by David Louden
“I’m sorry.” I said.
“It’s cool.” Janie released her arms from around my neck and took a stepped out of the dance. She walked to the Steinway and raised her glass to her mouth, emptying the entire thing down her throat.
“Janie.”
“I’m gonna get more wine. You want more?” The question almost didn’t reach my ears as she’d started walking towards the door the second speech left her lips.
I followed her out into the hall and down to the basement.
“Janie.”
Silence.
“Janie.”
The clinking of bottles highlight silence.
“Janie!”
“What?!” She snapped. She’s offended, I can understand that.
“This is not about you.” I feel exposed, sharing feelings is dangerous “Seriously the fact that I’m here; I’m a little screwed up and you’re absolutely gorgeous. You’re funny and beautiful and smart and sexy and I’d be a fucking idiot not to want you.”
“Then why don’t you?” Janie interrupts sharply
“I do. I mean I really do. I’d love nothing more than to take you upstairs and…I’m just. I do that and there’s no going back. There’s no hope. Kelly will never speak to me again and there’ll be no hope…and I need there to be hope.”
“She’s getting married,” Janie’s face pities me “she’s really done a number on you hasn’t she?”
She walks towards me in the chiaroscuro lit basement. Handing me two bottles of wine she grabs my face and pulls me in for a kiss. It’s soft, tender with just the right amount of wet.
“She had to wreck the one I wanted.” Confessed Janie.
“I’m not that great Janie…honest.”
“And modest.”
“Truthfully. The woman whose ass I had my cock in this afternoon hit me with a cup…in the face.” I point to the angry red mass on my face “What does that tell you?”
“Bitches be crazy.”
“Ain’t that the truth Marley.”
Back upstairs we bed in for the night. The living room is a lot more comfortable now that it no longer stinks of sexual tension. I’ve stopped seeing Janie as sexy which is a relief yet incredibly sad. “I’ll polish myself later to that ass” I console myself. Slouched in the couch I down another glass of wine as Janie lays the length of the remainder of the soft leather embrace, her feet resting in my lap. I find myself reverting to habit and massaging her toes. We talk about dreams, my aspirations had changed recently. I went from wanting to get out of Queen’s admin and get myself a job that actually spoke to my desires instead to just wanting the next bar to accept my behaviour and maybe snatch the odd screw here and there. Janie was still filled with possibility. Her dreams were large, untamed, perfectly formed. She was going to write. It didn’t matter how she paid the bills, where she ended up. She was going to write and be happy doing it. She was going to fuck an Adonis and the two of them would be happy writing and fucking. Another bottle down and my shoes and socks come off; the shirt is still on but only by three buttons. Janie is now giving me the low down on Kelly’s faults. How her sister is a quitter, how she gave up on me too easy. A year ago I probably would have agreed with that assessment but the truth of the matter was that things had gotten stale and I was unwilling or unable to do anything about it. I pushed her away because I didn’t want to be the one to make the tough call. I was just like Mary.
I woke the following morning in a strange room. The ceilings were high. The room dressed but unused. “Must be a guest room” I deduced before hoping I was still on the Belmont Road and that when I rolled over I would be alone. I was. The contents of my pants were unused. I’d never been so relieved to not get laid. I stumble to my feet, somewhere between still drunk and hung-over. My eyes adjust gradually. I throw on my jeans, shirt, socks and my left shoe…no right one is apparent.
Leaving the room I hear Janie in the kitchen. Buttoning up I traverse the unfamiliar staircase. Other voices join Janie’s. I hear the words “so how was your trip?” coming from what I guess is Janie. I recommence my descent only with a softer foot. I don’t want to get Janie into trouble, I’ll leave, call a cab and text her later about my shoe. The bottom stair betrays me, it creaks. The kitchen falls silent. In an instant I judge the distance between the stairs and the front door. If I don’t hesitate and if it isn’t locked I can make it. I can be out the door before they get to the hallway. I rush. I’m almost there, my hand extended…
“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Kelly expels.
I freeze. Perhaps she doesn’t recognise me from behind. It’s an outside shot.
“Tell me this is a fuckin’ joke Doug.”
Shit.
