A/N: I'd recommend a synthwave playlist for this.
The concert was over at five. The afternoon show at the Hollywood Bowl had drawn nearly ten thousand people to the outdoor auditorium to hear the orchestra play. The iconic band shell at the foot of the hill projected sound from live musicians, no roof required.
The late summer season still had plenty of daylight left. Octavia looked out of the shell as she packed up her cello, staring at the cloudless blue sky. A pleasant Saturday evening beckoned.
The audience had already gone. Octavia and her fellow musicians cleared out a little while later. It was the last concert of the week. Some of them hurried. Octavia didn’t. She had nowhere to be other than home.
She lived a few miles to the south near La Brea, in a cosy loft in a renovated older building. It was a great neighborhood, boasting three art museums within walking distance and more delicious little cafés and restaurants than one could know.
Octavia rode the elevator up to her floor and unlocked her door. She set her cello down gently near the door and put her purse on the table. Returning to the cello case, she opened it and took the instrument out, examining it with a critical eye.
The strings were still in good condition, as was the bowstring. Octavia took a soft cloth and wiped down the varnished wood, polishing away her own fingerprints, before placing the cello back into its case.
That done, she walked across the main room of her apartment towards the bathroom, loosening her tie and removing her jacket. She undressed and stretched while waiting on the water to warm up.
A concert was not an incredibly stressful duty, not at the level on which Octavia performed. She’d been doing it most of her life. It was her life. Still, a little warm water was always nice. She relaxed in the shower, humming a few notes as she washed.
Stepping out a few minutes later, Octavia dried and wrapped her hair in the towel. She picked up her pajamas from where they hung neatly in her closet and put them on. They were grey sweatpants and a loose t-shirt with a radio station logo that she’d gotten for free at a festival.
Back in the main room, Octavia went over to the refrigerator and looked inside. Nothing was prepared. She debated for a moment and then pulled out a small tupperware container of sliced carrots.
She sat down on her recliner, one of three chairs in the apartment and the only one that wasn’t next to the table. She put down the container of carrot sticks on the small cabinet beside her chair and picked up a biography of Johannes Brahms. Her bookmark was about three quarters of the way through.
The book was in German. Octavia felt that it was best to leave things in their native language, to better capture the meaning and the thought that went into each carefully chosen word. Even if that slowed her reading somewhat.
Octavia bent her legs under her, turned on the reading light, and dug into the book, occasionally pausing to eat a carrot stick. Brahms was not her favorite composer, but she read with interest. The lives of others somehow carried a fascination. Not quite voyeuristic, but touching some interest in seeing how others lived. A biography somehow seemed more intimate than actually knowing the person, allowing her to dissect their life at will, rather than living in the moment.
As she read, she noted her stomach growling, but checked the pages remaining and decided to push on. Finishing the book a few minutes later, she put it down and stood up, stretching.
She was almost surprised to look out the window and see darkness; the sun had gone down. Glancing at the clock, she saw it was almost nine.
It would take a while to prepare something to eat. Since the book was finished, she had nothing else planned for the evening. She didn’t have a concert tomorrow.
Octavia checked her cell phone. No messages, no one inviting her to anything.
She debated. A long moment passed as she stood alone in the center of the floor, and then she came to a decision. Moving purposefully, she rinsed the empty carrot container in the sink and headed for the bedroom.
She opened her dresser drawer to review her shirts. Her fingers touched a cornflower blouse with buttons, but passed over it. Her eyes next fell upon a black t-shirt. Johann Bach was on the front, red eyes and skin peeling to reveal metal beneath. I’ll be Bach. Octavia smiled briefly. The next shirt was a white tank top made of ribbed fabric. Octavia paused. She glanced at her closet, putting a few ideas together. She grabbed the tank top.
From a different drawer, she got out a pair of black jeans. She took off her pajamas and began to get dressed. The jeans slid up, hugging her hips. A belt would have been unnecessary, but she put on a black one with silver bangles and tucked the tank top into her jeans. From her closet, she put on boots with low heels and a leather jacket.
Now fully dressed, Octavia stopped by the bathroom to glance at the mirror. Her straight hair hadn’t seen a brush since the shower, but after a moment, she simply tied it in a ponytail and headed for the door.
