7
I TRY TO GET RAY to go to another bar with me so he can play wingman while I hit on college girls, but he's practically married now and that always precedes fun. I give him a hug, wish him happy birthday, tell him we'll be in touch later this week.
Back when we were roommates a birthday was a sacred event that involved tons of drinking, tons of weed, and tons of people. If not our place it was a locale we scouted out in advance, a cool bar or club that we knew we'd own upon arrival, somewhere that would part the Red Sea to let us in. We'd party till dawn, then go home and make the birthday boy smash a watermelon in the street to celebrate the arrival of a new day.
Now, it's three drinks and done by ten thirty.
On a Saturday night.
We used to control time. Now time controls us.
Pathetic.
I awaken to the sound of rain pounding my windows. Lightning. Thunder. Good morning.
I hit the kitchen, look at the clock. Eleven eighteen. Not bad for a Sunday.
Gatorade. Cigarette. My phone rings. Paige Scott. I hesitate briefly, then answer.
“Hello?”
“Jim! It's Paige. How are you?”
She sounds awfully chipper for so early in the morning, until I remember she does the early bird newscast and must get up at like four AM. She's in the middle of her day. I can barely form a sentence.
“Hey... Paige. Yeah. What's pancakes... how are you?”
“Jim, listen, we need to talk face to face. Can you meet me for lunch?”
“Lynch? Lady, it's like two o'clock. Can't we talk in like twenty minutes?”
She groans. “Look, just meet me at Crazy Dan's around three. I just uncovered some information you'll want to pay me gold for.” Click.
Morning drunk, I stare at my phone.
What the fuck?
I almost miss the lunch but for some reason when I arise from part two of my sleep the words Crazy Dan's around three resonate in my brain. I shower, hustle out, and make it. Barely.
As soon as I see Paige waiting and writing in one of the booths I remember why I'm here.
Information worth gold.
Right.
I slide in across from her. “Hey, Paiger.”
She looks up, startled, broken off in mid sentence. “Jim.”
Now not only is the little notebook keeping tabs on me, but she's writing even more shit in a Five Star Three Subject palace. I squint, trying to get a taste, but she flips it shut before I can.
“Hey, no peeking.”
“It's my story.”
“Oh yeah? And what makes you think any of this is about you?”
“Because you wouldn't have flipped it shut if it wasn't.”
She rolls her eyes and sips her coffee, hiding a smile. The waitress comes over and pours me a cup. I sip and enjoy but not for long.
“Okay, so have you thought about it? What do you think?”
I stroke my scruff, contemplate. All my life I've been selfish and vain, always putting myself first, always making what I thought were the best decisions for me. Over the years it's been about a fifty/fifty split between successes and failures. By that rationale, I've broken even.
But on this decision, I'm torn.
If I tell my story to the world, I'll be selling out.
But if I don't do something now, I'll be selling sperm for rent money.
If only Dodgers had a union.
She watches me, waiting for an answer. I sigh.
“Paige, here's the thing. I ---”
“Ohh!” She slams her fist down. “Dammit, Jim, you're quite the negotiator. Has anyone ever told you that?”
I shrug, unsure. She continues:
“Look, I think you need to know the four one one here. Some other people would probably leave you in the dark, but I'm going to tell you what I know, for two reasons – one, I want you to know you can trust me, and two, I believe in you, not just some story.” She pauses, no doubt for dramatic effect. “Okay. So. Here goes.”
The waitress refills my cup. I sip.
“Kara's back in town.”
I spit.
Luckily Paige's notebooks are closed and have hard covers, so the coffee does minimal damage. The waitress brings more napkins as I run saliva around my burnt tongue.
“What do you mean she's back in town? No one told me.”
“Maybe she didn't want you to know.”
“Yeah, but... I mean, it's been two years.”
“You're clearly not over it. Maybe she isn't either.”
“Is she living here? Or just visiting?”
“Living. For the past four months, to be exact.”
It suddenly dawns on me that maybe I got to Kara as much as she got to me. That maybe the realization of finding the one person she'd been searching for was all too much and she activated a defense mechanism that pushed me away. Maybe this time, it wasn't my fault because I wasn't the fucked up one. She cheated, not me. How was that my fault?
I look Paige in the eyes, those beautiful blue green peepers, alive and brimming with wanton desire. They try scanning mine but my shields hold, and it's then I realize I've seen these eyes before.
I lean forward.
“You remind me of her.”
Paige's smile evaporates, and she leans back.
“How?”
I close my eyes.
So I play the guitar. And write songs. And sing.
I was in a band with Ray and another friend of ours, C-Man, for a glorious three years, until I realized they were out of my realm creatively and needed to play with a better guitarist. Sweethearts they were, too nice to tell me I sucked, too in love with me to cut me loose, so I took the initiative and bowed out. They were shocked, but they knew I sucked, and I knew they knew I sucked, so how could they not see this coming? I felt like I was holding them back.
So I quit.
I regret that, too.
