Girl Boy Girl

by Savannah Knoop

  “Then we spent weeks together in Italy. By the end, she asked me about making the books into a movie,” I said.

  “But he was very vague,” she gave me a teasing look.

  “Well, I wasn’t sure, you know ’cause Gus had talked about taking some of the stories. I wanted to give it to her, though.”

  Another reporter addressed me, “JT, what do you think of the movie?”

  “Well, I mean, I’m here, aren’t I? I’m awestruck and totally flattered that she included me in so much of the process and paid such respect to the work. Went, like, above and beyond. Like getting this one particular fuzzy blanket with a lion on it that my mother had. And I think it’s really a courageous movie, you know.” Now say Laura’s pipe thing, I thought. “Ever since I was a little kid, I wanted to attach a pipe from my head to someone else’s so that I could share all those images with someone else, and I wouldn’t be alone with them.”

  My voice faltered. Jesus, I thought, every time I speak I begin to cry, or I throw up.

  “And so this has been a real blessed thing . . .” I trailed off.

  The press went on all day. We had another round table, and then Asia’s manager split us up, shuffling us from one reporter to another. The high afternoon sun reflected on the surface of the pool, a patchwork of reflection and refraction. I felt like I was in a board game. I worried that our answers weren’t matching up. Laura, Geoff, and Thor hung out under the café awning adjacent to the pool. At one point, Laura had a plate of food sent over to me. I ate it in the sun without much revel, my fasting thwarted yet again.

  At the end of the day, after the last interview, we all sat down in lawn chairs, slightly exhausted. I felt Laura asking me with her eyes, when was I going to talk to Asia? I looked over my shoulder and sighed. I reluctantly got up and went over and sat down next to Asia on her lounge chair.

  “Um, can we talk in private?”

  “Okay.”

  “Let’s go over there,” I said, pointing.

  We walked to the opposite side of the pool. Everyone standing on the other side watched us. I could feel heads turning.

  “Let’s go to the bathroom,” I said. It seemed that it had become the more appropriate setting lately. I felt JT’s voice morphing into my own. I looked at her and took a breath.

  “I just wanted to tell you that it really hurt me back in Tennessee when you and Mike were spending the night together—not that you guys shouldn’t have been together. I mean, I just wish I hadn’t been staying with you. It was just, like, awkward. And shitty. I don’t know why you brought me out there in the first place.”

  She began to cry.

  “And it’s, like, I wouldn’t have even mentioned it, but I guess it keeps coming up inside me, so I uh, I just wanted to tell you.” I paused. “I’m trying to talk about my feelings more and not keep them bottled up.”

  She was still crying, then blubbering. I hugged her. It reminded me of the scene in The Heart when little JT takes his mother in his arms when they’re dying their hair black in a public bathroom.

  “And I really value you as a friend. As a friend most importantly. You’re really amazing.” There, I said it.

  She caught her breath, swallowed, then growled, “I’m sorry I did that.”

  “I mean, it’s okay. It’s not a big deal. I wasn’t looking for an apology. I just thought I should express it for myself. . . . For me.”

  TOKYO

  WE SAT IN A RESTAURANT in a high-rise hotel with windows looking out onto the nightscape of Tokyo. The city stretched out flat before us, reminding me of a desert. The restaurant had Western style chairs and tables with screens partitioning each table. The night before we had been to a traditional Japanese restaurant, a honeycomb of blond wood rooms, where we each sat on a raised podium on indigo dyed pillows. As the waiters served three whole grilled and salted mackerels, an array of sashimi and sushi rolls, and blossoms of purple and dark green chopped seaweed, Asia entered the room.

  She pivoted quickly around the corner of one of the screens. Behind her a boy followed with long brown hair and a healthy complexion. A musician type, wearing a pea coat and matching black low-top Converses and dark colored jeans. Asia’s cheeks and nose were slightly flushed from the outside air. The film distributors of The Heart all stood up to welcome Asia and her friend to the table. Laura and I said our hellos less cordially.