Her wallet, phone, and keys fit in her pocket and she left the apartment. She pushed the elevator button for the basement.
After the ride down, the doors opened at the bottom of the shaft. The basement was made of concrete, lit by stark fluorescent lights. Directly ahead of the elevator was Octavia’s car.
It was an Audi with silver, sparkling paint and polished chrome. Octavia had only bought it the previous week and paused a moment for a look, running her eyes over the curves of the body. She might as well get her money’s worth out of looking. She’d done months of research and test drives before making a decision. It was perfect.
The car was spotless, protected from the weather in the garage. The windows had been tinted against the southern California sun, though that was moot at this time of night. She raised her arm and clicked the button on the keyring.
The horn chirp felt like a greeting. It felt like the starting bell to an event. Are you ready?
Octavia was. She opened the door and got inside.
The dashboard glowed with lights as the engine started, whites and blues. Octavia buckled her seatbelt, and backed out of her parking spot.
The radio came to life as she exited the garage. News. Octavia pushed the seek button, and then again.
She was in luck. The passive smile that had slowly been building on her face turned up. She pulled away from the building.
The radio played softly. Something slow, something steady, but with an edge. Songs without a decade, songs with emotions rather than words. A wave of sensation ran up Octavia’s back as she let it wash over her.
She let the music play, driving slowly, one hand on the wheel and her elbow braced on the window ledge. Her mind drifted back to her plans for the night.
Something to eat. What was open? The car’s digital clock read nine thirty. Probably nothing in this neighborhood.
There was a grocery store. Not her first choice, but she did remember that it was open twenty four hours. The parking lot was deserted and she got a choice spot up front.
The automatic doors slid open obediently, to admit just her. There was no one in sight and half the lights in the store were off. Octavia turned to check the hours posted on the door, just to reassure herself.
She walked down the aisles for a few minutes, her footsteps the only sound. She wasn’t quite sure what she wanted. Most food that wouldn’t require preparation was probably unhealthy. Though, she was tempted. It was a special night. Maybe just this once. A whole box of toaster pastries was calling.
Quite unexpectedly, she did meet someone. A man wearing a paper hat and an apron stitched with the name Joe was behind the deli counter.
That sounded much better. Octavia bought a sandwich. He made it in front of her, wrapping it in paper to go. She paid cash and left.
She walked out, eating the sandwich while standing under the yellow-pink light of the sodium vapor bulbs in the parking lot. She leaned her hip against the front fender of her car. Nothing moved. Distant traffic could be heard, but not seen.
Octavia considered the man in the grocery store. It wasn’t the place where she typically bought groceries. She would probably never see him again. He probably wouldn’t remember her. A moment of contact, and gone. Living, breathing, another life, but isolated.
She looked up at the night sky. Nothing to see, like being at the bottom of the ocean. She didn’t feel like going home just yet. What could she do? It seemed the perfect time to get better acquainted with her new car.
Octavia turned, looking north. The city lights tapered off as the hills rose up. Hollywood formed the eastern edge of the Santa Monica mountains that cut through Los Angeles.
The mountains are calling and I must go. John Muir was speaking of Yosemite, but she could understand the feeling. The blissful isolation. Whether untouched land, or the alien landscape of being the only one awake in a sleeping city.
The night was calling and she had to go.
She brought her gaze back down, found a trash bin to dispose of the sandwich wrapper, and got into the car.
Octavia followed no path, slipping through empty streets. The car rolled quietly, reflections of lights sliding over the windshield. Wandering took her to Canyon Drive, which took her north, meandering into the hills.
The canyon in question, Bronson Canyon, was in the southern corner of Griffith Park, one of the largest city parks in the country. It had been used for lots of movie filming over the years, but it looked completely different at night. The park extended up over the hills and was home to dozens of landmarks, including the Hollywood sign. It was much deeper in the hills than the Hollywood Bowl, and miles to the east besides.
The iconic sign was somewhere to the northwest. Octavia could have easily seen it in the daytime, but it wasn’t lit at night. Something about rich people not wanting tourists hounding them at all times of the day.
