Use Somebody

by Beck Anderson

  I turn the hand over. It’s the one she cut, the one that was bandaged that first night. The healing wound is pink and bumpy across her palm. I trace it with my finger.

  I open my mouth, and the truth spills out. “I want you. I don’t care if you stole it. I don’t think you did, but I still want you no matter what.”

  She puts her other hand at the back of my neck and pulls me down to her. She kisses me.

  I open my mouth to hers, and I push my body close to hers. I take her in my arms, pull her to me, lift her up to kiss her more deeply. She wraps her legs around my waist.

  “God dammit, you better be telling me the truth.” I carry her into her house, straight to the bedroom.

  And the little dogs set out to eat the cushions of the living room couch.

  We lie in bed, and I watch Macy. The sun’s finally up, but Macy’s fallen back to sleep. She’s drifted off, her lips parted as she breathes, a little soft raspy sound on each intake of breath.

  I wonder about her life, when she was younger. I wish I’d been here, met her earlier, maybe spared her some of the hard living she had to do.

  I’ve never been one to look back much. I think it serves me pretty well. I can be sentimental or nostalgic, I guess, but I don’t dwell on the past much at all, mostly because I don’t see the purpose.

  Plus, unless it’s fond remembering, it just reminds me what a colossal dumb ass I can be. A lot. Often. Frequently.

  I had a girlfriend once (briefly—I’ve been over this territory—I’m pretty sure she handed out flyers about my failings in the middle of a well-to-do street in Bel Air). This girlfriend, she could not only remember what happened on a specific day that was weeks, months, or years ago, she could also remember what day of the week it was, the weather, everything.

  “You were wearing that red polo, the one I like so much, with the white trim on the collar,” she’d say.

  It hurt her feelings that I couldn’t recall the name of her sister. It was Eugenia, which is weird, in my opinion, so I should’ve remembered it. We broke up at a polo match on the Coachella grounds when she implied that she could do all the remembering for both of us, as though I needed to marry her before I was reduced to a gravy-slurping simpleton in my old age. I told her at least I didn’t already have an old person’s name like Eugenia did, and that was that.

  Anyway, the point of that is this: some days, I can’t remember if I’ve shaved until I run a hand over my face. I think it’s for good reason.

  Maybe it’s the pace I keep. Maybe it’s true—I am a shark—if I stop and consider and ponder and hold on to the past, I’ll suffocate and die.

  Maybe that’s why Macy and I, we click. Because as “unproud” of my past as I am, she can say the same.

  Maybe we’re both looking to the future because it’s gotta be better than the past.

  A clean slate is never more appealing than when your current slate is ugly, with black, deep marks from a whole lot of screw-ups and mistakes. Some ugly things are carved into both of our slates, gouged and messy.

  So forgetting isn’t a bad thing.

  Except, right now, I’m looking at Macy, trying to soak this moment in.

  This is the first time she hasn’t fled the scene of the crime, so to speak. When we were together in Seattle, she didn’t wake up with me. But here she is, sleeping next to me.

  This moment, I wouldn’t mind remembering this one. The sunlight through the blinds in her ridiculously pink bedroom lights up the wisps of hair around her face.

  I can hear the dogs in the other room. They definitely did some damage, I suspect. Now one of them sounds like he’s eating kibble in the kitchen, but the other one, probably Justin Trudeau, snores. I can hear his snorts loud and clear.

  “Grandma Kitty. She’s why I like pink.” Macy opens her eyes and looks right into mine.

  “What?” I stretch an arm out as she slides in close to me, rests her head on my chest.

  “One of the times they took me away from my mom, when I was little, I went to stay with a foster mom. She was older. Her name was Grandma Kitty.” Macy swallows hard, but continues. “Mom always painted my fingernails black.”

  “What? When you were little?” I reach out and touch her hair.

  “Yeah. She painted a wall in my room black, too.” She picks her head up and looks at me. “Let’s leave it at ‘she had issues’. But anyway, I ended up one night at Grandma Kitty’s house.”

