by Maya Brooks
It wasn’t normal, and it made a knot of worry churn in her stomach.
There’s nothing you can do about it so just let it go.
Swallowing the concern didn’t work well. Somewhere along the way idol worship turned into caring, and she couldn’t turn it off.
Some afternoons they played board games online. Other times, he called to ask the name of the largest river in Russia, or the derivative of ex. It was tempting to tease him and tell him to use Google himself, but she never did. She humored him, found any answers she didn’t already know, and pretended she really was that smart.
Why does he covet my attention? Shouldn’t he get enough admiration from fans and media?
One night when he seemed drunk enough not to get mad, she asked. Marc laughed.
“Attention, yes, I could drown in it. Intelligent answers, no.”
It made sense, sort of. Many of the girls she met on the convention were more than willing to take their clothes off or agree to the world being flat if a celebrity wanted them to. She was her own person, not just a mirror of him.
It didn’t matter either way. She was happy to talk to him, and preferred not to analyze the reasons she let it go on.
One evening he called with his usual, “Hey babe, wha’cha doin’?”
“I’m watching TV, hoping you’d call.”
He laughed, “I hope you’re not watching anything I’m in.”
Of course not. Perish the thought.
“It seems pretty quiet around you today.”
“Yeah, it is. It’s just you, me, and a bottle of scotch tonight.”
She pulled her legs up in the sofa and teased, “What, not even a girl?”
“Not tonight, I can’t take the drama.”
The previous night she hadn’t known whether to laugh or cry. He called from a hotel room somewhere, and it took her about half a minute to figure out he just rolled off some woman and left her in bed.
A female voice whined, “What are you doing?” and she heard Marc’s answer even though he covered the microphone, “Hey, I’m on the phone.”
“What, with another girl? Don’t tell me you’re calling your wife?”
Marc taunted her, “Naah, I’m calling my girlfriend.”
Laura grimaced as she heard the woman slap him.
“Your girlfriend? So why don’t you bang her? How could you possibly think you’re man enough for three women?”
He sounded quite amiable when he replied, “I don’t. I don’t think either of you are happy.”
She heard the woman slap him again and yell something unintelligible, and he grumbled, “Oh for Christ’s sake.”
It took only a little imagination to see him carry the angry woman over his shoulder into the corridor, dumping her outside the door with a pile of clothes.
Of course he had other women, probably at least one new every night, but as long as she didn’t have to hear it, she could at least pretend he was hers.
He called me girlfriend.
The word warmed her heart in the midst of all misery.
His voice shook her out of the memories.
“Where did you go, sweetheart?”
“I’m here. I was just thinking about something…”
“Wanna play chess?”
As much as she tried to sound merry and cute, she couldn’t hide an edge to the words.
“I don’t know. Last time you cheated and moved your pieces backwards.”
He seemed to find that very funny.
“Well, I was probably losing.”
They played a few moves, but she couldn’t keep her mind on the game.
“So, where are you tonight?”
She could almost hear him shrug.
“Hotel room. Boston. You should come up here.”
I wish I could. That would be so awesome.
The thought of seeing his face and feeling his touch made her giddy.
“That would be great, but I have to work.”
“I don’t. They’re writing me out of the show.”
There wasn’t much emotion in his voice, but she exclaimed a heartfelt, “Oh no.”
“It’s probably for the best.”
He fell silent, and when he spoke again, he sounded unusually serious. “I don’t know who I am anymore. There are all these people I’ve played, hundreds of people I’ve played, and sometimes I think there’s nothing left of me.”
What could one possibly answer to a thing like that?
“Lover…”
She trailed off. Her words were insufficient.
She saw him move his piece on the computer screen.
“Aren’t you gonna tell me I’m crazy?”
Laura shook her head and realized he couldn’t see it.
“I don’t think you’re crazy. If you really feel that way maybe you should talk to someone about it, but it doesn’t make you crazy.”
“I am talking to someone about it, I’m talking to you.”
He didn’t sound irritated. Maybe it was okay to push the subject just a little further.
“Well, yes, but I don’t have anything clever to say about it. I mean, some people are professional… problem… solvers…”
Marc laughed.
“Babe, I have a drug problem, I have a drinking problem, and I have a family problem, meaning they hate me. I don’t think a psychiatrist can solve either. Hey, your queen is toast.”
*****
What would it be like to feel one’s personality slip away in layers of imaginary people?
The glimpses of real Marc were few. Whenever there were other people around, he put up an artificially merry façade, but now she saw the cracks in it.
It would be so much easier if they could meet, but she couldn’t afford to be away from work.
Don’t meddle in other people’s lives. He’s married, and sorting this out isn’t your place.
Was that just an excuse?
Should she try to interfere?
Maybe she was the only one who could help him?
