We started talking again. She was still single, a single mother, working a 9-to-5-office job and working theater at night and dreaming the things all hopeful actresses dream of.
""We should go have a drink,"" she said.
I found myself looking forward to seeing her; I had visions of us picking up where we left off, recreating some sense of hope and love, and waking up together on Christmas morning, each renewed like Ebenezer, cheerful music playing in the background and her daughter like Tiny Tim, telling us all is well. God bless.
And then everything would be okay.
But her daughter was in some other state with her father. Olivia was depressed and lonely because the only person who mattered to her was away from her on that cold Christmas Eve.
It was so chilly I could see my breath in my apartment and I was wearing gloves. I had presents for her and the kid - —last minute items that I went out and bought and had wrapped. It felt good to buy the gifts.
She came by my apartment after her show - —she said it was a good closing night with half the house filled, which isn't bad for a closing - —and we walked down the block to the bar.
There were maybe seven people in the bar, some playing pool, some sitting around. We both had White Russians. I got up to go to the bathroom, was gone maybe thirty seconds, and there was already a guy sitting next to her at the counter - —he was playing pool - —acting like he was going to order a drink. Twenty empty seats at the counter and he sits on the one next to her.
""Excuse me,"" I said.
He turned to me.
""Um.""
I nodded at my drink.
He looked at my drink, then me, his eyes red, angry, like he wanted to hit me. I was ready for anything because I knew anything could happen.
He moved away.
Olivia said, ""I haven't been inside a bar in a year. I forget what it can be like.""
""Has he been waiting for me to go take a piss to make his move?""
""I've been on dinner dates when my date gets up for the restroom, men sitting at other tables immediately introduce themselves with flattering words. 'Oh, I just want to say, what a nice dress…your hair is very nice, I like your shoes.'""
""Jerks.""
""People are lonely everywhere,"" she said.
We had a second drink and left the bar. Outside, a girl in a thick jacket, straight black hair and heavy eyeliner asked if we had any spare change.
""No,"" said Olivia.
I gave the girl a dollar.
""Thanks, man!"" said the girl.
""I never give anyone change,"" Oliva said.
""It's Christmas.”"
""Yeah. Ho ho.""
Back at my apartment, she didn't want to come inside, she wanted to go home, so I tried to kiss her and she kissed me back but said softly, ""Did you think something was going to happen?""
I didn't know how to answer that.
""I just wanted to drop bye, say hi, have a drink,"" she said.
""Of course,"" I said.
She left. I went inside and looked at the gifts. She called when she got home. ""I'm sorry about that,"" she said.
""It's okay.""
""It's not okay.""
""You could come back.""
""Some things have happened,"" she said. ""I'm just not into that right now…""
***
I didn't have any booze at home. I went back to the bar. There was still an hour before last call. The girl with the black hair and thick jacket was still outside, asking for change.
""Hey,"" she said, ""thanks for the dollar again!""
""Want a drink?""
""What?""
""Do you drink?""
""Who doesn't?""
""Wait.; Yyou old enough?""
She laughed. ""Funny. I'm twenty-five!""
I had another Wwhite Russian and she had a Long Island Iced Tea and then we had two more. She said her name was Taylor and I didn't believe her. She said she had been sleeping in her car all week. She didn’t go into details and I didn't need them.
""I live a block away,"" I said.
""I can't give it you for free,"" she said after a pause.
""I know.""
""Just to get that out of the way.""
Back at my apartment, I asked her how much.
""Um,"" Taylor said, rolling her eyes. She was nervous. ""Let's see. Okay, look, I don't really do this so I'm not sure what the going rate is, you know, for a blowjob or a fuck or if you want to stick it in my ass...""
""How about everything?""
""How about $100.""
""Deal.""
""That was easy.""
""I like it when it's easy.""
I got out my wallet and handed her five $20s. She rolled them up and the money disappeared in her jacket like she was a magician.
In bed, her body was taut and slender from too many missed meals - —that thick jacket hid her emaciated frame. Her skin was pale and goose-bumped. I held her close to me, under the blankets, until she seemed to get warm.
We kissed.
""This is nice,"" she said, like she was surprised.
""Yeah.""
""Condoms?""
""Plenty,"" I said, reaching for the nightstand drawer, where I had a dozen assorted brands.
""Always prepared,"" she said.
""Always hopeful,"" I said.
We fucked for a while, this position and that, she was responsive and moaning; while I had her on her stomach, she said softly, ""Okay, now, stick it my asshole.""
""Yeah?""
""You paid for it, boy.""
""Do you want that?""
""It's what I want, now,"" she said, her voice changing, deeper, ""Nnow! w, Sstick it in, motherfucker, just do it.""
I did and she went limp and purred.
***
She started to get dressed.
""Where you going?""
""A question filled with mystery and no answers,"" she said.
""Don't sleep in your car. You can stay here.""
***
It was 7:00 a.m. and I woke up to a blowjob. It was nice to open my eyes and see a woman with my cock in her mouth. She grabbed a condom from the nightstand and moved on top of me.
