Love Lucky

by Van Quattro

  “I’ll bet you are great on stage. I do theater too.”

  “That’s good honey it’s a great place to start. But I’ve never set foot on a stage in my life.” Fuck me.

  Carmen brings our tea in along with a freaky looking dog darting behind her and setting its self under Ava. It looks like a German shepherd with its legs cut short.

  “Here’s my baby.”

  “What kind of dog is that? I’ve never seen one before.”

  “They’re called Corgis.”

  “Wow, they’re cool. What its name?”

  “This is Morgan. Morgan, this is Mr. Vern from California.”

  “Hi, Morgan.” I sip my tea and light up a smoke when she does. I’m running out of ways to keep the conversation going, so I drink the tea and try to look deep by staring at a spot on the wall. I don’t think I have ever had a whole cup of tea before, is what pops in to my head. Man, I want to get drunk then I can tell her all the things I want to, but she seems like she doesn’t drink much.

  Her phone rings with a cool double ring that feels safe and homely plus it reminds me I’m in a foreign land. I smile to myself.

  “Oh hello Charles,” she says in a carefree tone. I’m thinking holy fuck is she talking to prince Charles? “Oh, I am just sitting here with this lovely young man from California…well he is handsome…he brought me some cigarettes from the states…oh sure we’ll be here a minute. Okay love.” And she hangs up. I don’t have the guts to ask her if she was talking to the Prince so I just look out the window. “Well honey, I have plans for the evening so I must start getting ready.”

  “Uh, okay.” I stand up and she motions me to sit back down.

  “In a minute honey, my friend Charles is popping over, he lives just across the way. Relax a moment.” The Prince lives just across the way? I sit with my hands in my lap trying to think of something to say.

  “I really like…” I’m interrupted by the doorbell, she goes to the door and in walks a tall silver haired man, about 60 with a drink in his hand. He has one of the most proper English accents I have ever heard, and I’ve seen, Lawrence of Arabia. He gives me a long look and says,

  “Heeeeelllloooo,” like there’s a party going on in his throat. Damn, he looks

  familiar. I know he’s an actor that I’ve seen before. “I’m Charles Gray.”

  “Hi, I’m Van Quattro.” Ava and Charles look at each other. Ava smiles at him. She doesn’t seem to care she’s been calling me the wrong name our whole visit.

  “You mean Quattro as in four? What is that?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Where does that name come from?”

  “Oh, from my dad.” He rolls his eyes and clears his throat. “No dear boy, what is your nationality?”

  “Oh, Italian.”

  “Very good. I like Italian people.”

  “Me too,” I say even though the only Italian people I’ve met are my immediate family and I guess they were okay, but not really.

  “Well Darlings I must be going.” Ava herds us to the door and I’m making great efforts to have eye contact with her so she won’t forget me. Her eyes skate past me without much connection though. She closes the door behind us and Charles turns his head to the sky and makes a declaration,

  “If you’re not in a great hurry you are very welcome to come to my place for a drink. Up to you.”

  “No I don’t have anywhere to go. I’ll have a drink.” Once again my elation button squirts. I’m going to a famous English actor’s home to have drinks, just him and me.

  His place is much like Ava’s, but smaller. When we walk in he goes straight to the bar and refills his drink with ice cubes and pours straight whisky to the top of the glass.

  “What are you having?

  “Uh, I’ll have whatever you’re having.” I don’t care what I drink as long as it’s strong.

  He hands me my full tumbler of booze and swirls his around clanking the ice cubes against the side of his glass.

  “You ever shit ice cubes in the morning?” he asks. I don’t think he really wanted an answer so I cracked a little smile. I think it’s a drinker’s joke. We sit on opposite ends of the couch and I quickly size up his apartment. There aren’t any posters on the wall - he has like real paintings and stuff. I feel a little out of place but fake it well. I see what looks like a T.V. guide on his coffee table and it looks like he’s on the cover dressed like a Roman.

  “Is that you?” I ask pointing to the magazine.