Her thoughts spun around and around, keeping sleep efficiently locked away. She needed to stop worrying, but couldn’t.
Real life is slipping away for me too. I guess it wasn’t all that important anyway.
Marc called late one night.
“You know what Jim Morrison said?”
There were sounds of a party in the background. Trying to figure out the origin of the question was futile.
“The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.”
Marc laughed, but didn’t sound particularly happy.
“See, that’s one of the things I like about you. You know… stuff… I think he might have been wrong though.”
Someone yelled for him in the background.
“Marc, what the fuck are you doing with that phone? Get over here.”
“I’m talking to a girl!”
“There are lots of girls here. Come on.”
She couldn’t help but smile, even though it wasn’t all that funny. He sounded tired when he said, “Yeah, yeah,” and muttered, “Crazy bastards.”
“Marc…”
“I gotta go.”
“Marc, you know Jim Morrison died, right?”
It was too late. The line was dead and no one listened. She got out of bed and paced the little apartment. A cup of tea did nothing to soothe her. During the past few months this distant and unpredictable man had turned into her best friend, and he was the only person she knew who never blamed her for being herself.
A DVD cover with his face lay on the sofa table, and she crossed her arms and frowned.
“I love you. That’s not a good thing.”
Dammed up frustration made her grab a vase and hurl it against the wall, and she spent the rest of the night cleaning up tiny green shards that seemed eerily symbolic.
*****
Many miles away, Marc scared himself too.
One afternoon not long after the Morrison discussion, he opened his eyes and looke
d up at an unknown ceiling. It didn’t want to come into focus and he blinked and squinted.
Once it stopped turning around him it looked expensive.
He had no idea of whose it might be.
The next sensations coming to him were chill and his back aching. He lifted his head and glanced to the sides.
Why am I naked on the floor?
Two young women slept on him. One was a blonde and the other a redhead. He couldn’t remember seeing either of them before. Shouldn’t he be able to recall breasts like these?
Squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing them didn’t make him feel any better, or remember any more. There had been cigars, whisky, and long lines of cocaine. A lot of things must have happened since the party started, but he had no idea of what.
Getting to his feet had never been more of a struggle.
The women were out cold; neither woke from rolling off him and hitting the floor. He stood there swaying for a few moments, looking for something to wear. Not that he was shy; he had an okay body and some producers liked to put him in an unwarranted butt in the moonlight walk, but it would still be nice to have something to cover Marc JR.
“Aah, there you are.”
All his clothes were in a pile on a chair, and he grabbed his shirt and his phone.
“There has to be a restroom here somewhere…”
Why am I talking to myself? Is it normal to talk to oneself? Laura would know.
Calling her seemed a reasonable option, maybe the only reasonable option.
She sounded weary, but he didn’t have the strength to ask what might be wrong.
“I’m not doing so good, Babe.”
“I know. You kept calling me last night, telling me all about it. Go home, Marc, get some sleep.”
Looking into the bathroom mirror cheered him up. He might be a wreck, but he was still a good-looking wreck.
“I will.”
He heard her sigh, and her voice was firm.
“Marc, I mean it. Go home. Just walk out of there, don’t talk to anyone, go right out the front door and go home.”
“I…”
It was so hard to think, hard to remember anything. Going home and getting sleep sounded like sound advice. Laura wouldn’t give him anything but good advice. Everyone else might, but not her.
“Marc, do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Then trust me on this. Go home.”
“Yes ma’am.”
At least she laughed.
He left the restroom muttering, “Go home” like a mantra that might save his life. A naked blonde woman met him, waving a bottle of Jack Daniels in front of him.
“Hey handsome, you look thirsty. Have a drink.”
He was thirsty.
Now when it was pointed out to him, his mouth tasted as if it hadn’t seen liquid for weeks.
She had really nice tits too.
He wrapped an arm around the woman’s waist, grabbed the bottle, and headed for the sofa. When his phone rang, he didn’t even hear it.
Chapter Five
After that last call, days went by without a life sign from Marc, and Laura was about to tear her hair out.
If anything happens to him, it’ll be my fault.
She should have pressed him on getting help.
If she had been firm, he might have listened.
Every instinct, every nerve screamed something was wrong, but there wasn’t much she could do besides continue her everyday life and hope for the best. Pretending everything was fine did nothing to relieve her heartbreak.
Stop fretting. You’re driving yourself crazy. He has no obligation to talk to you and he’s not dead. If he was dead someone would have said something on TV, or on Facebook. Maybe he moved on, and found someone else to entertain him.
The thought hurt, but less so than thinking he was in real trouble. She still couldn’t sleep, and saw the world through a fog.
Her anxiety shone through when her colleague Heather asked what time it was, and she answered “Pancake.”
