Love Lucky

by Van Quattro

  “Alright then, cheers Van.”

  “Yeah cheers…ta.” All communication with Australia is severed. Fuck I have been using, ‘ta,’ and, ‘wanker’ the wrong way all this time. People must have thought I was a real dick wad.

  My bench looks like the coziest place I have ever seen. I snuggle up to the wood and rest my head on the iron, and every thought leaves my brain.

  ‘It’s a Beautiful Morning,’ by the Rascals is playing somewhere in the square. It’s trying hard to get past the dome of pulsating pain that surrounds my head. It sounds like it’s coming from underwater. My eyes feel like they’ve been injected with vinegar. I feel a dent in my bloated face from the hard bench and my mouth is screaming for some kind of liquid. But here’s the thing, it’s a fucking beautiful morning. The sun is gracious enough not to make my head feel worse by keeping the heat down, and the breeze convinces me that my feeling wrecked will soon leave me and follow the holy clouds to some ugly other place.

  I sit up. It takes a minute for all the juices, (good and bad) in my body to distribute to all the proper places. The square has movement but I can’t make out anything in particular. Clean up people? I look down and notice my shoes are gone and I have on mismatched socks. What the fuck, I never figured someone would take my shoes. I’m not really attached to them, but what the hell. Whatever, ha, kinda funny I guess. Fuck, I need some damn coffee then a beer or something. I try three times to stand up, it happens on the fourth - my pants fall to my knees. My damn belt is gone. I reach down to pull them up and feel my wallet’s missing. Ah man, I drop to my knees like I’m fucking reborn and search for my stuff. Nothing not even a coin.

  I yell out to the square,

  “WANKERS!” There’s hardly any money in my wallet but that’s not the point. They even took my damn belt. I walk in my socks, hold my pants up and dream about the goddamn cup of coffee I am going to have when I get back to my luxurious apartment, you fucking scallywags. I live in a beautiful flat on the Thames. You can’t steal that from me you fucking droogie dicks. People have to steal things on the Royal Wedding day, the most precious day ever? Ha, ha, who gives a shit? It’s really funny, isn’t it? Crafty fuckers. They could have killed me but they didn’t. Ha, I still love England. I got robbed by some Charles Dickens type wanker robbers, ha, even took my belt. I wish I could have seen it happen. I’ll bet the people who stole my shit don’t give a shit about the Queen and them.

  There aren’t too many out and about this morning but I don’t care who sees me. Sometimes I’m just me. HA. HA. I talked to Australia last night. I am fucking international.

  When I get home I crash out. I wake up in the evening, Brian and I have some drinks and I tell him all about my adventures. I feel like some character in a story.

  In a couple of days he says he wants me to meet someone he and Charles think would be good for me. Her name is Jill Bennett. Brian tells me she is a very famous actress here in Britain. Mostly theater but has done many films also. He says she was married to an awful man who is a playwright named John Osborne and she needs some good loving. He invites her to a chili dinner party he’s throwing at the apartment.

  I’m not familiar with Jill but I know John Osborne has written, Look Back in Anger, and many other award winning plays. I know he also wrote and got an academy award for, Tom Jones. HA, wait till Whammy, Greg and my theater people hear about this.

  So yes I want to meet her, you kidding? How the hell did this happen? I knew I was special. Hello my new world. I ask Brian what he’s told her about me.

  “I told her you were the best thing since sliced bread.” I’ve never heard this expression before but when you think about bread it must have been pretty cool when you were able to have it in slices.

  This place, this city’s heart, beats strong. It circulates an excitement and style in a steady stream. Back in America we always looked here for the latest creation. All my life the best shit came from England. But now I am here for the inhale. The Clash are going to be playing at a place called The Lyceum Ballroom in October and I got me a ticket. I am so happy. I am seeing one of my all time favorite bands in their own country, playing for their own people. Hopefully doing things the dumb Americans won’t understand. Things like making references to things only people here will understand. Like how screwy America can be, things like that actor Reagan becoming President, and that Iran waited to release the hostages till Reagan became president to make Carter look bad. As it is I don’t fucking trust anyone, but if that’s true you almost want to kill someone. These things seem unbelievable to me, man maybe I just don’t know what’s really going on. The Clash sing about the strife in central America and how the U.S. is always trying to prop up governments for their own purposes, having nothing to do with the natives. And how we send mercenaries to different parts of the world to fuck over countries.

