The ProTeans appeared on the unlit stage. Alchemy announced “Laluna,” and a lone spotlight shone on her. Laluna’s fingers twisted the guitar strings into the ominous opening notes of “Exile’s Revenge.” Laluna was slim but no waif, with thin lips, small, slightly crooked teeth, tiny copper piercings in the corners of her bottom lip, high rounded cheekbones, and a nose with a light bump (perhaps from being broken). Her outfit mashed four decades of fashion into one: calf-high white suede boots, pink Spanx with nothing else covering her butt, a sleeveless pink cowl-neck sweater, peace sign earring hanging from one ear and her “Gypsy Cross” from the other. Laluna’s axe-wielding energy and flair added a beautiful menace the band had lacked on stage since Absurda’s passing.
Laluna’s brash performing presence gave way to taciturnity once she retreated backstage. She hovered behind Sue, holding the neck of a beer bottle. Sue formally introduced Moses to Maria Lopez Appelian, nicknamed Laluna.
Laluna managed a barely audible, “Thanks, for, you know.”
“I didn’t help much until reinforcements arrived.”
“You need to be careful, man. My father could’ve killed you.”
“Your father?”
She nodded.
“Better me than you.”
“Guess so.” She shrugged and took a hefty gulp of her beer. The conversation petered out until Alchemy appeared.
“Mose, didn’t you just love our guitar angel?”
“Sure did.”
“We have to get together soon. I’ll call you.”
Stunned and perplexed, Moses stared squinty-eyed as Alchemy and Laluna slipped out the back door. Sue’s gaze followed his.
“Believe it or not, Mose, the man of a million trysts may finally have found true love.”
“When did it start?”
“Let me see, it’s been so long.” Sue’s exaggerated pause emphasized her sarcasm. “A month. Maybe two. Since she crawled out of her stroller.”
“Just how young is she?”
“Eighteen or nineteen. They’ve rented a ‘safe house’ to hide from her Neanderthal father and Salome. Even I don’t know where it is.”
Cynicism over the durability of their relationship prevailed among the Insatiables’ inner circle. You could count Moses among the cynics when he visited the “safe house,” situated on a dead-end block in Eagle Rock. Laluna’s mom, who was not much older than Alchemy and still quite attractive, answered the door. She cooked them dinner but, despite their entreaties, chose to eat in front of the TV in her room.
“We’re buying this house for her mom”—Moses caught Alchemy’s use of we—“and giving the old grump some bucks.”
“My father’s idea of how a dowry works.”
“Hey, my mom paid for Bent to see me. And then he sold me to some old perv.”
“And my father … kinda wanted me dead …” Moses chimed in.
Laluna’s eyes opened, aghast.
“He failed. And despite them, or maybe to spite them, we’re all still here.”
Laluna raised her beer bottle, “To family values, we gotta love ’em.”
Moses asked if Alchemy had “christened” her Laluna. “Nope. Mose, okay if I call you that?” Moses nodded. “As a child, my paternal grandfather, who didn’t speak much Spanish, loved the sound of the words. He said they reminded him of the ‘sad smile of the cloud-covered moon.’ ” Moses could immediately see what the uncle meant.
After more alcohol and more stories, at evening’s end, Laluna, her understated humor and empathetic warmth emerging, said, “Mose, thanks for making this easy.”
Moses sensed a deep intimacy between Alchemy and Laluna that bypassed the twenty-year age gap. They converted him from cynic to believer.
Soon, Laluna officially joined the band and took up residency in Topanga, and “LAlunamy” became a fixture of the gossip columns and blogs.
It didn’t take Laluna long to notice that Moses infrequently came to Topanga, and when he did, Salome was gone or retreated to her cottage. Alchemy judiciously parceled out the details of Moses’s past. When pressed, he said, “It’s Moses’s business to tell you, not mine.”
Laluna took the initiative to find out. She met Moses for lunch at the foundation. Never one for long-winded diplomacy, she straight-out asked, “What’s up with you and Salome?” Moses did his best not to demonize Salome or heroicize Hannah. He tried not to sound too self-pitying and he purposely omitted the details of Teumer’s inglorious past. The confession was not cathartic, only depressing. “I’m sorry, Mose. Sucks. Terrible. You and I, we got to work together. Salome, she doesn’t get with me either.”
“How do you mean?”
“She was horrible to me when we first met. That’s why we took up in Eagle Rock. She hasn’t been great since I moved in full time, and yesterday she slipped me this”—she shook a letter in her right hand—“under the bathroom door while I was showering, before she and Alchemy left to meet some art types. Look.”
Using four different-colored pens and in a neat curvaceous script, Salome had written:
Alchemy needs to rear you, his girl-child, without me to siphon off his time. Taking care of both of us requires too much of his energy. I wanted to help you. Educate you. Be maternal in my fashion. You rejected me.
Despite my utter terror, it is healthier for us all if I return to Collier Layne. I want the two of you to thrive.
“Have you shown it to Alchemy?”
“Not yet. I’m thinking of moving back to Eagle Rock with my mom until we start the tour next month.”
Moses advised her, “It’s hard to tell when Salome is being cunning or reacting from someplace she can’t control. I think she’s motivated by the belief that she’s Alchemy’s ultimate protector. Not that he is hers. Talk to Alchemy. You have leverage. Play Salome’s game. Stop her from putting a wedge between you.”
It turned out to be excellent advice. Alchemy, while reaffirming his love and commitment to always take care of her, made it obvious that Salome would lose a throw-down with Laluna. He gave his mother an ultimatum: Temper her demands and be more accepting of Laluna or they would make other living arrangements. Salome chose to stay in Topanga with the nurses he hired.
Laluna called up Moses to thank him. “Maybe, you know, if things get better with Salome and me, I’ll be able to return the favor someday.”
63 MEMOIRS OF A USELESS GOOD-FOR-NUTHIN’
Semper Fie, 2009 — 2010
I’m surprised when, maybe a month after the meeting at Kasbah with Mose and Alchemy, at around 2 A.M. one summer night — me and Ricky Jr. are watching porn — Alchy calls. He says we must powwow. It’s more than a year since we seen each other one-on-one, the longest since we met. Week or so before I seen him on Larry King. He don’t apologize for his excesses. King asks if he is a “conflicted millionaire.” Alchemy quips, “more like hypocrite millionaire.” King busts out laughing and kisses his butt. “Why I love this guy. Why the world loves Alchemy Savant.” I don’t get how Alchemy pulls off that Regular Joe act. I go on TV for two minutes and come off like a jackass.