Lynette took me for ice-cream at Mel's Drive-In in West Hollywood. When I was younger it was my favourite place to go. A fifties diner featured in the movie American Graffiti, Mel's served traditional American food like hamburgers, hot dogs and French fries. Best of all, Mel's was open all night, and I had many fond memories of late-night excursions for banana splits and ice-cream floats. In the early days we never had anything to eat in the house, as Lynette was used to grabbing food at work and didn't think to bring any home. She had tried everything to make me happy, even if it meant plying me with as many sweets as I wanted. When she saw me at the hospital, looking like a zombie and rubbing tears from my face, I guess she resorted to what she knew best. And as I pulled up a counter seat and ordered a double malt milkshake, I'll be damned if I didn't feel a hell of a lot better.

Lynette picked at some chilli fries as I downed the milkshake with three quick gulps through the straw. *Mmmmm,' I said, slamming the glass on the counter. *That's the ticket. Better than crack.'

*You want another one?'

*Hell yeah.'

Lynette ordered me another milkshake and I started to eat her fries. *Help yourself,' she muttered.

*Don't mind if I do.'

We sat and ate and watched people come and go. A waitress rolled by on roller skates. *Feels like old times,' Lynette said.

*Sure does.'

*Remember when we used to come here at least three times a week?'

*Because you had no idea what to do with me.'

Lynette laughed. *I still don't.'

*Oh come on,' I said, stuffing her fries into my mouth. *I'm not that bad am I?'

*Not bad at all. You're great.'

We said nothing for a moment. I shovelled more fries into my mouth.

*So what's going on, Hilda?'

I stared into the centre of my shake glass.

*I feel like everyone leaves me,' I said. *Or I end up having to leave them.'

*I haven't left you.'

*But you want to, right? I mean, I've been a real bitch.'

*We've both given each other a hard time.'

I heard her cell phone ringing in her pocket. She scooped it out and pressed the silence button.

*I'll take it later,' she said.

*It's okay. It could be some innocent man sitting on death row, and for all we know you're his last phone call.'

*He can wait.'

I continued to shovel fries into my mouth, ravenous.

*We don't really talk much do we?' Lynette said.

*I guess we don't.'

*We never did really. Your dad didn't like me "interfering".'

*You were pretty hard on him.'

Lynette gave me a surprised look. *How do you know?'

*I remember things. Flashes. You two arguing about Dad letting me watch Revenge of the Nerds.'

*My, you do remember a lot.'

*Not a lot. Just some things.'

*What else do you remember?'

I swirled a French fry in ketchup, made little patterns with the salty tip. *I remember Mom. She liked wearing kaftans.'

*She sure did,' Lynette said, laughing. *Your grandmother did too. The whole family was a bunch of hippies. I guess I was always the black sheep.'

To my surprise Lynette looked dejected. I'd always pictured her as strong and stubborn, not someone who would care what anyone else thought. She took her hand away from mine, started flicking through the jukebox on the table. No one in the restaurant had put a song in the jukebox for at least five minutes, and I could tell the silence was making everyone uneasy. Lynette opened her purse and took out two quarters.

*You want to choose a song?' she asked, tapping the coins on the table.

This was something else we did when I was a kid. One song each. There was something about a jukebox that meant making a selection was special. Anyone could just keep jamming coins in, without paying attention to what was being chosen. To be allowed only one song out of all those hundreds made the whole enterprise worthwhile, gave it some gravity. After making a selection I loved to watch the faces of the diners around me, see whether they agreed with my purchase or not. Some lady might screw her nose up in annoyance, but a biker might start tapping his foot under the table, making me feel like I'd found a kindred spirit. Out of all the people who had come to this diner, I had found someone like me. I gave one of the coins back to Lynette.

*You first.'

Lynette put the coin in the slot and I heard it rattle down to the bottom of the machine. Her beautiful, manicured fingers pushed two buttons together, and the sound of Elvis singing *Hound Dog' erupted through the diner speakers.

*A bit obvious,' I said. *Everyone likes Elvis.'

*Nothing wrong with a crowd-pleaser,' she said. *Sometimes it's perfectly okay to be like everyone else.'

I pushed my empty milkshake glass aside. I was still starving. I wanted burgers and fries and pancakes and whatever else was on offer. I wanted to eat until I was so sick I couldn't possible think of anything else but the discomfort in my stomach. Eating burgers seemed normal. Sitting in a diner was normal. It was more normal than being in a hospital, holding your friend's hand while he told you he had some big terrible secret, like a dumb scene from the soap opera General Hospital. I didn't want to know what terrible sins Hank thought he was hiding. Part of me wished he would die before he could ever tell me.

*Hilda, I know living with me has been hard. I know I'm very different from your mom and dad, maybe a bit too serious, too forceful.'