  The world is screwed up man. Them people in America can be so fucking phony, like some won’t give you the time of day if you’re not dressed a certain way. Everyone like wants to be better than everyone else. And nobody is. But it still makes me feel like shit that they feel like that because it’s always me they think they’re better than, and then I want to start trouble or something. I don’t know, maybe sometimes I start it before they think I’m a piece of crap, but they were going to anyway at some point, so whatever, fuck ‘em. Everyone over there is going crazy over the Star Wars movies and I think they’re not very good. So then I think maybe there is something wrong with me and I’m supposed to like it and that makes me feel worse. But I’ll tell you what, I’ll bet the Clash don’t love Star Wars. I can’t wait to see them. ‘London Calling,’ and I came, and I’m here.

  For the party Brian makes the chili himself and has me sample it as soon as I get home from work, it’s damn good. At work today we were tearing down an old house. I found a bunch of old English coins under the floorboards. Liam said the place must have been an old shop at one time and the coins probably fell out of the cash register. One coin was dated in the eighteen hundreds. I might be rich right now and not know it.

  The drink is tequila again. I’m not really in the mood for tequila, but I guess it goes with chili, right? I’d rather something a little brighter in taste like vodka but I go ahead and down a couple of tequila shots pretty fast and it gets me used to it. Brian says Ava isn’t going to make it tonight but sends her regards. He isn’t sure if Jill and Ava care much for each other. I am sorry she’s not coming, but I’m excited about this Jill woman, and Charles will be coming.

  The doorbell rings, I am buzzed but still nervous as hell. Brian gets it and I hang by the dining room table squeezing the stain out of the wood. This Jill walks in like a thoroughbred, she has her chin up and head slightly turned to the side. She’s wears an oversized sports coat that makes her look cute. Her hair is short, kinda sixties looking. Her face is soft and strong, very defined features with a turned up nose. She is pretty in an unusual way. I mean, I’m not stunned, but I am very damn interested. Every step she takes toward the table seems to be measured. She walks like a movie star. Brian introduces us and she extends her hand to me,

  “Pleasure” she says.

  “Uh…me too.” She smiles a lip to nose smile and I blush. While we eat conversation is sort of proper, I guess, with her saying things like, “well of course,” and, “indeed” and, “absolutely,” whenever I chime in with some heartfelt point of view softened a touch by my intimidation of her. She seems interested in me unless she’s faking it. What the… I’ve never had a better winning streak. Charles finally shows up and helps the conversation along. I’m sweating trying to smile and think of things to say. Smiling is hard work for me.

  They talk about work. He tells her he likes her in the bond film, For Your Eyes Only, and she talks about being in Lindsey Andersons new movie, Britannia Hospital. Man I am pinching myself under the table, at least I hope it’s me I’m pinching. Lindsey Anderson directed, Oh Lucky Man, and we’re sitting here talking about him like
they are best of friends. I look at Brian and he smiles his, ‘see baby everything will be fine,’ smile at me. Jill says, Britannia Hospital, is the final film of the trilogy that started with If. Greg and I watched those movies more than a few times. Holy shit. I tell her this and she says I should write Lindsey a note about my love of his films and that she would hand it to him. Well…I don’t know if there’s a word in my vocabulary I could entertain him with so I’ll do one from my heart. Dear life and all it’s surprises!

  I watch Jill drink and she’s three deep. Her smiles get larger and linger longer. I’m drunk now and gaining confidence. I lean closer to her and when I talk I use my hands touching her arm or shoulder gently to make a point. I like her smell. It smells like real perfume not some, ‘Ode to crap’ stuff. Her skin is gentle and soft and she doesn’t have a lot of wrinkles so I can’t figure how old she is, but I’m not really interested in her age right now. We crack each other up with little jokes and I have my arm around her. I feel like nothing ever mattered ever.