The three of us were closer than family. We made some incredible music together, and formed a bond the likes of which many don't get to experience – the band bond. It's different. It's special. Creating music together... it's like making love. That's the only way to describe it. And with the right group of people, it's magical. I haven't found a bond like that since, except with Kara.
But that's a completely different beast.
During the difficulties with the band I wrote a lot of solo material, and was invited by another band we knew, The Phanzacs, to do a half hour opening set for them at this dive called The Sandbag. Acoustic. Alone.
Me.
The longest I'd ever played solo was fifteen minutes, at some lame open mic with like two people watching. This was double the time and most likely, double the people.
Maybe even triple.
Hell yes.
The initial hook up with Kara had happened that Sunday and I felt invincible because of it. I was nervous about the show but pumped. I invited a ton of people, but she was the only person who came besides Ray and C-Man.
My family.
I wound up having the time of my life on that stage, singing six songs, two of them covers. One was Since U Been Gone by Kelly Clarkson, which was kind of a joke but still performed justly, and the other was Glycerine by Bush, which is one of my favorite songs of all time. The original tunes were also a hit, the crowd dug my sound, and the minute I was off stage Kara was all over me. It was total rock star.
I was merely the opening act so three bands followed. I pounded beers while Kara devoured Jame-O's on the rocks, and the drunker we got, the better the music got. The last group, a punk outfit donned Slim Pickens, was the best of the bunch. Their lead singer was this tiny Russian girl, five foot nothing eighty pounds soaking wet, and her hand moved as if independent from her body. It was literally a blur. Kara and I were going crazy, loving every minute, and soon enough my lips found hers and our tongues slithered around and around like snakes hunting prey.
We were the perfect drunk couple, stroking each other's hair, stroking each other's e
gos.
Actors.
Ray was completely blotto by the time they ended, and so were me and Kara. C-Man, the responsible one who'd only had a scotch on the rocks and a beer, gave us all a ride back to the homestead.
After laying a near comatose Ray on his bed, Kara and I retired to my room, where we proceeded to make the wildest, sweatiest, intensest and most passionate love ever recorded by humans. At least that's how it felt. Three hours and three orgasms later, I fell back on the bed seeing stars. She curled up onto my chest and kissed it slowly, softly.
We passed out that night in each other's arms, and it was then, at that moment, I knew I'd never have her.
I stayed awake as long as I could, inhaling the smell of her hair with every breath, fighting my urge to pass out to make the moment last, if only for just a second longer.
I passed out anyway.
The next day we had two more bouts of morning sex, then finally decided to rise and shine. It was Thursday and Ray had left super early for work, although how he was able to get out of bed at all was a feat praised by both of us. Kara and I just lounged around the apartment all day, trading stories, sharing pictures, eating take out, listening to Q101. When Glycerine came on we just kind of smiled at each other, then made love and napped and spooned for a few more hours. It was snowing when she finally left and as she walked down Clark I watched from our second floor window, thinking to myself My God, she really is an angel.
That was, and still is, my best day.
Paige is writing furiously. I couldn't stop her if I tried, but maybe that's because I don't want to.
“Wow, so if that was your best day, what was your worst?”
I inhale slowly. She looks up and spots it – nerve touched.
“Oh, Jim, I'm sorry. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to.”
“I want to tell you. Just... just not now.”
“Oh. Okay.”
We sit for a moment, staring at each other. Then:
“So how do I remind you of her?”
I look down and sigh.
“It's your eyes. From across the table. They just... feel the same.”
The night we met at a neutral location and made peace, a week after what happened at our friends' birthday party, is a night I'll never forget. I sat at the Pick Me Up Cafe for half an hour, waiting for her to get off work, sipping coffee and munching tater tots, desperately needing a drink but adamantly against having one. Alcohol is what made this whole thing go down the crapper. It made me a monster in her eyes and I prayed to God I could rebound from that.
The irony was if it hadn't been for alcohol, we would never have hooked up in the first place.
The dilemma was clear. We had to stop getting fucked up around each other, even though we both loved our liquor, even though it was what broke the ice initially.
So that night at the cafe we were both stone cold sober... and willing to converse, at length.
We hadn't seen each other since the past weekend, hadn't even spoken on the phone, just communicated via text. The morning after the birthday party I'd called her to apologize, left two messages and several texts, and when she finally got back to me ten hours later, when I was completely convinced I'd blown it, she agreed to meet me for coffee a few days later.
My stomach sinks like a stone as she sits across from me.
“Hey.”
“Hey, Kara.”
Awkward pause, the first of several. I clear my throat.
“So, how are you?”
“I'm... good. Work's been crazy lately.”
“Well, it's those two dollar drafts.”
“That it is. How are you?”
“Oh, you know... I've been better.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
Awkward pause number two. I sigh heavily.
“I'm so sorry, Kara.”
Her eyes meet mine, really for the first time since the party, and I hope she can see I mean it.
