by Van Quattro
“I see. Did you go to school?” “
“Ever? No not really. I barely showed up to high school. When I was supposed to graduate I had the credits of a ninth grader. Ha, ha. But I went to a school where you could make up your credits at your own pace and I had a couple of people do some of the work for me and I passed in a little over a month. I mean…I also took a test that’s the equivalent of a 12th grader’s level. So technically I have two diplomas. Then I went to a Jr. College. So… Were you born in here?”
“At the restaurant? Ha. No I was born in Malaysia. My father had a rubber plantation. Then I was sent to a girl’s school and then attended the royal academy.”
A fucking rubber plantation! That’s Somerset Maugham shit. Holy cow. See? How can I pass up any opportunity for anything? My world is exploding and I want to ride the chunks. Every one.
My drink turns out to be a double and I want to give the waiter a nod but he doesn’t look at me much. I figure I’ll tip him good. I order another double and only eat half my salad because I don’t want to spoil my high. Jill does not have another drink; it might be too early for her. I guess that’s okay as long as she doesn’t care if I drink. I ask for the check and Jill says she’ll get it. I almost let her but I insist on paying and I’m glad I do for some reason.
She asks if I want to come over for a cup of tea, I say yes. I don’t know about the tea but the ride is open and I’m on it. I walk close to her, shoulder to shoulder but I’m still a little freaked out about how and when to make contact.
Her house is on a corner right next to a little confectioner’s joint. Her two dogs scramble over as we walk in the door, they are Lapso’s I think. They look near dead as they wobble sideways. Jill does her doggie dance for them. I liked the way she does that without worrying about what I think of her.
She puts a kettle on for tea. Man she is serious. Who drinks tea in the afternoon especially when you’ve been drinking sauce? I want another drink but don’t want to come off like a complete doper so I don’t say anything. We have our cup of tea then she shows me around the place.
There are four stories; it’s a long upward building. The ground floor has the kitchen, dining and entry. There are two floors above with bedrooms and baths, and below street level is a den library kinda room with the stereo. Her bedroom is on the second floor from the ground and as we come to it I pause and put my arms around her. This is what your supposed to do here right?
“Oh my dear…what is this?”
“What?” I hold her and pretend I have no idea what she’s talking about.
“Am I captive?”
“Only if you want to be.”
“Well…I think I do,” she giggles. Her hair smells good.
“Good.” I kiss her. She’s a pretty good kisser. I start caressing her and moving in on the sacred spots. I can feel her breasts, they’re not big but they are sure there. I pop a boner and pull her in to it.
“What’s that?’ she giggles some more, then composes herself. I think she’s turned on. I don’t say a word, I just keep strategically rubbing her. Now, I’m not insanely having to be with her but all my body parts respond with desire so I carry on. I wish I have a couple more drinks in me then I wouldn’t be thinking so damn much. I mean, I’m wondering if she has on old lady panties and what an older vagina looks like, and if I’m going to think she’s my mom when she gets naked and stuff. She’s really not old enough to be my mom, well actually if she had a baby young she could be. God, I can’t get it out of my fucking head. I want to put some music on too, get me in the mood better.
I reach down and start to unfasten her slacks, she lets me. I slide them down but keep my eyes closed, I’m afraid to see what her panties look like. I feel around blindly; they don’t seem to be huge.
“Would you like to lie down?”
“Sure,” I say then watch her toddle to the bed. Her panties aren’t real sexy but they are not grannies either.
“Oh dear, I am shackled by my slacks.” I follow and we plunk down on the bed and carry on. It’s all good, everything feels as usual and she is very passionate, but I am kinda outside of the whole thing, like I’m watching. I feel strange, just thinking about too much I guess. When I’m not coked up I come very quick. She seems to have enjoyed it though. We lay back like I have seen people in movies do after sex. I even light a cigarette. So now I feel double weird laying here in bed mid day.
We become steady real fast. She insists that I’m smart but I was never taught well. How about that? I always thought it was I was taught but never thought well. I mean it. I listen to her and feel the glaze of hope but I’m not really sure how hard I believe it. I tell her a little about the way I grew up. Things like my dad beating the crap out of me all the time, and things like when he used to put a lock on the refrigerator so we wouldn’t eat so much. She says things like that are criminal, I say nope they were just normal. Then she says,
“You’re a diamond in the rough, and diamonds can’t shine in the mud.” I think I know what she means with that last one. It’s not that I’m mud it means I was surrounded by mud, so I can’t sparkle, I think. If I’m washed off I wonder if I can truly shine. I tell her my opinions about movies and she listens like I’m making valid points she’s never thought of. This means the most to me because I feel down deep that some of the things I think and feel are somehow truths and she doesn’t just agree with me like some cheerleader in love but listens and has similar ideas. I mean fuck she is an award winning actress!
People have said good things about me before and I believe it for a minute, but I think just barely enough to keep me going. I never use it to move forward or anything. It’s a half step forward and twenty backwards.
