My Lost and Found Life by Melodie Bowsher Read Free Book Online Page B

comforted by the reassuring arms of someone who cared about me. Then I let go.

Chapter Six
    That night, while Nicole and all my former friends were in the sky en route to Hawaii, I was in my car on my way to Tattie’s place.
    Tattie lived in a white stucco bungalow along the access road facing the freeway. While there is no such thing as a “bad” neighborhood in Burlingame, her street came closest, with its small houses and even smaller yards. Her house was the least impressive on the block since it needed repainting and the front yard had more weeds than grass.
    I parked at the curb behind Tattie’s dented Honda and walked up to ring the doorbell. Before I could even press it, the door swung open and I was staring straight at two breasts threatening to burst out of a low-cut green top.
    Tattie’s mother gave me the once-over and yelled behind her, “Don’t you even think of going somewhere before you get this place cleaned up! Get your little friend here to help you.”
    With that, she barreled past me and headed for the driveway.I stood watching as her sizable bottom convulsed inside too-tight black pants.
    Her mother pulled herself into the driver’s seat of a yellow Mazda with a deep crease in the passenger-side door. She paused to check her face in the rearview mirror. Her hair was dyed an aggressive shade of red, and she was wearing more makeup than you’d see at an Estée Lauder counter. She and Tattie obviously shared a love of excess.
    â€œAre you lost, Miz Ashley?” Tattie said from behind me in the doorway.
    â€œBored,” I answered, and walked inside. “I came over to see what you were doing.”
    â€œYou’ve come to the right place,” Tattie said. “The excitement never stops around here.”
    She walked through the living room, and I followed her, trying not to wince or hold my nose. Her house was a complete mess, with newspapers and clothes and dirty dishes everywhere. And the place smelled—the rancid odor of cooking grease and soiled laundry fought with the heavy floral scents of air freshener and hair spray.
    She walked into a tiny bathroom and paused in front of the mirror to apply blush to her already red cheeks. I stood leaning in the doorway since there wasn’t anywhere I wanted to sit down.
    â€œWhat flavor of excitement are you serving tonight?” I asked.
    â€œThat all depends,” she said. “Just wait and see. You like this shadow?”
    She was applying glittering gold cream to her eyelids.
    â€œWow,” I said for lack of a better comment.
    â€œMakeup is kind of my mask,” she admitted, letting her mouth hang open slightly as she applied more mascara to her eyelashes. “I even sleep with it on so I don’t scare myself in the morning. I’m kind of a hag that way.”
    â€œYou look more biker babe than hag in that outfit,” I said. She was wearing all black, from her low-cut top to her leather miniskirt and matching boots.
    She laughed and said, “We make quite a contrast. You look like Little Miss Gap or something.”
    I smiled, although my designer jeans and form-fitting pinstripe jacket cost a lot more than anything from the Gap. She clearly didn’t recognize classic style when she saw it.
    â€œTime to boogie,” she said. “Let’s haul ass. I’ll drive.”
    We climbed into Tattie’s Honda and took off for San Francisco, or “the City,” as it is referred to by everyone who lives in the burbs. The minute I slid into the front seat, I made a mental note to never ride in her car again. Part of the floorboard beneath the passenger side was missing. I had to balance my feet carefully so that my foot didn’t slip through the hole and hit the pavement below.
    She drove fast, and twenty minutes later we pulled off the freeway onto Cesar Chavez Boulevard. As we sped down debris-lined streets past grimy buildings with peeling paint, I