I turn to face her. She’s lost weight, her curves have lessened. She looks more up and down. Her breasts have definitely gotten smaller and there’s a sunkenness in her cheeks that wasn’t there. Her tan masks what looks like dark bags under her eyes. I don’t recognise this Kelly.
“Look this is…” I’m interrupted.
“I’m sure it’s not what it looks like, cos that would take a real sick bastard for this to be what it looks like.” Her hands were on her hips. This was not a good sign. Rick appears behind Kelly. He puts a hand on her shoulder, his sign of support, she shrugs it off. He shakes his head as though I’m to be saddened in myself that I have disappointed him.
“Ramblin’ Rick,” I nod a hello to him “should have known by the art.”
“So this is a big joke to you then?!” Kelly was beginning to sound like her mum.
“Hold on a minute!” My tone unnecessarily defensive “Firstly I’ve done nothing wrong here, secondly nice house you’ve done incredibly well for yourself and thirdly…” I didn’t realise I hadn’t had a thirdly until this point “Where in the holy fuck is my shoe?”
Janie magically appeared behind Rick. She tossed my shoe through the hall. I caught it. She was in a vest top and a pair of pyjama shorts with little broken hearts on them; the kind that don’t completely cover the southern cheeks. I try not to get caught looking but in the morning light she’s an impressive sight. I focus on Kelly as I put my shoe on.
“I can’t believe you would fuck my sister.” She proclaimed.
“I di..” I’m interrupted again.
“What?!” Yells Janie “Jesus Christ Kel you broke up with him! You can’t decide when you want a say over what he does and doesn’t do.”
“Seriously Janie,” Kelly’s look is stern “you need to stay out of this.”
“Janie.” I offer but they both stare at me and shut down that sentence.
“You need to get a grip!” Janie says to Kelly before turning to Rick “You need to sack up and control your woman.”
I snigger at how gangsta Janie is. She pushes past the couple and makes her way down the hall before turning back to her sister and brother-in-law-to-be.
“I’ll call back for my stuff later,” before linking my arm “let’s go!”
I open the front door, I look back at Kelly. She looks hurt. I was grateful of Janie’s moral support but I wasn’t entirely sure we had won that battle.
“You’re turning into everything you’d swore you’d never be.” Kelly said as I departed
Her eyes were focused somewhere between the two of us. She addressed neither of us specifically but that was obviously for me and her disappointment stung.
Outside the house I wrapped an arm around Janie. I had no jacket to offer her so a tight embrace as we walked would have to do. I walked her home and gave her a kiss on the cheek before waiting as the broken hearts disappeared behind a solid oak door as I tried to make sense of how Janie thought Kelly had been more jealous than angry.
18
BILLIE WAS AVOIDING ME. I shouldn’t have cared but I did. I didn’t like it when she thought ill of me and at that moment I was pretty sure she thought ill of me. I didn’t like missing her either but I did. Before I had fucked up and put my winky near her we had had a series of lif
e skills dates. Billie had taken me out on her bike up the tamed wild of Topanga Canyon Road to a horse riding school.
“Me thinks you’re not taking this idea seriously Miss Galligan.” I stated “How exactly is horse riding a life skill? I don’t see a saloon or sarsaparilla in my near future.”
Politely Billie requested that I shut my smart mouth. She had been a three day eventer as a child and had loved it. She loved all animals, except slugs and snails as they were “bad for dogs”. Stowing her crash helmet I pass her mine, she removes her tightly fitted leather jacket. Good. It did nothing for her shape as it crushed everything against her body. She had phoned ahead and two horses awaited us alongside a tutor. Hers was black with a patch of white on his chest, I tried not to make eye contact with his cock. She made light work of the 18 hand muscled horse without even a leg up and was kind enough to bite her lip as I all but hitchhiked up the side of the 15 hand red dun mare that greeted me. Once I was convinced that I wasn’t going to vacate my bowels or get tossed if I loosened up I was able to see Billie at her happiest. The stress I had witnessed when she wasn’t dancing or the darkness that came out of the blue that she had mentioned over lunches had taken the day off. She was no more beautiful or at peace than when she was surrounded by animals or uncomplicated people. I took her bowling the following day. Slacking off at University in my first year I would spend core hours Monday to Friday in the bowling alley off Bedford Street in the centre of Belfast. Three games for £4. Unlike my riding session at Topanga, a life lesson that most certainly claimed by ass cherry, Billie took to bowling quite easily. She even came close to beating me in one of the games, I told myself it was because I’d been focusing on her ass but the truth is she was naturally good at anything she turned her hand to.