""Ho ho ho,"" she said.
***
This time she said she really had to go when she put her clothes on. I was going to suggest breakfast but she looked a lot different in the morning light. She appeared scared and confused and I knew she didn't do this much, if ever at all; she felt ashamed and I wanted to tell her not to be. I walked her to the door.
""Wait,"" I said.
I picked up the two wrapped presents and handed them to her.
""Happy holidays,"" I said.
She didn't know what to make of this. ""For me?""
""Of course.""
""How…""
""I just knew.""
""Thank you,"" she said, and she left.
I felt ashamed, but glad the presents were gone.
XII.
In two weeks, my new play, Happiness, would open. I didn't think it would, at least not well. The director was still fumbling with blocking, changing things at every rehearsal, and the actors were not completely off-book, fumbling with their lines.
Olivia didn't have her lines down and it was bothering me. She should know better; —not only was it my play, sheit wasn't professional.
Then again, this was little community theater. No one was a professional. But still.
I mentioned this to her when we had dinner and some drinks after rehearsal.
""Don't worry,"" she said, ""I'll be ready. I'm always ready.""
""Two weeks,"" I said.
""Two weeks is forever,"" she said. ""Why are you so worried?""
I didn't know. I shrugged. Shrugging was becoming a habit lately.
""Well,"" she said, ""it is your work, these are your words I am saying on stage, so you have a right to be worried. You have a right to…""
She stop
ped and stared inside her glass.
She put her hand to her mouth and spit out a small shard of glass.
""What the hell,"" I said.
""There's another,"" she said, ""look.""
I looked, and saw a bigger shard of glass at the bottom of her glass.
""Are you okay?"" I said. I was scared.
""Did you swallow anything?"" I said.
""No,"" she said.
""Did you cut yourself?""
""No.""
""Are you sure?""
""I'm sure,"" she said.
""Now I really have something to be worried about,"" I said.
""I'm okay,"" she said, ""but thank you.""
I was angry. I checked my glass. Olivia waved the waiter over, showing him the glass. He turned pale. He went to get the manager, a small, frail woman in her forties. She was upset, too. They were worried about a lawsuit. They asked Olivia if she swallowed any glass.
""I can call 911,"" the manager said.
Lawsuit, I thought., Mmoney.
""I'm fine,"" Olivia said, ""thank you.""
""Allow me to get your dinner, on us,"" said the manager. ""And whatever drinks you want, on the house. Drink as much as you'd like.""
""Well,"" Olivia said, ""will the glass be glass-free?""
""We have paper cups.""
Olivia laughed.
We ordered more food so we could get stuffed. We switched from beer to vodka tonics.
""Too bad it's not the weekend,"" Olivia said. ""Too bad I have to work in the morning.”"
""Why?""
""I could drink like a fish and get snookered beyond belief, and we could take a taxi cab home. Ella would be at her father's.""
""Yeah,"" I said, ""too bad.""
We left. Olivia wanted to leave a tip but I talked her out of it. Why a tip when she could have been seriously hurt?
We stood outside the bar and grille and it was very cold. She took my hand in hers and said, ""Brrr.""
""If you had cut yourself,"" I said, ""think of the money you could've made.""
""Money?""
""Lawsuit.""
""Oh,"" she said. ""Damn, you're right. How much do you think I could've made? What would they have settled for?""
I shrugged. ""Fifty grand, maybe a hundred.""
""Boy what I could do with that kind of cash. Pay off my car, my cards, put Ella in private school."" She looked at the bar and grille. ""Do you have a time machine, Paul? Can we go back and I can bite down on that piece of glass and get rich?""
I tried to hold her but she stepped back. She looked very sad.
She said, ""I'm just too goddamn honest for my own good.""
I was about to suggest we go back to my apartment for a while but she said, ""I have to get home to my baby.""
Her daughter was with her mother. She kissed me, lightly.
""You know how my mother is,"" she said.
Her mother made me nervous.
XIII.
Olivia's mother was a psychotherapist, specializing in abnormal behavior and sexuality. At any given moment she would quote from Freud or Lacan or French guys I'd never heard of. She said she took a postmodern approach to therapy. I had no idea what that meant. She was writing a book about her theories. I was glad I wasn't one of her patients.
I think she was trying to make me one of her patients, though. She had read my plays and my published poetry.
""My mother would like to talk to you about your writing sometime,"" Olivia said.
""Why?""
""Why not.""
""Why,"" I said. ""Does she want to psychoanalyze me?""
""Maybe.""
""Jesus,"" I said.
""Amuse her.""
""Can I pass?""
""You can't pass,"" she said. ""She's curious, we're together now.”"
""Are we together?"" I asked.
""Well,"" she said, ""we're having sex now, so I would say so.""
We only had sex on the weekends, when her daughter was in the custody of her father, Olivia's ex-husband. I wasn’t allowed to spend the night when her child was home, not right now, Olivia said. And of course she couldn't stay over my place, unless her kid was at her grandmother's or her friends. But there was Olivia's job. And there were her dreams about Hollywood.