  She breathes in deeply, pulls her body closer to mine. “Her house was warm, and she smelled like lavender. The first thing she did was put me into a bubble bath. The whole bathroom was sparkling white, and the tub was warm and filled to overflowing with these silky sweet bubbles. And I soaked in the tub, and she helped me wash my hair, and then she took the black nail polish off my fingers, and she said to me, ‘Princesses wear pink nail polish. Don’t let anyone tell you you’re not a princess.’”

  “Princess. Definitely you.” I smile and kiss her.

  “So that’s why the pink. She was one of the nicest people I ever got to know.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “I think you’re petting my hair. Can you not?” Macy reaches up and touches my hand.

  “I was caressing your hair, comforting you.”

  “I don’t like being petted.”

  “Think of it as more of a pat.”

  “It’s still a no.” She sits up and pulls her t-shirt down, turns to face me. “Everything else is a big hell yes, though.”

  “You’ve taken up swearing again, then?” I sit up and take her face in my hands, kiss her deeply.

  “Hell yes, I have.” She kisses me back. “Will you help me straighten this mess out?”

  “I’ve already started. I hope that’s okay.”

  She sits back and nods. “I’ll give you as much information as I can. I’ve screwed plenty of things up in my time, but I’d never screw up the best job I’ve ever had. I swear.”

  “I think we follow the timeline and the money and it’ll all come out. But this place, Macy, I don’t know.”

  “Let’s not talk about me leaving the river, okay? It breaks my heart to think about it.”

  I nod. “Fair enough. We’ll get this figured out.”

  She kisses me and untangles herself from the bedcovers. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

  I lie back and look at the ridiculous Canadian flag on her ceiling. “Okay.”

  She waits at the bathroom door. “You coming?”

  “What?”

  She points at me; she points to the bathroom. “Shower. You coming?”

  Hell yes, I am.

  It’s fair to say that the rest of the day is epic. But real life has a nasty way of rearing its ugly head. Macy and I need to solve her very big problem before the weekend ends, and law enforcement makes an appearance.

  I’ve got calls out to my favorite money people in LA, and Todd is due to arrive here any minute. Between the money trail and what I hope Todd can attest to, I think I can make this work for Macy. I can fix this for Macy.

  As the afternoon wanes, I drive back to the lodge to pick up the rest of the crew. We’re all headed to the fairgrounds for the big 4th of July party. Macy plans to meet us there after she finds all of her bank statements from the last year. She got the marching orders from my agency’s lawyer, who I of course corralled into helping me. Why do I employ these people if not to help the people I love out of a jam? I hustle to the lodge and try to ignore the fact that I love Macy and that I’m even admitting it now too.

  The 4th of July in LA isn’t much different than any other summer weekend. All the industry types jostle for invites to the best parties and worry about being seen. It usually ends up that someone has a Malibu beach house or downtown restaurant rooftop or Hollywood Hills pool where they host a party. There may be a sparkler or two, but mostly the party consists of young actresses (wearing tiny star-spangled swimsuits they spent a month’s waitress or PA salary to buy) dancing around, preenin
g and hoping someone will notice their spray-tanned selves. Kind of Coachella without the sunstroke.

  I’ve begun to realize that in other parts of the country, the 4th of July is still associated with, you know, Independence Day and freedom and forefathers.

  It appears that Teton County, Idaho, may be the epicenter of patriotic fervor. I pick up Andy, Kelly, and Quincy, and we drive to the county fairgrounds in Driggs.

  It’s not exactly what I pictured. I expected a country gazebo, maybe a town square with a big white bandstand.

  This is a big dusty square of land, just past the Super 8 and the Seoul Korean restaurant. And the Teton County museum, which is more fancy and beige than I expected.

  If it weren’t for a huge white carnival-style tent, it’d be a million degrees here.

  We get out to survey the area. The sun can’t go down soon enough.

  “It’s hot.” Andy slides on his sunglasses, but there will be no hoodie-wearing in this sunshine.

  “Ya don’t say?” I feel nervous and cranky.