I was drinking a lot more heavily. A fifth for breakfast, a few beers with lunch and then I’d power through dinner time on a mixture of rum, vodka and tequila with a dash of weed and as many Marlboros as my pockets would carry. My interest in women was gone. I’d been limp dicked for days now, a combination of alcohol and pills had rendered me harmless to the opposite sex. Natasha had tried to raise an interest in her cooze but by mid afternoon it would be like trying to put toothpaste back in the tube. Within a couple of days she was looking elsewhere and by the end of the week she had simply stopped calling.
Divisions had begun to appear in our little alcoholic family. Stan had borrowed two hundred dollars from Bret and repaid his generosity by sticking it in May when Bret and I were out shooting pool. It led to a blow out of epic proportions and a Bret versus May screaming match on the patio that felt like Mum and Dad were breaking up and resulted in the LAPD being called out. Stan packed his bags at the end of the week and was about to move out when Bret cornered me.
“Dude that fucker still hasn’t given me back my money.” He confessed.
“Cheeky cunt.”
“I’m trying to be cool about it for May but…”
“Fuck what she wants man, she gave up that right and fuck him.”
We drank canned Guinness in the library and came up with a plan. I grabbed a lead pipe from the laundry room and wrapped it in a towel.
“So we don’t leave any marks.” I told Bret.
We then stagger-marched to Stan’s room Bret banging on the door loud enough to cause a few people further along the corridor to answer theirs. The door opened. Stan stood semi clothed before us, a woman lay under the sheets in his bed.
“My money.” Demanded Bret.
“Dude I’m a little short but I can wire you the second I get home.” Replied Stan.
“That’s not gonna work.” Bret countered.
Stan sees the pipe in my hand.
“Get your coat you’ve pulled.” I barked.
We frog marched Stan to the nearest ATM. He put his card in, typed the digits. He knew what was coming next. Insufficient Funds. The three of us walked back to the hostel in silence. Bret and I walked Stan to his door.
“So I’ll wire you right?” He said almost pleading.
“Passport!” I instructed.
“What?” His voice raised an octave.
“You ain’t leaving till my boy here gets back what he kindly loaned to you. You can keep the cunt in the bed.” I pointed my pipe in the direction of his bed “Passport.”
Stan disappeared into the darkness of dorm room, returning his hand outstretched with a brown wallet containing his passport. He handed it to Bret who took it and placed it in his back pocket. He came through with the money the following day. He had phoned home, his parents wired him the money immediately and prayed that he got home safe. Bret gave him back his passport and laughed when Stan asked “Was Doug really going to hurt me?” Bret took Oscar and me out for drinks. When we returned May was packing her bags and asking if she could tag along with Carl who was leaving Los Angeles to go home, Norway not Sweden. People began looking at us differently. The hostel was a place for drinking and screwing, a place where morality and ownership and conventional relationships were not welcome. We had broken their laws. It changed nothing for me. I couldn’t give a fuck what any of them thought. The fact that they actually believed their opinions were worth more than a swear word in their general direction amused me. Bret took it a little harder. He didn’t like the atmosphere, how conversations would change and stop and lower in volume when we would enter. After a couple weeks of it, with Oscar calling time and Hayden getting a gig in Nashville Bret came to me.
“Hey man,” was his opener “I’ve been thinking.”
“You breaking up with me?” I sip my rum and make eyes at some of the clucking hens across from us.
“I need to get outta here man. I’m going back to Canada.”
“Oh yeah?” I say sceptically. We’ve had this conversation before. “When’re you thinkin’ of going?”
“Just phoned the Amtrak and booked a spot for tomorrow.”
We blew the roof off Venice that night toasting the exodus of Brother Bret. It was a party that would leave Frank, Simon and I recovering for days. The next time I would see my Kenyan brother, he was waving his phone and ranting about a job. An ex-Army buddy had wrangled him a gig with a private security company in New York. Frank and I did the honours and took Simon out for one last ride in Hell.A. A week later it would be Frank’s turn. He had somehow managed to convince the hostel to let him take newcomers on a guided pub crawl.
