Love Lucky

by Van Quattro

  It’s a bit of a walk to the bridge but I make it handily with my super human euphoric semi drunken state. The sun is making its rounds leaving a beautifully breathing darkening blue sky peppered with small marshmallow clouds and a tail of gold as it goes west. This is a big ass river right in the middle of a city, never seen that. I walk towards the center of the bridge checking out the church spires, large buildings and river life lining the water. I wonder where the gondolas are, or if they even have them here.

  My pace and my heart quicken when I see a redhead looking at me and waving. I flush with joyous trust; she showed up.

  “You’re here,” she blurts with a happy face and open arms.

  “Hi. So are you,” I exclaim with a guarded smile. It’s the best I can come up with not coming from a background of happy things, but I think if this is my new life I love it and I’ll sign on the dotted line and try to smile when possible.

  “Well does it look like you pictured it? My, this is your first time abroad isn’t it?” I have no idea what she meant, I thought broads were women, but I nod anyway.

  She’s wearing a trench style coat and her hair is windblown off the river exposing her small ears decorated with long black pearl looking earrings. Hello Julie Christie.

  “Well give me a hug,” she cries. I step close to lock her up with a body piercing but she keeps space between our mid sections. I can still feel her big boobs through her coat so I get top heavy myself. I don’t push it too much because I’m sure tonight will be the night for engagement, sweet long last engagement. “Have you converted your money yet?”

  “To What? I’m not religious.”

  “Funny…do you have dollars or pounds?”

  “I have dollars, why, what are pounds?” I start to feel less than. I don’t like being on the, ‘I don’t know’ side of so many questions, especially with a woman I love to the end of the earth who’s cutting her questions short because of my dumbness.

  “Okay, lets just get a cab back to my flat. I’ll pay,” she says keeping her jovial face. I don’t say anything, I just nod and smile as if ‘I’m new here and Tess knows best.’

  The very black cab takes us along the river to a place called, Pimlico. She stays in something she calls a flat. It’s a one-bedroom space with a tiny kitchen and no bathroom. The bathroom is down the hall. She shares it with others on this floor. There are five other people in the flat when we get there. They’re just hanging around, on the couch, floor, leaning on walls, four guys and one other girl besides Tess. I’m thinking now of how England makes being poor cool, a very hip crowd they are, with accents. I’m not sure who all lives here. They’re all drinking booze of different sorts and I find I need some of it too, I even consider being social in this achingly awesome atmosphere. The sun has completely departed and I’m ready to go again. One of the guys said he was going for more liquor and is taking money. I’m itching for my own bottle so I give him a ten-dollar bill and ask for some vodka. He stares at the bill, smiles and says, “ta.” I nod back, like sure dude.

  I answer American questions for an hour or so, but all I can think of is how Tess is going to empty the room out for our nakedness. I keep trying to maintain eye contact with her, but she escapes my pathetic gaze with her goddamn happiness. Then she jumps on this guy’s lap as if it’s finally a confession that will give her freedom from me, but I can’t tell if they’re involved or not. My silly hope needs a sledgehammer to pound out all my absurd expectations. Maybe her sitting on this dudes lap is merely the way these British bohemians behave and had nothing to do with her love for me. This guy has careless good looks and is one of those dudes that tries hard at nothing; he just fucking looks good and is able to not want shit. Things come to him, and if they leave him, then he’s fine with it and goes on to the next thing. These kind of pussies I feel like shit around. I chew things, eat things, the things I so desperately want. I kept them in my belly as long as I can. When they’re finally digested I’ll shit them out and save the remains. And when I can’t stand the stench anymore I curse them for being foul and send them back to a mulch pile called earth feeling a tragic dejection.

  He reaches in to his shirt pocket and brings out a vial. Tess drops to her knees over the little table in front of us like a magician’s assistant ready for action. She cuts up some lines and they toot healthily. I watch the way I would when my parents would eat steak and we kids ate mac and cheese. Kids are too young for steaks they said.

  Seeing their eyes light up like flashbulbs I feel like shit. I want some, I want her, and I want him gone.

