeles buzzes to greet us with its glittering car lights and palm trees against a darkening sky, reminding us that there was life out there, and it is beautiful, and mostly unexpected. We meet at a bar on Los Feliz Blvd. Not the hottest spot in town for 26-year-old me. And still, as I gaze toward the freeway at the sunset behind the mountains, I feel enchanted by it all. The electric hum of the city matches my own pulse. I may have set too many expectations, but it feels like something magical was about to happen.

When I walk in, I pull down the skirt of my dress. I have to make sure I won’t get hit on; it is a work happy hour after all. Most Fridays, we go to happy hour after work. I’m not a part of the softball team, the board game committees, or attend the team Dodger nights, so I pay my dues in fruity drinks with bookish names to keep the professional peace. Of course, I want to bond with all my coworkers, but as the youngest and newest in this career, it doesn’t exactly feel natural. But in LA, belonging is a performance; all I have to do is play the part.

We escape into the city like professional online daters, changing bars every week. Flirting with a new bar, but never sticking around long enough to know if it’d work for us. I like this though, it is like a refresh, the anticipation that on this night, because of this bar, and the people it’s attracting, might be better than any other. Fate, serendipity, anything could happen.

But I already know that this night will be different. Tonight’s bar features the newly relocated London team. They were shipped across the globe to learn what it meant to work under palm trees, bright lights, and pressures few would come to like. And Miles, our self-appointed happy hour commissioner, has chosen a place on Los Feliz that felt like it belonged in a storybook. A fairytale bar. Because in LA, fairytales exist.

I sit at the long table set for twenty of us beside Lena, my second closest friend at work, two years older than my parents, and the most lively person in the group. The only person close to my age, Michelle is here too, a sweet and inspiring girl who clings to her boss as though they’re a pair. She reminds me of Alice in Wonderland with the voice of Cinderella. As kind and social as she seems, she never gives anyone else the chance to get close to her because she is thriving in her career. And what was her need for friends if spending time with her boss meant saying yes to all of her ideas? . Her boss was there too, beside her, equally as kind and talented.

The seats all around me filled up. People laughing, leaning in, already half drunk on the feeling of being important. I laugh, listen, and try to open up so that they can get to know the real me. Even though what I really want to say was, “That seat is saved for Trent.” He’s going to introduce me to all the Londoners. He knew them all because he had been transferred from there, too. He’s the one who finally convinced me to start coming to these. He said I needed to network more, but I thought, I’ve been here 3 years already, I spend all my time with them. “But it wasn’t enough to be talented,” he had said, “you had to be seen.”

I check the time, before looking around the room, and finally, there he is, the bridge between our two worlds, reaching for a frothy white cocktail with a pineapple at the end. A piña colada? I say in my head, waiting for the punchline. He’s with a friend I don’t recognize. The friend is handed a beer, and they greet and nod to some others before walking directly up to me.

“I brought Christian, he says you guys know each other?” Trent says before saying hello.

I stare at the guy, not much taller than Trent, maybe twice the size in pure muscle. I’ve never seen the guy before in my life. He’s attractive, but it’s LA, everyone is attractive. And his presence takes up space before he even speaks.

“I just moved here from London.” He says, coming closer to me, “Remember, we used to work those long hours over the phone when—”

“Christian Mitchell?” I gasp as the pieces click, “Oh my gosh, you saved me on so many occasions. Working long hours for me when I first started!” My voice jumps into squeaky territory, “Thank you!”

Christian greets me with a big hug, and it lingers a second longer than it should. But I didn’t mind.

There are chairs over by the end of the table, but they pull up chairs beside me.

“I had no idea you and Trent went way back.” I say.

“Yup, 14 years working together.” He says, putting his arm over Trent’s shoulders.

“So you know everyone here except me?” I say, noticing that I’m the only one who didn’t come from London.

“Only, I did know you,” he says with a wink. And in that moment, I feel something something in the pit of my stomach that I could only describe as a knowing.

We have dinner, and we chat, our group of twenty-five shrinks hour by hour.

