Second Best Fantasy

by Angela Kelly

  “juice” (that’s what she called it) about three years prior to her induction into the Blue Is.

  They’d met at a party down in Tampa, Florida when 72

  Janine was playing solo in jazz clubs. He’d been instrumental in introducing her to the then manager of the Blue Is. He only surfaced once in a while at parties like the one we had been at last night, but juice was easy enough to find on the street, so, apparently, Shiffrin was not my only hurdle to jump.

  Janine told me she’d been using heroin on and off for about five years, sometimes in astronomical amounts over a few days, sometimes an occasional fix every three or four months.

  The more popular the Blue Is became, the less she used because she wanted to be responsible to the band, to the music.

  She said, “I don’t want to be the lead singer you never know is going to show up or not.”

  She said she didn’t think she was hooked, but it was growing in availability with each success the band had and that scared her.

  That day would live in my memory for some time. It felt like the very last wall between us had been breached with us each discussing our addictions openly. I felt closer to her than ever, and we vowed, again, to slow down. Heroin and cocaine would no longer be welcomed by either of us. We recommitted to focusing on our own individual careers, and thought it was a good idea to spend more time with Dean and Sheila, Bobby and Angela, and Cindy, since these were the people in our lives who seemed to be the most responsible. As a final commitment, we decided that night to move in together.

  73

  Chapter 6

  On our one-year anniversary, instead of a nice dinner by candlelight, we stood in the middle of our new empty living room in Astoria and waited for the movers to arrive.

  Unloading the rental in the village had been easy as it was prime real estate. And I was quite sure once the realtor herself got it back in her docket, she would go after what her original rental price was instead of the discount I’d gotten for one night of relentless marathon sex.

  Janine’s pricey townhouse in Brooklyn Heights hadn’t been as easy to move. It was listed for almost two months with no bidders. Then, completely unanticipated, Sam inherited a small fortune from a rich uncle he didn’t even know he had. A bachelor all his life, he thought his sister’s kid could benefit most from his estate, even though they had been estranged for more than twenty years. Sam went with his mother to the reading of the will in upstate Connecticut for emotional support, and he came home a few hundred thousand dollars richer. So he decided to take the townhouse and he shelled out the cash to turn one of the bedrooms into a small rehearsal studio for the band. I remarked on how generous I thought that had been, and Janine said, “Are you kidding? Sam’s a great musician and he will drop out of the Blue Is and start his own band the moment he sees the chance.”

  Janine had found our new home, the real estate agent had wanted to show her places in all five boroughs, but she took the first place she’d been shown. In her mind, it was Astoria or nowhere. She’d been fascinated with Greece ever since she’d seen Summer Lovers when she was fifteen. Like Daryl Hannah’s character, Cathy, Janine used to dream she was a mermaid.

  Astoria was known for its Greek heritage almost as famously as Little Italy’s was in the city. Like most neighborhoods once known for its immigrant status, at some point it became a trendy place to live, or at least to hang out. The locals stayed strong and petitioned their city government relentlessly, and often, when hard hitters came into to try and buy out mom and pop stores to 74

  put in Starbucks and Jamba Juice. So Astoria hadn’t completely come into its own just yet, so, although on the rise, it was still affordable and interesting. Plus it housed The Museum of the Moving Image, a must see for any film buff, and thereby giving both of us endless hours of “date time” whenever we felt like watching a classic on the big screen.

  I had convinced Janine to settle for a mortgage I could contribute to, even though not quite at 50%. We also agreed to put the house in both of our names, so if anything ever went wrong with our relationship, we would both have to be responsible for flipping it. She wasn’t used to making responsible decisions by herself—the producers made decisions about the music, Dean made decisions about the band, and so on. I had never purchased a house before, so we both learned through the experience. Secretly, I also wanted some assurance that we’d both have somewhere to live if the Blue Is were a short lived success, new bands were being signed every day, the grunge movement had taken over every major city, and the future of rock blues was anyone’s guess.

  Our house was on a cul-de-sac in a quiet neighborhood.

  The house had been designed based on the popular California “sprawling” style, a raised ranch with high beamed ceilings and floor to ceiling windows in the living room. Three bedrooms, two spacious full bathrooms, and a full basement. All in all, we had gotten a very good deal. The real estate agent from Century was, of course, a big fan.

  As we stood unpacking boxes in the kitchen, Janine took a glass out of my hand and wrapped her arms around my waist.

  “Do you remember when we first met?”

  “They wore gray, you wore blue.”

  “My darling, I mean in our real life, not Casablanca.”

  “Of course I remember. It was love at first sight.”

  “Yeah, right. Bet you didn’t think we’d be standing here a year later, did you?”

  “Did you?”

  “Yes. I never told you this, but I knew you were ‘the one’.”

  “It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in 75

  possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.”

  “Pride and Prejudice, right? I didn’t know that’s what I wanted. I knew I wanted something, but I didn’t know it was a someone. Do you love me, Maggie?”

  “You know I do. Where is all this coming from?”

  “I’m afraid I’ll blow it, living together.”

  “Probably should’ve thought of that before we signed off on the paperwork.”

