The lightbox was having a European New Wave series, running many of the classics of the French avant garde as well as edgy films from Germany, Italy, Finland and Scandinavia. It was during a showing of Vilgot Sjöman's I am Curious (Blue), that we got raided.

Apparently some gung-ho vice squad detective heard we were running 'that Swedish porno' and rounded up a squad to nab the perverts and pornographers ….and to confiscate the film for their own private screening. I imagine they were confused and disappointed to find a challenging Swedish art film and not the blonde bimbo porno they were expecting. Even if they HAD confiscated the much more well known and controversial I am Curious (Yellow), instead of the obscure and overlooked (Blue) which we were screening, they would have been just as perplexed and annoyed that it was an art film that challenged conventional narrative structure, but wasn't really that lewd or titillating.

Still, I found myself fingerprinted, mugshot, and placed in the cooler with the other 'enemies of society'.... which consisted mostly of drunken and combative women and weary, beleaguered 'ladies of the evening'.

I chose to hang out with the hookers. They were much better company than the gang of angry women looking for a fight.

“Hey darlin' what are you in for? You're not shitface and pissed off, and you sure as hell aren't one of us!” The stocky 50ish woman cackled, letting out an alarming smoker's cough.

I shrugged. “Public exhibition and possession of pornography.

“Get OUT!” Another one laughed. “YOU? Pornography? No!....”

I shrugged. “Yeah. That's what I thought too. It's just an art film from Sweden. There's nothing pornographic about it. But detective MacMillan found a judge who agreed with him and issued a warrant for the vice raid.”

“And let me guess, the Johns all walked free with a boys-will-be-boys wink.” another girl spat.

I shrugged. “Well, they weren't ...'johns' exactly... they were the audience.”

“Customers. Clients. The ones who paid.” shrugged another.

“OK. Yeah. I get that. The ones who paid. Yeah. I don't really know. I heard the commotion down in the theater, but I was busy having the door of my projection booth kicked in and trying to get the guys to not damage the projector while they tried to rip the film from it.” I shuddered. “Of course I was handcuffed and pinned to a wall with an arm to my neck. Everytime I tried to tell them how to stop the projector and safely remove the film, they'd slam my head to the wall and scream at me to 'shut the fuck up'....”

“Yeah.” shrugged a pretty young woman with a large welt on her cheek. “”That's what they do.”

“I have no idea how much damage they did to the projector.....” I muttered to myself.

An older, tougher looking woman snorted. “Yeah. Fucking bulls in a china shop.” Then she barked a phlegmy laugh and leered at me. She grabbed my wrist and looked at my ink stained fingertips. “Well, your cherry's truly popped now. Welcome to the bad girls club hon!” She dropped my wrist and walked away, shaking her head and laughing bitterly.

The novelty of the new girl wore off and the working girls kind of ignored me and resumed talking among themselves. The drunk and angry group across the cell kept glaring at us. They were itching for a fight and I didn't want to get anywhere near them. I scanned the large holding cell for a place to be ignored and noticed a single small figure huddled in a far corner, trying to be invisible.

She stared at me warily as I walked over, all the time trying to not make eye contact or even acknowledge my approach. It was an interesting effect. I made no attempt to hide that I was studying her as I got nearer. I hoped I was expressing curiosity but no threat as I went and sat next to her. Still, I could tell she was on full alert and her fight or flight instincts were fully charged and on a hair trigger. I suppressed a jaded smile as I realized that there was nowhere to flee and she did not want to start a fight in this crowd. I smiled as benignly as I could, sliding down beside her.

“Wow. THIS is all kinda overwhelming.” I chuckled. She continued eyeing me warily, trembling like a wet chihuahua.

“Never.... ever.... expected to find myself here.....” I muttered, shaking my head and trying for an ironic smile.

She just kept eyeing me in that sideways glance looking-but-not-looking way of hers. She didn't even acknowledge my presence, but I was certain that I was the only thing in this whole boisterous cell she was paying any attention to.