  “Da da da da da!” Quincy hits the ground wobbly, but running. Kelly chases after her, toward the sketchy-looking workers installing a wooden parquet dance floor in front of a stage under the cover of the huge white Tates Rents tent.

  Andy stays back with me, ready to fill in as my counselor. “What’s up? I thought things were all fixed between you and fishergirl.”

  “They are. Now we’ve got to fix a problem someone’s hung around her neck.”

  “Are you planning on elaborating?” He looks worried.

  “I could. Do you really want me to right now?” I might sound a bit snippy.

  “I guess you could do the typical Jeremy thing instead.”

  “Which is what?” I’m sweating between my shoulder blades. If the sun would just freaking go down already.

  “You know, you usually make a bigger mess of the problem and then fix it and then act as though you were in control the whole time.” We finally make it under the shade of the tent, and I swear the temperature drops ten degrees.

  “There’s where I beg to differ. I’m always in control. That’s the typical Jeremy King thing—control.”

  He smiles, but it’s this weird, mom kind of “I’ll humor you” smile. I think I’m not going to like what comes next. “Sit back. I’m about to get preachy.”

  I hold my hands to the heavens. “Here it comes. I’m ready to receive your wisdom.”

  He waves me off. “You scoff, you deride, you pooh-pooh—”

  “I don’t ‘pooh-pooh.’ Give me some credit.” I sigh and sit on a folding chair. Besides the workers and Kelly and Quincy, the tent is empty. The smart locals knew it’d be too damn hot until the sun sunk under the horizon. Nobody here but us tourists.

  “Let’s talk about control.”

  “What about it?”

  “The crazy thing about life—you can’t control it. The crazy thing about human beings? They won’t let you control them. As much as you want to be the smartest guy in the room, be the one in control, life won’t let you run the show. How you respond to that, react to that, hell, how you roll with that—that’s your quality of life right there.” He points to Quincy, who at this moment trips over her own toddler shoes and eats it on the newly-installed dance floor.

  But before Kelly can scoop her up, Q tripods back up to standing and takes off at a full run again.

  “See?” Andy points at her. “You value dominance, control? Think that’s what equals winning? No. Resilience. That is what puts a man on top. The ability to absorb the punches, roll with the punches, get back up. Just like Q over there. Never stay down when the thing sideswipes you that you never saw coming.”

  I chew on this for a minute. “Macy’s life. She’s been kicked in the teeth so many times. I just want to spare her some of that.”

  He shakes his head. I notice he’s not taken his sunglasses off yet, even though we’re sitting in the cool shade of the tent. “You can’t spare her. She is who she is because she’s resilient. Persistent. Relentless. It’s not always about winning, Jeremy King-of-the-world. It’s about coming back from defeat. Over and over again. That’s life.”

  I get up from the steel folding chair and walk toward Q, watching her toddle in circles. “But it’d be so much easier if I could just win all the time. That’s my zone.”

  Andy comes over and gives me the fatherly hand on the shoulder, with the added empathy squeeze. He uses it a lot in “listening scenes” in his movies, but I can tell it’s genuine now. “Losing builds character. Losing control makes you human. We tell Hunter and Beau ‘mistakes are for learning, losing is how you win at life’ all the time. Seems to work. They’ve turned out to be mostly normal people.”

  “Now you’re parenting me? Great.”

  He scoops up Quincy and carries her, fireman-carry, to her mom. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen, eh, J?”

  I stand there and watch as Andy drifts over to his wife, surrounded by a slowly growing number of people and a whole lot of red, white, and blue.

  Everything is drenched in it. Bunting, banners, streamers, lights—if it’s stationary, it’s been decorated.

  Andy and Kelly take to the dance floor with Quincy in the fading light. There’s a DJ now, and the music will clearly be all country, all the time. Quincy twirls in circles and squeals.

  I would grab a beer, but there’s a clearly marked “beer garden,” and I know Andy won’t go within eight miles of it, so I guess tonight’s a bottled water kind of a night.

  I come up to Andy, who’s watching Kelly chase Quincy.

