American Cream

American Cream

I.

“How’d you feel?” asked Jess.

“Ancient,” replied Ellis, examining herself in the car’s rearview mirror. Her eyes blinked behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, as if she didn’t know who was staring back at her.

“Girl, you look it,” said Taylor from the backseat, holding her phone up to film her friend.

On the screen, Ellis adjusted the grey-brown wig, pulling it down firmly over her head to ensure it covered her hairline. She moved the glasses further up her nose, the lenses were tinted a dull green allaying the lustre of Ellis’ own bright blue eyes.

“Here’s the money.” Jess held out a rolled up twenty dollar bill. “What you getting?”

“Four Loko. Some Truly’s. Bottle of SoCo?”

Still filming, Taylor leant forward between the two passenger seats. “And obviously some Corona.”

Hoots of laughter filled the Volvo, the three girls giggling so much they had to wipe tears from their eyes. Placing a babushka headscarf over her wig, Ellis knotted it under her neck.

Jess passed her a disposable face mask, thin white fabric with blue lining, saying, “Take your time in there. Rushing makes you look suspect. Plus, you’re meant to be like, eighty.

“And don’t talk too much,” Added Taylor. “It’ll give you away.”

Ellis nodded, running the mask strings behind her ears and pulling the top up over her nose. She pinched it around the bridge, shaping the wire, biting her lip behind the mask now, dwelling on what she was about to do.

Stepping out of the passenger door, she heard Taylor shout Bitch, you got this! and turned to see her friend giving her the thumbs up from behind her smartphone. Ellis struck a pose, arching her back and twerking her butt for the camera, before heading to the store. Outside the entrance, Ellis took a deep breath, but only bitter smoke and the smell of burning plastic filled her nose.

The liquor store bell chimed as she pushed through the door. The counter was opposite, down the end of the aisle and the guy behind it glanced up. Ellis smiled, not that he could see it behind her mask. He gave the slightest of nods before his eyes darted back down to the magazine splayed on the counter.

She walked slowly, as if it took great effort, hunching her back and bending slightly at her hips like they were stiff. Earlier in the car, driving out of their high school parking lot, the three girls getting excited planning it, Ellis had suggested a walking stick but Taylor figured it was overkill. Jess said they could buy a proper old woman Halloween mask but they didn’t want to wait so Taylor got creative with the makeup, giving Ellis dark rings under her eyes as well as crows feet and a few wrinkles. Along with the wire-rimmed glasses and wig, they all agreed the ensemble was convincing enough.

Ellis hobbled down the aisle. The wig was hot and itchy, accentuated by the headscarf wrapped over the top so it felt like she had ants crawling through her hair. She headed for the liquor section to the left of the counter. If the guy asked for her ID she’d fake a senile moment, pretend she’d forgotten it. Could you get arrested for failing to buy booze? Probably. Why did she offer to dress up as the old lady? Taylor should have done it, she’s way better at this stuff. What if the guy asked her to remove the mask? She’d refuse and mumble that she couldn’t risk it because she was immunocompromised. Yeah, that was good. Not like you can tell.

Placing a 6-pack of Four Loko, three bottles of Corona and a crate of Truly’s Hard Seltzer on the counter, Ellis looked at the guy whose eyes were still down reading the magazine. When he glanced up, she forced herself to smile. He stared back at her with grey eyes dull as tarnished silver and the moment stretched out like a long Kansas road reaching for the horizon. Ellis felt her heart beat up in her throat as she held eye contact, telling herself that only the guilty look away, and she felt sweat bead on her forehead. She bit her lip behind the mask. The guy was late forties, a ring of straggly hair surrounding a bald spot, the hair he had left the same colour as her wig, Ellis thanking God her’s was just a wig. Five-six and skinny as a latte, he leant forward, elbows on the magazine. This is it, thought Ellis…

“I’ll bag these for you, ma’am, and then I’ll help you out with them.”

Ellis blinked behind her tinted glasses and almost turned around to see who he was talking to.

“Oh, no,” she croaked. “No, don’t worry about that, deary.” Is that something old people say, Ellis wondered to herself, deary? “Carrying these is the only exercise I get all day.” And she did a croaky-sorta laugh.

The guy gave a polite smile, reaching for the Truly’s. “Well, if you’re sure, ma’am.” Ringing up the Corona, he said, “You’re the only person bought these in weeks.”

“Must be all the mentions in the news… I just, fancied them.” Please stop talking to me, please stop talking to me. Ellis felt the ants crawling through her hair, the wig pressed down against her sweaty scalp.

“Ahh I know how that be. Can’t watch a movie and see someone smoking, without wanting a cigarette maself.”

Ellis nodded, not wanting to say more, having to fight the urge to hightail it out of there. He stared at her a moment, his head tilting in thought. Ellis looked down, pulling out the old wool purse Taylor had found in her aunt’s closet. Popping open the brass clasp she dug out a twenty dollar bill and passed it over the counter in slow motion, nerves making her fingers shake, the paper bill rippling there in mid-air.

The guy took it, still staring into Ellis’ eyes.

“You sure I can’t carry this to your car?” His tone, so amenable before, now sounded suspicious as he squinted at Ellis.

She coughed at him. Even with her wearing a mask, the guy still retracted his head like it was on a drawstring, rang up her change and placed the drinks in a plastic bag, as if he couldn’t wait to get her out of there.

“All good,” Ellis caught herself, spluttering out a feeble cough to cover her mistake. “No,” she said slowly. “Thank you, deary.” And she hefted the bag off the counter, making out it was twice as heavy, before she shuffled down the aisle towards the exit.

“Okay, ma’am. You have a super day now.”

“Same to you,” Ellis waved without turning back.

Her heart was bouncing off her chest plate, feeling like it could explode. She wanted to run out the door as fast as she could, but she made herself breathe slowly, her face getting hot behind the mask as she shuffled forward.

Outside, Ellis pulled down the mask and took a long, grateful breath of fresh air. But again it smelled like a campfire mixed with burning chemicals, leaving that tart, tangy taste on Ellis’ tongue. It was something she still hadn’t got used to. They’d had wildfires before but this year’s were bigger, more ferocious, engulfing vast swathes of west California without prejudice or mercy. Her mum standing in the family room watching the news last night, asking her dad what their evacuation procedure was, her dad saying, ‘Don’t worry’ but the way he glared at the TV from under a furrowed brow, both women knew.

When she rounded the corner of the building, doddering towards Taylor’s parked Volvo, Jess and Taylor were out of the car, stood leaning against the bonnet. Both shrieked in celebration when they saw Ellis carrying a bag full of alcohol.