I shook my head and said quietly, as if to myself. “Funny how life turns out. Sure didn't see THIS coming....”

She made a sound. It might have been a reflexive snort that was quickly stifled. She quickly put her head down and stared intensely at her feet.

I looked at the two crowds of women clustered on opposite sides of the cell. “I feel like I accidentally crashed a private club where I'm definitely not wanted, but I can't get out.”

Again I heard a sound. This time I think it was a stifled bitter laugh. I turned my head to look directly at her and slowly she raised her eyes to meet mine.

“I'm guessing you're not a regular either.” I smiled. Her face did something. I think it was a battle between jaded humor and not wanting to betray any expression.

“You a first timer too?” I smiled slightly.

She nodded .

“Kinda overwhelming.”

She nodded slightly.

I discreetly crooked a thumb over in the direction of the two groups. “And it's not like the regulars make newbies feel welcome.”

That actually did elicit a tiny laugh, which she made no effort to stifle.

I gave her a genuine smile. “Olive.” and I extended my hand, then looked again at my inky fingers and withdrew my offered hand with a slight scowl. That brought a slight smile as the girl held up her ink stained hand to me and gave a slight wave.

“Priya.”

“That's a lovely name!” I whispered. When she said it... it just ….rang.... “And it so suits you!”

She blushed and finally let out a genuine, unguarded smile. She nodded her head in a slight thank you, and finally looked at me directly, but still quite sheepishly.

“...actually, it means 'Beloved'....”

“It's perfect. Whatever it's means, Priya is perfect. It's ...you...” I smiled and held her gaze. I did not know I was going to do any of this and was probably much more surprised than she was, but the ….cosmic rightness of that name, for this....soul... it just kind of swept over me, and I got kind of ...forceful... at not letting her change or embellish it.

She smiled and blushed and lowered her head shyly. “I kind of like Priya too.” she smiled quietly.

“Of course you do.” I returned her smile. “It's who you are. The moment you said it, I knew it.” I screwed up my mouth and said under my breath “...I've learned to trust my instincts on these sorts of things.”

She just gave me the warmest smile. The wariness in her eyes was gone, and they sparkled.

“So, what are you in here for?” I said innocently, just trying to make conversation. ...And sent her back into her protective cocoon.

She tensed up, drew herself into an even tighter fetal position, wrapped her arms around herself and began to rock. Quietly muttering “Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod....” She was having a major freakout and I had to stop her before she drew the attention of the room and made things worse for herself.

Without giving it a thought, I reached over and clutched her to my chest. Gently stroking her hair and rubbing her back, whispering gentle shushhing sounds in her ear. I have no idea why I did that, but it seemed like the only thing that could possibly derail this freakout express. I wasn't sure even that would work, but eventually to my relief it did. She slowly regained her composure, and I could feel the tension drain from her body ever so slightly. I could tell from her eyes she was still panicked, but trying to hold it together, knowing that surrendering to it would only make things much worse.

“OK. I'll go first....” I said, trying to distract her. “Hi. I'm Olive...” I said again. “...public pornographer.” I broke a half smile/half scowl.

That worked. Her eyes went wide and she uncurled from her tight ball. She stared at me incredulously. “....No!!??”

I nodded sadly. “Apparently. Didn't think that was on my what I want to be when I grow up list.... but according to the fine upstanding defenders of virtue in the vice squad, I'm leading young America astray like Eve with the apple. ….and all this time, I thought I was just a humble projectionist.”

She shot me a look.

“...at the Lightbox...”

“....Off Sunset!” she exclaimed. THAT surprised me. We weren't that well known. ..I thought.

I nodded.

“But all they show is art films.... Goddard and Truffaut and Fassbinder and Pennebaker and student films and Maysle brothers and....” Suddenly she gasped. “Warhol! They raided you for Warhol?”

I laughed and shook my head. “Wow! You must go there a lot!”