Michelle leans forward, always hungry for stories, “So, Christian, you moved here with your girlfriend?”

Trent looks up to see his reaction. Christian’s eyes dart to meet mine. I feel a sudden exposure, as though the city’s lights have all pivoted to focus on me.

“I did.” His voice drops lower. “She’s a good girl.” He takes a long sip of beer, “Her parents aren’t too fond of the fact that we met when she was an intern, and she stayed in London because of me.”

I can’t tell if the words are a warning or a confession.

“She’s from here?” Michelle adds.

“Yeah, the valley. She always knew she wanted to move back.” He says, his demeanor vulnerable and yet as though he hates making the admission.

“So, did you move for her?” Michelle says.

“If it weren’t for the job, I wouldn’t have moved.” He says.

“How did you meet?” Michelle asks like an investigative journalist, wanting to get all of her answers.

He lets out a sigh and says, “I think I… she went to all the happy hours, and she’d pursue me over and over, until I finally said yes.”

I exchange glances with Trent, then Michelle and I meet eyes and a mutual feeling is passed between us. Being convinced to love someone feels ugly. They aren’t part of the rules of the world. At least, not in LA. Los Angeles was about obsession, not settling.

And in that moment, I too realize that I’m settling. In my situationship, in my job, and I didn’t want that anymore.

We talk until we are the last two at the bar. And the more we talk the more it felt like we were doing something dangerous. Like every minute, we’re stripping off a bit of our clothes, revealing more and more of ourselves. Only we’re fully clothed.

We talk about his girlfriend, about my situationship, all technicalities amidst this chemistry.

At 2 am, he walks me to my car, we talk outside of it until 3 am, when my breath rises into the air like smoke, and he, the Londoner, shivered with his hands in his pockets. The city decided to remind us it, too, gets cold. “Can we sit in your car?” he asks.

Another two hours go by, and we talk like old friends or new lovers. We don’t touch, kiss, flirt, we just know. He reveals that he has been unsure about his girlfriend, and I can see he is sure about me.

“You should end things with your guy,” he says.

“I know what I have to do,” I say.

“So do I.” He says, and he smiles while I shake my head.

I’m not the kind of girl who steals what doesn’t belong to her. I want him to choose. I want him to want. I’d never force something.

“I’m driving over to her right now, to break up with her. Her parents will be relieved.”

“Are you that bad?”

“I’m 40.”

“Oh?” I say in surprise. I thought he was the same age as Trent, 35. And the age difference did feel steep, but had I felt this with anyone else?

“You and I aren’t to talk until it’s all over.” I say, “And if you decide to stay with her, there will be no hard feelings. Take the time you need.”

He smiles at me, and nods once.

We watch the golden glow of sunrise, and I only call it a night because if not we might stay there forever. We never touch or kiss, only hug hello and goodbye. We don’t flirt, we just spill our guts and revealed a little bit of our souls. It’s one of those rare moments when you connect with someone, and you know they’re going to mean something to you. Serendipity, fate, a fairytale. Only in LA.

And I go home elated at the prospect of us. At 6 am, I go to bed with a smile on my face, thinking of him.

I wake at 9:33 tired, but checking my phone… for him of course.

The text doesn’t disappoint. Good morning, beautiful. I had the best time with you last night, I could’ve stayed there with you until we had to get back to work on Monday morning. I’d love to do that again. You’re incredible, you inspire me. I’ve been settling and just trying to do what’s right. I’m ready to get out of that. Let’s make a plan to see each other this week.

And he continues the digital love letter with some other mushy vulnerability. And ends it with Call me when you wake up.

I started typing, then thought better of it. Let me not be so easy and play hard to get. It’s the LA way.

At 10 am, the spell is broken by a call from my closest friend over the last two years, Lauren.

“I heard you met my Christian last night?” she said into the phone.

In my head: my Christian? Why is she saying my? “Who?”

“That’s Christian, you know, the one that got away? The one that I was like in love with for years. He didn’t even tell me he was coming; I just heard he went out with you guys.”

How had I not realized? The guy she loved, and he never loved her back. And… gah. I think I heard the sound of my heart breaking before I felt it. It sounds like a gasp.