  “I’m being serious.”

  “I know, sweetheart. I’m sorry. I do love you. We have our differences, but we are a good team, right? And you like my cooking. That’s half the battle isn’t it?”

  “I don’t think we’ve had our battles yet.”

  “Is it so hard for you to believe that you, that we, could actually be happy?”

  “I don’t like all the uncertainty.”

  “What happened to the girl who asked me what if today is all we have? That day on the beach?”

  “She got afraid, I guess. You know, Sheryl Crow is going to take over the world, where will The Blue Is be then?”

  “Opening for her at Madison Square Garden.” I kissed her and went back to unpacking glasses and dishes.

  * * * *

  Moving in together had to have an adjustment period, we were both so used to living alone. It helped that I had a regular schedule, and Janine rarely had a schedule at all aside from rehearsals. That meant there was no fighting for shower time in the morning, and she was free to go to bed with me at night if she wished, or stay up, or stay out. I was grateful to get to see her, to touch her, every single day. The next major tour wouldn’t be until after the new album was released, and that was still quite a while away. There were no more foreseeable trips to LA now all the Wolf Creek contracts were in place, and most of the Blue Is gigs were limited to the tri-state area. We went out with friends and had dinner at Dean and Sheila’s and I hung out with 76

  Cindy more than I had in several years. Janine and Cindy had even gotten together a few times without me. We made the transition smoothly, and once again it all felt oddly normal.

  For Janine, home life was a welcome relief from the road and the studio, she was home much more often than I had expected her to be, and seemed happy about it. Her biggest transition was getting used to waking up with Sebastian sleeping on her head, or curled up behind her butt when she slept on her
side. She told me her parents were both allergic to most fur, so she’d never had a pet growing up. I rectified that by getting her the sweetest, cutest cocker spaniel for her 31st birthday. She promptly named him Joplin.

  When we’d been living in the house for nearly four months we threw a house warming party, it had taken that long for The Blue Is to have an entire weekend free. We both invited our parents, a few of our new neighbors we’d gotten friendly with, Dean and Sheila, Bobby and Angela, Cindy, Sam, Josh, and Corey. Josh and Corey, I knew, probably wouldn’t make an appearance, but I believed they’d think it was nice to be invited.

  Our friends would show up later in the afternoon, but our parents we would have all to ourselves from late morning until a couple hours after lunch.

  I got up early to clean and make pastries, I had a great Hungarian recipe for kiflis from my parents friends, the Dekovics.

  While I was drinking coffee and cutting the pastry into triangles, Janine sauntered into the kitchen with that sheepish guilty look she had, which I adored.

  “Don’t be mad.”

  “About what?”

  She pulled a small baggie out of her pocket. “I copped this from Corey. I thought we’d both be nervous about our parents coming.”

  “What is it?”

  “Just a little low-grade crank, nothing too spectacular. He said it was a ‘little bright happiness with a touch of speed up’.”

  “I’m not mad. But let’s only do a little. I don’t know about your parents, but mine would be pretty outraged.”

  77

  “Mine would too. Don’t worry, a little is all I got. For fun.

  Nothing more.”

  The drug was fun, and, as promised, not over the top. I felt very alive, alert, and found myself funnier than usual. It was more of a body buzz than anything, so I was certain our parents would be none the wiser. But I feared using without negative consequence would lull Janine into a sense of security about using other things, and that was not okay.

  We made Bloody Marys and waited for our parents to arrive.

  “Baby?”

  “I know what you’re going to say.”

  “You do?”

  “You’re going to say that using speed today is a one-time deal and it doesn’t give me permission to go out and use heroin again.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “Baby, I know you. Don’t worry. But, since you mentioned it, it goes both ways, right? Can you keep taking it easy on the scotch?”

  “These are so good I don’t think I’ll be drinking anything else today. I’ll count.”

  “I’m glad, you know. That we are both better than we were.”

  “Me too.”

  Janine didn’t know I drank myself to sleep most of the nights she wasn’t there. I found it so difficult to sleep without her, for me it was the only way. She didn’t know about my five to six martini lunches with my co-workers either. I felt like my drinking was under control, and I had never blacked out again, so I saw no reason to discuss it. I could go several days in a row without any alcohol at all, and I convinced myself that meant I was simply a “heavy drinker” and not an alcoholic. I had more or less told Janine so several weeks ago. There had been no more “incidents” and I think she only felt compelled to mention the scotch once in a while as a way of making sure we were still on the same page.

  I thought we were; my page was no blackouts, no moronic or dramatic behavior, no problem. Besides, I doubted her 78

  sincerity when she was away. We trusted each other in most things, but had an unspoken mistrust about this thing in particular. I knew it, and I knew she knew it. But we loved each other, and that mattered more.

  Our parents fell in love with each other almost immediately with no pressure from us. I had met hers on several occasions, and she had also met mine, but they had never been introduced to each other. I knew Janine’s parents still did not like the idea of a lesbian relationship, and I hoped the accepting nature of my own parents might sway them just a little.