  “Oh probably yes. It might be one of those BBC Shakespeare projects I do. Hand it over to me, I’ll see what it is.” I reach over and hand it to him then go back to my side of the couch. “Oh yes, this is Julius Caesar. It should be on this week I guess. You ever watch these in America?” he asks.

  “Uh, sometimes.” I need to change the subject because I haven’t seen many. I know of them but never got around to watching many them. I all of a sudden feel like an artistic eunuch. I drink faster and sweat from my armpits.

  God, I know I have seen him in so many things but I can’t remember what they are. I scan the apartment again to find a clue but there is nothing to be found.

  “So you are an actor, how’s that going for you?” he asks.

  “Oh yeah, good. I am doing theater and student films.”

  “Okay. Maybe you can find something to do over here. You are a very good looking man. There are plenty of theaters.” I swell with hope. Oh man, just think if I got to do some theater over here, I would be so fucking important. Fuck all those roles I didn’t get in California. What do they know about theater? The Globe Theater on Santa Monica Blvd, they don’t know shit. And my family: I am the only one that has ever left Glendale and now I am sitting in the apartment of a great Shakespearean actor and I mean a real one.

  I study his monumental face and he looks back at me without emotion. Oh man I know where I’ve seen him, he was the doctor in, Rocky Horror Picture Show. Holy shit. I want to call Whammy and tell him, it will blow his mind. Maybe if Charles goes to the bathroom I’ll try.

  “You were in, Rocky Horror Picture Show.”

  “Thank you but I already knew that.” He stands and heads back to the bar. My drink is almost gone and I have a slight warm buzz and I’m feeling cushy on this epic day. He fills his glass, but doesn’t ask me about mine. He looks directly at me and I assume he’s thinking about what play I would be good for and how he’s going to help me.

  “Do you like men?” He boldly asks. I am not sure what he means so I try to answer as honestly as possible.

  “Yeah, they’re okay.” He doesn’t flinch.

  “You like men then?”

  “Yeah sure.” He doesn’t seem pleased with my answer but I don’t know what else to say. Finally, he turns his head to the ceiling as if discarding the words while speaking to the universe.

  “I mean do you like cock?” I feel the blood rush to my head and the sweat on my neck.

  “Huh? What? Cock? Oh that.” I try not to show my disappointment. “Oh no, I like women” Then I shift uneasily, sure I’ve said the wrong thing.

  “I am going to bed now,” he says with the conviction of a famous English actor. I get up and hurry to the door, he writes something down on a small piece of paper and hands it to me. “This is my telephone, let me know how you get along.” I take his cue and leave his apartment. As I stand in the gardens I look up at Ava’s place, there are lights on; then up to Charles’s where a light goes out. I take a deep breath look up to the stars, and I feel so lucky and drunk and full.

  “Hello, there you are. Been out and about the city? Lots to do, eh? Where have you been? What have you seen?”

  “Oh, some stuff.” She’s alone at the flat. She looks kinda sloppy wearing a tee shirt with holes in it and jammy bottoms. But she still shines with her natural charisma. She isn’t wearing a bra and her big breasts are hanging down to her belly. That doesn’t seem right but I still want to see them and make loving with her.

 
; “Is there any booze around?”

  “Oh no love we went through all if it.”

  “I’ll go to the store,” I tell her. I want to party some and see where it goes.

  “There is nothing open right now.” She smiles as if she foiled my plans. I walk over to her and wrap my arms around her waist and pull her in. She doesn’t put up a struggle. My heart flutters. I go in for a kiss and she kisses me back. Man this is happening and I don’t even have to get more fucked up. I become more aggressive feeling around her unbridled body like a sad blind man looking for the meaning of life. I touch every corner but still need more information. Her clothing is blocking the true message. I’m going under the tee shirt, and she’s round and large. I use two hands on each breast at a time, and I switch back and forth while our lips lock. I’m hard as a gearshift in a Mustang. All of a sudden she tries to break free. I have no idea what’s happening. She pushes me away, not in anger, she’s fucking smiling. I gasp like a whale emerging after days under water.

