She forced a smile. “Nothing. It’s cool. It’s just the cool mountain air, you know.”
“Whoever this guy is, he’s a prick,” I said.
She looked down at her feet. “Yeah, I guess he is.”
“Of course he is.”
I pulled her to me and held her.
At that time, I had no idea the prick was Johnny.
CHAPTER FOUR
~ Nicole ~
-1-
I would discover a few things about Nicole and Johnny later, much later, through her diary. For now, just know that I gained access to this diary, with her permission, if not with her willingness.
I’ve transcribed what was written in it and put it into third person so as to avoid confusion. And I’ve added the excerpts from it at the respective times when they occurred so that the account of events flows.
Nicole texted Johnny for the first time straight after I’d spoken to her about his text that night in Big Sur.
This is what was said:
-2-
Nicole: J. WTF!? U have a girl here who LOVES u more than the earth. A sexy AMAZING girl. WTF are you doing with that fucking SKANK up there in Portugal? Friend me on FB. We need to talk. NOW!
Johnny and Nicole had...history. Nicole wasn’t his favorite person. So they weren’t friends on FB.
Johnny: Nicole? This really isn’t any of ur business.
Nicole: Don’t gimme that CRAP! ... OK, I found u on FB. Accept my friend request so I don’t have to pay thru my ass to text u!
Johnny accepted.
Nicole, on FB: You’re an idiot, u know that?
Johnny: Well, hello to you too.
Nicole: She LUVS u Johnny. LUVS. I mean actually LUVS. You’re a fucking prick to let her go.
Johnny: This is none of your business, N!
Nicole: Stop using that line and talk to me.
Johnny: You’re not talking. Ur shouting and calling me names.
Nicole: Right. OK. I’m sorry.
Nicole, next message: Dump that bitch you’re with, J. Come back. Cat luvs you. She doesn’t say as much, but she does.
Johnny: That’s the second name you’ve called my girlfriend. You’re not scoring points here, N. I’ve moved on. Cat left me. It’s too late.
Nicole: We need to talk.
Johnny: We don’t need to talk. Drop it. You and I were never friends, N. That Cat has taken a liking to u is her business.
Nicole: Which means this is my business, too. Look, I can tell she wants to be with you. But she won’t come out & say it. And DON’T bullshit me about u not wanting to be with her. You broke up with ME to be with her for chrissake!
Johnny: Things have changed, N. We’re adults now.
Nicole: Oh, Christ. What crap.
Johnny: I’m gonna go now.
Nicole: No! Wait! I’m sorry.
No answer.
Nicole: Plz.
Johnny: What?
Nicole: ONE call. Just one. If I don’t put at least a fraction of a doubt in ur mind, I won’t call again. I promise u.
No answer.
Nicole: J. Please. She deserves @ least that much. If u guys r dead and buried, the call won’t matter, will it?
A pause.
Johnny: ONE call. Tomorrow. You’re 8 hours behind, so work out a time.
Nicole: I don’t want her to know we’re talking, so make it...6:30 AM my time—whatever that is ur time.
Johnny: No, that’s middle of the day. I’m working. It’s gotta be after 8PM here.
Nicole: OK. 1 sec, I’m doing some math here. ... Fine, I’ll work something out. How’s 10PM your time?
Johnny: Fine.
Nicole: Tku, Johnny. You won’t regret it, I swear it.
(At this stage, I walked back out onto the deck. And Nicole nearly dropped her phone.)
Johnny: I regret it already.
Nicole: OK, cool. Chat 2mrw. Awesome!
No answer.
-3-
The next day. Two PM.
“Hey, thanks for calling,” Nicole said.
“Be quick, Nicole.”
She put her hand to her brow, scratched. “So, what’s the deal? This new girl.”
“She’s not so new. We’ve been seeing each other four months now.”
“Fine, newish.”
“What do you mean what’s the deal?”
“Do you love her.” More a statement than a question.