  “Welcome to the U.K. mate,” he says popping his nostrils and pointing to the table. Tess looks at me with a beautifully drug induced smile. Maybe he aint so bad after all. The white powder around Tess’s nose looks very cute, like she’s been playing in the powdered sugar. I want to lick it off. She cuts me up a couple of fairly large lines, but of course I want bigger ones, I want lines as thick as pencils.

  “All yours love.” She smiles like a game show model. I dive in like an anteater, clearing the lines and the immediate area. I feel the sonic love in my soul and am filled with the unbelievable circumstances of my situation. My new friends and I will form a rock band and tour the world. Tess and I will get married and we can make love every night.

  I scan the room with an intense self-pleasure and a soul that wants to orgasm all over everyone. Sometimes that’s the best way to express myself. My sprays of ecstasy have to be refocused because the other three guys and girl get up all slinky like, and head out the door with words like, “Ta” and, “Right then.” Son of a bitch, I feel even greater with the crowd thinning out. Tess and I are getting closer to our love glazing. I wait patiently like a child on Christmas morning staring at the packages and unwrapping them with their eyes. Tess carefully puts the cocaine away (fuck) and the guy stands up saying something like. ‘I’m knackered.’ I have no fucking idea what that means, but I say,

  “Yeah huh.” Tess then looks at me and says,

  “Van Love, I’ll be back in a minute, just going to see him home.”

  “I once had a girl or should I say she once had me.”

  “Oh, okay,” I say and tingle with anticipation of her return. She has a street level flat and the night-lights of Pimlico bleed through the shabby curtains. Not much to see yet but I’m infatuated with every beam and color that exists out there. After all this is not Glendale California, this is the Great Britain and so far it’s pretty damn great.

  Time is passing and I’m worried about Tess. I wonder if they have bad people here like in America. I am well off my coke buzz but still able to keep my mind above the quicksand of my rusty thoughts by sipping on my bottle of vodka. I start imagining Tess being in some kind of trouble and how I can rescue her with my Los Angeles street-smart ways. People over here can’t be that tough, in fact they always seem like pansies in movies. If I saved her she would fucking love me and I would as well. My vodka’s getting scarce and it must be at least three in the morning so I lay back on the small couch and close my eyes. My vision is popping behind my lids, my thoughts going one-way, and alarming lights are rotating the other way. Alley cats are talking, nothing too heated, just bantering with an English accent as they playfully knock lids of off English trashcans.

  In the third hour of dusty sleep the sun sweeps me awake. There are many footsteps passing by mid window. All I can see are calves and shoes and the occasional hem of a coat. Life is happening, I can’t wait to get outside and see the people. Tess is nowhere to be found, nor is there any indication that she’s been here during my sleep, but I’m too worked up about the streets to crash about that.

  I find my way to the community bathroom, do my business, grab my wallet (with two hundred and forty dollars in it), and my passport, and head outside. It’s crazy out here, cars are driving on the wrong side of the street, people talking to each other, I see a double decker bus with many heads with many hats, cops with funny helmets, bakery items. I hear strange sou
nding sirens. I love it. I soak it all in. ‘Penny lane, the barber shaves another customer,’ is on a delightful loop in my head. I need coffee and a fucking bun, so I shyly walk in to a pastry shop.

  “What’ll ya have love,” says the lady behind the counter. I order a coffee and an unknown doughy thing. I go to pay her and she tells me they don’t take dollars.

  “What’d ya mean,” I ask.

  “Well luv, this ain’t America, we use pounds here.” She starts to laugh, then under her breath she whispers, “I bloody well wish it was America.”

  “Well…what should I do?” I ask.

  “Just go on over there to the bank, they’ll change it up for you. I’ll hold your stuff till you get back luv. No worries, go on.” So much activity, so much new, Tess hardly crosses my mind, I welcome the distractions.