  “What’s wrong?” I smile back thinking this is some kind of dance we need to do before we secure the relationship. I have always felt that once you get naked with a girl (semi sober) it’s the beginning of something big.

  “Really there’s nothing wrong. I just don’t want to do it.”

  “Well…why did you invite me here?”

  “Love, I didn’t think I could stop you.”

  “Okay, but we were just almost doing it a minute ago. What the hell?” my balloon is deflating and the sound of my voice has the similar high-pitched squeal sound. I go to her again. I think I can charm her into being willingly nubile, she just was. I know she was, she was way in to it.

  When I reach for her she actually moves to the other side of a couch so I can’t touch her. I’m not sure if she’s messing with me or not but I feel like a dumpster baby with my mom laughing at me from the outside.

  “Hey, what?”

  “Nothing, I’m just not in the mood.”

  “Well when are you in the mood?”

  “Let’s just go to sleep love.”

  “Can I sleep with you?”

  “Not tonight.”

  “Then stop calling me love.”

  “Ta.” She says then goes in to her room. ‘Ta’ what the hell does that mean? Maybe it means tomorrow, like tamorrow but short. I strip down to my underwear and settle in on the couch. I’m hoping I wake up with a boner in the morning so she can see it and want me.

  I’m not drunk enough to crash so I think of Ava and Charles. They roll through my brain like a tantalizing rollercoaster without a destination.

  I wake to the sounds of the street again. It’s not horn honks or lawn mowers and blowers or aggressive yelling, it’s chitty chatty Mary Poppins stuff. It sounds welcoming. It pulls me out of bed gently and I want the light of the unknown. Tess is moving around in her room. I wonder, too much, who she will be this morning.

  She comes out in her bra and skirt. It’s very difficult to look at her face.

  “So you never told me what you did yesterday.”

  “Do you know an actor named Charles Gray?” I try to ask her and not her breasts.

  “Oh sure, everybody knows of him. He’s in all the bond movies.”

  “Yeah that’s him. I was over his house yesterday after being at Ava Gardner’s.”

  “Go on, you weren’t.”

  “Yes I was.” My mouth is nasty dusty and I see my hair in the window; it stands straight up like a punker. “I surely was. Over in Kensington in some big flats.”

  “Well…look at you.” She readies her blouse for dressing.

  “Don’t do that.”

  “What?”

  “Put that blouse on, we have some unfinished business. My name is Bond, James Bond.”

  “I have to get out of here, however you would make a good Bond.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I have to work.”

  “When will you be home?”

  “Oh probably late if at all.”

  “Really? What am I supposed to do?”

  “Go and explore London love.”

  “Stop calling me love when you don’t mean it.”

  “Oh love, I do mean it, just not the way you want me to.”

  “Fuck. I don’t want you to do anything.”

  “You can’t really stay here much longer. There’s no room. The others have been staying away to give you room. But they want to come back home now.”

  “What the hell am I supposed to do?”

  “There are places you can stay around town.”

  “What? Are you fucking kidding me? Where?”

  “There are hostels. What about your rich friends? Stay with them.”

  “My what friends? I don’t have any rich friends, I have a couple of poor friends and they are not here.”

  “Well…I’ll be your friend, but you can’t stay here.” Her smile has that free bird twist to it that indicates nothing could tie her down.

  “I don’t want to be your friend.”

  “Okay, suit yourself.”

  “You lied.”

  “Look, look for a place today. You can’t stay here any longer.”

  “Fine, your boobs are too big for me anyway.”

  “Right. Ta then.” She leaves and I wonder where a sixties retro, barely post punk, cool chick works. I mean she has to work in a record store or something. Not that it matters. I’m not devastated. She’s leaving me high and dry in a foreign land but I don’t feel mad about that. My grown up side thinks she’s probably not a good lover, she’s all non-committal and hippyish, so fuck her. I can only put up with free love, as long I am the only one giving it. Okay, I didn’t get to fuck her, that hurts. I mean that would have been the first step to a lasting love. But, hey, wasn’t meant to be. Damn she was sexy though.