  Her parents had, however, been kind and respectful toward me, and I was sure they even liked me, even if they didn’t like what I was. I had taken my father to see The Blue Is one night at the Stone Pony down the shore, and he, I believed, developed a bit of a crush on Janine that very night. When my parents arrived at our front door that afternoon, he was wearing a Blue Is T-shirt, and I adored him for that.

  When we went to gather everyone to sit down for lunch, I realized my mother had not shut up since she starting talking to Janine’s mom, Gayle. My mother, who usually you needed to coax even in idle chit-chat. Her dad, Wayne, and my dad were standing on the front porch smoking cigars (which my father rarely did) and I listened to them talk about the band and other music. They had been raised on Gene Pitney and Tijuana Brass and that apparently instilled a love for music in both of them.

  When I was younger, I always thought the reason everyone’s dad owned the Tijuana Brass album was because of that picture with the girl covered in whipped cream on the front jacket. I came to understand years later it did have musical merit, the whipped cream girl was just a bonus. Neither dad understood the appeal of Nirvana or Kurt Cobain. They also weren’t fond of the sudden appearance of boy bands like All-4-One and Boys II Men, to them, if you weren’t going to be The Beatles then why bother? They both loved Janine’s cover of “Angel from Montgomery,” because, after all, John Prine was the best.

  Wayne was a retired history professor, he had taught at Columbia for many years. My dad, Hal, was a huge history buff, 79

  so they had that to talk about as well. When they stepped back inside, he tousled Janine’s hair then patted her on the head and quoted Dracula, “Listen to them, children of the night, what music they make. ”

  She looked at me, a little jarred to have my dad playing the game with her instead of me, but her look turned to one of admiration and she turned back to my dad and said, “I’m really, really glad you’re here Mr. O’Leary.”

  Somewhere during lunch I realized the drug had worn off.

  I fought the desire to call Corey myself and ask him to bring more, reminding myself I was “trying to be good.” The early afternoon passed languidly, it was a beautiful late September and I loved the way the sunlight fractured through our linden trees.

  I gathered more instant photo memories to file away the day at various points: My father handing Wayne a Killian’s Irish Red and clapping him on the shoulder like they were old friends; my mother talking to Janine about the city and all its splendor while both leaned back in lawn chairs and my lover absentmindedly petted Joplin under her chair, Gayle stopping me with a tray of iced tea in my hands in the hallway and gently saying, “You two have made a very nice home,” our friends, real friends, pulling up in various vehicles in front of our very own house. I started thinking, if I could see these things and appreciate them sober (well, mostly, there were those Bloody Marys), then maybe I could actually be sober.

  * * * *

  It was four AM when Cindy shook me awake. Any dreams of sobriety I might have had earlier in the day had vanished somewhere in the evening between the shot for shot game Janine and I were playing with the neighbors and then frantically looking for Joplin when he escaped into the yard across the street. I vaguely remembered passing out on the couch, Cindy, Angela, and Bobby were the only ones left standing, everyone else had gone home. I convinced all of them to stay since I 80

  thought none of them should drive. Angela and Bobby had fallen asleep on the floor, Janine was in the love seat, and Cindy and I were on the couch, we were all watching The Producers and laughing. I was very drunk, but giddy and fun, and I remembered thinking: these guys almost never do this, they will be hung over tomorrow and won’t drink like this again for a very long time. I want to be like that.

  “Is she singing?” I asked Cindy. I could hear Janine in the bathroom, and could have sworn she was wailing out a rendition of The Doors’ Five to One. The Blue Is had done an amazing cover o
f it a few weeks ago at the Passaic Theater in Jersey.

  She had changed the words from “you” to “I” when she sang,

  “I walk across the floor with a flower in my hair, trying to tell you no one understands, trade in my hours for a handful of dimes, gonna make it baby in our prime…”

  and strutted out into the audience while she sang. It was hot.

  “Jesus, you’re still drunk. NO, you idiot, get up!

  Something’s wrong.”

  I realized Janine was not singing, she was crying out in pain. I ran down the hallway to the bathroom. When I burst into the room, Janine was lying in the fetal position on the floor, a small pool of blood collecting beneath her.

  “Cin! Call an ambulance!”

  I sunk down on the floor next to her and cradled her head in my arms. “It’s okay, baby, I’m right here. You’ll be fine, everything is going to be fine.”

  Internally I doubted; I had no idea why she was bleeding, or even where she was bleeding from. I looked her over, first I thought she’d made a suicide attempt, but there were no cuts anywhere I could see. Then I thought maybe she was in the bathroom using, and did something wrong with a needle, but there was no evidence of that either. Then I saw, she was bleeding from between her legs.

  81

  “I don’t know, I don’t…I’m…I’m so sorry Maggie…I’m so sorry…” she was whimpering.

  “Shh…don’t talk baby. The ambulance is on its way.” I started to cry. What was wrong with her? Was she sick? Dying? I didn’t know what I would do if I lost her and, in spite of our lifestyle, it had never even entered my mind as a possibility before. I looked down at her red face, hair all sweaty and disheveled, and still thought she was so beautiful. My sweet Janine, the love of my life, I couldn’t lose her, I just couldn’t.