She shook her head slightly. “Never. Kind of out of my budget. But I've been by it enough, and I always check out the marquee.”

“Are you a film student?” I asked innocently.

Oops. Her face puckered and I sensed another panic attack coming on. I quickly changed the subject.

“No. It wasn't Warhol.” I laughed. “You'd think, right?”

She smiled back at me. Panic attack averted,

“It was the Swedes actually. Vilgot Sjöman.”

“I Am Curious Yellow?!?” she gasped.

“Wow. No. Not even that. It was Blue”

“But it was YELLOW that got banned in Boston. And even THAT got overturned! Why did they raid you for BLUE? What were they thinking?” she was getting up a head of steam. I couldn't help but laugh.

“Oh my God. What makes you think they were thinking?” I laughed.

She grinned. “Yeah.... what was I thinking?”

“You obviously know a lot more about this subject than LA's finest. Do you want to defend me in court?”

Damn. Again I touched a nerve. She winced and got tense, then I guess she decided something because she let out a burst of air and a small laugh that was packed with bitterness.

“God. My parents would just love that. Finally the golden child follows the plan.....”

Oh. So that's the nerve I touched.

Priya just looked at me for a long moment. Obviously she was weighing stuff in her head. Finally she made up her mind, I could see it on her face. She sighed.

“Gotta trust someone.....” She looked at me again. Waiting for a reaction? I just patiently waited, regarding her as placidly as I could.

“Trust.” She said quietly. I think, to herself. She swallowed hard. “Really couldn't get much worse.” she muttered. Then gasped raggedly. Obviously, it could. She gave me another long hard appraising look, then plunged in.

“I'm a runaway.”

I shrugged. That was obviously the revelation she was agonizing over.

“I was an exchange student at Stanford. Stanford law”

I nodded. That's why I touched the nerve joking about her defending me.

“My parents......” she drew a long breath, rethinking her opening line. “....as long as I.....” clearly another consideration. All I could do was be patient, let her regroup and try not to scare her off. I sat placidly, waiting for her to begin again.

“The plan all along......” heavy sigh “I was the first born. And as such, had certain ….responsibilities.... It's how my family does things.... DID things.... for more generations than anyone can count. So.... My life was never really my own..... We were..... kind of powerful..... not exactly the Kennedys or the Rockefellers..... but not far off. There were expectations. Not of ME as a person... but as the firstborn.... I was expected to 'fill the position'.... and had been groomed for it all of my life. At first I never questioned it... it was just the way things were. They way they had always been. But as I grew... and became.... myself.... it became clearer and clearer that it was a really really really bad fit. If I had died as a child... an accident or something... it would all fall to the second born.... kind of like when JFK's older brother died in the war....”

I nodded. Interesting that she said they weren't like the Kennedys but used the Kennedys as analogies.

“I thought about suicide. ….actually I thought about it a lot.... and often.... but I didn't really want to kill myself.... I just wanted out. So I decided to bide my time and keep searching for better solutions. Maybe I'm just a coward....” she barked a bitter laugh. “Well, I kept following the plan.... which included being groomed for wealth and power in every way possible... and that included secondary schooling abroad.... a prestigious degree ….degrees actually.... to add additional gravitas. My parents wanted to send me to Harvard or Yale... but I held out for Stanford... one of the few times I stood up to them at all.. I was eager to get out of their immediate orbit, but I figured that if I got to travel abroad anyway, rather than be surrounded with Boston brahmins or New Haven nabobs, I'd prefer California and be surrounded with Haight hippies.” She smiled. “Obviously those were not the people going to Stanford, but it was still a lot closer to the flower children than New England. So I dutifully went off to school, and again fulfilled expectations..... only at every chance I got, I slipped away and became my true self.... explored my true self... and the more I discovered and accepted who I really am... the harder it was to go back to school and keep up the charade.” She sighed and got lost in thought for a moment. “Still, I DID it.... because it was expected of me.... and I'm a coward..... and I didn't know how I could actually make it ...work.... breaking away from my family and their support... their financial support... and being who I now knew I truly was.... I started thinking about suicide again because it seemed the only way out. I figured I could tough it out some more and keep searching for a better way, at least getting to actually live after class and on weekends.” She took a ragged breath. ” ….Then I got the call.”

