Winter Jacket: Finding Home by Eliza Lentzski

“Guillen, Troian’s looking for you.”
    “Uh oh,” I joked. “You must be in trouble.”
    Guillen crumpled his cardboard coffee cup in his fist. “That woman,” he grumbled. He shot a quick look in my direction. He’d realized his company just in time before anything more incriminating could slip past his self-censor.
    He stood stiffly from the table and brushed at invisible crumbs on his shirt and vest. “See you later, Elle,” he said in parting.
    I watched Guillen stalk off in the direction of Troian’s trailer while Sonja stooped to retrieve the plastic binders she’d dropped. I got up from the table, episode seven momentarily abandoned, and crouched down to help.
    “Thanks,” she said as I helped her collect the scattered files.
    “No problem.”
    “Do you think he gets results with those lines?” Sonja wondered aloud.
    I laughed and leaned back on my heels. “You heard all that?”
    She smiled as we finished stacking the binders into a tidy pile. “He tried that ‘what’s your story?’ line on me when I first got this internship. He’s been insufferable since he got that movie deal.”
    I squinted my eyes at her suspiciously. “Was Troian really looking for him?”
    “Nope,” she said with a sly grin. “But you looked like you could use the help. I can spot an unwanted advance from a mile away.”
    “You were very subtle,” I teased, as we stood up.
    She shrugged and juggled the binders in her arms. “It got the job done.” She gestured to the now empty table. “Mind if I join you?”
    “As long as you don’t try to cast me in your next movie,” I chuckled.
    “Fair enough,” she smirked. “How are you liking LA so far?” she asked, taking a seat at the table.
    “It’s big. And hot.”
    She laughed. “That’s true.”
    “Are you originally from the area?” I asked.
    “No. Nebraska.”
    “Cornhusker.”
    Her smile was affable. “Born and raised.”
    I rifled my brain for more facts about Nebraska, but came up empty. For all of its proximity to my former home, I knew next to nothing about the flyover state.
    “I’ve always wanted to do something in the movies or television, ever since I was a little girl,” she explained. “I got my Bachelor’s degree in Film Studies with a minor in Journalism at Creighton in Omaha, but I knew if I was serious about a career in Hollywood, I would eventually have to move here.”
    “And UCLA has one of the best programs for that, too,” I observed. “That’s certainly a credit to all your hard work. Your parents must be proud.”
    I’d always had an easy time talking to students, and I found an easy rapport with Sonja as well. Academia was like a world of its own, with a secret language and handshake.
    She ducked her head demurely. “Yeah, they like to brag to their friends about their big shot daughter who’s living in California with the movie stars. I’m not sure they’d be so excited if they knew what I did to pay the bills.”
    “Hey, we’ve all been there. I worked one summer in college at a strip club.”
    Her dark blue eyes widened in surprise. “You did?”
    “As a bartender. But I always love the look on people’s faces when I tell them that,” I laughed. “It didn’t last very long though; my girlfriend at the time got jealous. Too much naked female flesh parading around for her comfort.”
    “Yeah, my girlfriend didn’t like my job, either. But she’s not the one paying my bills, so our relationship was the thing that didn’t last.”
    I tried not to look surprised by her admission. She hadn’t pinged my gaydar, but I had never been very good at identifying family.
    “This might be totally unprofessional of me to ask,” I started, “but do you know of a queer-friendly strip club around here?”
    “Wow,” Sonja blinked. “Can’t say I expected that question.”
    “It’s for a surprise bachelorette party for Troian and her girlfriend,” I qualified.
    “Oh, I was going to say, an attractive woman