Laying Low In L.A. #TheLWord Writing Contest

Laying Low In L.A.

Finley was fidgeting far too much not to be hiding something. But then, Sophie reasoned, if kind, devoted Finley had a secret, maybe it was worth keeping. On the other hand, she was curious. She leaned forward. "What's wrong, Fin?"

"Nothing," Finley said instantly.

"Which means something," Sophie said.

"Lay off," Finley snapped. Dani's eyes widened as she glanced from Sophie to Finley. Both had crossed their arms.

"I've never seen you take so long to finish a salmon benedict. Come on, Fin. We're your friends."

"Really now, are you," Finley said dryly. Sophie's eyes narrowed. Micah interjected, "Hey guys, maybe let's cool it, okay? Sophie, if something is the matter, clearly she's not—"

"I just think that as our friend, she should—"

"Alright," Finley said. "Alright." She paused. "Give me a second. I have to figure out how to word this."

She recalled last night. The bimonthly Succubus party, the last of the summer, had boasted an impressive turnout, and in a drunken haze she had been bewitched by it all: the queers in short-shorts and cutoff T-shirts, the sheen of summer glowing from their faces, the faint scent of martini emanating from the woman she was dancing with. At the bar, which glowed a cyan blue in the dark club, Finley had leaned over the counter, ordered two margaritas, and—glancing to her right as the bartender scooped ice—did a double-take.

Yes. Definitely her. Finley darted over and snatched the drink from her hand, not caring one bit that Angie was engaged in lively conversation. Her conversational partner was taller, and in her blondeness and understated confidence, had an easy, sun-bleached swagger. "What are you doing here!" Finley hissed at Angie's wide-eyed surprise.

In an instant the surprise hardened to defiance. Angie, everyone knew, bore her mother's temperament. "Exactly what you're doing," she snapped.

The blonde woman crossed her arms. "What's going on, Sam?" she said quietly to Angie.

"Sam?" Finley cried. In her accelerating drunkenness she didn't think twice to blurt out the truth. "That's not Sam, that's Angie. My friend's daughter. And she's sixteen."

A look of slow horror crept across the blonde woman's face. She looked from Finley to Angie. "Sam? That's—that's not, uh, true, is it?"

"No! Don't listen to her," Angie cooed. "She's just drunk. I don't know her." But the woman paused, and Angie glanced at Finley. "Would you go away!" she hissed. Finley crossed her arms staunchly.

The woman pursed her lips. "You know what, whatever this is, you two've got something to figure out," she said meditatively, stepping back. "You know how to reach me," she added noncommittally to Angie, and disappeared into the writhing crowd.

Finley hadn't had a plan. And now Angie was glaring at her bitterly, demanding answers. Finley stuttered, "How... Who—"

"Why do you have to ruin everything!" Angie cried. Her eyes filled with tears. "I hate you!" she spat. "Give me that!" She grabbed at her drink. Finley flung it on the bar behind her and the glass slid and fell over. Suddenly she was aware that everyone at the bar was looking at them.

Angie's eyes filled with tears again. "If you tell my mom, I'll tell her you took me!" she shouted, and ran. Finley lunged to grab her, but the bartender called "Sarah?" and Finley turned from reflex. The margaritas she'd ordered glittered traitorously on the bar. When she turned back around, Angie was gone.

"I... saw Angie last night. At Succubus." Even though she couldn't meet Sophie's eyes, Finley could feel Sophie starting with excitement. "What! Are you serious!" she exclaimed, with an echo from Dani. Micah was silent.

"Unfortunately," Finley said.

"Weren't you supposed to be watching her?" Micah asked pointedly.

Finley sighed. Bette she'd met through Alice. Knowing Finley was eager for extra work, Bette had taken pity and allowed her to be a sort of on-call, part-time personal assistant. "Yeah, that's the other thing. Look, it was the last Succubus of summer. I thought Angie would be okay. God, sixteen is too old to have a babysitter."

"Apparently not," Dani muttered.

"Okay, okay. I fucked up. What's really getting me is how Angie even found out about that place."

"It's gotta be that new app," Dani said thoughtfully. "It doesn't have a way to verify age yet."

"And Bette's not back 'til—when did you say?" Sophie asked.

"Tuesday."

"So Angie thought she'd have a fun weekend with her mom gone," Sophie said, piecing it all together in joyous triumph. "Oh my God, that's crazy. What did you do?"

"Took her drink away, obviously," Finley sputtered in self-righteous indignation. Though she had wanted to do the right thing, part of her sympathized with Angie. In her hometown, there had been zero chance of her ever meeting anyone; she knew how the scene was for queers under 21, which was to say, nonexistent.

"And then?"

"And then she ran off."

"Well, did you look for her?"

"I didn't want to—you know they're serious about fake IDs now. And a daughter in court isn't exactly a great look for Bette's campaign."

"Neither is a daughter on apps and in bars," Micah retorted.

A moment of silence passed, until Sophie said, "What are we gonna tell Bette?"

"Tell Bette?" Finley exclaimed.

"Uh, guys," Micah said, gesturing to the TV mounted on the right side of the bar.

All looked at the TV. It was headlined: "L.A. POLICE CRACKDOWN ON FRAUDULENT IDENTITY." Photos of teenagers rotated.

Sophie was the first to speak. "Oh, shit."

Finley's phone buzzed. She looked down. Bette.

"Guys," she said urgently. "Guys." She threw the phone in the middle of the table. "What do I do?"

The phone buzzed and stopped. In a minute it started again.

"You can't avoid her forever," Micah said.

"I know," Finley moaned, her face in her hands.

The phone stopped ringing. It started again. All three looked to Finley, who finally looked up and reached for her phone.

She pressed TALK. "Hi, Bette."