“That’s him? I didn’t even realize… I had worked with him when I first started, he was so helpful.” I hear myself trying to reclaim what wasn’t mine.

“He is so charismatic. Everyone loves him. How did he look?” She says gingerly on the other end.

“Um, buff.” Because I can’t admit that he’s everything.

“Oh really? I heard he’d gotten fat. Did you think he was cute?”

“Yeah, he’s attractive.” I’m still trying to get a grip of the conversation. But I think back to his face. It was our connection over anything physical.

“Well, tell me more about last night.” She says, confused that I hadn’t already given her all the details.

Last night was a dream, I want to say. I want to say, I can totally see why you fell for him.

Instead, I say, “He’s older than he looks!”

“You know, after you’re thirty, age doesn’t really matter in the same way anymore.”

I was only 26, and it didn’t matter to me when it came to him.

“Did you guys stay out late? What did you do?”

I try to compose myself, disappointed that I can’t tell her the story I want to. The truth. I’ve never lied to her before, or even omitted the truth. I need a minute to compose myself. I am crushed that I couldn’t like him, when… it’s different with us. Connections like this were rare to come by, I wasn’t just being a stupid girl. I knew it, I could feel it.

“Trent, Christian, and I stayed out later than most. We went to dinner until it closed, then went to a bar until it closed.”

“Well, I wanted to tell you something funny, I don’t know if Christian’s girlfriend got mad at him for coming home so late, but they just broke up. According to Facebook.” She says.

Oh my god. It was real, he had driven over to her and broken things off just like he said.

“Didn’t she just move here for him?” she continues.

“She’s from here, her family lives here.” I say.

“He told you that?” she says.

“Yeah he talked about her and how she pursued him hardcore for years until he just finally gave in.”

“Quite the romantic story,” she laughs.

I tell her I have to go because I’m tired, but really, I need to respond to his message. But I don’t know what to say or how to say it.

I know about you and my best friend! How could you not tell me? I don’t dare write that, I’m too self aware. I want to tell him that I loved last night too, and yes to a date this weekend. And yes I felt it too. But my heart ached for a love it could never have. Because I knew we were something special. I knew I could love him. But I already loved her, in a different way. And I couldn’t do that to her. It wasn’t that I thought I would lose her; she would be hurt, but would still be my friend. But I couldn’t stand the idea of her being upset with me, or making her sad. I was too loyal. Not worth even risking a friendship breakup. But in LA maybe loyalty was rarer than love? So I said nothing. I didn’t respond to him even though I had so much to say. I ghosted him, instead of explaining it all. It was easier that way. And I would be his one that got away. And he would be mine.

6 months later

I called my new boyfriend, who also happened to be named Christian.

“Hello?” He sounds off.

“Hi babe,” I say as he answers on the first ring, not unusual for him.

“Hey! I’ve been waiting to hear from you.” But it doesn’t sound like my boyfriend, Christian. But it does sound like something he’d say.

“Wait… Christian?” I say, confused, racking my brain as I pulled into the parking lot at the mall. I’d since left my job.

“Yeah, it’s Christian. How’s it going?”

I take a breath, trying to concentrate on navigating the parking lot and figure out who I was calling. But I knew. My body knew before my brain even registered it, because everything in me shifted.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I think I have the wrong number.” I end the call right there.

I check my call log and realize they're both just under their first names. I call the other number.

The boyfriend answers, “Hey, you.”

“That was so weird. I just called someone else with the same name as you,” I was still a little breathless and flustered. Even guilty.

“You called your non-boyfriend, Christian,” he said playfully.

“Yeah,” I say, but he could’ve been. Two Christians, two lives, and the age-old question of what if? Los Angeles will always be full of promise. Filled with men you meet in bars, under streetlights, with cocktails, and laugh until sunrise. Men who don’t ruin your life, but leave a mark so deep they just haunt it. And maybe haunting is the closest thing to love. Because the ghost of the memory might be better than what it was. Because the ghost of what could’ve been still lingers.

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