“Yo it worked!” Taylor narrated as she filmed her friend approaching.

“Yasss queen!” Cried Jess. “Let’s gooo!”

They clinked bottles of Corona over the coffee table, whooping in high-pitched glee.

“To Coronavirus!” Laughed Jess.

“And face masks!” Cried Ellis.

“And clout, babyyy!” said Taylor.

“Where’s our video at now?” Asked Jess.

“Like, two hundred thousand views,” replied Taylor, an excited glint making her brown eyes sparkle. She danced around the whicker and glass coffee table, a slow dreamy sway in her hips, a flute-laced trap beat whistling from Jess’ bluetooth speaker sat on the mantel above a faux-fireplace.

They were at Taylor’s place, well, her aunt’s. Except for the three girls, the apartment in the Palm Heights block was empty at four in the afternoon, Taylor’s aunt waitressing at the new vegan gelato joint that had opened by Echo Park.

“We’re blowing up!” Ellis pulled off the wig and scratched her scalp sighing with relief.

Her real hair was dyed cherry red, and seemed even brighter after the dull grey-brown of the wig. She rummaged in her Hermes clutch bag until she found a pastel-pink lipstick.

“Got like fifty-kay followers too,” said Taylor. “Shame it’s not my personal.”

“You set up an alt account?” Jess sipped her Corona, a mischievous smile beaming over her face as she did.

“It’s called Boomer Bandit X-O,” Taylor winked, before using the camera on her phone to check her makeup. Fake lashes accentuated her big brown eyes and matt lipstick matched her dark skin. Turning her face from side to side to see every angle, the ring in her nose and studs in her ears glinted under the ceiling light.

“Let’s clink again,” said Taylor, turning to Jess and Ellis sat on the sofa opposite. “I want a pic for the grid.”

“And get a video for stories,” added Ellis.

They recreated their celebratory cheers. Three bottles of Corona entered the frame of her phone screen as Taylor took multiple photos, each one barley distinguishable from the other.

“When’s your aunt back?” Jess asked, sitting down on the edge of the moth-eaten sofa as if it would swallow her whole if she leant back into it.

“Like, ten this evening. Chill, we got time.”

The apartment, north of Echo Park, was in a two-storey block, which sat in an L-shape around a swimming pool that had brown water and a layer of dark algae forming on it’s surface. When Jess had pushed through the screen door, pausing to look at the holes and tears in the netting, she’d said, “We know you’re poor, hon, but do you have to be so obvious about it?”

“Get in there, rich bitch,” and Taylor had playfully shoved Jess into the open-plan kitchen/living room.

Jess wasn’t wrong though. Palm Heights, where the views were limited and the palms were dead. That netting too, it failed to keep any bugs out, which was why Taylor woke up most mornings pockmarked with bites, red and raised on her calfs, thighs and forearms. It was the catalyst for her first tattoo: a cobra winding around her right forearm to sink its fangs into the apple on her shoulder. Red bites weren’t so noticeable on inked skin, so a symmetrical tribal pattern flowed over her chest and under her collarbones. Her aunt had offered a mere head shake, having long given up trying to control Taylor, when she got her third facial piercing at fourteen, going back to reading the letter that had Overdue stamped on it in bold red letters.

“Let’s do it again,” said Taylor. “But bigger.”

“Bigger how?” The trepidation clear in Jess’ tone. She tapped a finger against her bottle, a gold ring clinking on the glass.

“I dunno,” Taylor puckered her thick lips. Her voice was pinched and nasal thanks to her Puerto Rican mother and she had a habit of drawing out the last word of most sentences. “Let’s rob a liquor store or something. Guys do that all the time and get away with it.”

“Rob a liquor store, really?” Jess shook her head. She was fiddling with her gold rings now, turning the chunkiest round and round her middle finger.

“Why not? It’s the end times. Covid. Wildfires. Trump. You seen people stockpiling? It’s the Hunger Games out here.”

Jess kissed her lips loudly, the universal sound for as if. “You’re so extra. The world’s a little far from becoming a dystopia.”

“The world, yeah,” said Ellis dropping rolling papers and weed on the table. “America though? We’re at what, four million Covid cases and counting.”

Taylor raised her eyebrows at Jess, pouting her lips in challenge. “And when it comes to Purge-time, no Encino homes are going hungry. But Reseda, Echo Park n’ all that be skinny as hell.”

Jess rolled her eyes but didn’t argue any more than that.

Ellis was nodding in agreement. “The other day I stood in a mile-long queue outside Whole Foods, only to get inside and see people fighting over toilet paper,” she sighed.

“But robbing somewhere,” whined Jess. “That’s like, next level illegal.”

“Gotta get our funds up.” Ellis shrugged, taking out wet-wipes and proceeding to remove the makeup wrinkles Taylor had drawn across her forehead and in the corners of her eyes. She was feeling good, having got the booze, their plan had worked, the adrenaline wearing off now but still riding that wave of success, her heart beat winding down from that pounding but still an excited flutter in her chest.

“How much is college gonna cost you?” Taylor tilted her head staring at Jess with the look of someone who already knew the answer.

Jess stared down at the woven carpet. It had been beige originally, but now with years of dirt and grime, it had become the same grey-brown as the old lady wig, like a child’s clear complexion blemished with the stains and smudges of age. Self-conscious, Jess mumbled, “Dunno, dad’s paying.”

Taylor smiled, her point proven. “Even with daddy paying for your tuition and rent, you’re still gonna need to go out, drink, buy text books n’ stuff.”

“So? I was gonna get like, a bar job, or start an OnlyFans. Not take up armed robbery.”

“Oh that’s a good point,” said Ellis with the perky enthusiasm of a book club member. “Where we gonna get guns from?”

Taylor flicked a strand of honey-blonde hair away from her face. “My aunt’s got one. Weak ass little derringer, but it’ll work.” Then off Jess’ wide-eyed look. “Chill. We’re not gonna use ‘em.” As if it was a-given.

Ellis and Taylor gazed expectantly at Jess, who sighed like someone resigned to their fate. “Yeah, my dad’s got one.” Still turning the chunky gold ring round her finger.

“Don’t stress, babe. We’ll be smart. Get a second whip so we can switch cars.”

“We’re not taking mine,” Jess’ tone was assertive now, the words like a line in the sand.

“You still rinsing that sugar daddy?” Taylor turned to Ellis.

“You know it,” nodded Ellis, a self-assured grin on her peach-painted lips.

“And he lends you his Range, right?” said Taylor.