I could tell how hard it was for her, so I gave her time.

Brushing away the beginning of tears, and with just the slightest quiver, she resumed.

“I was to return home immediately. Over spring break. It was time. I was to be married.”

I did NOT see THIS coming.

Priya drew in another ragged breath. “We hadn't seen each other since we were six. It didn't really matter anyway. Our parents had successfully completed the negotiations and it was a done deal. Like everything else in both our lives, it wasn't about US... it was about our positions.... so.... time to ….fulfill another obligation.....”

I reached out and touched her forearm. I had no idea people still did these things. Sure, in the middle ages, but in the 20th century?

She gave me a thankful smile and brushed away another tear. She seemed to read my thoughts.

“Where I'm from, it's still quite common.... but I just couldn't do it.... it was too much.... I had done everything expected of me so far.... but I couldn't do this.... because this time it wasn't just myself I was betraying....”

“....you couldn't do it to him....” I soothed. That brought a strange, guttural, anguished sound. Again, Priya turned to me with the most doleful expression I've ever beheld.

“....Her....” she choked out a laugh. In an instant, everything changed. And became crystal clear. I lunged forward and wrapped her in my arms in the tightest, most protective, consoling, ...accepting hug I could.

“Oh, sweetie....” was all I could manage as we rocked and she sobbed, burying her head into the crook of my neck.

When she finally pulled herself together and came up for air, she gave me the most awkward, shy, thankful smile.

“I certainly wasn't expecting THAT!” she gasped as she wiped her red swollen eyes.

“I think that makes two of us.” I joked. She barked an embarrassed laugh.
“.....but it explains....so much.....”

“Yes....” she continued to daub at her stinging eyes. “My birth name was Devendra Chakravati-Chankeer... my ancestors liked the way the British honored the merging of the bloodlines of powerful families with hyphenated surnames and eagerly adopted the affectation. I was supposed to lead the next generation of our family into our bold, bright future.... I couldn't see a way out of it, short of my demise.... so I kept telling myself I could 'tough it out' until a better solution presented itself. But then came the arranged marriage and I realized that I could be ruining two lives.... more if we were to have children... though I don't see how that could possibly happen.... I'm uh... I never really was a textbook.... um... I don't see how that could possibly happen...”

I nodded gently and whispered “I understand.”

“....SO.... now my little lie was about to ruin other lives... and I just couldn't ...permit that... I never had the courage to break free, and I will admit it was out of fear that I finally did. Not courage. And I had no plan. I just grabbed my things... my own things... and fled. I figured that they would start to search for me around San Francisco, so I fled south. I've been living on the streets since. It's not easy. …..I've had to do... things.....” her voice broke and she hung her head with a sob. I rubbed her arm and gave her a consoling hush trying to assuage her pain and guilt.

“You did what you had to do to survive... and you did survive.... see? You're not the coward you call yourself.... living... surviving... is the bravest, hardest thing to do.... and you did it.....”

“And here I am. Picked up for soliciting and thrown in the womens cell... and if they ever find out and throw me.... oh God!....” she was on the verge of a meltdown again. I had to talk her down.

“Shushhh.... Not gong to happen.... soon we'll be out of here and.....”

“You'll be out of here.... THEY'LL be out of here....” she pointed to the drunks and the streetwalkers. “Someone's coming for them. Someone's coming for you..... no one is coming for me. No one knows me. And if anyone finds out who I really AM.....” she let out a little moan of despair.

All I could do was rub her back and absorb her wracking sobs.