  Before going to Japan, Laura, Geoff, and I had been flown out to Italy again by JT’s Italian publishers. Asia had agreed to attend the book events, then bailed on each one of them at the last minute. JT had always promoted her film work, and Laura was furious. I wanted to share in Laura’s rage, but it was hard to muster. I felt, of course, it would have been nice for her to attend JT’s events, since he had attended hers, but if she didn’t want to she wouldn’t. In fact, she hadn’t. And as always, I was Switzerland, forever neutral.

  As Asia came and sat in the chair next to me, I put out my hand amiably to her companion, Billy. Welcome to the club, friend.

  “Hey, how’s it going, man? Whad’ja do all day while we were in the tower?”

  “Um, I actually got kind of lost on the subway. Felt like I was in a scene from Lost in Translation.” I had to admit, he seemed like a sweetheart.

  Asia and I had had interviews in the hotel back-to-back from nine to seven in the evening.

  Our first interview had been on Yo! MTV. Laura had insisted that I wear a Thistle band T-shirt, even though I hated wearing T-shirts, especially ones with decals on them.

  I hissed “I can’t wear it! I won’t feel comfortable. It’s not my style!”

  Why couldn’t I wear something that made me feel good? Why couldn’t I wear Costume National?

  “Wear it for your brother!”

  That shut me up.

  Ukio2 came over and handed us each Starbucks coffee cups. “Good morning,” she said sweetly, digging out brown packets of Turbinado sugar from her pockets.

  I peeled off the plastic lid. A brown and white feather of foam graced the top.

  A latte!

  “I ordered that for you.” Laura said, taking a sip from her cup, keeping her woolen Misfits gloves on.

  “Thank you,” I said tearing open the sugar. “Okay, I’ll wear the fucking T-shirt.”

  Asia had passed by us without saying anything to either of us. She sat down on a couch where the next interview would take place. Two men came from across the room, conscientiously looking for the best place to mic her, as if tracing a map along her jacket.

  “Here, wait. Let me take this off. I won’t wear it during the interview.”

  As she took off her leather jacket, I saw that she wore a black Dominion3 band T-shirt, with antiquated silvery white lettering.

  Her T-shirt is so much better than ours, I thought.

  Laura looked over at her, pointing a finger. “See, she knows the game.”

  Kiosuke signaled for me to come over, and I hurriedly pulled the T-shirt on over my collared shirt. I sat down next to Asia on the couch, wearily.

  A video man with neat dreadlocks stationed himself in front of us, and the interviewee and translator stationed themselves next to him.

  They started out with the usual set of questions about process, when the film would come out, and then advanced to more general topics.

  “What kind of music do you like?”

  “Well, y’all . . .” I pointed at my shirt like Vanna White.

  “I’ve been writing music with my family, and I am so amazed by the power of it. The band is really good. Astor is like a musical God. And Speedie Two is the singer. It used to be Speedie One.” I vaguely pointed in Laura’s direction. She had given up singing and renamed her replacement.

  “We just did a buncha shows in Italy, and it was awesome.” I glanced over at Asia. “I just love that immediacy, man. It’s like, here I am wasting away in this dark room, writing, and then I go into the kitchen and Astor’s playing the guitar and Speedie’s singing and the sun is shini
ng through the window and the plants look happy. I don’t get to see people’s reactions for months, years, when I’m writing. But music! When I hear the band play live I feel so happy I want to cry.”

  Asia started, “I really love this band Dominion. They have a deep sound, very moody and rich. Their music is actually in the movie, one of the last songs. Beautiful.”

  “Do you both do yoga?” They just kept moving along.

  We answered in unison, “No.”

  Then Asia said, “I’m sorry, can we stop for a second?”

  They stopped the camera. She motioned across the room.

  “Can you get her out of my line of vision? I can’t concentrate when she is . . . gloating over there at the wall.”

  Everyone was very quiet as Kiosuke ushered Laura out of the room. Laura could not say anything back, not in the middle of the interview. She just flashed a dangerous smile.