Ellis took a sip, leaving peach lipstick on the bottle’s rim, the look in her eyes confirming yes. “And whatever other car I want from the lot.” She added. “Or so he says.”

“Sick,” nodded Taylor, raising her own bottle for an air-cheers before taking a long drink. “We’ll take my Volvo, then switch it for the Range in some parking lot.”

II.

At ten of three Taylor was driving east on the 101 over Santa Monica Boulevard, gripping the steering wheel at the bottom, the only place the rubber padding hadn’t worn through to the mottled plastic beneath.

Taking the ramp onto Sunset, she was glad to be meeting Ellis and Jess at the parking lot. It meant she could avoid picking Jess up in Encino and being subjected to all the Spanish-style mansions and sleek modernist villas. Too many times her Volvo had had to wheeze through those palm-lined streets with their perfectly maintained hedges, a far cry from her HUD apartment block in Echo Park. Although even Echo Park had been gentrified beyond recognition over the last decade. And if the letters her aunt kept getting were to be believed, more development was on its way, specifically: Palm Heights was to be razed to the ground to make way for a condo high rise that would boast panoramic views of the park, lake and downtown LA. The property association assured her aunt they’d be relocated to a block far more modern. What they weren’t so vocal about was the fact that this more modern block was in Inglewood.

Coming to a stop at a set of lights on Hollywood Boulevard, Taylor checked her phone. Over a hundred new notifications from Instagram. Smiling to herself she pressed her thumb to the touchscreen to unlock it. That amount of notifications wasn’t out of the ordinary for the Boomer Bandit, although it was a lot to get in the half hour since she last looked.

A car horn honked behind her telling Taylor she’d missed the green light. She tried to pull away too quickly, making the Volvo jerk forward and stall. Turning the key, the starter groaned without catching. She pumped the gas peddle a couple times and it worked, the engine croaking into life, Taylor reminding herself to tell Jess. That’d be their luck, hold up a liquor store, collect a fat bag of cash, make it out no problem but then the car wouldn’t start, leaving them stranded in the parking lot.

Earlier, Jess had reiterated on FaceTime about not taking her car — a brand new Lexus CT bought by daddy for her sweet sixteenth a little over a year ago — because it’s two-tone paint job made it too recognisable. She was right, although that wasn’t the reason, Jess was just scared. But damn, at least her new car started without needing to pump the gas. No, what they’d planned to do, take the Range Rover for the getaway ride and swap it for her shitty Volvo in a multi-storey parking lot. There they could remove their disguises too. Enter the lot as liquor store-robbing old ladies in a blacked-out Range, drive out as teenage girls in a Volvo. Easy.

“Okay babes, what’s the plan?”

Jess and Ellis were already parked and waiting for Taylor when she arrived. Ellis leant back against the front bumper of the Range, Jess pacing in front of her, not even waiting for Taylor to get out of her car before she said again, “Babes? What’s the plan?” Nervous, fiddling with the her rings.

“First, Little Miss Fidget, you’re gonna chill,” Taylor closed her door quietly, not slamming it, showing Jess how calm she was. Nothing to worry about. “Second, you’re gonna take off your jewels, and then we’re gonna get our old lady look on.”

Jess took a deep breath, making a real show of it. “Okay, I’m chill! Chill-chill-chill.”

Taylor raised an eyebrow.

“What? I am! Super chill. Way chiller than you.” Her voice high and shrill, a good octave away from chill.

Hopefully Jess convinced herself, thought Taylor, her eyes gliding over to Ellis, who gave a wry grin back.

“I mean like, the wider plan,” said Jess. “What car we taking? Where we hitting? What’s the route?”

Taylor nodded, stepping into Jess and hugging her, squeezing her tight.

“This is so not social distancing,” said Jess, before sighing and sinking into the hug, her arms closing around Taylor, burying her head into the L of her neck and shoulder. Her scent was fresh, no perfume, just clean and natural.

After a minute Ellis said, “You girls are cute. But Jess’ got a point, let’s get into the details.”

When Taylor and Jess had unclasped, Taylor said, “I figure we hit a liquor store on Sunset, somewhere west near the turning for Canyon. Then we can get back here in a hot minute and swap cars.”

“Sunset though?” said Jess stepping back, turning the chunkiest of her gold rings around her index finger. “Get stuck in traffic and we’re done.”

“Traffic won’t be that heavy, not yet. Anyway, Sunset stores are gonna have the fattest registers.”

Jess sighed. “Risky though.”

“High risk, high reward,” said Ellis.

“Go big or go home,” chimed Taylor.

Silence spread through the lot like a fog. They were on level nine, second from top, parked on the north edge near the exit ramp. Jess, still fiddling with her ring, gazed through the archway gap in the concrete. Far in the distance, the bottom of the sky glowed a muddy red. Smoke drifted high up into the atmosphere as if it was reaching for the sun, the muddy red turning into a mustard yellow haze, the sun a dull simulacrum up there behind it.

“So what’s the lucky store?” Asked Jess.

“Was thinking Lex’s Liquors on the corner of Sunset and Rexford.”

Jess nodded, saying nothing for a long moment. Ellis bit her lip, not anxious herself, but feeling Jess’ doubt. Using an inch-long nail, she ran a strand of cherry hair away from her face.

“You seen the press our alcohol stunt got?” Ellis turned to Jess, holding her phone out. “Vice, I-D, The Washington Post.”

“No way,” Jess squeaked taking the phone, her eyes wide. “And The New York Times!”

“We be making moves.” said Ellis, bouncing her eyebrows up and down. They had a rouge shadow powdering them, matching her cherry hair and bright red nails.

“Clout’s mad too,” Taylor glanced at Jess to catch her eye, but she was still staring down, mouth agape, at Ellis’ phone.

“Boomer Bandit’s got over six-hundred thousand followers now,” Taylor continued. “And we’ll get a whole lot more after today’s content.”

Jess whistled, her head rocking back to come forward into a nod.

“We’ll have a million followers by tomorrow,” Ellis said, taking her phone back from Jess before pouting to snap selfies.

“This vid’s gonna be straight fire,” said Taylor, opening the Volvo’s back door and retrieving a bottle of Talc, the wire-rimmed glasses and a shawl. “Ells, I’ll lead, do the talking, long as you film. That means you gotta handle both crowd control and the camera though, cool?”

“Cool as M-O-P, baby.”

“Hope it’s dead in there,” Taylor glanced at her watch. “Half three, hardly peak time.”

Ellis shrugged like it was nothing. “S’all good, hun, gun in one hand, phone in the other.”