  I run across the street. There is a big red phone booth in front of the bank, I go in and I’m dumbfounded as to how to fucking use it. I have a few quarters but they won’t fit anywhere. I want to call Ava. Fuck I’m nervous enough about talking to her without having to figure this shit out. I go grudgingly to the very hoity bank. Back at home shoe salesmen make me feel like shit, so this puts me in the cockroach realm.

  Well, the bank experience is not cheery but polite. I guess they deal with self-hating Americans whose eyes rattle around like they’re stem less all the time. I came in the bank with two hundred and forty hard earned dollars, even sacrificed brain cells sniffing all the paint, to have a decent amount of cash to last me while here, and I walk out with less than one hundred pounds. They told me the exchange rate is very high indeed right now and that I’d get only one pound for every two dollars and forty cents, and things are indeed quite expensive right now. I don’t know what to make of this but I’m quite sure it’s not the best deal I’ve ever gotten. In fact, I’m feeling that this whole trip is another one of my false moves in a conniving world. My world of togas and peace, love and trust, music and sex, camaraderie and free money, everyone helping out, with lots of rivers and oceans rivers, seems really dumb right now.

  The pastry lady told me that pounds were the same as dollars only worth more,

  “Oy think, they are,” she mutters. The coins are similar to the American coin system. I’ve heard people in the states say Ronald Reagan was fucking up the economy and that the dollar is weak, so this is what they meant. That asshole may have ruined my trip.

  They charge me a couple of pounds for my goodies at the shop which gives me perspective on how fast my money is going to last. The pastry angel lady gives me the change and instructions on how to make a phone call from the red box.

  Weird clicking’s, coins falling and an odd ringtone connects me to Ava.

  “Hello,” she says in a very quiet voice, lacking any traits. I’m not even sure if it’s her.

  “Can I speak to Mrs. Gardner?” I mumble caught off guard= as I am when the simple things are simple.

  “Who’s calling?” the neutral sounding woman asks.

  “This is Van Quattro,” is the best I can come up with.

  “What is your business with Mrs. Gardner?”

  “I was supposed to drop off some Pall Mall cigarettes for her,” I say defensively, feeling pretty stupid, like this whole Ava Gardner thing is some fucking hoax as well. Then in a full on seductive saloon gal declaration, she spouts.

  “Oh, that’s you honey. You made it. Did you bring my smokes?”

  “Yes, I have them,” I say feeling as cool as Steve MC Queen and as lucky as Mickey Rooney on his wedding night.

  “Okay darling, can you come by tomorrow afternoon? I can pay you for your troubles.”

  “UUUUH, yeah,” I drone. Now I’m already thinking of how I want to make as much of a great impression as possible so I will for sure have to shower and change my underwear because you never know, right? Maybe when she see’s me she’ll recognize, the talented misunderstood, misinterpreted, under developed, overly abused, weeping lion, with a broken heart made of stardust.

  Twinkle, Twinkle, she gives me an address that’s in Kensington, which means everything and nothing to me. I am higher than helium in heaven. I’m going to fucking Ava Gardner’s house. This calls for a shower, which they don’t have at the corrupt Tess pad, just a bathtub. I don’t know how to use a bathtub. I hadn’t been in a bath since I was 12 or so years old when I would watch my sperm float on the water after masturbating.

  Well, I slush around in my dirty water I think about Tess. I’m really mad at her for leaving me alone but don’t want to say anything to push her further away. I figure if only I can get her to have sex with me she’ll fall in love with me for sure so I’m working that angle.

  I rummage through my only suitcase looking for something different to wear. Having so few options doesn’t scare me because I can make magic happen with rags. I pick out my marginally stained jeans and a sparkly clean dress type shirt to wear. I’ll leave the top three buttons on the shirt open; a little American style. I head to a pub.

  What the hell, they only sell beer in this pub, lots of beer. I don’t like beer; takes too long to get high and gets me all bloaty in my mind and body. I need something so I ask for the strongest one. It’s dark brown, really thick and tastes like mulch juice but I can feel a buzz coming on so I stay with it. I don’t talk to any of the people hanging out, I just watch. So weird, there are punk rockers standing at the bar next to businessmen. It appears to be a nightly jovial unwinding for all. Nobody seems even a bit phased by how different they all are. Hmmmm. Utopia?