  Later, as we settled into our seats at dinner, I felt queasy. Asia and Laura were both so strong-headed. Ukio, oblivious to the tension, explained to us what was in each dish as it was served. We all raised our chopsticks together and began to eat. Ukio pulled her long hair back to one shoulder, professionally poking at the mackerel, the skin as iridescent as mercury. She peeled off bits of brown flesh and placed it on our plates. The fish was oily and rich. The three film distributors spoke quietly, watching us eat with approval.

  After we cleaned the plates of all the appetizers, Asia asked them, “Is it alright if I smoke?”

  Kiosuke nodded, “Of course. You can smoke pretty much anywhere in Japan.”

  However, Laura said quickly, “No, oh no. Can you not? You know it makes me sick.”

  Laura’s perennial battle when we travel abroad. It seemed that most of the world outside of the US smoked in their cars, at the table, really wherever they pleased. I knew it made her sick. Even so, I had trouble backing her up on this one. I loved being able to smoke everywhere.

  Asia had already lit her cigarette as Laura exclaimed, “Please!”

  Asia blew smoke in her face, growled, and tossed her napkin on the table. “Please, what?” She stared at Laura, the smoke curling in front of her face like an evil little question mark. Laura stared back, then said, “Why are you such a princess?”

  “I don’t need to sit with this shit.” Asia said.

  She stood up and in one flush movement was seated at another table. Billy loyally followed. We all finished our dinner, talking awkwardly as if trying to fill the empty chairs at the end of the table, pretending we couldn’t hear their private conversation a few tables away. Everyone except for Kiosuke had no idea what the fuck was going on.

  After dinner, I sidled over to Asia.

  She sat with her shoulders squeezed together and blew some smoke at me. I looked over my dark glasses and said, “Please come back and sit with all of us. Please?”

  Billy and I met eyes. He was sympathetic, yet powerless.

  “No, I don’t need to be bossed around by that woman. I don’t need to have someone talk to me like that.”

  “Please, come.”

  “We could smoke outside after dinner,” Billy said.

  “Right. We can all smoke outside after dinner.” I chimed in, gratefully. Billy was a keeper.

  She got up and followed us. Her movements suggested she didn’t trust her own judgment.

  We all sat down, reunited again, as porcelain bowls of dessert arrived. Little powdered balls of mochi jiggled next to a scoop of green tea ice cream. They were topped with cubes of translucent jelly, red beans, and slices of Fuji apple cut into the shape of bunny rabbits.

  I don’t know who spoke first, and I can’t remember what started their fight, but I do remember that it was within a few bites of the most perfect dessert I had ever tasted. And I remember thinking, can’t you motherfuckers wait until after dessert? How am I supposed to enjoy this oasis of mochi with you people screaming at each other? I let the last of my ice cream melt on the back of my tongue, but felt no pleasure.

  “Everyone is supposed to tip-toe around you? You blow smoke in people’s faces, and order people out of your sight, and we all should just stand by at attention? You run right over people! And you bailed on our book events because they didn’t profit you in any way. You’re a selfish little princess.” Laura screamed.

  Asia rolled her eyes and said with venom. “Fuck you. I couldn’t go to the events in Italy last time. They were going to take my daughter out of my custody. Your events were fine without me. I’m promoting the movie—I made this movie for JT!”

  I sighed and watched the agar jelly quiver. The fuji apples emitted a low moan.

  Laura shouted, “But you made a commitment. And I think we know who you made the movie for, which is fine, but don’t act like Mother fucking Theresa.” Laura was pointing her finger at Asia now, and I could tell it bothered Asia. “You said you would be there. And you shamed us. And you shamed our publishing house. Everyone has washed their hands of you. You’re always making yourself a victim. Poor Asia. But I know why you can’t take care of your daughter.”

  “Don’t you talk about my daughter. You don’t know anything about me. How dare you bring my daughter into this!”

  They had raised their voices another octave. Everyone around the table knitted their brows. Kiosuke tried to calm them down, “Now ladies, please!” but it was past calm. It was an avalanche of drama. Asia stood up and abruptly threw her chair over, screeching, “Fuck you!” in that scratchy pitch that only a heavy smoker can have, and stormed out of the restaurant.