“Maybe. It’s different. Why are you whispering?”
“I had to sneak away to make this call.”
“I see.”
“Do you love her, Johnny.” Again, not a question.
“Yes, you could say I love her.” The statement was businesslike in Nicole’s opinion.
“OK? Do you love her...as much as you loved Cat?”
“Cat? You’re calling her Cat now?”
“I’ve always called her that. Well, since we became friends.”
“A fact I’ll never understand.”
“This new girl—”
“Susana.”
“Susana. Do you love her as much as you loved Cat?”
“It’s irrelevant.”
“Just answer the question.”
“Like I said, it’s irrelevant.”
“So that’s a no.”
“Nicole, I don’t know what’s in this for you—”
“Please, Johnny, I know I was a bitch to you and Cat at school. I know it! Cat and I have made our peace. We’ve been on the road for five months, together every day. We know each other like sisters. Please understand that I’m making this call because I care about her.”
“It’s hard to swallow, not because I don’t believe you, but because I still remember you as the girl who spread wild rumors about Cat ‘spreading her legs three times a day’ for me which is why her grades went down. Meanwhile, she was being slapped around at home and you were making it worse. I also remember you as the one whose boyfriend took a swing at me and—”
“Johnny, you win, you’ve made me feel completely shit and made me feel like no one can change. Fine. You win, I lose. Are you happy?”
No answer.
“Hate me all you will,” she said, “but talk to me about Cat, OK? You promised one call. One. I’m not gonna let this go until you give me that call in its completion.”
His voice was suddenly softer. “OK. It’s been a long day here. I didn’t mean to dredge up the past.”
“This...Susana. Do you love her as much as you loved Cat?”
“I can’t answer that with you, Nicole. I just can’t. Like I said, I don’t know you like Cat maybe knows you. I don’t intend to be mean and cruel but...you haven’t earned my trust. So I can’t answer that for you.”
Defeated, she whispered, “And... And what if I gained your trust? Would you answer me then?”
Silence for a bit. Then, “Nicole, I gotta go. Me and Cat—”
“She loves you, damnit.”
“Huh?”
“She loves you. You and I got close enough as teenagers for me to understand when there’s pain in your voice, Johnny. I can hear it, dude. Don’t tell me you don’t love her back.”
And like a flash, he was angry. “Yeah, and? What the fuck good does it do? She told me to move on. So I did! I’m involved. I can’t just dump one girl because my ex is now suddenly ready to pick up the pieces. How would Cat feel if she and I were dating and then suddenly you and I got back together?”
He had a good point...
“Susana and I took it slow, Nicole. I waited for something—anything!—from Cat. Nothing. I got nothing. You can’t be with someone and then dump her because an ex suddenly appears.”
A loud sigh from him.
“Will...will you come back to the states, Johnny?”
“I will. But I’m not sure if it will be to live or simply to visit. And Susana will likely come with me. It won’t be a time for reunions.”
“You two were best friends, J. You and Cat.”
“You can’t be friends after you’ve been lovers, Nicole. It’s all or nothing.”
“I see.” Nicole’s voice was croaky. A small tear prickled her eye, and she didn’t understand it at the time.
“How—how is she, Nicole?”
And just like that, there was hope on the horizon.
“She’s...good. Real good. She’s getting really good at this photography, you know.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen the photos. You...you’re looking good as well. Hot, actually.”
“Johnny?”
“Come on, Nicole. That wasn’t me flirting. I was stating a fact.”
“Oh, OK. Fine.”
“God, forget it. You and I had our time together. Ironically, you and I are more likely to become friends than me and Cat. At least you and I can talk.”
“No spark,” Nicole muttered.
“Huh?”
“No...spark...between us, I said. I know what you mean. And...thank you...for the compliment.”
“So...she’s good? I mean...happy?”
“Yeah, she is. She’s...changed. Completely changed. She’s out of that dark place, Johnny. She’s the same sparkly, bubbly girl she used to be back when I was backstabbing her at school.”