  I put on some music and Jill just starts bopping around like a bunny rabbit. It looks funny in her oversized jacket. I start jumping up and down also. Marvin Gay’s, ‘My Mistake’ comes on and we bounce around the living room singing out loud. She’s acting like a child and even though I can’t quite go that far I’m having as much fun as I’m allowed. I’m kinda superstitious about some things, especially in romance. I look for omens. Shooting stars are always huge in the prediction game. So are first movies with someone. How drunk you are and how much they will drink with you, but mostly what song is playing when you first really connect with that person. The Marvin Gaye song is about making a mistake loving someone, but we play it off like it’s the happiest love song ever recorded. We keep replaying it and dancing around like we’re in some damn little kids T.V. show. I feel so happy about the whole thing, I’m not sure why.

  Sometimes I think there is a bigness in the world. Things can happen that are so good and out of the blue that I can almost believe in something for a spell. It’s where the promises of the soul occur, it’s like you just don’t need anything anymore, everything is taken care of. If I was a combination lock it’s where all the right numbers line up and it opens. That’s what my heart and soul does, it opens. I don’t even know the combination, it comes from the clouds. I live for times like this. They are far more powerful in purity than any drug, but drugs are good company in-between times. I feel like that now. I know I’m drunk but it’s realer than tequila, it’s, I mean it’s not like she knocks me out or anything, I had fun and smiles, it wasn’t all passionate or anything. She leaves with Charles soon after the exorcism and I get a pretty good hug from her.

  “Well darling, what do you think?”

  “She’s nice. Do you know how old she is?”

  “Oh I don’t know, fifty maybe.”

  “Really fifty?”

  “Yes my boy, does that frighten you?”

  “Uh…I don’t know. Should it?”

  “No of course not, it’s a sign of great intelligence to be with an older woman.”

  “It is?”

  “I don’t know, it sounds good, yes?”

  “I guess.”

  “You could do a lot worse, she’s very famous you know.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Oh god, yes. She was with the Royal Ballet, she’s done…dear, and too many to count stage productions. Yes, she is the real deal. And she just lives over in Chelsea off Kings Row. How convenient is that?”

  “All that’s cool. I just think she’s nice.”

  “And, I’m sure she liked you, she was prancing around like a bunny in heat.” I start cracking up.

  “Come here my dear, let me give you a hug before beddy bye.” He drapes his body around mine and pats me on the back.

  “Dear sweet baby Jesus give this young man whatever he wants in life. And please turn him gay. Now off to bed before I…never mind.” I crawl off to my quarters with visions of a new world. Love, movie sets, theater people, and nice things. The tequila puts me out before I can get too carried away.

  I don’t know if people who don’t drink go through this but I sometimes wake up and for a while I have no clue about what happened the night before. It’s really fucking uncomfortable because I always think I’ve done something bad or stupid. Occasionally I can tell by looking at the person’s face that was with me, or I have to embarrassingly flat out ask if I fucked up. It usually takes a couple hours for it to come back to me on it’s own but till then it’s damn uncomfortable. That’s what’s going on now. Brian finally comes out of his love cave and assures me all went swimmingly. He gives me a general idea of what took place. I start to get a hazy picture of what went on and of things to come.

  I really don’t know what to do next. Brian lays Jill’s phone number on the table in front of me and tells me to call her. I do. Right now before I think about it too much

  “Who’s calling please?”

  “Van Quattro.”

  “Hello Van Quattro.”

  “Is this Jill?”

  “That depends.”

  “On What?”

  “On whether or not you are the authentic Van Quattro.”

  “I am.”

  “What did we have for dinner last night?”

  “Cheeseburgers.”

  “Yes indeed, ha, it must be Van Quattro, you Americans love your cheeseburgers.”

  “Actually we had chili.”