“I just... I don't know what I was thinking. I feel like I embarrassed you in front of everyone, and if I did, it's just because I was so hung up on what happened between us. I couldn't think straight. Maybe... maybe I didn't want to. I just didn't expect you to have a boyfriend or whatever the hell you guys are, and I so rarely get along with people, that when we connected the way we did... I don't know, I guess I just wanted to hang on to that as long as I could.”
She stares at me with either sympathy or pity. Or both.
“I'm so sorry I fucked you over.”
This takes me by surprise, and now it's my turn to stare. Why would she even think that? Why would she think this was her fault? I put the moves on her. I got her drunk. I initiated the whole thing. If anyone's to blame, it's me.
But then again, I didn't know she was seeing someone else.
But then again, I had heard things.
I shake my head vigorously.
“You didn't... fuck me over. You didn't. I acted like a baby. I'm twenty eight years old, for Christ's sake. I mean it's not like we were dating. I overreacted. It's just... God, I always go back to that night of my show, you know? It just all felt so right. And the day after... well, that was special to me. I'm glad you stuck around.”
I sip my coffee. She processes. Then:
“I like you, Jim. I do. I just... Pete is just in such a bad place right now. When he went home last week, he got into a car accident. Two of his best friends are in really bad shape. And his mom was just diagnosed with breast cancer. Things are just so fucked up for him right now. He needs me. But... I started thinking about how much fun you and I have together, and I don't want to lose that. I just want us to be okay, to be friends, because as much as last weekend hurt, not having you in my life would hurt a lot more.”
I look at her, dumbfounded, happy because that's what I wanted to hear, depressed because that's what I wanted to hear.
In my head I cycle through the possibilities.
Deep down, she probably prefers me to him but it's all so scary and new that she can't just pick me because she has a history with this guy, who's in dire straits right now, who probably needs the love of a good woman more than I do.
But fuck that little cross eyed troll.
Where's my happiness? Where's my good woman? Kara's really the only one I ever connected with on every level, humor, wit, mutual interests, sensitivity, intellect, sexual chemistry. And she's just so damn hot that when her eyes connect with mine a high rises within me I've never felt before.
She's the one, I feel it, I just know it.
But of course I can't say that.
So I decide to bide my time.
“Kara... that's exactly how I feel. I don't want to lose you. I mean, we're just starting to get to know each other. And we have so much in common. I still want to be the lead in your play. I still want us to be able to hang out with our mutual friends. Nothing would make me sadder than having to avoid you because of this stupid crap.”
I extend my hand.
“So... friends?”
She smiles. “Friends.”
We shake on it.
Paiger puts her mechanical pencil down.
“Jesus, Jim.”
“Yeah.”
I sip my coffee. She does the same.
“Then what?”
I start to speak but suddenly realize that to her, every word I utter is gold, every story is a dollar, every sentence is a simoleon.
So I zip my lip.
“All right, Paige, all right. You want my story, you got it. Let's get paid for this shit. I'm in.”
She furrows her cute little brow. “You're in?”
“I'm in. But you have to do something for me.”
“Name it.”
“You have to pretend to be my girlfriend to make Kara jealous.”
At first she thinks it's a gag, so she laughs and smiles. I don't return the sentiment, driving the point home that I'm serious. She frowns. Then scowls.
“What?”
“Just for o
ne night. Just to see if it works.”
“If what works?”
“The jealousy.”
“Again... what?”
“I want to make Kara jealous so I can get her back.”
She blinks, obviously perturbed. I think it over. Genius. Brilliant. Marvelous. A thousand more awesome adjectives. Kara's all I've wanted from the very beginning, and if trading our story is the price I need to pay to be with her, it's very, very small.
I shrug.
“Hey, it's this or I walk. So what do you say?”
It takes some debating, but once Paige is convinced I won't tell her the rest of my story without this one stipulation, she agrees. I guess I am a hell of a negotiator.
She fills me in on the details of what Kara's up to these days. Apparently she moved back and didn't tell a lot of people, me and her now ex boyfriend Pete included. So she's single. I knew it.
I knew that shit wouldn't last.
The guy's thirty five, has a three year old, and is on the road half the time with his band. And they suck. I could see her being fed up with the whole situation in general, being twenty four, having momma responsibilities with a kid that's not hers, the loneliness she must feel while he's out touring. All the guilt she still carries from our torrid love affair, if she never told him and even if she did.
In her mind, she cheated on him and fucked me over. Double whammy.
It's probably a lot to deal with.
Paige doesn't have the specifics on why the relationship ended, but knows that Kara now works at Snakepit, a bar/concert venue in Lakeview. I've been there. It's awesome.
And perfect.
I lay out my plan: we'll go in, the smoking hot Paiger will pretend to be my girlfriend, and it'll make Kara so jealous she'll want me back in a heartbeat. Paige says that's not how womens' minds work. I say I know Kara and feel like this plan has a shot.
She sighs, and agrees. What choice does she have? She's now my employee.
And if she wants the inside scoop, she'll have to go along with it.
Yup. Perfect.
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