""Some day I'm going to move to Los Angeles and give Hollywood a try,"" she said
""When?""
""Soon.""
She was twenty-eight., Iif she was serious about acting and Hollywood she had to do it soon.
The problem: the custody agreement with her ex- was that she couldn't leave Santa Cruz with their child, unless he agreed to it, and he was never going to agree. He was never going to take full-time custody, and she wouldn't let him. So that Hollywood dream was nothing but a dream. When Olivia accepted the fact it would never happen, she would run into a wall and do something drastic and draconian…and sad.
***
I treated the women to a nice dinner -, Olivia, Ella, and Dr. Joyce Wren. Olivia assured me that it would be a good move on my part, if she and I were going to get serious, if we were going to have a life together.
The dinner cost me half my paycheck but I decided it was worth it. I was planning on asking Olivia to marry me. The idea of being domestic was appealing in those days.
""This is wonderful food,"" Olivia said at the restaurant.
""Did you like your dinner?"" she asked Ella.
Ella nodded her head, eating ice cream for dessert. She loved ice cream.
""I always adored this place,"" said Joyce. ""Thank you, Paul.""
""You're welcome, Joyce.""
We were being so formal and polite. Joyce was a die-hard Republican and always wanted Olivia to marry a doctor or a lawyer, not get pregnant at nineteen.
""Paul,"" Joyce said, ""your writing intrigues me.""
""Thank you,"" I said. Was that the right answer? What did "intrigue" mean? Was there a hidden meaning? I was psychoanalyzing myself.
""Have you written a novel?"" she asked.
""I haven't thought about it,"" I said, which was a lie because I had. ""So many pages., Sso many words. I'm not sure I have that much to say.”"
""Well you have to write a novel to get on the bestseller list and make a lot of money, right? I mean, there is no money in writing poetry, is there? And your plays have only been produced locally.""
""Mother,"" Olivia said, giving her a look.
""Just asking, dear.""
""I don't write with any goal of being rich from it,"" I said.
""So why do you write?""
""Well,"" I said.
""Why did you become a shrink, Mother?"" Olivia said. She was getting annoyed. I could tell they had had this back and forth all their lives, since Olivia was Ella's age.
""To help people,"" she replied, ""and to make them happy.""
""Writing makes me happy,"" I said.
""Truly happy?"" she asked.
""What's 'happiness'?"" Olivia said.
""The name of Paul's new play!"" Ella said.
""That's right,"" Olivia said, ""the new play.""
""How is the play going?"" Joyce said.
""Good,"" I said.
Olivia said, ""Splendidly.""
""How are the audiences?""
""They seem to like it,"" I said.
Olivia said, ""Packed houses each night!""
That was a lie. They were selling half the seats at best, and the play was closing next week.
""Well the reviews are good,"" Joyce said.
""Yes they are!"" Olivia said proudly.
""Frankly, I wasn't sure I understood it,"" Joyce said, ""but it was interesting.""
Olivia's shoulders slumped,, as if she were defeated.
""Paul,"" Joyce said, ""I wouldn’t mind if we could, some time, discuss your writing. I have some questions.""
""Um,"" I said. ""Certainly, Joyce, I'd love to.""
""We can pencil in a time, you can come by my office.""
<
br /> Olivia and I looked at each other. She laughed at our exchange and said, ""What? Oh, come on, I won't bite.""
XIV.
Ella Wren and I got along famously. It was like we had known each other forever. I knew I could do a good job being her stepfather. I would watch her when Olivia was rehearsing another play (if she was lucky to get cast; there were a lot of actresses in town competing for the few roles around) or worked the occasional catering job to earn extra money. I would either go to their place or Olivia would drop her off at mine. I started to wonder what kind of home we could get together.
Ella and I would sit around and watch TV. She could always watch TV with me. We ate ice cream together. Olivia thought TV was bad for the mind and a waste of time - —to which I asked, if she got a part on a TV show, would she turn it down? Of course not.
""We all have a price tag,"" she said.
I would take Ella to the movies. Olivia and I hardly went to the movies. I liked doing things with her. I liked it when people thought she was my kid. ""You have a beautiful daughter,"" people would say.
""Why thank you,"" I'd say back.
Ella started calling me ""fake step-dad.""
***
Her real dad was an asshole. It was an unplanned marriage, they were kids, they had no business getting married or starting a family but Olivia couldn’t face going through another abortion.
""I have no regrets about having Ella,"" she said one night when we were drinking heavily and she was being confessional. ""But I know my life would be different if I hadn't. Anything is possible,"" she said, ""anything could've happened. I know I would be in Los Angeles right now, and my life…well, who knows what the heck my life would've been like. Maybe I would've been famous by now; maybe I would've been crushed on the boulevard of broken dreams.""
She also got poetic when she drank.
And she got sad when she drank.
And she never remembered what she did or said when she drank.
""What happened?"" she said.
""When?"" I said.
""I screwed the wrong guy and my life changed,"" she said, ""why did I do that?""
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