*Nah, you're cool,' I said, eager to wipe the hurt from her eyes. I'd never thought about how hard it might be for Lynette to live with me.

*I don't know what was going on back there at the hospital,' she continued. *You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, and I'm not going to force it out of you. We don't really work that way. It's something I've kind of prided myself on, letting you make decisions on your own. Just know that if you need my help, I'm there. Don't be too proud to ask for it.'

*Okay, Aunt Lynette. Thanks.'

*And if you need anyone arrested, just let me know. I can get it done. I know people.'

I laughed. At that moment I wanted to tell her everything, open my mouth and tell her all about Hank and Jake, the places I visited every day, and what I thought Hank planned on asking me to do. I wanted to tell her about Benji, how he had changed. But something stopped me. Deep down I knew that if I told her what had gone on at the hospital, I might never get to hear what Hank had to say, and never have the chance to help him do what he needed to do.

I picked up the remaining quarter from the table just as Elvis finished. *My turn,' I said, and put the coin in the slot. I pushed two buttons I knew by heart and waited. The familiar sound of the circus-like keyboard started and Lynette smiled.

*"California Girls". Talk about being predictable!'

*Everybody loves "California Girls",' I said. *Remember, sometimes it's perfectly okay to be like everybody else.'

THIRTY-SIX.

When I got home all I wanted to do was sleep: crawl into bed, throw the covers over my head and never come out. Jake hadn't called. At that point I hoped Jake and Hank never contacted me again, that they would disappear from my life just as fast as they had arrived. If Hank wanted to die he would have to do it without me. I'd rather forget I ever knew him than live through losing him, losing anyone, ever again.

But I couldn't sleep. I turned on the television; there was nothing but infomercials and music videos full of hos dancing in front of gangsters. I turned off the TV and put on my headphones, but even the haunting, pitch-perfect voice of Karen Carpenter couldn't soothe me. I had that old death itch. I wanted to hide in corpses, find comfort in the dead. I jumped online, went to all the usual sites, but nothing was helping. Even newly posted pics of Diana's car crash weren't enough to get me excited. Seeing that tuft of beautiful blonde hair sticking out of the crushed BMW just made me feel even sadder. I started to wonder what was wrong with me.

I checked my email. There was a message from Benji; the subject heading read GOLDFISH. I looked at Sid, now renamed Dee Dee after my favourite Ramone, swimming happily in circles in his new bowl from Petco, his scales glistening a healthy orange. I tapped on the glass and he turned his little fish head to look at me: it looked like he was smiling, but it could have just been my imagination. I considered just deleting the email, pretending I never got it. But there was something inside me that couldn't write Benji off quite yet, and now that my relationships with Hank and Jake were disintegrating, it actually felt good to see Benji's name in my inbox. I took a deep breath and opened the email.

Yo, So how's it going? Sorry it's been a while but I've been really busy-me and the guys have been on so many road trips I'm hardly home anymore. It's crazy. Tomorrow we're going to the shooting range. I'm getting good but not as good as Dan. He's got a semi automatic (don't ask me how he got it) like the one Eric Harris had. Its sick ass.

Anyways, I just wanted to know if you knew what happened to my goldfish? I looked for it today in the cupboard and it was gone. My robe's gone too. Mom said she didn't do anything with it so I thought you might know. Anyways, no big deal. It's just weird you know? I was getting some good data.

There's going to be a party soon and if you want you can come. I think you'll be pretty surprised by where it is. It will be the coolest party you have ever been to. So come if you want.

B.

*What do you think Dee Dee?' I asked my goldfish. *You wanna go to a party?'

His mouth formed an *o' and I don't know if it was because I was just really tired but I swear it looked like he was saying no, no, no, and little bubbles started to pop to the surface. I rubbed my eyes, looked at the clock. It was 2 a.m., and I hadn't felt this alone in a very long time. *You love me don't you, Dee Dee?' I asked. Of course he did. He had to; I'd saved his life. Is that what it takes to get someone to love you? I turned off the computer, got into bed, and decided to think about it all in the morning, because tomorrow, as they said in the movies, would be another day.

THIRTY-SEVEN.

The next day brought no answers, so I went looking for them. After wandering around the house aimlessly all morning, I decided to take a cab to Westwood Cemetery to see Marilyn Monroe's grave. Marilyn was the most misunderstood woman in the world, and no matter how much she achieved she was destined to wander the world alone, and die the same way. If anyone could make me feel better it was her.