  “Does she run on nuclear power? She’s never still.”

  Andy shrugs. “Toddlers are powered by the sun. Or the moon. Or juice boxes.”

  We watch as Kelly follows Quincy, who weaves in and out of the people milling around the dance floor. It’s too early for dancing, maybe. The Rotary Club is busy setting up long tables and roasting hot dogs for the picnic. Quincy seems to be making a real effort to ditch her mom in the crowd.

  “Looks exhausting.”

  Andy nods. “Pretty much.”

  But then Quincy, as if on cue, notices Andy and me standing over here. She lets out a delighted squeal and comes careening over on her fat little baby legs.

  “Daddeee!”

  “Baby!” Andy kneels and opens his arms to the blonde whirling dervish. Her forward momentum propels her into his arms, and he scoops her up.

  “How’s Daddy’s favorite baby?” He gives her a big kiss.

  She giggles and grabs a big tuft of his hair.

  Andy points to her and then uses the same hand to wrest his hair away from her. “Exhausting but absolutely worth it, my friend.”

  The sun’s gone now, and the set-up crew turns on all of the strands of red, white and blue lights. As more people who are clearly from around here begin to show up, I feel self-conscious in my collared shirt and loafers. “One of us should’ve packed cowboy boots.”

  Andy nods. “Something faintly red, white, or blue would’ve come in handy, probably.”

  “I get my ass kicked in crowds like this. It rarely fails.”

  “You should get your ass kicked in all sorts of crowds, but you don’t, so don’t sweat it.”

  “I wish Tucker was here.” I have a passing thought about Troy. It’d be nice to have Tucker around if Troy made an appearance. Tucker assures us Troy won’t, but I’m the one who’s paid to worry about all kinds of contingencies.

  “Will I do?” Todd Ford slaps Andy and me on the back at the same time.

  “Not really.” I turn around as he gives Andy the bro-hug. I manage to put a hand out, and Todd shakes. I do need him to help Macy, after all.

  “You made it. I’m glad but surprised.” Andy smiles at him.

  Todd shrugs a little. “Jeremy kind of made it sound like an emergency, so here I am.”

  “What’s that about?” Andy asks me. “And if you’ve roped Todd into it, you might as well rope me in too.”


  “Fine.” I try not to scowl. “I wanted to have Todd here to vouch for Macy.”

  “For what?”

  Todd butts in. “The last day you all fished. When I stayed back at the lodge. I can vouch for Macy.”

  “About what?” Andy looks puzzled.

  I speak up. “Richard says there’s a deposit from that day that’s gone missing, and that Macy took it. Said she was supposed to take the deposit to the bank, but it never made it there.”

  “Huh. That doesn’t sound good.”

  I poke at Andy, trying to get him to hold off on making a judgment, and point at Todd. “But tell him why you matter in this.”

  “I saw Richard take the deposit bag to his car, and I knew she wasn’t in the lodge when he said she was, because she was with me.” Todd says it quietly, and his lips form a slim line.

  Andy looks panicked. “You knew Jeremy was all about her. What were you doing?”

  I shake my head. “No, it’s not that. Give him a chance. And besides, there’s absolutely no way she’d be interested in him.”

  Andy walks over to one of the long tables and sits down. We follow, but two teenage girls approach him for an autograph and a selfie first.

  Todd squints at me. “‘Absolutely no way’? You were pretty worried she might be interested in me the first couple days.”

  “Shut it, Todd. Just tell these girls to take a walk and tell Andy what happened.”

  Todd intervenes and sends the young girls, autographs in hand, on their way. He and I sit on either side of Andy to fend off any other potential nuisances.

  “So what’s the story?” Andy looks tired of us.

  Todd sits back. “Macy came by since she was still benched from fishing. She was going to leave a note for lover boy here. But I was there, and she saw that I was upset, so she stayed.”

  “Upset?” Andy’s confused.

  I’m losing patience now. “You know how Todd was on his phone the whole week, and all distracted, and all ‘I’ve got important band business’?”