“That’s good, that’s good. Not the backstabbing.”
“How’s, uhm, business?”
“It’s fine.” A pause. “It’s great...actually. It seems to be the only thing I’m really good at.”
“Cool. Cool.”
Silence.
“OK, Nicole. I gotta go.”
“Johnny, you’re breaking my heart with your stubbornness, you know? You really are.” She wiped a tear from her eye. “You’re just being bullheaded. You know you should come over here and try again with her. You know it.”
He sighed. “If anyone has to take the step, Nicole, it’s her.”
“But you’re ‘involved,’” she echoed.
“You read my mind.”
“Goddamnit. You two. Johnny, I’m not gonna give up. You at least owe her the friendship again. At least that much.”
“I told you, with us it’s all or nothing.”
“And I heard you. And I’m aiming for all.”
“You’ll miss.”
“Goddamnit,” she muttered. “You two are such a heartbreak.”
“It’s life, Nicole.”
“Life sucks.” Her nose was running now, and she wiped it on her arm.
“I know. I think we all learned that this past year.”
“I don’t want this call to end. I won’t give up on you two. But you said only one call and I was hoping...”
“Talking to you was not as painful as I expected. You can call again if you want. So long as you promise to admit at least once per conversation that you were indeed a backstabber.”
“Har har. If that’s what it takes...”
“And I’ll keep you as a Facebook friend.”
“Oh, what an honor.”
“But when you call, Nicole, don’t push this thing with Cat too hard. It’s over.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“Nicole?”
“What.”
“Maybe... Maybe I was wrong about you. Maybe I understand what Cat sees in you. You seem like a good friend.”
Nicole said nothing.
When she met me again on the trail, her eyes were rimmed red from crying.
CHAPTER FIVE
~ The Bikers ~
-1-
So, the bikers.
It was early February. We were heading in the general direction of Route 90, making our way down the far south, back to the east of the country. We were down in Texas, one of the more liberal states when it comes to “underage” drinking. (A most paradoxical statement, if there ever was one...)
The place was Marfa—a small town with only one traffic light, one bank, two restaurants, no drugstore—and about three hundred hipsters in designer clothing who look like they belong in Williamsburg or Greenwich Village. I kid you not. There’s an “art piece” dedicated to Prada about thirty miles out of the town, and cowboys herding cows inside it. Why? It’s a long story having to do with a minimalist artist called Donald Judd and American artists’ desires to find better and better places to do drugs—ahem, no...to find “inspiration.” The nearest airport is two hundred miles away, but a large percentage of the population wears Gucci (and probably goes shrooming each night to divine the meaning of life...or of their navel).
Nic and I went drinking the night we arrived. It wasn’t hard to find the bar. There was only one.
I think the last crime they had in this town was in 1932.
Alice came by the bar and told the bartender she’d be buying drinks for us. The guy, who was missing a tooth and looked to be in his nineties, said, “Ah, missy, don’t you worry bout nuthin. I seen ya now. And so I knows these young girls be drinkin unner yo consent. Ain nobody goan givem trouble.” Alice looked around at the hipster crowd—a dude in a bright green shirt nursing a beer, playing pool; people our age, nobody being loud—and she smiled.
“I think we’re the most dangerous people here,” she whispered to me. “I’m heading on to the hotel. I’m beat. You girls have fun.”
I met more New Yorkers my age in this little Texas town than I probably would at NYU.
Nic and I played a lot of eight-ball and finished up with three beers each in total. At the end of the night, we were invited to go smoke up some weed in the desert. We declined.
The next day, we met up with the same artsy gang at the Food Shark, a local restaurant run by a dude sporting about a hundred vintage cars and buses, each displaying “Food Shark” on its side, and many of the larger ones gutted to fit in chairs and tables for eating. Very artsy.