Eventually, as Priya predicted – someone came for each of us. Harold – who ran the Lightbox, came by with 'our lawyer' a glum, rumpled guy in an ill fitting suit named Sandy Goodman. Turns out he had a storefront just a few blocks from the theater and was the 'go-to guy' whenever one of the neighborhood regulars ran afoul of the law. I later found out that Sandy got into law with visions of being the next Ralph Nader, but one Ralph Nader was enough and making a living fighting for righteous causes wasn't the best way to become rich and famous. Still, he never sold out and managed to survive, mostly by bartering his services. I have no idea what the Lightbox offered him, but he was here and I was getting my bail posted and my court date set. I was 'sprung'.

Or I should have been.

But I refused to go until Harold and Sandy posted bail for Priya.

It didn't take too much arm twisting. Both guys were suckers for underdogs, and when I told them her story – with a few liberties and obfuscations – she was the queen of the underdogs. She got bail set at $250, which I promised Harold I would pay back, and she was unofficially remanded to my custody.

I knew she would probably jump bail, but her court date was far enough away, I figured we could figure out something by then. As we talked on the way back - Priya, me, my boss and our lawyer all riding back on the city bus – Priya confirmed what I pretty much figured out. She didn't 'live' anywhere. Suddenly Colin's van seemed like stately Wayne manor. All her worldly possessions were in a series of lockers at the bus station. She quickly learned that no one would question her when she'd walk into the showers at the athletic facilities at local colleges. She had managed to survive remarkably well with no home and no money, but that was no way to live. I offered to let her crash with me until she got on her feet. I think she was wary of the kindness of a total stranger, but I told her that I was raised to believe 'what goes around comes around' 'you reap what you sow' 'do unto others' and other similar versions of the same idea.

She smiled and nodded. “Ah. Karma.”

“Like the sports car?” I was confused.

“No. That's Karmann Ghia.” she giggled. It was such a relief to hear joy in her voice. “This is Karma – the spiritual principle that... well, essentially what you said.” she shrugged. “Only more so. Not just this life.”

“You mean like heaven? ...or hell?”

Her laugh was light and warm. “No. It's.... there are a lot of ways of looking at things that are very different to what you've been taught.”

I nodded. “Yes. No matter how well meaning our parents, the best they can give is a good start. In the end it's up to us to ask our own questions and find our own path.” I smiled and held her gaze.

She swallowed hard and nodded.

“So, you'll have to tell me all about this Karma and all these things I didn't even know I don't know.” I grinned.

Priya smiled politely and seemed torn between cheerful smalltalk and hardcore navel gazing. I knew we would have plenty of time to talk at home. And something told me we each had a lot to offer the other.

I let her crash in Colin's room while he was on the road. I was sure he wouldn't mind once I had a chance to explain it to him. I told my other housemates that I 'took in a stray' and that was good enough for them. They had all done the same at one time or another.

Priya seemed in a bit of a daze to have a roof over her head and a soft bed to sleep in. I sensed a continued wariness that at any moment she expected to be asked for some sort of repayment for all this seeming good fortune. One afternoon as I was getting ready to go to work at the Lightbox, I asked her if she wanted to come to work with me. Her face did something and she quietly said “Of course.”

When we got there and I was hanging up my coat, she asked “What do you want me to do? I could sweep the theater ...or maybe clean the restrooms?”

I did a doubletake and realized that she thought I expected her to pay for her room and board. I scowled at her and made a dismissing 'pfffft' sound.

“GOD, Cinderella! I didn't bring you here to do chores! I just thought you'd like to hang out in the booth, see some films and maybe learn how to work the projector. I thought I was your friend. I never thought I was your boss!”

She blushed deeply and cast her eyes down to the floor. This girl needed some serious esteem building. She cracked a tiny smile and said quietly “Yes. I would like that very much.”

