$120

My first job after moving to Los Angeles was as a weekend hostess at Eatwell, a little greasy spoon in West Hollywood. Eatwell and I were an absolutely perfect fit. It was walking distance to my apartment, the vibe was laid back and gay men made up the majority of the clientele. As a six year old I began what would become a lifelong love affair with gay men when my best friend at the time, Eugene (aka Bunky), and I would dress up in my mother’s old bridesmaids dresses and put on elaborate shows. My regulars at Eatwell were all just older versions of my Bunky, but with hard pecs and oiled biceps.

I loved working at Eatwell from my very first shift and we all became a fast family of struggling artists and talents just waiting to be discovered. In this family the role of my older sister was played by a radically charming woman named Claudine. A rockstar lesbian who knew how to wear a beat-up cowboy hat with authenticity, Claudine had the kind of confidence and charisma that I had always coveted. She played pretty regularly around town and the first show I went to is burned in my memory. It was at The Joint on Pico and Robertson and I got there at 8:45 for the 9:00 show. There were still chairs stacked on tables when I walked into dark space and I recall the bartender taking me up on my offer to help take the stools down from the bar. Seven years later and I still haven’t gotten used to the fashionably late schedule and usually end up being the first person at any organized event. Claudine owned any stage she walked onto, strumming her guitar and singing her funny, heartbreaking, angry, beautiful songs. I always loved it when she’d cover Neil Diamond’s “I Am I Said.” I was totally a groupie.

As the months passed I finally started waiting tables and we worked side by side three or four days a week and began to spend more time together outside of work. We’d drink at The Silver Spoon, one of the few secret bars you could smoke in after a certain hour of the night. She was a horrible dart player, but dammit if she didn’t throw them harder than anyone I’d ever seen. When I started doing improv she was the loudest and kindest laugher in the house. We went two-stepping and then showed off our new moves for anyone who’d watch. She told me to watch out for the “Jim the New Guy,” said he wasn’t worth the effort. But he was straight so I tried. She ended up being right, he wasn’t worth the effort. I would house-sit for her and didn’t even complain when the cat attacked me repeatedly in the middle of the night. She charmed my mom and my Seattle friends. Everyone fell immediately in love with her, how could you not? She was like a tornado.

After a couple years slinging hash browns, I traded in my apron for the soulless corporate life. Around the same time Claudine also left the restaurant in order to make a serious go at her music career, devoting all her time to her ultimate goal of fame. My new relationship with Eric was becoming more serious, Claudine moved east into the heart of Hollywood and we saw less and less of each other. When we did hang out she admitted that she was struggling, some times worse than others, but still plugging away. She was in the studio a lot and had a producer and with that came some more opportunities, we all knew she was on the verge of something big. There was no doubt in my mind that she was on her way to greatness.

In January of 2006 I received a call at work late in the afternoon. It was Claudine and she sounded really strange, she was laughing a weird nervous laugh in direct contrast to her usual confidence. Finally she came out with it, she was incredibly embarrassed to have to ask but she didn’t know who else to go to. “My cable is going to be turned off and I don’t get paid until next week, can you help me?” A little over a hundred dollars to keep the cable company off her back and she’d have the money back to me before MLK’s birthday. I was actually touched that she would come to me. Me of all the people in her world...this is what true friendship is, helping each other out when one is down. No judgment, no guilt trips, just one friend asking and the other coming to her need. I went down to the ATM and withdrew some cash. I sealed it in an envelope with a smiley face and messengered it to her so that she could get to the cable office before they closed for the weekend. I drove home that night, happy with myself. I never talked to Claudine again.

I didn’t want her to think that I was angry so I waited until February to call. Number disconnected. I called her girlfriend Michelle and left a light message saying that we all needed to get together for brunch. I never heard back. In the years I knew Claudine I never saw her do any drugs, and her drinking never seemed out of control. Michelle was an EMT so I was confident that they were both okay. Even so, I googled them but no obituaries or news of a horrible accident popped up. I felt weird calling her mom or going into any sort of serious detective mode so I just let it go…let her go. I can only think that it’s incredibly rare that the actually monetary value of a relationship can be determined. But it must happen once and awhile because it happened to me. Our friendship as worth $120.00 to her. Six crisp twenty dollar bills. Makes me feel cheap somehow…or maybe I’m just a really great deal.