  Laura screamed after her, raising her head up to project over the rice paper screen, “Because you’re a fucking drug addict!”

  Billy got up and mumbled, “Um, maybe we’ll be back.”

  Suddenly I noticed Ukio’s head drop down, and a tear fell into her bowl of ice cream. The salt left an indent in the melting green island. She lifted her head up, and said, “I don’t understand why you all are fighting like this.”

  The restaurant had fallen silent.

  Back in our hotel room, Laura and I changed and began flossing our teeth. She put one foot up on the stone bathtub.

  “I feel this aggression towards her. But I know it all revolves around the dynamics I created myself. But I really could barely hold it in today. Like she really pushed me to my limits. I could have pulled the plug right then and there, I could have told her who I really am and had no qualms about it.”

  I could see how hard this was for her. “Well, and that she did it in front of everyone, that makes it so hard on you.”

  “And that’s the thing, you know, she’s making it so hard on all of us, and we have to keep face for the publishing company. That’s the important thing.”

  We sat there cleaning our teeth. I was mulling over the day, aware of the impossible situation this was for each of us emotionally, and the tenuous situation we would have to face with tomorrow’s day of press. But I also felt grateful for the connection I was feeling in the moment. “I love you. I really do. I feel like I’m learning so much about myself through this experience with you.”

  Beyond the window, snow swirled. Some flakes stuck to the pane while others melted on the glass. Laura went to the window. “I feel like I am with you, too.”

  I was surprised. What could she ever have learned from me? I was just a kid. “Really?”

  She exclaimed, “Constantly. Constantly!”

  Then Laura grew pensive. “You know, I don’t feel like I belong here in Japan. I’m too tall, I speak too loudly. I feel like I am constantly freaking people out. And then with Asia pulling this shit on me on top of all that—it’s just so hard because I feel like everyone is looking at me, thinking, ‘What is her problem?’ Like I shouldn’t even be here.”

  As we lay down, turning out the lights in our room, Laura began to tell me stories about her childhood again. “I knew I had this talent. When the teachers weren’t watching, I was always entertaining other kids. Occasionally this group of peopl
e came to scout talented children to film in our class, and the teachers were supposed to pick out the top kids to be featured. They never picked me. Sometimes I could feel this rage well up inside of me. I knew I was a leader; I knew I had something. Even the film crew witnessed me rallying the kids, making them all laugh. They recognized my potential, but I could hear my teachers dissuading them, picking out the cute little girl with the blond pigtails. It was then that I realized I would always have to work double time.”

  I leaned into the down pillows, my head sinking slowly into the crisp smell of clean cotton sheets. I could hear Laura plucking at her fuzzy blanket, kneading it and purring like a cat.

  All of the sudden, I heard a tapping in the room, faintly, like someone clicking their knuckles on the wall. It playfully ricocheted over every wall, the ceiling, to the left and right. It picked up speed and then slowed down.

  “There it goes,” she said calmly.

  “What is that?” I whispered.

  “It won’t hurt you. It just does that. When I was twelve I was having a really hard time. I was going to commit suicide. I was planning out the ways in my head, sitting in the room I shared with my sister. She had the television on. And all of the sudden I began to hear it. It would bounce around the room like this. I didn’t believe in ghosts, though my aunt saw them all the time. I thought, maybe it’s the sediment settling in the walls of the building. But do you hear the way it changes speed? I had my sister turn off the TV. And I said, ‘Can you hear that?’ But she couldn’t hear it. So I brought my mother into the room. My mother listened, and she said she couldn’t hear it either. But when she said, ‘You can sleep with me tonight,’ I knew she actually had heard it.”

  Laura sighed.

  “After all these years I’ve come to know that it’s my guardian. At times in my life when I really feel like giving up, it shows up. Other times it shows up when I am doing well, just to check in on me. JT is connected to it as well.” She took my hand.

  We lay side by side. The city lights pulsed through the window.

  I heard it just that one time.