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“Oh yes, we love having visitors,” I reassure her, smiling broadly. “The girls are really proud of their personal spaces and projects. Why not just go say hello?”
She tiptoes off, carefully walking between the marked off spaces that denote each girl's individual ar
ea. She keeps her weight forward, trying to not make too much noise with her expensive heels on the terrazzo floor. The girls just smile at her warmly, beckoning her further toward the space.
They'll take over from here. They know the drill. Visitors come for tours, and then they leave a check before getting back in their expensive cars and driving away, back to their regular lives. It's a kind of wholesome charity in their minds. It's not too politically sensitive, and it's not too difficult to look at either. Just some lost girls, sharing a room and edging toward adulthood at a reasonable pace, safe from predators, drugs, and all the other horrible things being on the streets of LA could have done to them.
Elaine folds her hands together and nods to get my attention. “They don't mind? Being in one big room like this?”
She sniffs as her gaze sweeps back and forth, probably mentally calculating the square footage of each space. I think she's in real estate. That makes sense. Even though the room is large, the girls still have heavy curtains on tracks hung from the ceiling, to get extra privacy if they want to.
“You know, it's not ideal for every situation,” I tell her quietly, “but we quickly found that too much privacy leads them back to whatever bad habits they've been trying to escape from. Not that they all have had bad habits, mind you. Some of the foster kids are escaping really terrible situations.”
Elaine's perfectly garnet colored lips form a small, pursed O of understanding. She opens her eyes wide and blinks as though just the tiniest bit mortified by whatever she's imagining. Sex, drugs, all the things that terrify the well-heeled, even though they indulge in all of them.
Beside her, the younger girl called Kita simply looks knowing. Like she’s been through all this before even though she’s much younger. I wonder what her story is.
In some way, I suppose the check that these people are going to leave me probably soothes the guilt over their own hypocrisy. Elaine just recently soldiered through a small scandal, where she was caught naked with the gardener's teenage son in the guest house. Caught on video. Nobody seems to want to talk about why there were video cameras in the guest house, but there you have it.
Life is weird. Did I mention that? Los Angeles is not exactly everything that the name would've implied. It’s like an alien world.
“We have another dormitory, another six beds. Would you like to see it?”
Elaine and the senator's wife both turn gratefully toward me, happy to be moving on from this room. Kita just follows. Guests like to be led from place to place rather quickly, so they don't have to simmer too long in the reality. But there are enough details here that I think we make the right impression. It's wholesome. There are cross stitching samplers on the walls that the girls made themselves. Even the quilts are salvaged and made by hand. It’s not because we can't afford quilts, but because working as a community makes them stronger people.
These are some of the things that we kept from Kingdom Come. Other things, we left there.
I lead them down the short, cool hallway toward the what used to be the game room outside the swimming pool rooms. This house is so spacious, I can't even imagine living here as just one family. It seems like quite a waste of space, but now that we've found another way to give these rooms a purpose, I feel much better about it.
“This is the media room,” I announce, pushing the door open. There are long tables along two walls, with laptops every few feet. On the other wall is a large flat screen television, with a comfortable leather sofa placed in front of it and a few pillows neatly stacked underneath.
“I don't think that there's ever been a time in my house when the television was actually off,” Elaine mutters, rolling her eyes comically. “Are those their laptops? They're just… in here? They don't have them with them, in their rooms?”
I shrug. “They earn screen time through their chores, but too much of it is just… Too much. We would rather they be interacting with each other, trying to be productive. There's too much in modern media that's just…”
I let my voice trail off. The senator's wife nods sagely. She understands what I'm getting at. Her husband has been trying to write legislation to eliminate the use of cell phones and other similar devices in public spaces. He feels their moral influence doesn't belong in some of the more church-like settings. I don't think he's going to get very far with it, but I can appreciate the sentiment.
And I also appreciate that their wholesome platform makes them perfect donors for our project.
Kita follows the Senator’s wife. Her husband, Daniel, is a donor; I’m not sure what his exact job or position in society might be. I smile at all of them the same. A dollar’s a dollar. Every one helps.
“There's just this one more dormitory here,” I announce, holding my hand out as I walk toward it. I push the door open so they can peek in. None of the girls are here right now, but each bed is neatly made, with pillows fluffed and perched primly at the head. Sunlight streams gaily through the window, illuminating the whole thing like a set for a very upbeat musical.
“I think they're in the pool right now, or maybe mingling with some of the other guests,” I explain. “We're fully booked right now. That's why we want to open the new space. There's a waiting list and everything…”
“And you don't have any boys?” Elaine asks, averting her eyes because she realizes how her question might be taken the wrong way, considering her recent history.
“No, we just decided to focus on the girls. For now, at least. I really feel passionate about helping them on in the world. We don't want to take on more of a test than we can handle, you understand. At least not before we’re ready.”
“Oh, of course,” the senator's wife says. I know she has sons, and I can only imagine what she's thinking right now.
“I suppose we should join the party again now, don't you think?” I suggest.
They smile, the relief plain on their faces. Everyone has a personal tolerance for charity. Some people like to be more at arm’s length than others. I like being up close, doing the real work. Like Mama used to say, I was born to be a hard worker. But these ladies look like they've had just about enough harsh reality for today.
“We'll just go up here,” I say, pointing toward the wide, hewn timber staircase. “I'm sure the caterers have brought out the gazpacho by now.”
The women coo excitedly as I lead them back up the stairs, back to the main living room. Soft music fills the air, with the sounds of subdued conversation here and there. Through a combination of lucky interactions as well as neighborhood visibility, we managed to pull together a reliable and wealthy group of people to help support our mission.