It was then that we heard the roar approaching from the north. In a town where all you hear is nothing all day, the sound was deafening. It sounded like roadhogs, dozens of them, coming down Texas State Highway 17. The low-lying buildings around us blocked our view, but there are only two roads into this town, so it wasn’t hard to guess their direction.
The biker gang arrived three minutes later, easily forty or fifty rough-looking guys. The patch on their jackets read BlueHorn Angels MC, the insignia being the head of a longhorn, with skulls and rings and flags tied to each horn.
Each horn was, well, blue.
They parked their hogs next to the vintage cars and got out and smiled at us. Each chopper was a masterpiece, custom-made, not a single one looking like the other. “How are ya?” one guy said, his beard blocking his mouth completely.
Alice gripped my arm tight.
And I snatched up my camera.
I started taking photos while they ordered up a whirlwind of falafels and shot the shit with each other and some of the locals.
A bulldog with shades and a denim vest chewed on a fresh gyro sandwich which his owner had placed on the floor for him. The owner, a burly dude who was probably the reigning beer-gut champion of the world, saw me with my camera. He had a white-red beard, wiry and thick. He grinned at me, two gold teeth gleaming against the desert sun. When he spoke, it sounded like he’d smoked a hundred cigarettes just that morning. “Heya, missy, come over ’ere and shoot one close up of me and me boy.” The guy sounded like a pirate, I kid you not.
I took the shot.
The man knelt next to his pooch and squeezed its jowls. He made a kissing face, and the ensuing photos were comically grotesque. Especially the one of them taking a mutual bite of the sandwich. Other bikers joined in, each posing with the dog I came to learn was called Jax. Jax Teller. Yeah, that Jax Teller. (For those of you who don’t see the relevance of that, check out Sons of Anarchy.)
“So, how do I get a copy of these?” the man growled.
“Uhm,” I said, “do you have an email address?”
Laughter roared. All the men found my statement really funny.
“Facebook account?” I ventured.
“I got a Facebook account,” a man
from the back said, his voice gravelly and commanding. The group parted to make way for him. He was tall and muscular, probably early forties, hair almost completely white. He spoke with a thick southern drawl. “I manage our page. But I also got an email. Send them to me.” I got his address. “Hey,” he said afterwards. “Would you take a few of all of us together? Maybe here in front of the Food Shark truck?”
I was about to say yes when Alice appeared out of nowhere. She gripped my elbow. “If we do, could we get model release forms from you guys and sell them?” she blurted out.
I was completely embarrassed. “Alice!”
She elbowed me.
The tall man smirked. “And who...might you be?”
Alice stayed firm. “Her m—manager.”
There were murmurs from the bikers, and a few snickers. I played with my camera, looking down. The tall man’s grin grew wider. “M—manager? M—manager of what?”
Suddenly I became aware of the split between us, them on one side, us on the other. Only, there were forty of them, and three of us.
“She’s a photographer,” Alice said.
“Mister,” I said, “I’ll take the shot—”
He stopped me with an upturned hand. “Don’t worry, young lady. Let the...” He raked Alice’s body up and down with cold blue eyes. “...older, yet no less attractive, woman speak.”
“Release forms,” she said. “We’d like to sell the photos.”
There was an eerie silence. No one spoke. Not even the artistes at the wooden tables. I think they even stopped chewing.
“Well, you see...” He gestured for my mother’s name.
“A—Alice.”
“Alice. Hmmmm. Well, you see, Alice, as much as I’d like to help out three mighty attractive young women...” His eyes lingered particularly long on Nicole’s breasts, then her legs. “We like our identities...private. Off the grid and all.” He looked around at his gang. They stood or sat in tableau, quiet, waiting.
“I—I see,” Alice said. “OK. Well, it’s no problem. I just was hoping—”
Again, the tall man put his hand up.
He looked around at the men, first the left side, then the right. And then there was a nod, an indistinct, minute movement of the head. And the slightest of smiles.
Losing Johnny Page 3