  “Of course, how are you today?”

  “I am good. You?”

  “I am splendid.” We wait. I mean I wait because I don’t know what to say. Fuck. I’m thinking ask her about the weather, or movies, or the Beatles. Anything I say will be dumb to her. She is worldly and I am Glendaley. All of a sudden I hear a dog bark. I wait half a second for the leap.

  “You have a dog?”

  “Yes, I have two.”

  “Oh cool, I love dogs.”

  “Yes, they’re my babies. Godfrey and Omista”

  “Cool.”

  “You are so very Yankee you know.”

  “Huh?”

  “You say words like cool, and man, and huh.”

  “You don’t say that stuff here?”

  “Well certainly not my friends.”

  “Oh.” I wait.

  “Not to worry. I like it.”

  “You do?”

  “Oh yes, very much so.”

  “Cool.”

  “Yes cool.”

  “Awesome.”

  “That’s a good one. Awesome.”

  “Would you like to get together sometime?”

  “Yes, that would be fine.”

  “Okay good.” I wait. I don’t know where the hell to take her. Will she ride the bus? Does she want to hang out at Piccadilly Circus, or go to a pub? Maybe she rides the tube. No way, she probably takes limos. Plus, she’s older I don’t even know what older people do.

  I Wait.

  She says,

  “There’s a lovely little café very close to where I live if you want to have lunch tomorrow…say 11:30?”

  “Yeah, that would be great.” I write down the address and we say goodbye.

  I wear the better of my two pairs of pants. I have more shirts so I’m able to find one I like that’s clean. The restaurant is on the other side of Kings Road so I walk. It’s small and she’s there when I arrive. I’m on time so she must be early. She sits with perfect posture and smiles a safety smile. She has on a skirt and I can see her legs look pretty nice. I just smirk the way I always do when I don’t know what to do and sit down. She says.

  “Good morning, how are you today?”

  “Good, how are you?”

  “Very well thank you.”

  “Good.” I start trying to find somewhere to land my hands. I’m damn nervous. I notice most of the people in the place sneak glances at us. Jill seems to notice and holds her head a little higher because if it. I’m thinking I want to be like that; just hold my head up while peopl
e gawk. After I follow her cue to put my (cloth) napkin in my lap my hands find a fork to twist.

  “So.” Fuck, I think I’ve heard somebody start a conversation this way before. She gives a slight smile, but says nothing and reads the menu.

  “Did you like, The Godfather?”

  “Do you mean the movie, The Godfather?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why yes, I believe I do. Marlon Brando, yes?”

  “Yes, I think he’s my favorite actor of all time.”

  “That’s good. Do you have a favorite English actor?”

  “Uh…probably Lawrence Olivier.”

  “Oh yes of course Larry is a very good actor” Larry, she knows Olivier. Oh man. And she’s acting like it’s nothing. It quiet again. I’m trying hard to figure out if I am really attracted to her. I want to be. My body isn’t craving her but what a woman. I don’t think she is Ava caliber, but close. How can I not want to be with her? Her face is sorta strange but she’s beautiful. I mean she really is. She has these little freckles on her face that I can love, and her smile makes me glow. I wonder what she looked like when she was my age. Ah never mind, why the hell would she want to be with me? I’m a runt and she’ll figure it out soon enough.

  “Yeah, he is,” I say all of a sudden shaky as a hummingbird. She looks me over and goes back to the menu. The waiter comes over and he looks me over pretty good. I feel like I’m fucking on sale or something. He turns his attention to Jill and calls her Ms. Bennett.

  I order a screwdriver and a salad, she does the same and as the waiter is leaving I whisper after him to make mine a double. I hope he heard me. I can breathe a bit if I know a drink is coming.

  “Van Quattro, is that a stage name?”

  “Oh heck no, I wouldn’t have a fake name.”

  “Ha, ha, of course you wouldn’t. How are you liking England?”

  “I am loving it. I think I want to stay here.”

  “What will you do?”

  “I have a job doing construction and painting stuff but I want to act.”