Westwood was a small cemetery, hidden behind the skyscrapers of downtown Wilshire. Truman Capote was buried there. Dean Martin. Natalie Wood. Jack Lemmon. Rodney Dangerfield had a headstone that read *There Goes The Neighbourhood'. But Marilyn was the biggest star, the one we all came to see. Her crypt was towards the back and you could see it in the distance, the bright colours of a hundred roses, pictures and teddy bears left every day by adoring fans. Already I could see there were people there, a large group of tourists, cameras raised, packed lunches carried in bus tour backpacks. I walked over. Marilyn's crypt in the wall was covered in bright red lipstick kisses. People had scribbled their names on it, left her messages, prayed at her feet. A woman in the crowd turned to her friend.

*Did you know Marilyn was a size sixteen?' she squawked.

*Sixteen? My goodness. She would never have gotten work today.'

*Not a chance in hell. She was a very big girl.'

I wanted to scream, tell them to leave her alone. What more did they want from her? Marilyn was hounded all her life and now, even in death, she was given no peace. Some people believed Marilyn had been murdered by the Kennedys or the CIA, but I didn't believe that. Marilyn just wanted to die. Sometimes when people want to die, there is nothing that can be done, no way to stop them. And wasn't it their right to die if they wished? Who were we to tell others they had to live?

I turned away from them. Graveyards weren't for dead people, they were for us; reassurance that we wouldn't be forgotten when we were gone, that something would remain. I found a concrete seat near the grave of Billy Wilder, sat there and stared at the headstones, the peaceful finality of it all. I don't know how long I was there, but when I looked up it was starting to get dark. I took a cab back to Encino.

THIRTY-EIGHT.

When I got home Lynette wasn't there, and I was happy to have the house to myself. I walked into my room, thinking I might keep reading American Psycho. I didn't really have the stomach for it anymore: the violence just seemed like violence, with no hidden, deeper meaning. Still, I picked the book up anyway, not knowing what to do with myself, and determined that life should get back to normal. I held the book in my hands, but only skimmed the page. I glanced around my room, once again struck by its barrenness. It still pretty much looked like a guest room, with its bare walls and sparse decor.

It really was time for me to start making the space my own. Perhaps I would still be there in a few years time, now that moving in with Benji was most likely off the cards. I could extend my artefacts collection into a space larger than a single shelf, maybe a glass cabinet similar to Benji's, and I could put framed posters from my favourite movies on the walls: Harold & Maude, Mulholland Drive, Animal House.

I thought of Jake, his tidy apartment, and wondered what he was doing now. I found myself thinking about all the years I had lived without knowing him, and wondered what he had been doing all that time.

It was then that I saw the photograph pinned to my corkboard, a photograph that hadn't been there when I left for the cemetery early that morning, a photograph I had never seen before. It was an old-fashioned Polaroid of a young woman with long, auburn hair parted down the middle, a baby in her arms. My first reaction was that it was my mother. The baby, wrapped in a soft blue blanket, looked up at the woman in wonder, a hint of a smile on its tiny face. I knew who the baby was. The baby was me. I had that blanket until I was at least eight, had it in the backseat with me when our car ran into that truck, carried it all the way to the hospital and wouldn't let the nurse take it from me no matter how gently she pulled on it.

That's when I realised who the woman was. It was Lynette, of course. The woman who had told my mother off for letting me watch Porky's when I was six, who had walked past me nearly every day for the last ten years and barely brushed against me. Here she was, staring down at me with a large smile on her face, teeth showing, hand wrapped tightly around the blanket, keeping me safe. I wished that I had been shown this photo before, wondered why it should make such a difference. But it did. The fact that Lynette had pinned it there herself told me all I needed to know. Lynette and I would be okay, perhaps better than okay. I took the photo off the board and placed it on my desk. I would buy a frame for it in the morning. It would be the first picture on my wall. It was small, but it was a good start.

I heard something at my bedroom window, the sound of branches snapping. I pulled up the blinds, expecting to find a possum or the neighbour's cat, and jumped back when I saw someone standing outside in the dark, peering in.

*Jesus!' I screamed.

*It's just me!' Jake yelled through the glass, tapping on it. *Can I come in?

*Use the front door, you moron!' I yelled, my heart pounding in my ears. *What the hell is wrong with you?'

*I thought this would be romantic.'

*It's not romantic,' I said, opening the window. *It makes you a stalker. It gets you shot by the cops. What are you doing here?'

*Can I talk to you?' he said, producing a piece of paper. *I wrote something down-'

*Oh God, what is wrong with you? I'm not interested in hearing another one of your stupid little monologues.'

*Come on Hilda,' he pleaded, struggling to push the branches out of the way and losing his balance. He had stubble on his face and his eyes were red as if he hadn't slept, or worse.

*Around the front,' I said, closing the window. He tripped and I heard him fall and curse.

I stormed out the front door, turned the porch light on. A few moments later Jake appeared from the side of the house, a leaf sticking out of his hair.