“It’ll be like shooting fish in a fuckin’ barrel mate.” He proclaimed.
On his second outing he would wake up in Vegas. He saw it as a sign and decided to stay. And then there was me. I was drifting, this was not something new. It’s not as if my time in Los Angeles had been some sort of long sighted career move but I was drifting alone. I hadn’t seen Johnny in months; I avoided The Snake Pit as I didn’t want to see the mess that Herb’s death had created in Elsa. Billie was avoiding me, Rob, Jen, Natasha, Bret, Simon, Oscar, Carl, Frank, Hayden all gone. I didn’t dream anymore, I didn’t eat, I didn’t fuck, I just drank. The pain in my chest was ever present, it would have company in the mornings as my liver wept in its efforts to process the crud I was funnelling into it at increasingly alarming rates. On a good day I could detect some pee in my blood. My wallet was thin. I had finally dropped into the hundreds. I had no more distractions, they had all been exhausted.
19
I HAD LOST track of days. It happens. There was a soft focus hue bookending a weekend which involved a drunken trip to Santa Barbara and being escorted from a bar for dropping trou and asking a barmaid, a mousey blonde who was all tits and ass, to judge the “Prettiest Boy Competition”. That was about all my sub consciousness was willing to remember, god bless it. I knew it was the weekend because the Santa Monica Pier was awash with families. My aviators protected me the best they could against the brightness as my hangover was in full swing but powerless against the high pitched shriek of the preteens, unless ramming the shades into their open throats was an option. I hadn’t shaved or had a haircut in lon
ger than I could remember. My black hair needed to be finger combed straight back to keep it from my eyes. A two inch streak of grey hair, my skunk trail, travelled back from the hairline over my left eye. My beard was dishevelled, unattended, and wild. Flecks of grey betrayed my age, flecks of ginger – my Irish roots. It dawned on me how bad I must have looked when a tourist dropped some loose change at my feet as I kneeled to tie my shoe laces. I had bought a bottle of dark rum and poured it into a cola bottle. I stood at the end of the pier looking out into the vast blue. The pier was busy, colourful, and loud. The ocean sat still, peaceful on the surface as far as the eye would allow you to see. I couldn’t swim but I’d checked this option off the list of ways to go. There’d be no clean up but it would be shit scary and you’d always have to contend with that last minute survival instinct. Fuck that.
Five minutes past before I even blinked. When I turned around a well tanned man in a light suit and perfect hair was staring at me. He had a blonde with curly hair and a floral maxi dress on his arm.
“Is that you Doug?” Pondered Don.
“Don Johnson!” I yelled before walking forward and giving him a hug.
“You know this guy?” The blonde was stunned.
“Biblically baby.” I throw her a wink before realising I’m still wearing my shades.
We catch up, Don seems pleased to see me. He mustn’t know I had part of my anatomy inside his sister. It’s not long before he brings Billie up. He’s throwing a surprise birthday party for her at Tokyo. Times had been tough of late. The fundraising had taken a massive hit when the Office Administrator got a ‘Failure to Pay’ notification letter from the IRS and an instant fine which was weighty enough to effectively wipe out all the good work her kicks, flicks and gauchos had achieved in recent months. Don had previously offered financial aid but Billie being head strong and proud of her independence politely declined Crockett’s blank cheque. The ‘Immediate Action’ red lettering of the Government office sent her rushing to Tokyo, and Don Johnson bailing on all the typical back and forth “I told you so” that accompanies a brother who prides himself on always being right. It didn’t sound promising, too little too late perhaps. Even though she had nothing to do with the sums she blamed herself. If that wasn’t a sufficient kick in the pearly whites Billie’s stalling had taken her out of the running for a bundle of out of state opportunities leaving her without a floor to grace for the first time since her pre-teens. “The black dog” was how Churchill described it; Don Johnson’s backhanded compliment was that I was “uncomplicated. You’re good for her; Benoit’s a high maintenance egotist. You do her good, she smiles more” – I doubt that, at least now. He waits for my response but I’m too busy thinking about Billie.