The two girls cackled. Jess stayed quiet, wandering to the archway for some fresh air. But that acrid smell of charcoal and burnt chemicals wafted in, the tart taste sticking to the back of her throat, so she spun on her heels and returned to the girls.

“Okay, Tay, this is what I’m thinking for the content,” said Ellis, making a frame with her fingers, a director pitching his vision to the studio. “You go in first, I’ll be following you, filming from behind. Be good to get a clip of you strutting down the aisle, that shawl billowing behind you, be all cinematic ya know?”

“Surely,” offered Jess, leaning forward, cocking her head to the side. “Surely you want a liquor store with the door as close as possible to the counter, so it’s a quick in and out?”

Ellis rolled her eyes, her tone disinterested as she said, “Yeahhh, if you don’t care about production values.”

Taylor scoffed. “Let’s wig up, take some pics for the grid, then we’re good to go.”

The Range’s windows were tinted, so no one could see the three girls sitting inside. In the back Jess tapped Talc over Taylor’s dark hair, Ellis up front in the passenger seat wiping off her normal makeup. Taylor’s rich, chestnut hair went a powdery grey-brown as Jess massaged the Talc in, Taylor using an eyeliner pencil to give herself crows feet. Ellis pulled on the wig. Despite it being itchy, it made her excited. Wrapping the headscarf around and tying it under her chin, she felt like a warrior donning her suit of armour, preparing for battle.

Jess’ stomach twisted and turned as she tied her long black hair up in a bun. She’d found an old hairnet at home, bringing it along because she figured, even as the getaway driver, she wanted a disguise. Hope the public, media and authorities believed it was three old ladies.

Once their outfits were on they got into the Volvo. Pulling out of the lot, the car coughed like the engine had a chest infection. Jess pushed the pair of Jackie Onassis sunglasses up onto her head, resting on her hairnet. Sat in the back seat, Taylor told her she looked like that old movie star. The one who had breakfast.

“Aubrey Plaza,” said Ellis from the front.

“Hepburn,” corrected Jess.

“Sounds like an S-T-D,” Taylor had her phone one a selfie-stick, poking out the window and angled back on herself to take photos.

“Gross! No, that’s her name, Audrey Hepburn. Breakfast at Tiffany’s, My Fair Lady.”

“Pretty sure it’s Aubrey,” said Ellis. “But whatevs.”

The bickering was good, it took Jess’ mind off what they were about to do, stopped phrases like; armed robbery and aggravated grand larceny, running through her mind. Sitting in the driver’s seat she guided the chugging Volvo onto Sunset, dozens of red tail lights blinking at her like alarms going off. She tried to name more Audrey Hepburn movies. Monte Carlo Baby, she’d watched that with her mum last Christmas. The Unforgiven, one of her dad’s favourite westerns. How to Steal a Million, no, that didn’t help. Aiding and abetting flashed into her mind’s eye like the billboards lining the street advertising the latest Netflix series. Her palms were sweating, leaving damp on the black plastic steering wheel.

“Who would play you?” she said, glancing at Taylor in the rearview.

“Huh?” Taylor was nose down to her phone editing selfies.

“Who would play you in the movie?”

“What movie?” said Ellis.

“The movie of us. Of this.”

Ellis paused a moment. Even Taylor looked up from her screen.

“Meryl Streep,” said Taylor authoritatively.

“Meryl Streep?” Chuckled Jess, “She’s way too old.”

“She’s the only actor talented enough to capture my brilliance,” and Taylor gave a diva flick of her Talc-grey hair.

Jess rolled her eyes, smiling. She nodded at Ellis in the rearview. “Ells?”

“Either Hailee Steinfeld or Florence Pugh. How about you?”

“I like Lily James,” replied Jess. “She was so good in Baby Driver.”

“She was left to wait while Baby served twenty-five years in prison,” said Ellis, her eyes on her phone.

Taylor kicked the liquor store door open, holding the Beretta up in front of her so it was the first thing people saw. But the place was empty except for an old guy in chinos and a hispanic kid behind the counter.

Ellis tracked behind Taylor, the little derringer in one hand, her phone in the other, held up to film Taylor as she marched over to the counter. The image on the phone: the back of an old woman with long grey hair and a woollen shawl billowing behind her as she strode up to the register.

The hispanic kid, no more than twenty-one and a hundred and sixty pounds, held his hands in the air. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, panic overlaying the serene glaze of his high. He smelt of body odour and weed.

Ellis checked down the aisles.

The old guy turned slowly. He was about sixty with shoulder-length white hair and socks pulled up over his shins. Behind his glasses, his tired eyes looked annoyed rather than scared, as if this was an inconvenience he had no energy for.

“On the floor!” yelled Taylor, pushing the black pistol into his face so the barrel smooshed his bulbous nose to the side. It was swollen and red, burst blood vessels webbing their way across the skin.

“But, my golf-slacks,” and he gestured down at his clean, freshly pressed grey chinos.

“Can get dirty or they can get bloody. Your call.”

He smacked his lips together, nodding as a resigned expression blew over his face.

“I know times are tough,” he said, thinking he was talking to one of his own. “But this is no -

Taylor put the Beretta under his chin. “Down, now.”

Before he complied his eyes bounced over Taylor’s features; the hair grey with Talc, the drawn-on crows feet spidering from the corners of her eyes, and finally the glasses. Taylor was wearing the wire-rimmed frames Ellis had used when she bought the booze. The old guy squinted, staring through the tinted lenses deep into Taylor’s hazelnut eyes. He started to tilt his head quizzically, smacking his lips again, about to say something when Taylor took the gun from under his chin and pressed the barrel to his forehead, angling it so her gun-hand was above and gently pushing him down to the floor.

“You,” she swivelled round to address the kid. “Open the register, nice and slow so I don’t have to scratch this itchy trigger finger.”

It was hot behind the mask, Taylor breathing heavily, the warmth of her breath fogging up the glasses now. The shawl she’d draped over herself was a loose woollen weave, light and airy, but it was on top of an old cardigan buttoned up at the front. The layers of thick fabric made her sweat and she could feel a trail running down between her shoulder blades following her spine to the small of her back.

The hispanic kid hadn’t moved. His hands were still frozen either side of his head, fear pouring from his armpits.

“P-por favor, take whatever you want, pero no me lastimes,” he blubbered.

“I don’t speak Español. So I’ll say again: open the register and gimme the Benjamins. Comprendo, amigo?”

He gave a frantic nod and released the register with a shaking hand, the cheerful ding ringing through the store.

