Hollywood, California was once again home.
A century gives a neighborhood enough time for history to pile up to into a marinade of gilded myths. That’s how it felt.
It was good to be back tending bar.
And it had been good working maintenance at the motel in Laguna Beach.
When he thought about it, he had no idea why he had gone to school for an MBA and spent a few years on Wall Street.
There hadn’t been a hint of family pressure, peer pressure or pressure of any kind.
Not that there was anything wrong with an MBA. He chalked it up to a whim which had taken on a life of its own, not unlike the whim that lead him to paint the motel in Laguna Beach.
His new apartment was in an Armenian neighborhood in East Hollywood. Gray morning light fell through a narrow window. He unpacked a few boxes of belongings and hung two pictures.
They were both framed prints. One, Winslow Homer’s “Breezing Up” and the other “Still Life With Green Sideboard” by Matisse.
He liked the neighborhood, particularly the view of the Griffith Observatory up in the hills.
It was a straight shot down Sunset to get to work in Bel-Air. Most days he went in to pick up a shift that started at four.
At first he listened to the car radio but there wasn’t much on he found of interest.
One afternoon he tried to remember the song with a reference to thirty-five sweet goodbyes in the lyrics. He figured he probably drove by the studio here in Hollywood, California where it was recorded. So close to the birthplace of a song he couldn’t attach either an artist or a title to.
What were the thirty-five sweet goodbyes?
Who where they given to, by whom and why?
