no help

Bebe looked out the window. Outside in a gravel driveway was a Toyota Corolla that was at least 15 years old. On the other side was another trailer, this one seemed well kept, and an older lady with wrinkled very tan skin was watering her garden.

Bebe called her mom.

"Bebe, what's up, sweetie?"

"Mom, I'm freaking out!"

"Calm down and tell me what happened."

"I woke up in some strange dingy mobile home."

"Oh my god, Bebe! Do you know whose trailer it is and is anyone else there?"

"No, I have no idea where I am, but I'm alone."

"Were you ****? I told you you're too trusting."

"No, I don' think so. I don't feel like I was ****."

"Is there any sign of whose place you are in?"

"I found mail with my name, but a different address."

"What's the address?"

Bebe picked up the mail. "425 West Canyon Trail # 18."

"Bebe, that's your address."

"Mom, I live in Beverly Hills."

"What?"

"Mom, I live in Beverly Hills."

"Bebe, are you trying to be funny, or are you on ****?"

"I'm dead serious. I fell asleep in my Beverly Hills home and woke up in this trailer."

"Who told you you owned that Beverly Hills home?"

"No one! It is my home!"

"Is Mrs Bosa home?"

"Who?"

"Your neighbor. The one who keeps an eye on you?"

"The old wrinkled lady?"

"That's not very nice, Bebe."

"Look...I...live...in...Beverly...Hills. Not some crappy trailer."

"I'm coming over."

"You're flying in?"

"Bebe, you know I live in L.A. now." Her mom hung up.

Bebe found a pair of pink sweat pants and a white t-shirt. She went outside, and the older lady smiled and waved. Bebe walked over. "Mrs Bosa?" she asked the woman tentatively.

"Yes, Bebe. Something wrong?"

"I feel like I'm in some horrible nightmare."

"Were you ****? Bebe, you're too trusting, and you sleep with too many guys. I've warned you about this many times."

Bebe felt faint.