“Another ambulance is coming for you,” said the officer. “I don’t think you need to go to the hospital, but somebody will need to pick you up at the police station.”
“Why? Am I being arrested? What’s going on?”
“First, they’ll look at the bruises, then we’ll question you at the station. The stretcher came out with Kenny on it. Guilt flooded through me. I wanted to know that he’d be okay. I also wanted to be sure that I never saw him again.
That night at the police station was the longest of my life. Several officers came in one at a time to ask me the same questions. I was restless between interviews and checked the news on my phone over and over again. Soon it was 8 am, and a woman in a neat, sharp gray suit was standing between my chair and a curtain divider. She towered over me as Kenny had.
“My name is Detective Anderson, and I’m here to talk to you about this evening,” she said. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to the hospital?”
I shook my head no.
“Duncan, your attacker is in the hospital and will make a full recovery,” she said.
“Good. Wait, that’s not good. Is it?” My blood boiled, and I wondered if he would come back at me. “Am I going to jail?” I stammered, thinking my life was over.
She hesitated. “No charges will be pressed against you. We have ample evidence that this altercation was exactly as you’ve told us. We believe that you acted in self-defense. However, there will be further investigation.”
It relieved me, but only for a second. “I didn’t know what else to do,” I whispered.
“We know,” she said, placing her hand gently on my forearm to comfort me. “Duncan, when they picked Kenny up from his apartment, they found his wallet with his ID in it. That’s not even his real name.” She leaned in and talked softer. “I shouldn’t be telling you this now, but we ran a scan on his fingerprints. He has a lengthy history of this type of activity.” She coughed. “He’s had four counts of assault against him and has spent some time in jail already. He’s going away for a long time. Go home and get some rest.” She handed me a business card.
Marlene arrived at the police station shaking, and with disheveled hair. She made several comments about how ugly the decor of the police station was, and I agreed. The officer drove Marlene and me home. Disorientated, Marlene helped me up the stairs to our apartment. First things first: a shower. Marlene waited for me on the couch in the living room. The bright lights above the bathroom mirror brought forth all the cuts and bruises that I didn’t realize I had. The leg bruises made sense because Kenny kicked me so many times, but I didn’t know why I had so many on my arms. There was a significant cut on my cheek though I didn’t remember getting hit on the cheek with anything. Luckily not that deep. I popped two Tylenol for my headache. I was sore all over, like the time I tried P90x. Marlene made it through the whole program while I passed out a quarter of the way in.
I came out of the bathroom to find that Marlene hadn’t budged an inch. I sat down next to her, hugging my towel.
“First Christopher, then Patrick, now Kenny. You sure know how to pick ’em,” she said. Her attempt at a joke didn’t land, and she covered her face with her hands, but then I laughed along. What would I do without her?
“I wish Jesse were here,” I said.
“That’s why I called him. He’s on his way.”
That comforted me, but part of me didn’t want him to know. He would criticize me for going home with a complete stranger, for sure.
She leaned her head into me. “He’s not mad. He’s worried about you.” She already knew it worried me about what Jesse thought.
“When I left the bar with Kenny, part of me thought it would be more than a hook-up. Part of me thought we’d spend a magical night together, meet up again, and find something special between us. Marriage? Children? Weekends in Saugatuck?”
Marlene grabbed my shoulders. “Good God. Stop this. He seemed nice, so you shouldn’t blame yourself. He was friendly, and so was his friend. Do you think he knows yet?”
I hadn’t thought about Kenny’s friend. “How would he? I didn’t have their information to give to the police. Maybe Esteban knows if they hang out at the bar.” I grimaced and then let out a sigh. “This is my fault.” Silence. “You know? I teased him. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Don’t be stupid. You were clear in the bar that you wouldn’t bottom for him. You told more information than most people would want to hear. Besides, you have the right to back out at any time without being attacked… Jesus-Allah-Buddha.”
“I said so—all throughout the night—after we left the bar and went to his place. I repeated how I wouldn’t do it over and over. We were on the same page. We were both having fun. Then he just snapped. I should have given a definitive no all along. That’s why I confused him, and that’s why this happened.”
“Stop it! This is not your fault.”
Tears streamed down my face until Marlene wiped one off with her hand. She pulled me closer and rested my head on her shoulder. After a while, I laid my head on her lap and sobbed.
“As awful as this is, I’m still proud of you for defending yourself,” she said. “We’ll get you through this, and you’ll be back to your music in no time.” She ran her hand through my hair.
“I want a new dance song for my next performance and I want it by Friday,” she snickered. “I’m kidding sweetie. Of course I am. Just trying to cheer you up.”
“Remember when I wrote ‘Touch My Soul’ after Jesse broke up with me? And then that stupid song after Christopher? Then ‘Do U ♥ Me?’ after Patrick? I wonder if I’ll write a song about Kenny,” I said, “to make myself feel better about the situation.”
“Don’t create anything from this,” she said. “Leave it alone. And Robin and Silas don’t need to know about it.”
“The only solace I have is that he’ll be in jail for good,” I said. I tried to push away images in my mind of his angry face over me or the blood coming out of his head.