Taylor checked behind her. Ellis had her gun pointed down at the old golfer but her eyes on her phone. On its screen an old woman blew a kiss to the camera.

“Ladies,” said the golfer from the floor. “If you need money, I can help. But this is no way to conduct yourselves.”

“Okay, boomer,” said Ellis. “You want bullets for dentures? Shut up and kiss the floor.”

Grabbing the wad of cash from the kid’s hand, Taylor stuffed it down into the pocket of her shawl.

“And we’re out,” she tapped Ellis on the arm as she passed her and Ellis followed, one hand still pointing the derringer, the other filming Taylor rushing out the door, a gust of wind blowing in from outside and making her shawl billow behind her like a cape.

“Drive, drive, drive!”

Jess had sat idling in first gear, the Volvo glugging there on the asphalt, now lurching forward as Jess slammed her foot on the gas, the rusty station wagon groaning out of the parking lot as Taylor and Ellis howled in celebration.

“That was lit!”

“We did it, baby!”

“No one got hurt?” Asked Jess, keeping her foot on the gas as they hurtled through the Sunset traffic, the tyres screaming as they veered left missing an SUV by a breath.

Ellis rolled her eyes and Taylor kissed her teeth as the momentum threw her into the side door. “We shot an old guy in chinos.”

“Tay!”

“It was chill, Jess, we were in an’ out like a burger.”

Jess nodded to herself, taking a deep breath, her eyes scanning the road ahead.

“What’s the content saying?” Taylor shook her hair out breathing a loud sigh of relief.

Ellis still had her phone in her hand, putting the derringer down on the backseat between her and Taylor. Her head was bowed, finger on the screen as she toggled through the footage.

“This vid’s gonna slay.”

“Good thing too,” said Jess, slowing to fifty as they neared Lexington. “Bunch of teens in Austin and Denver copied our stunt.”

“The hell?!” said Taylor, venom in her voice.

Jess shrugged, her shoulders lifting up to her ears and hitting her gold hoop rings

“There’s like three new videos of different old ladies buying booze.”

Taylor huffed annoyance.

“Wait till they cop our latest,” said Ellis. “Let’s see ‘em copy that, huh Tay?”

Taylor squinted, running her tongue bar against her teeth as she thought. The silver clinked on the bone. “We need to go bigger,” she said, her voice hard.

“Bigger?” Ellis and Jess replied in union. But Jess’ voice was five notes higher. She swung the Volvo onto Canyon, barreling along the road for two minutes that should’ve been ten, before clattering into the lot and onto the ramp for the second, third, fourth floor, tyres screeching at every turn, Jess trying to remember where the Range was parked, knowing it was somewhere close to the top but her mind felt like scrambled eggs.

“There’ll always be copycats,” answered Taylor, her tone tired. “We gotta level up.” And she nodded to herself, as if she’d just made up her mind.

“What you thinking?” Ellis put her phone away and turned to Taylor, shifting her body round so she could face her.

Taylor didn’t answer for a minute, waiting till they’d jerked to a halt next to the Range on the ninth floor. Her lips still tight, Taylor stepped out of the Volvo and examined herself in the SUV’s gleaming paint job, taking a long breath staring at her black reflection. The adrenaline still thundered through her, feeling her heart beat as if it wanted to escape her chest and fly away.

“We’re gonna hit a bank,” she said flatly, letting the statement hang in the air like a bad smell.

“You’re crazy,” laughed Ellis after a long nervous minute.

Taylor smiled, putting on a stuffy professor’s voice. “You really shouldn’t use that word you know, Ells, it enforces a negative stigma around mental health,” and she gave a smug hair flick to punctuate a point eloquently made.

“No way.” Jess was shaking her head emphatically. “No way am I robbing a bank. Not me, nuh uh.”

Taylor walked round the back of the Volvo to open the driver-side door. Jess looked up at her with big Bambi eyes.

“Why you shook?” Taylor’s tone was calm. “We just knocked over a liquor store and it was easy as apple pie.”

“But a bank. That’s a lot.”

“Nah, this is a lot.” Taylor gestured to the parking structure, rolling her eyes right over to Ellis, who was out of the car too, standing beside the bonnet running her nails through her long cherry hair.

“Bitch, you in?” Taylor back-nodded her head to Ellis.

“Straight up,” said Ellis, not missing a beat. “We could do it on the Live. It’d pop off.”

Taylor clicked her fingers into a gun pointing at Ellis. “Now that’s an idea.”

Ellis adopted big puppy-dog eyes to look at Jess. “We’ll need a wheel-woman.”

“No wayyy. You know how long you get for armed robbery?”

Ellis glanced at Taylor, who shrugged, and Ellis mirrored the shrug, returning her gaze to Jess.

“Nor do I,” said Jess, stepping out of the driver seat. “But a long time, I bet.”

“We’re not gonna get caught. Not with a good getaway driver.” Taylor winked at Jess.

Taylor took Jess’ hand without saying anything and led her to the north edge of the parking lot, the cement arch windowing the view outside.

“See that?” Taylor asked, nodding out to the sky glowing orange in the distance above a silhouetted Californian mountain range.

“The wildfires?”

“California’s literally burning to the ground. And the rest of the planet’s next. Now I ain’t some tree-hugging, granola-munching, earth-squirter, but it’s obvious that the world is going to trash. And as much as I love that Greta Thumbletwat or whatever her name is, unless everyone, everyone — narcissistic billionaires, multinational corporations and tech conglomerates included — pulls together to recycle and live sustainably and all that jazz, which they won’t, then this planet’s supremely fucked. So fuck it. I’m throwing caution to the smokey-ass wind, and I’m doing whatever the hell I want. And I want to rob a goddamn bank, film that shit, and get Insta-famous.”

“Inspiring pep talk,” said Jess. “But I’m no bank robber.”

“Trust me, the police are too busy putting out wildfires to bother with a little bank heist.”

Jess sighed.

“You know what I saw on the news the other day?” Taylor didn’t wait for Jess to answer. “Fire tornadoes. They’re an actual thing now. Fire. Tornadoes. Whirling cylinders of fire from the ground up into the sky.”

“That video,” Jess’ voice was quiet. “The guy driving along the interstate with the mountain on fire, it literally looks like Hell."

“Not to mention we’ve got a reality TV sex pest as president who’s recommending we drink bleach to kill Covid. Oh, and Tory-dumbass-Lanez shot Megan Thee Stallion.” Taylor shook her head. “Screw this world. I’m robbing two banks.”