  Gently sauced I slide back to the flat hoping Tess will be there. She is, and all alone, oh yeah. She tells me she fell asleep at that dude’s place and nothing happened between them. I am easy to believe her. She acts her lovely self and we make out. Her lips are sweet but her hands deflect my tender gropes. I end up sleeping on the couch with the promise of all of her tomorrow. I want to pull my hair out.

  I wake to find my Tess gone. I am so wound up I have to jack off. I’m kinda pissed too.

  I am to see Ava at six. The time change and jet lag is no match for the constant buzz I keep. I however ration myself because I don’t want to appear like a slobbering stoner loser to Venus.

  I put the cigarettes in a bag from a place called Marks and Sparks. Can you fucking believe it? ‘Wendy’s stealing clothes from Marks and Sparks,’ from ‘All the Young Dudes.’ Bowie wrote that. Fuck this place is awesome!

  I take many buses to Knightsbridge. Her complex is right across the street from Hyde Park. Her apartment rests on the second level of a large stand-alone structure among a handful of others. It’s all very swank with iron balconies and real old looking stone, very awesome, but I thought Ava Gardner would live in a Palace or something.

  I ring the bell and thank God for Pall Malls. She opens the door and there she is,

  “Are you Vern honey,” she says, barely visible behind the ornate iron screen door. I have come to recognize her voice and worldly intonations but I want to see her!

  “Yes.” I drip a little pee into my jeans. She unlocks the second door and cautiously but brazenly stands there and looks me over like she might be considering all things to do with me; the same way she probably looked over some of the most famous men in the world. I stand here like a rejected boy scout. Her white blouse is unbuttoned enough to show her million-dollar cleavage. That’s where I look first, I mean what the hell…it’s so…there. She’s a little heavier than her photos but she still looks pretty damn good in slacks. She’s still captivating as hell but not like she used to be or like I wish she would be. There isn’t the mythic beauty of her younger days, but I am still so fucking drawn to her. She is way older than me so my head spins with confusion, delusion, and allusions, wondering what I would want from her. I sober up standing here. I remember my dad giving us boys advice about women when we were kids, “Pussy has more pull than a thousand mules, just look at what Sinatra went through for Ava Gardner.” And here she is, and it’s true still. I feel the mules
of love.

  “Come in dear, let me get you some money.” I almost say don’t worry about it but I want to go inside her place, and I need the money. She walks away and leaves me at the door, my life flashes before my eyes: dirty clothes and sperm floating on the water, throwing up, and stealing stuff. I am such a piece of shit.

  She comes back to the door and hands me thirty pounds and says, “Keep the change baby.” She calls me baby and I’m not sure if it’s the cool baby or like I am so dejected I look like a fucking baby. Either one is okay I guess. I don’t want to be the first one to turn away so I stand my ground as she pushes the door slightly towards closing.

  I don’t move. After a second she gives in, “Do you have time to come in for a cup of tea honey?”

  “Sure.” She opens the door and I am in. The place is much bigger than I expected. She shows me to an armchair, says something to someone named Carmen in the kitchen, and she sits directly across from me.

  “So tell me honey, how do you know Bappie?”

  “Uh, Greg and I were doing some painting for her.”

  “Oh that’s right she did mention that. So you’re a house painter?” she says flipping her head to the side jangling her hair and turning back with her lips showing a gesture of prowess. (Prowess means she could want me or not want me but she’s an animal of sorts). I sit like a horny hyena and keep a regal distance.

  I am like a dummy without a master. Sweat drips from my forehead. I don’t want to lose her, shit. I have to break out of my shell. Whammy always tells me I’m special, like crazy cool. He’s the one that kept telling me I should get in to acting.

  “No, painting is what I do when I am not acting, I’m mostly an actor,” I say, throwing a devilish glance hoping she buys it. She looks down as if she wants to end the conversation based on my false response. I quickly steer it over to being in awe of her, which I am, but my words still shake like words inside a Yahtzee bucket.