Jesse showed up and told me he was sorry over and over again until I stopped him. He sat down on the couch, and I rested my head on his lap while he rubbed the back of my scalp. It felt safe and warm to be next to him, which was exactly what I needed. He shook too, and constantly licked his lips, and soon I was telling him that it would be okay. He’d been there for me. That was all that mattered. They both had.
“I need to take another shower,” I said.
“Didn’t you already?” Jesse asked, running his hands through my damp hair. Marlene grabbed his hand and nodded for him to let me go.
After an hour in the shower, Marlene pounded on the bathroom door. “Talk to me. You need to come out.” The soap was not cleaning me thoroughly enough, but with both Jesse and Marlene begging me to come out, I did.
I didn’t sleep at all. And neither did Marlene nor Jesse. My legs jittered. I kept peering out the windows as if Kenny would come back to get me although logically I knew he’d go straight to jail after he left the hospital. Every car that passed by caused my heart to skip a beat. I was more terrified at that point than I had been in the midst of the attack.
Part Six
Dutch Apple Pancakes
Chapter Sixteen
CRAZIEST GIRL
“I fucking put a guy in the hospital,” I screamed as Marlene woke me up from a nap on the couch.
“You were having a nightmare. You defended yourself,” she said while hugging me. “Kenny was the guilty one.” She patted my shoulder. “Let’s go see a movie or something.”
“But I should have…”
She put her finger over my mouth. “Movie, and then tons of calories at this new cupcake and sushi joint.”
“I’ve been with three guys since Jesse, and each one has been worse than the last.” I did a double-take. “Did you say cupcake and sushi?”
Marlene smiled and took a deep breath. “Time to focus on yourself, Duncan, not guys. And come with me to a movie.”
; I sat up and oriented myself. “Maybe later.” I put my shoes on and walked out of the apartment in my flannel pajamas with a light jacket.
Being attacked by Kenny weighed me down, but my actual concern was Jesse’s opinion of the ordeal. Was he going to judge me for going home with a stranger? Was he going to take pity on me and then come back to me? I wasn’t against that idea but probably should have been.
Marlene was right about staying away from guys for a while. Attention from Jesse, Christopher, and Patrick made me feel good about myself for a while. Even the initial approval of Kenny gave me a quick high. I was back to square one.
This new disconnect with guys gave me the time and energy to focus on my music. I had no attachment to the new songs I wrote. I didn’t feel the love or heartbreak that I wrote about. They were just words to me. Those words no longer held me down.
I have good news. Come over now. Silas texted me, Marlene, and Robin.
I walked up and down Clark Street in Andersonville, dodging teacup poodles and killing time before going to Silas’s condo, and avoiding Marlene. I was ready to move on from Kenny and didn’t want to hear her ask are you ok anymore. That weight was lifted. Every store, restaurant, and sign seemed new as I walked by. Even the sign for The Blade seemed new, holding no emotional baggage.
How are you? Jesse texted me.
Good. Going to see Silas. He has good news. I was grateful to feel like Jesse was new to me too because he didn’t know how to act around me after the incident. He acted like I had a contagious disease.
When I arrived at Silas’s condo, all three of them waited in the basement. Silas beamed from ear to ear as I walked in. He had kept Robin and Marlene waiting for me to arrive before saying anything. He was bouncing his feet. “I found a manager who’s interested in ‘Do U ♥ Me?’” he said, “so we’re not allowed to make fun of Duncan anymore.”
“Say what?” asked Robin, pulling the blue electric off his shoulder. “This has to be a mistake.”
“It’s real, I’m afraid. The Big Apple Tarts are a New York-based, all-girl band geared toward the preteen market. The manager loved your song and wanted us to come up with more like it. Think Hannah Montana when coming up with ideas.” Silas turned to face me. “This could be long-term work.”
“I think I just threw up in my mouth,” I said. It wasn’t bad news. It just wasn’t the direction I wanted my music to take. First, I sacrificed my artistic vision for Marlene, now for some teenybopper group.
“Keep puking because this guy’s willing to pay us big-time, as long as we act fast,” Silas said.
“I wrote ‘Do U ♥ Me?’ as a joke,” I said. “It was the anti-Patrick song, not intended for the Disney market. How do I even write those songs?”
Silas patted his hand to calm us all down. I get that—”
“Not sure you do.” I couldn‘t write this way. “When we decided to go pop, I didn’t think we’d be taking it to this extreme.”
“I hope you didn’t think I’d perform it,” Marlene said, rolling her eyes, despite having sung the original demo. We took forever to get through it because she laughed the whole time.
“Go to the store and buy every magazine with Justin Bieber or One Direction on the cover,” said Silas. “Read them and get into the mind of a teenage girl.” He tried not to giggle but did.
“Duncan already has a big poster of Justin Bieber on his bedroom wall,” Marlene said.
“You said you’d never tell!” My walls were covered with Bob Dylan lyrics and vinyl records, not teenyboppers.
“Are we even creating music anymore?” Robin asked.
