I walked around North Hollywood looking for an assistant. I needed someone strong, agile, with street smarts and not afraid to do some dirty work on the side should I need it. A renegade if you will. I was going to post an ad on craigslist but thought that such a person would be readily available on the streets. I stepped over parts of a wig lying on the walk of fame, it was like a nylon jellyfish that had washed up onto a black shore. I kicked it around for a while as I watched the traffic go up and down, lit in dusk. Most of the people I'd seen so far were totally unsuitable, a little too raw for my needs. Schizophrenics, drug addicts, the sick. I threw nickels and dimes at them but no job offers, I needed to make sure I had a free range being. My eyes locked with another. He was the one. I extended a hand out and introduced myself.
Standing at about five foot one and weighing maybe one hundred and sixty pounds, Bill Williamson wasn't the most physically impressive person I'd met, but was pleasant to be around. He told me of his recent troubles, especially with drinking, though I dismissed these as his own particulars. He had hands like lump hammers, the knuckles criss-crossed with scars from street brawls. His head was slightly large and appeared to be of a decent weight, his forehead and jowls were especially prominent. He had a vertical scar just beneath his lip that went halfway around his head.
“I'm glad you're giving me a job. I gotta wife and kids to feed.”
“Don't mention it.”
“You want me to do anything for you?”
“Relax Bill. We'll get some food, clean you up, start tomorrow refreshed. How about it?”
“Sounds good to me.” he said, drinking the malt liquor I'd bought and lighting up a cigarette.
Later I cut his hair and gave him a shave, picking out some clothes on a catalogue online.
“We'll go to Rodeo Drive tomorrow, get you a suit, some shoes. You play squash?”
“Nope.”
“Any sports?”
“I used to play football back at school.”
“How about golf? Maybe we should get you some golf clothes. I saw this cute waist coat that I think you'd look good in, it'd be a shame for you not to wear it.”
“I ain't never played no golf before.”
“Relax, we aren't going to play. We'll go to the members lodge, shoot the shit with celebrities, do some shots. It'll be fun.”
“You're the boss.” said Bill. I nod.
“And your first duty to me can be to stand watch overnight, in case of trouble.”
“What you want me to do?”
“Sit at the end of my bed and keep watch.”
“Is someone out to get you?”
“Maybe. Maybe someone's out to get you? It's hard to say, but we'll see by morning.”
“Whatever you want.” he said. I nod and change into my pyjamas as he washes. I have a feeling that this assistant will be just what I need on the streets of L.A.
The next day Bill drives me towards Beverly Hills and we do a few hours of window shopping. I explain to him my philosophy on fashion. Work what you have. I demonstrate it by buying Bill a green blazer with flared sleeves in order to emphasize the size of his hands. I take them into mine and talk to him directly.
“Bill. I know you may not be used to this high standard of living. Fashion, art, fine dining, you know, but neither am I. But once you get a taste for the finer things in life, you can't help but expect a certain...je ne sais quoi. You feel me?”
“Yeah.” he says. I release his hands and turn back to the rail of clothes.
“What do you think of this?” I say, taking out a vintage eighties leather jacket. He shrugs. I spend seven hundred dollars on various outfits and we leave. I can't help but feel somewhat giddy, wanting to pirouette out of the store and sing. Once we're in the car I hum the The Rite Of Spring to myself, wondering what I would need assistance with.
A few hours later Bill and I are drinking white wine on a terrace overlooking the Pacific. It is quiet yet I feel as though both are content with that.
“What is it you're doing here anyway?”
“I am trying to find the edge. The edge of Los Angeles.”
“Hell, I can drive you out of the city tonight if that's all you want.”
“Can you?”
“Sure, we can take the interstate north, go through the mountains. I ain't been there for...say, coming on fifteen year.” he says. I shake my head.
“I'm from England, you know. And there's a funny thing about the coastline. You measure it in miles it's such a number. Let's say six hundred. But then you measure it in feet it's going to be....thousands of feet. You measure it in centimetres, it's going to be even higher.” I say.
“What now?”
“It's a paradox. The more fine the measurement, the higher it'll be. But the same applies to the city. Who's to say where Los Angeles ends exactly? Sure, it's on a map. But if I was to stand where the map said Los Angeles ended, would that necessarily mean that if I took a step forward I would no longer be in L.A?”
“Yeah.”
“No Bill. It's nebulous. It's a constantly shifting, the border between the city and the not city. Is a building or road what makes Los Angeles Los Angeles? Or do cars, trees, people, do they make up the city? If I was to get a microscope and examine a proton, am I looking at an individual proton or just a minutely small part of Los Angeles?” I said, gesturing in the air with my wine glass at the ocean view.
“I dunno man, I ain't never been to college.”
“Being academically inclined doesn't help answer these questions. Where is the edge? If the boundary of Los Angeles is so malleable, we could hypothesize that the length of the city limits is theoretically infinite. Which makes any part of Los Angeles a potential centre or edge. The only way we'll know is by investigating which areas are and aren't Los Angeles, and in through doing so I hope for a better understanding of not just this city, but all cities.”
“Well, that sounds good to me. So we could be at the edge right now?” says Bill, refilling his glass. I laugh heartily.
“This doesn't feel like the edge of civilization just yet. I'm sure we'll find it sooner or later though.” I said. We are quiet once again as I look out onto the constantly folding waves coming from the East.
I give Bill the rest of the night off to go and see his family whilst I go for my evening perambulations. My phone rang. Again, it was the distant sounds of animals breathing and the low talking. I sat on a bench and listened for a few minutes, wondering if it was even English, before the line went dead again. The Los Angeles night was drawing in, all lit bright orange all around me. I watch a coyote slink from out behind a diner and run across the road clutching something in it's mouth. In a trash can I find a shoebox full of love letters and take them up to my room to read whilst I sit in bed. Once I have finished I throw them around the room, ripping some in half, eating a few others. I had a busy week ahead of me.