Jess chuckled to herself, the ridiculousness of it, but also knowing Taylor was so buckwild crazy she’d do it. Taylor took her hand again, her thumb and forefinger rubbing over Jess’ biggest gold ring. She glanced at her friend, raising an eyebrow. Jess let out a sound that was halfway between a huff and a chuckle.

“Fine. I’ll be the wheelman, again.”

Taylor smiled. “Wheel-woman.”

Ellis, who’d been hanging back, stepped in on the other side of Jess, taking her free hand. “Wheel-bitch,” and sticking her tongue out. Her wig off but still wearing the rest of her disguise so she was an obnoxious old lady with red hair and an attitude.

All three burst into laughter, which swiftly turned into coughing.

“Damn this air,” spluttered Taylor.

“Smokey and the Bandit out here,” rasped Ellis.

“Let’s go home and count our cash.”

“And check our clout!”

III.

Taylor crossed the lot hunching her back and staring down at her shuffling feet in white socks and Birkenstocks. She didn’t care that it had become acceptable, even fashionable, to wear socks with sandals, it was a trash look and always would be. But along with the woollen shawl, the talc greying her hair and the surgical mask over her mouth and nose, Taylor felt like she rocked the old lady vibe better than most.

Ellis shuffled beside her, wearing the same disguise she’d used for the alcohol buy; the grey and white wig, the head scarf knotted under her chin, and of course the mask. Only difference being Taylor had on the tinted glasses, telling Ellis on FaceTime last night that she was the one approaching the teller, getting close asking for the money so Taylor insisted she wore them.

They had figured out the plan then too, chatting through how Taylor would approach the counter to get the cash then give Ellis a nod and that was the signal for Ellis to start filming. Taylor would shoot the ceiling while Ellis held her gun on the crowd and filmed the performance to get that dope content. They were hitting the Allied National bank on Beverly Boulevard and Fairfax, starting across the asphalt at nine-thirty in the morning, hoping it would be quiet then. Ellis had been in there recently and knew they only had one guard stationed by the revolving door.

Now, pushing through that door with one hand, the other one holding her phone filming Taylor as she hobbled through the foyer, Ellis remembered how much the wig made her head itch. She was supposed to get the derringer out, tucked under the front of her bra, but had to adjust the wig as subtly as possible while trying to keep the back of Taylor in frame.

Glancing around the bank’s main floor, Taylor counted three customers, two cashiers sat behind bullet-proof glass, and the guard stood behind them to the left of the entrance and exit. In a pandemic, with the world wearing masks, everyone looks like a bank robber. The guard had a cool camo one, the sandy colours matching his beige uniform. Taylor walked forward gingerly, coming to stand a few feet behind a tall black guy who’s thin frame barely filled out the LA Lakers vest he wore. The other two customers were at the counter in front of each of the cashiers.

Ellis stayed behind Taylor, peering round the bank, turning her head slowly as if her neck was stiff, just another old lady having an innocent look around, but also glimpsing down her nose to check her phone screen; turning it left and right to slyly film the setting. They were on Instagram Live and already the comments were popping off.

No way!

The Boomer Bandit in action

You girls are wild!!!

Ellis’ heart pounded with adrenaline, but the comments, the likes, the emojis, the hearts bubbling up from the bottom of the screen, they made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside. In her mind Ellis ran through the plan again: Taylor holds her phone up to the glass so the teller can read the message on it:

Put five thousand in the tote bag. Tens. Twenties. Fifties. Unmarked, non-consecutive bills. No dye packs. No tracers. And no notes from the bottom of the register.

Once Tay had the money she’d take out the Beretta from under her shawl and that was the sign for Ellis to get her Derringer pointed at the guard. Taylor would then shoot the ceiling, Ellis filming her doing it while Taylor yelled the line they’d settled on.

They had run through a bunch of options, Ellis pitching the more sardonic ideas like; Yes everyone, well observed, this is indeed a bank robbery. Taylor nodding over FaceTime saying she liked it, but it wasn’t punchy enough and suggesting the more succinct; Get your hands up and heads down, this is a hold-up!

Now, as Ellis watched the cashier’s eyes bulge reading Taylor’s phone pressed against the bullet-proof glass, Taylor muttering soothing tones, the cashier — a middle-aged Asian-American woman with black hair — gave shallow nods of her head like she was scared to move too much.

Ellis turned round to check the other customers, someone standing behind her now, someone new, a man in his thirties, a Led-Zep-something band T-shirt and long brown hair. How many customers was that now? Four. Or had one of them left, the one that was at the counter before Taylor? Shit, plus the guard. Ellis blinked at the band T-shirt guy, staring from him to the space between them before coughing. He got the hint, taking a step back and rolling his lips in apologetically. Ellis smiled behind her mask, giving him an appreciative nod.

As she turned back to face front, she saw the teller placing wads of notes in Taylor’s canvas tote bag, so Ellis’ free hand slipped into her blouse to pull out the Derringer. The gun was obscured by the long sleeves, so no one could see her finger hovering over the trigger. With her other hand Ellis surreptitiously angled her phone at Taylor.

That was when she heard Taylor say, “Alright buckoes,” and watched in slow motion as her friend flung half the shawl open to whip out the black Beretta and let a round off into the ceiling. The line was different to what they’d rehearsed last night, Taylor going off script, but sounding cool as she yelled, “Everyone on the fucking floor like your lives depend on it, which they do!”

Ellis half turned her body, the phone in her right hand still on Taylor, her stance opening so the Derringer in her left hand could rise and land on the guard behind her.

“Don’t even think about it, desert storm,” said Ellis, the guard reaching for his standard-issue firearm.

He froze a moment, before raising his hands, palms facing Ellis to show they were empty.

“Kneel on the floor like you’re ‘bout to blow me,” ad-libbing too, she thought to herself, and it sounded fire.

Her heart was beating up in her mouth now. Her hand gripped the gun tight, as if it was a cobra that had lunged forward to bite her. The trigger felt cold against her fingertip. She glanced at her phone, seeing Taylor on the screen, watching her shoulder her arm through the tote bag’s straps while comments flooded in.

WTF you crayyy!!

This gotta be fake

How much u get?!

While pointing the gun at the band T-shirt guy, now lying face-down on the bank’s carpeted floor, Ellis circled round Taylor, keeping her in frame so the camera panned like a Michael Bay action scene, Will Smith and Martin Lawrence rising in slow motion, guns drawn and their serious faces on.