I wasn’t sure anything we were doing could be called real music now, but at least we were talking about money, which meant recognition. Over the next few days, I followed Silas’s advice. It felt dreadful to read through those magazines, but I scored high on the “Am I Datable?” quiz. It was too bad I wasn’t thirteen. I wanted to get into the mind of the average teenage girl and let it guide me in my lyric writing. I soon arrived at a sad conclusion. In one magazine, there was a section where readers could write in and get advice. Many of the thought patterns that these teenagers had about boys were the same ones I had about Jesse as an adult. I realized I was the same inexperienced, overemotional, teenage girl looking for a boy to save me. I didn’t need to get into the head of a teenager; my own immaturity gave me enough insight. I started out by allowing myself one pathetic song before launching into the happy ones. I scratched that nonsense and moved on to lyrics about having a crush on a boy. If only I had a crush on a boy right now, I could write a song about it, but my emotions were numb. I still felt more troubled about Jesse than I did about Kenny if anything.
* * *
It was only a month later that my song “I’m the One for You” hit regular rotation on iTunes radio. Silas had warned me that The Big Apple Tarts had recorded it already, but it still shocked me to hear it. I was listening at work and staring at my monitor, trying to ignore the low drone of the air conditioning above my head. It wasn’t until the chorus that I stopped and realized that the song I was listening to was mine. But this was no time for resting on our laurels. One hit was not enough to act cocky. Their manager was mapping out their second album, and he demanded I keep the momentum going, and turn out more winners for them.
Boy and girl bands are hopelessly formulaic, which meant that I needed to crack the formula to write more songs. Each member of those bands played a different role in the group. There was the rebellious one, the athletic one, and the ridiculously beautiful one. I theorized that if I learned about the girls in The Big Apple Tarts, something might inspire my songwriting for them.
One night I was stuck on what to write my song about, sitting on the couch with a notepad in my lap and a pen behind my ear. No amount of brainstorming helped me, and I needed help. I picked up my phone and called Silas, who answered on the first ring. He sounded relieved to hear my voice.
“Can you get me some insider information about each of the girls in the group? I think it’ll help me write the songs. If I know the attitude they’re trying to portray, maybe I can write a specific section for each girl based on their personality.”
Their names were Emma, Danica, Chloe, Brianna, and Ashley. Silas listed off their hobbies and interests, and I learned more from teen magazines, and filled in the blanks from other generic girl bands who were indistinguishable from them. First and foremost, there always had to be an Ashley in the group. This Ashley looked like me. She had a gleam in her eye that said she was on the same page as me. She was bitter too, but highly ambitious and ready to kick some ass. Her profile said, “She knows who she is and isn’t afraid to tell you.” Right away, I liked Ashley.
Ashley and her picture inspired the song “Craziest Girl in the Craziest World.” I based it on another song I had written years before when I was dating a guy pre-Jesse. My crazy little quirks impressed him, and he loved them. Or at least he did for a while.
I’m your crazy little boy and isn’t this a crazy little world
That was how the lyrics initially went. I changed them for The Big Apple Tarts to:
I’m the craziest girl in the craziest world
and I know you’re gonna love me for it
It didn’t take long to put it all together. I was satisfied with the results right away. I envisioned one of those teen magazines showing a picture of Ashley saying, “Take the quiz: Are you crazier than Ashley?”
On the other hand, there was Brianna. I didn’t like her at all. She reeked of elitism. She had it all coming to her on a silver-spoon, trust-fund world of privilege. She knew nothing about pain or suffering. She just sat around waiting for all the boys to surround her and her beautiful, big-breasted body. I knew nothing about her, but I got a strong vibe from looking at her picture, and I automatically hated her. It was time to take a break from writing when I fumed at pictures of twenty-one-year-old girls. I blamed Jesse for this. I always blamed Jesse. That needed to stop.
* * *
I laid in my bed next to the guitar that I should have been practicing, scrolling through Instagram, laughing and sharing all the goofy cat pictures. Jesse and I had been exchanging quick, cordial greetings by text since that night with Kenny. Marlene told him about our contract with The Big Apple Tarts, and he wanted to congratulate me. But he wanted more than that. Jesse and I had reunited after breaking up many times before. This time Marlene was dead-set against us getting back together. I didn’t know who to listen to; Marlene or my heart.
I woke up early one morning and caught a text that Jesse had sent at 6 am.
Let’s catch a movie 2nite, dinner and u can tell me all about the BAT.
I longed to tell him about our Big Apple Tarts success even before he asked me to, like I used to about everything in my life. I texted him back. Anything without Audrey
Audrey?
We met on Southport for Argentinean steak near the theater. The atmosphere in the restaurant was energetic, but I never went there unless I was going to that theater. We sat down, and I began what I intended to be a light conversation.
“So how’s seminary going?” I asked. I leaned over the table with my fingers interlocked. He stared at his menu, which had fifteen steak dishes and one chicken dish.
“I don’t want to talk about seminary. I want you to tell me about the girl group, silly. When do I get to hear the songs?”
“They’re on iTunes now. New ones are coming any day now.”
Blueberry Pancakes: A Novel Page 14