  I sit on my bag to close it and hit the high road. I stop at the first pub I see. I need sauce to start my journey. I have four of these deep brown beers and they give me a strange buzz, a little bit murky and muddy. I feel like I’ve sucked yeast through a straw. But my brain is altered and that’s all that matters in a pinch. I ask someone what hostels are. They tell me it’s a place where people live like gypsies. Everybody sleeps in the same room and takes showers together, mostly vagrants and travelers. Well shit, I’m both I guess, but it sounds like a dumpy place. I curse Tess. I think of her breasts and curse even louder.

  Some blokes in the bar tell me I should head over to Piccadilly Circus. I don’t know why they think a circus would interest me, maybe because they can see the performer in me. I’m up for it. I head back to the subway and check out the stations stops. I love it down here, bustle, movement, people and travel. Riding the underground trains is like time travel. A mystical gliding journey to the center of the earth arriving at points unknown, each stop a new adventure. I take their advice and choose Piccadilly, a very easy one-stop trek from Tess-ville. I need a friggin circus right now. I figure I’ll find a liquor store and get some gin because I keep seeing all these billboards advertising it. I’ve not had it before but I want to be English to the pore.

  We come to a fast, ‘mellow thighed’ stop and I follow the crowd to the streets. ‘Don’t lean on me man’ I sing Bowie’s ‘Suffragette City” out loud. Ha. It’s early afternoon and the moving clouds allow the sun to explode sporadically on this very colorful part of my new city.

  I bounce past radical punks, Indians, dreadlock Rasta people and shuffling Germans, I guess. There are large billboards, shops and signs, and a big kinda island in the center of the street. This place looks like some pictures I’ve seen of New York. There is a large naked statue with an arrow. They sure don’t have that in Glendale. I feel the energy of the street life coming in from all directions. I heave my suitcase looking in shop to shop. I want to find the, Clockwork Orange milk bar. I wonder where the Clash hang out, where Abbey Road began and where Bowie lives. I roam, senses peaked. I come upon a crowd and in the center of it two guys ar
e having the audience follow a little ball on a table while they shuffle three cups over it. One guy in the crowd points out the correct cup finding the ball and wins a bunch of money. You definitely can’t do this stuff back home. I’m thinking how great this circus is; I throw five pounds on the table to place a bet and easily find the hidden ball. Bingo, double my money. The guys running the game are talking in thick cockney accents and raving about my winnings.

  The crowd gets even larger and I have to shove to get my next bet down. Hell I need money because of that asshole Reagan, plus I like to gamble. Ha!

  I poke my arm through and slap two twenties down. The cups spin, much faster this time but I can still see where the ball is, Yay, eighty pounds coming my way. I can do this all night, beats painting.

  When he pulls the cup up the ball isn’t there. Huh? What the fuck? They grab my money and challenge me to go again. I have about seventy pounds left and know I can follow the fucking ball so I throw down thirty more. They start the hocus pocus bull, then start acting all frantic. They gather up the table, all the money and bolt away. In the opposite direction the police are charging us.

  British coppers wear a dome hat helmet thing and long coats without any guns visible. They break up the crowd and scan the grid for the villain’s. They turn to leave, I walk up to them and tell them in my most sincere having been deceived tone that I’ve been had. I’m very comfortable with getting the law on my side because I think those guys ripped me off. I’ve lost my new found much needed innocence. My ego is trumped by losing Atlantis and my money.

  My concerned, stylishly uniformed protectors and I walk together for a few blocks, we peek nooks and crannies for the villains, nothing. I need my money back; I am now close to broke. I pray to St Anthony to find my cash and I ask him for a couple a hundred extra for my loss of faith. The coppers are very kind, they warn me of the evils of this Eden then bid me farewell.

  What the fuck, I need a drink or a drug. I have what? Thirty pounds left? I walk looking around for a discount liquor store and my infatuation of this place creeps back into my heart. All is better when some bell chimes seven.