Heather sat quiet for a few long seconds.
Drop it. Please, drop it.
No such luck. Her coworker came around to perch on the desk.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Heather chewed her lip and glanced down at something in her hands. How peculiar; she was normally as nervously inclined as a paving stone.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
The persistence didn’t make sense until she really looked at the object in her friend’s hands. It was a gossip magazine, one of those really glossy and pretty ones. It had a photo of her and Marc with the caption Mystery woman, and another with her in the back of a police car.
“Oh God no…”
Heather sighed.
“You know, I’ve been around, and I know some things can be really bloody hard. If you need someone to talk to, I’m here.”
Could it be that easy?
Confide in someone?
Share the burden?
Some people might tattle, run to the press, or gossip in the office, but Heather’s integrity was clad in stone.
She couldn’t force any words out of her mouth, and Heather’s eyes seemed to turn into X-ray beams, so she stared at the wall, hoping all her problems would just go away.
“C’mon. I’ll buy you lunch.”
Eating out would be so good.
She was so tired of pancakes they made her want to puke, but they were cheap.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know. I want to. You pick a place, and I’ll drive and pay.”
On the way out to the car, Heather did something Laura never saw before. She let her hair out of the carefully crafted bun, took her glasses off, folded them up, and tossed them in the back seat.
“Wow. You’re gorgeous, you should look like that more often.”
And you’re much younger than I thought.
Heather laughed.
“We all have our little secrets. I see perfectly well, I just wear those things so people will take me seriously.”
“Why? You’re the smartest person I know.”
“Thank you.”
She slid in behind the wheel and waited for Laura to take a seat.
“Truth is, I have a very high IQ and a good education, but I couldn’t get a well-paying job as long as I looked like me. It’s sad, but many people judge by the surface. Life is always more complicated than meets the eye.”
You’re telling me this so I’ll know I can trust you. That’s sweet.
Before she knew what was happening, the whole story spilled out, and they were pulled over by the side of the road so she could bawl in Heather’s arms. She hickuped, “I’m sorry.”
“You’re exhausted. Go home early and try to take a nap. Do you want a sleeping pill?”
“No… What if he calls me and I don’t hear?”
“Then you’ll see you have a missed call when you wake up. You can’t help anyone if you don’t take care of yourself.”
“You make it sound so easy. Why aren’t you judging me?”
Heather laughed.
“For what? For caring? For being human?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“Look… My two cents, or let’s make it five to account for inflation, you can’t be responsible for another person or for what happens to that person, because we all live our own lives. However, maybe your souls belong to each other at this point in time. It sounds like he needs you, and you can give something no one else can.”
Laura nodded mutely. The soul part went over her head, but the rest made sense.
Maybe she’s one of those new-age people.
“If that’s the case, you might have to go find him.”
Great idea, but how?
“I have no idea where he is.”
“Details. I’m sure we can find someone who knows him who can help you look.”
“I don’t… I d
on’t have any money.”
“I do. From the sound of it you might be saving this man’s life, and that’s a worthy cause.”
How have we worked together for three years and I never knew how amazing you are?
“Why would you do that?”
“It’s the right thing to do. Now, let’s get you some lunch, and then you need a nap.”
In the restaurant, Laura gulped down a sub, but her mind wandered along the same paths as always.
“I can’t tell you how happy I am to have someone to talk to about this. What do you think about him?”
Heather smirked. “I never heard of him before I saw you in that magazine. He’s a good-looking man. From what you’re telling me he has painted himself into a corner he can’t get out of on his own. It happens to everyone, to some extent.”
“Yes, but…”
Laura lowered her voice to a whisper.
“Do you think there’s something wrong with him?”
Why is she laughing? What’s so funny?
“There’s something wrong with most people. We all try to appear normal, but no one really is, and the people who are the strangest themselves are usually quickest to judge others.”
What does that mean? Yes? No?
“Maybe he needs medicine. Maybe he’s so tired of himself he’s fleeing, a lot of people try to run away from themselves, but no one truly can. You care for him, what difference does it make?”
Heather’s stare burned on her face. “You do realize even if you find him and put Pinocchio back together, odds are you won’t end up together in the long run.”
It was a painful truth, but nonetheless true. He’d tire of her like he did everything else.
“I know. I still have to try to help him.”
Because it’s the right thing to do.
Was Heather’s set of morals rubbing off on her already?
“Do you always do the right thing?”
“No. I strive for it, but no… Hey, if he doesn’t show up, maybe I’ll go with you and look for him.”
*****
Having someone to confide in was a relief.
How could they have worked together for so long without her knowing she shared a room with super woman? Heather was tall, beautiful, smart, and kind.
She probably catches thieves and saves orphans too. Must be some überspecies of human.
