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responsibility I never wanted. And no money, either. He took what little we had, the low-life scum. Anyway, I’m not trying to dump the past on you—not like I even think about this anymore. You asked why we don’t speak—answer’s that we just don’t got anything to say to each other. She lets Johnny do the talking.”
    “Sounds like the same bull-headed Lola I know.” Syrup dripped over the sides of his toast, pooling on Beau’s plate. “Knew, I mean.”
    “You work downtown?”
    Beau looked up again. Dina’s eyes were narrowed on him. “Am I that obvious?” he muttered.
    “You don’t look like you belong in these parts.”
    “These parts? This is Hollywood, for God’s sake. It’s not like we’re on Skid Row.”
    “You just don’t look like it.”
    “I grew up not far from here,” Beau said defensively. He was beginning to think it was more than just his suit that gave him away. It shouldn’t have bothered him that he’d risen so high above his social beginnings, he was unrecognizable to his peers—he’d worked hard for that kind of esteem—but it did. He’d been one of them once. And his success hadn’t come without struggle or sacrifice. “For twenty-seven years, I barely had enough to get by. I didn’t grow up spoiled or privileged. Why is that so hard for everyone to believe?”
    Dina’s face was harder now. “Tell me what you’re really doing here.”
    “I already did. Looking for a girl I used to know who told me once her mother worked at The Lucky Egg.”
    “Sounds suspicious as get out to me. Not sure what you’re after, but if it’s good for Melody, I hope you find it. If it’s not, you’ll have Johnny to answer to.”
    “What did you just say?” Beau asked.
    “You heard me, young man. You’re not exactly someone I’d want to mess with, but neither’s Johnny, and he—”
    “No, not that. Melody?” The name was vaguely familiar, something he’d heard recently.
    “Oh. Lola’s a nickname her daddy gave her, but I call her by her given name when I get worked up. Doctor doesn’t like me to get worked up. I got high cholesterol, which you can probably guess—”
    Beau stood, digging his wallet out of his jacket pocket. He remembered where he’d heard that name. He’d thought it was a stage name, and Lola had been teasing him in the strip club when she’d insisted he call her that. Maybe it’d been a clue—right in front of him the whole time.
    “Hey, you barely touched your breakfast,” Dina said. “Don’t you like French toast?”
    “I like it fine.” Beau set a hundred-dollar bill on the table.
    “Honey, I don’t got change for that.”
    “Said I’d pay you for your time.” Beau was nearly one foot out the door. He stopped himself from saying she’d earned it. Maybe it wasn’t his suit that gave him away, but comments like that. “Thanks for your help,” he said instead.
     

Chapter Six
    In the past week, Lola had seen more of the world than she had in all twenty-nine years of her life. It was exhilarating, liberating, exciting. She covered her mouth for a yawn. Well, not all of it. Beau had been right about at least one thing—the world’s largest ball of twine underwhelmed.
    Lola stared at the popular roadside attraction, trying to warm her hands in the pockets of her denim jacket. She’d only been there five minutes, and she was ready to leave, but she’d driven through far stretches of countryside to get there. It really was just a big, stinky ball, though.
    Lola giggled as Beau’s comment came back to her.
    “Big balls don’t do anything for me. But if they impress you, I can show you a couple—”
    A grown man was now hugging the ball as a woman photographed him. Lola looked around to see if anyone else was having the same immature reaction she was, the one Beau would’ve had too if he were there.
    Beau took himself too seriously, but he had his moments. In a way, because his silly side was infrequent, it made him more endearing.