With Taylor on her other side, closer to the exit now, they started towards the revolving door. Ellis kept Taylor in frame holding the phone up at shoulder-height, all those likes, comments, and emojis filling her dilated pupils. With her eyes glued to the screen, Ellis had drifted out wide and didn’t see band T-shirt guy’s arm, spread out on the floor just like he’d been told. Ellis adjusted the frame so Taylor was perfectly centred. Hearts floated up the side of the screen and Ellis licked her lips as she shuffled backwards. That’s when her heel caught and she tripped over his arm, an old lady dropping her phone and falling. Hitting the floor made her gun go off, the bullet finding the glass right above the guard who was knelt by the revolving door. It all happened in the blink of a frame; the guard returning fire at Ellis, the report snapping loud and Ellis jerking backwards like a fisherman’s hook had caught in her shoulder and the owner of the line had yanked her back.

Ellis’ phone was still streaming. The screen stared up at the bank’s ceiling, the perfect frame now capturing dull grey paint soundtracked by the screams and panic that swept through the foyer.

“Ells!” Taylor yelled too late, wondering why she’d even yelled and not just immediately pointed her gun at the guard, forgetting she had it in the chaos of the moment.

In the corner of her eye she saw Ellis on the floor, Taylor firing at the guard then, the kickback of the gun taking her by surprise this time, the Beretta jumping in her hand so she almost dropped it. She saw the shot hit the guard in his side, making him drop his weapon, and it was only a few steps forward to kick the gun away from him before Taylor ran over to Ellis, pointing her gun at anyone who attempted to get up.

“Stay on the floor!” The words screamed now, not delivered with the rehearsed cool of before.

Taylor grabbed the smartphone before pulling Ellis up onto her feet. “Come on.” And she let off another couple of rounds into the ceiling, getting a feel for the kickback and liking how the gun thudded into her palm — the assertiveness of it reassuring amongst the bedlam — as they disappeared behind a shower of plaster and grey paint, backing into the revolving door.

“Floor it, Jess!”

“Oh god, Ells…”

“Don’t worry about Ells. She’s gonna be one-hundred, just get us outa here!”

Jess was flustered and tried to throw the Volvo into gear but the clutch stuck making the car jerk forward and stall with a harsh, metallic clunk.

“Oh god oh god oh god,” Jess’ voice was panicked, the words were short little stabs into the air as she glanced from the gear stick to the rearview, seeing Ellis in the back lying up against Taylor, blood blooming through her white blouse, red roses that weren’t supposed to be there. Jess cupped her hand over her mouth, thinking she was going to vomit.

Fear filled the car like a hotbox. Sitting there, three dumb ducks in front of the bank for a nerve-shredding ten seconds that may as well have been eternity. Taylor seeing the security guard inside, talking into his radio now.

“It’s the clutch,” said Taylor, gritting her teeth, trying to stay calm. “I told you, the clutch sticks.”

“Oh god, oh god,”

Taylor untied Ellis’ headscarf and pressed it against her shoulder, making Ellis cry out in pain, the sharp sound piercing through the terror that filled the car.

“Hold this here, babes. You’re gonna be all good. Jess, pump the gas and turn the key,” Taylor’s tone getting fraught through her locked jaw. “Pump the fucking gas!”

“It won’t start!” Jess crying now. “It won’t -

And then the engine grumbled to life, Jess slamming her foot on the gas and the car tore away leaving half the tyres’ rubber on the asphalt.

Doing ninety heading north on Fairfax avenue, Jess jerked the steering wheel left to barely avoid side-swiping an SUV. Her fingers were red gripping the steering wheel so tight, its bare plastic moist with her sweat.

“Jess, I know we gotta get this one to the hospital, but speeding’s a great way to attract more attention.”

“Oh god, where we going? We need to switch cars you want me to head to the lot or the hospital we should switch first right they’re gonna be looking for this car oh god what if Ells dies.” Jess didn’t take a breath, her thoughts flooding out like a stream of consciousness.

Taylor tried to take a deep breath but it caught in her chest, feeling as if she was under water, being dragged deeper down.

“They already know we ducked in a Volvo, so if the hospital reports it, no loss. But if we drop Ells in the Range our cover car’s blown too.”

Ellis was breathing short shallow breaths now, going into shock, Taylor worried. She pulled grey hair away from Ellis’ face, stuck to the side with sweat. “Breathe slowly, Ells. You’re gonna be fine. Let’s get this wig off.”

Ellis groaned and whimpered at the same time.

“I know, I know. We gonna drop you at the hospital and they’ll fix you up.”

“What’s she gonna tell them?”

Taylor gently pulled off the wig, easing it away from Ellis’ head so as not to move her

“Hit and run,” Tay answered once the wig was off. “Ells? Can you hear me?”

“Prick didn’t shoot me in the ear,” said Ellis, coughing as she spoke.

“That’s it, sass me. Now, what you gonna tell the doctors?”

“Got shot during a bank heist.”

“Girl you’re funny. For real though?”

Ellis grunted shifting her body and her shoulder squelched with the movement.

“Let’s get that blouse off and use it to stop the bleeding.”

Grimacing, Ellis said, “Say I got mugged in Inglewood.”

“That’ll do. Believable. By who? For what?”

“Fuck, sake. Not see me… bleeding out here.” Her words were snatched between short pinches of breath.

Taylor swallowed, staring at the red stain that kept getting bigger, wading through the blouse, the headscarf. She was running out of fabric, forcing herself to smile and say, “Calm down, Tim Roth, it’s no gut shot. Bit of gauze, few stitches, you’ll be giving your sugar Daddy reach-arounds again in no time.”

That made Ellis chuckle, wincing with the effort.

“Bitch, don’t make me laugh.”

“I can’t help being hilarious.”

Ellis nodded and coughed at the same time, another whimper escaping, the pain pushing it out.

Jess took a corner too quickly, the momentum throwing Taylor into the door and pushing Ellis up against her. Ellis cried out in agony.

Taylor was about to swear at Jess but sirens cut her off.

“Oh god oh god oh god.”

“Jess, be chill.”

“We were stuck outside that bank for like an hour, they’re looking for three old ladies in a rubbish Volvo.”

“It was thirty seconds max. But year, fair point. Get off the mains, take Harpers then Rosewood.”

Ellis moaned in pain.

“Damn, this one’s still bleeding.”

Ellis turned her head to look up at Taylor like a child wondering why their mother had taken the bottle away. “I meeeean,” added Taylor, “You’re looking a million bucks.”

“You should, take a pic… For The Gram.”

“You kidding me?”

She felt Ellis shrug against her ribs.