For her part, she was glad. The road was empty, hers alone. She followed the winding, switchback path up the mountain. The headlights showed the white lines in the road in contrast to the dark asphalt. The radio played softly.
She rounded a corner, the curves leading her higher. Octavia had been catching glimpses of the city lights behind the hills. Spotting a sign for a turnout, she took it, letting the car slow down. The road opened into an unlit parking lot surrounded by trees. Nonetheless, as Octavia rolled into a spot, she saw the city spread out in the darkness before her.
She got out of the car. It wasn’t the first time she’d been up in the hills to see the valley below, but that didn’t mean it was any less transfixing.
Her attention was held so effectively that it took her until then to notice the white Ferrari parked a few spaces away.
Octavia’s eyes were still adjusting to the darkness. She saw a woman sitting on the hood of the car, her feet propped on the curb. She wore leggings and a t-shirt too big for her that almost hung off one shoulder. Her hair was in her face, and it seemed to be on purpose.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hello,” said Octavia.
The conversation didn’t continue. Octavia turned her head away and walked around to the front of her car for a better look at the city. The wind was still. No traffic passed on the roads in the hills. The only sound was her heels.
She looked for a moment and decided to stay. She glanced at the other woman and decided to copy her idea, if not her whole posture. Octavia gently leaned against the front of her car, the hood warm under her hands.
This far up, the city’s noise bled away. The lights below lay silent and small. Sodium vapor, mercury vapor, incandescent, fluorescent, halogen, LED, HID, neon. All with their own color. If it hadn’t been for the lights, Octavia would have felt like she was staring into a void. She couldn’t imagine the city not being there, despite so little evidence of actual habitation that she'd seen on the way up the hill.
Her eyes ran over the lights, tracing the streets. She couldn’t pick out her building, of course, that was miles away, but she could see her neighborhood.
Octavia’s back relaxed slightly and she looked up, comparing the night sky with the city. Her eyes slid over and stole a glance at the stranger.
Who was she? Dressed like that? Driving that car? At this time of night?
Octavia looked down at her hands clad in the sleeves of her leather jacket and suppressed a personal smile. Was the stranger thinking the same thing?
She glanced over again and could have sworn the woman had done the same.
The two of them looked at the city for a while longer, but Octavia’s mind was elsewhere.
Octavia had her own life and experiences. The realization of how many other lives were out there sank in. Billions of people. But here tonight, there were just two of them. Who was this other woman? What was her life like? Did she share thoughts, hopes, hobbies? Were they completely different? Would Octavia like her? Resent her?
It would take a conversation to find out. An introduction. A simple Hello I’m Octavia, and you?
She could ask...but no, that would ruin it, wouldn’t it?
This moment was better as it was. Two ships passing in the night. They shared this instant in time.
There was something romantically poetic about that, even if she was sacrificing what could be to preserve what was. But having the moment was worth it. The fantasy, the possibilities, the curiosity, the night. A single moment where everything aligned. Anything could happen, but hadn’t yet. The Schrödinger's Cat of moments, everything and nothing at the same time.
Octavia looked over. The stranger met her eyes. They held the gaze for a moment, and then Octavia turned away.
She got into her car. She backed away, as the moment faded. It stretched out like a rubber band, as the woman and her car faded into the darkness, and then, as Octavia turned away the final time, it broke.
She drove back down the mountain. The city lights rose up to meet her and sound returned. Colors other than the black of night and white of headlights appeared. It was like waking up, coming out of a dream.
Reality was tiring, though. Octavia blinked at the streetlights as she turned onto her street. She swallowed and licked her lips, driving down into the garage and into her parking spot.
She got out and locked the car, her fingers trailing over the body as she turned away.
Heading for the elevator, she yawned. Her bed was calling.
Back in her apartment, Octavia undressed to her pajamas and had a glass of water after brushing her teeth. She turned out the light and fell into bed with a satisfied smile on her lips.
In the darkness, Octavia closed her eyes. She always liked the night.
Author's Note
I've struggled for years to put the late night feeling into words. The novelty of isolation. The juxtaposition of a city with no one around. Introspection.
I guess.