Priya became a regular fixture in my projection booth and we found lots of time to chat. She was very slow to warm up to people, but once she did, she was a delight. She knew a lot about world cinema, she had always been rather solitary as a child and movies were one of the few indulgences her family permitted her. She was quite knowledgable about film and filmmakers, cinematic influences, story derivation and cultural influences. I told her that she could easily teach cinema appreciation, but any mention of school brought her pain, so instead I suggested she should write film reviews for local underground papers. She was ambivalent about any public exposure, so I scaled it back even more and suggested that she should write film blurbs and summaries for the Lightbox's calendar flyer. Getting Harold on board was an easy sell, especially since Priya didn't want any compensation and felt she was paying back the kindness of Harold and I getting her out of jail.

The flyers may or may not have been appreciated by most patrons, but Harold got a few glowing comments from some hardcore regulars and soon he was consulting with Priya when he'd be negotiating for titles and putting together new film schedules. Little by little, she seemed to be regaining her self esteem. Or maybe gaining it, it's quite possible that self-esteem was an indulgence she had never been permitted as a child.

Priya proved invaluable in more ways than we – or she – would have dared imagine. In addition to being Harold's go-to film guru, she also spent more and more time with Sandy Goodman.

Initially it was just to go over the basics of her case and discuss her plea. Priya quickly made clear her dismay at the way Sandy ran his office. Sandy knew his only possible plea was 'guilty as charged'. Sandy was a mensch. A real saint. He'd give you the shirt off his back. But no one would want it because it was rumbled and slightly sweat stained and probably slept in for a few days. Sandy was a sweetheart, but he was a mess. And his office reflected his mind. Priya suddenly burst out of her shell and laid the law down to Sandy in a stern but caring way. She pretty much spent every waking hour at Sandy's office, creating a file system for his cases, setting up accounts payable and receivable, and getting very motherly – making sure he ate right, slept properly, adhered to at least a minimum personal hygiene regimen, and cleaned up his sartorial act – literally and figuratively. After a few weeks, Sandy was actually looking like a white collar professional... and acting less like an absent minded professor and more like the serious competent lawyer he actually was. Priya set up a feedback loop, and as things got less chaotic and more successful for Sandy, he was motivated to keep taking it to the next level, and the next. Eventually he actually started taking on clients who could pay and not just barter. His confidence in court led to a greater win ratio and before too long, opponents were clamoring to settle the moment they learned they would be facing off against him.

He was still a mensch. But now he was a confident, successful mensch instead of the disheveled well-intentioned public defender. And he had Priya to thank.

I don't think the irony was lost on her that her parents had sent her to Stanford to be a lawyer, and though she ultimately rebelled against their plan for her life, her sharp mind and affinity for law enabled her to be a real life changer for Sandy Goodman, for whom she grew a strong affection.

He repaid her by getting all the charges summarily dismissed and getting the court to move on without doing any investigations into her background or immigration status. He managed to insinuate that her case wasn't even worthy of their attention since she was a first offender and hadn't had any trouble since her initial run in with the vice squad. The court seemed to be glad to put this case behind them and move on to the mountain of other cases on their calendar.

Even though her case was tabled, Priya continued to work with Sandy, eventually becoming his unofficial partner and collaborator, even though he officially employed her as his administrative assistant. They really complimented each other. Sandy was finally making a decent income and was able to pay Priya enough to get a place of her own. I would still tell Colin that I let a girl crash in his room while he was on the road, but we avoided the awkward situation of him returning before she found a place of her own. I never got the sense that there was anything romantic between Sandy and Priya... he was probably 20 years her senior... but they made a good pair. Each filled in gaps in the others knowledge or personality and it was obvious to everyone who met them that they made a great team.

About a week and a half after Priya moved out, I woke up to loud clattering coming from Colin's room. I rushed to see what the hell was going on, only to find him noisily moving his gear back in from his van. Any irritation I had at being so rudely awakened evaporated immediately. I startled us both by running to him and wrapping him in a tight hug as my face nearly burst from the size of my smile. I hadn't realized how much I had missed him until that moment. My joy was unrestrained. His reaction was muted and anguished. It was instantly clear that something had changed.