“You’re too much.” Taylor raised her shoulder, leaning over as little as possible, trying not to unsettle Ellis, and pulled out her phone.

“How. Much. We get?” Her words coming slower now, staggered.

“Lemme count. Meantime, tell me what you got robbed for, huh?”

“My Bape hoodie and new Supra kicks.”

“With the glitter gold logo and lining? They’re lit. Damn, that cashier only gave me three racks.”

“Better’n… nothing.” Ellis’ voice was getting quieter now, as if it was too much effort to speak.

“Ells,” Taylor’s voice a bit louder now, trying to maintain Ellis’ attention. “Stay with me. These dicks that robbed and shot you, who were they? What they look like? They white? Black? Hispanic? What?”

“Screwed, if I know.”

“Hospitals always tell the feds about gunshot wounds, it’s like a law. So your story gotta be air tight, okay? I need you to focus and gimme some details.”

Ells nodded with great effort. “They were black. And white.”

“And white? In Inglewood?

“I don’t wanna… sound racist.” Her words were real slow now, slurring together.

“It’s imaginary.”

“Imaginary racist.”

“Whatever. I’ma let you bleed to death then.”

“Nooo,” whined Ellis like a three-year old when their toy’s taken away.

“Aight, so how many were there?”

“Three. All girls.”

“All girls, yeah, I like that. Why’d they shoot you though?”

“Cos I… resisted. And the one did it, had… something to prove.”

“Like an initiation or something,” Taylor nodded. “That’s tight.”

“You know… what’s not… tight?”

Ellis’ eyes said the rest and Taylor pressed the headscarf against the leaking hole in her friend’s shoulder, the fabric already sodden with blood.

The SUV was quiet. Taylor hummed a generic melody trying to distract herself from the sick sort of silence that filled the Range’s spacious interior.

Jess’ knuckles were white gripping the armrest, tapping her chunky gold rings against the leather as they cruised south down the 5 towards San Diego.

After they’d dropped Ellis at the hospital — Jess saying she should go with her and stay, make sure Ellis was okay, Taylor pointing out she couldn’t because of Covid — Jess had broken down crying. Taylor had slammed the door of the Volvo then, helping Ellis hobble through the entrance, Jess’s muffled sobbing like a whining dog shut in the car.

In the hospital waiting room Ellis had collapsed into the nearest chair and told Taylor to get out of there, she’d be fine. She kissed Ellis’ forehead gently, smiling at her for a second before leaving quick as she could without running.

Jess was still snivelling behind the wheel so Taylor gave her a Kleenex and told her to sit in the passenger seat. Then they swapped cars and put some distance between them and South Central. Now, thirty miles out of LA, at San Clemente, Taylor pulled over so Jess could vomit up bile and Evian for a few minutes.

On the seafront highway, Taylor took the time to throw their disguises over the edge of the cliff. The wig, the wire-rimmed glasses and Jess’ hairnet disappeared into the surf and spray two hundred feet below. The wig caught a warm air current and seemed to float upwards for a moment like some fat grey squirrel refusing to die, struggling upwards before it fell, swallowed by the North Pacific waves crashing against rocks.

Jess finished retching by the roadside, getting up from all fours to tie her hair in a bun.

“Better leave your hair down, hun, less recognisable,” said Taylor leaning against the back door of the Range, not even looking at Jess, Taylor’s eyes were glued to her phone as she edited the bank robbery footage.

Jess opened the passenger door and pulled herself up into the seat. With the door still open she leant out to glare at the phone in Taylor’s hands.

“You’re not serious?”

“What?” Replied Taylor with an affected air of innocence.

“For one; posting video evidence of the robbery is next level dumb. And two; Ells was shot.”

“Obvs I’m not gonna upload that part. Just the cool bit.”

“Still though,” said Jess, sucking in the fresh sea air. “That’s self-snitching.”

“Rappers do it on a regular.”

“And they get arrested with their own incriminating social posts being used as proof against them.”

Taylor bit her lip for a short moment. “Not all of them,” she tried. “And most of them get rich off their socials.” Chewing that lip now, holding her hand over her face against the dust and dirt kicked up from an eighteen-wheeler whooshing past. “We were wearing disguises, and I’ll be hightailing it through Mexico. Anyway, it’s worth it for the clout.”

“Is it though?”

“First you get the clout. Then you get the power. Then you get the money.”

“Okay,” Jess blinked at her best friend. “How, exactly?”

“The interviews. The exclusives.” Taylor trailed off, thinking. “They’ll pay.”

“Yeah but, on the run?”

“The story,” said Taylor, sweeping her hand as if painting the words in the air. “As it unfolds.”

Jess shook her head, weary. “The Gram will ban you.”

“There’ll always be ways to post. If not The Gram, then Snapchat. If not Snap, then TikTok.”

“So you’re gonna live life on the lam now? And how long you gonna be able to cruise around in Ellis’ Range?”

Taylor shrugged. “I’ve got a plan for that. Ellis told me a trick she got off her sugar daddy. High-end cars, if they’re second hand, dealers don’t bother putting GPS in the vehicles. You can drop a grand for the down-payment, give a bunch of fake details, and drive out in a hundred-grand car.”

Jess couldn’t help but laugh. Then she took a big, dubious breath getting out of the Range. Even on the edge of the highway with cars and trucks bombing by, the silence between them was swollen.

After a minute Taylor offered Jess her cut of the money. Jess gave a mild smile shaking her head, saying, No thanks, you keep it. Jess’ eyes shifted from her friend to the long strip of grey asphalt in the background, reaching towards San Diego and Mexico behind it.

Taylor hugged Jess.

“Still not social distancing.”

“You love it,” said Taylor quietly.

“I ain’t mad at it,” muffled Jess into Taylor’s shoulder. When they broke away, Jess said, “You sure you wanna do this?” Her voice scared, her eyes fat with worry.

Taylor shrugged, gazing beyond Jess back at Los Angeles and its burnt umber sky. Out here away from the city and near the ocean, the air was clear, free from the acrid smell of the wildfires.

“Don’t worry about me.” Forcing on a smile like a kid dressed in clothes her mum made her wear. “I’ll drop you at Oceanside, that cool?” offered Taylor.

“Thanks,” said Jess kicking at some sandy dirt at the roadside. “I’m good though. I’ll get the bus.” Jess pushing out a smile now, too. “What if the clout thing doesn’t work out?”

“And I run out of cream? There’s always Only Fans,” winked Taylor, and she hopped up into the driver’s seat, shutting the door and speeding off while there was a gap in the highway, showering Jess in a cloud of dust and dirt.