There was a time when I was doing dinner theater that a guy named John had opened in La Crescenta, that’s just above Glendale. He came up to Glendale Jr. College and wanted a few of us to perform at his place. He cast me in, Born Yesterday as the attorney. I got lucky and found good stuff to do as the character. I just figured he moved a certain way and had a direct speech pattern and stuff. He told me I was a really good actor and so did other people who saw the play. He said his mom who saw a lot of plays on Broadway thought I could make it as a professional actor. It felt pretty damn good hearing all this stuff, but right after the show on a Saturday I got really fucked up with booze and had an affair with the lead actress. I say affair because she was married. Her husband seemed like an okay guy but I thought she was to good for him. Anyway, the next morning I got drunk again and decided to go to San Francisco to visit this guy, Fernie. He’s from my old batch of friend’s; the ones I grew up with in the neighborhood. We used to get in to fights with other dudes or gangs all the time. I don’t see them too much anymore and so now when I get in to fights it’s just me against whoever. He told me over the phone where to meet him but I was so messed up I didn’t pay attention.
Right before I got on the plane for the forty-five-minute flight at eleven in the morning I took a couple of placidly, big ass green gelatin pills that are also used as horse tranquilizers as well sleeping pills. After I buckle up I immediately ordered a couple of screwdrivers and drank them fast before the pills took effect. The next thing I remember is being shaken by a couple of pretty stewardesses and some captain guys. I got the feeling they’d been doing it for a while. They looked pretty dang frustrated but relieved that I woke up. I bounce off the seats like a lanky lumpy pinball walking off the empty plane. When I got out of the airport I figured I’d walk for a while to stay awake. I zombied my way around the area for an hour or so then called Fernie. It took me about ten minutes to dial the number. My brain wouldn’t listen to my hands, or my hands won’t listen to my brain. Finally, I got him on the phone. He tells me he’s not free till later in the day but gives me a number of a friend who would hang with me till then. I called her and it only took five minutes for me to get this number right. I considered it a hell of an accomplishment.
She gives me her address. I tell her I’ll get a c
ab to her place. I have to tell you, I do get there but I have no fucking idea how. Something about a cab, walking, many more phone calls and many doorbells. The cab driver could have performed surgery on me and I wouldn’t have known. Her door is my aqua, my favorite color blue. She welcomes me. Her place was like a warehouse space and looks like a crash pad. She says I can lie down for a while, so I collapse on a mattress on the floor.
I wake to voices and see three people sitting on the floor in a circle. Looks like some ritual or something. I make it over to them and Fernie’s friend invites me to join them. They’re shooting up something. They’re doing the whole spoon, flame, cotton-ball deal. It’s very dark in there. It felt like a real dope pad except there wasn’t any music going. I look around to see if there’s a record player, but I can’t see shit. I ask them what they’re shooting and some dude says it’s an eight ball that has morphine and cocaine. They pass the needle around and after everyone else injects themselves they ask if I want some. It takes me by surprise because they are so generous with their drugs. This is the true nature of giving. Of course I say yes. They stick me and I swirl like one of those bounce back clowns. This shit is powerful; definitely in my top ten all time. I find my stationary semi comatose position and gaped at the others who were gaping at each other. It reminds me of the scene at the beginning of, 2001, a Space Odyssey, with the monkeys for some reason. When we could finally talk we said a few words about love and how awesome life is. I drooled,
“Yeah especially in San Francisco.” We all nodded. Then we fired up the torch, passed the same needle around shot up again. I think we did this one more time before Fernie and his mom came and picked me up. They meet me outside where I was stuck to the doorway like an ivy plant. His mom knew I was a stoner but she’d never seen me like this. Fernie peeled me from the doorframe and put me in the back seat.
We end up in a restaurant Chinatown. I ate a little, but spilled most of it everywhere. I’m eating like an old blind dog. People are watching and Fernie is cracking up. His mom is tight-lipped and not happy. Back at their place I pass out. In the morning Fernie wants to take me to the wharf to look for chicks. I’m cool with that, I take one of the Quaaludes I bought from the dude at the needle fest and I’m raring to go…well sort of. I take another one in the car and doze off. All right, I’m going to get to the point here: I pretty much doze off every chance I get for the next three days.
Here’s the deal, I had no intention of going back to finish the play. I don’t know why I didn’t, never thought too much about it. I just wanted to get fucked up, but there were more shows to do and so I bailed without telling anyone. Because I’m a fuckup, I think. John the producer and director somehow got Fernie’s number and called to talk to me.
He doesn’t yell at me or get freaked out. He just asks how I’m doing and what my plans are. I knew then and there whatever I was up to was over. He said he wanted me in his show and I’m a great actor and a good person. I start crying and tell him I want to die. He says he’ll fly up and help me back if I need him to. I promise I’ll be back later that day. As Fernie and his mom drop me off at the airport she speaks the only words she said to me all weekend,
“San Francisco is nice, come back when you can see it.” And even that felt pretty good because I don’t think she’s judging me, she may feel sorry for me, which means there is something worth feeling sorry for. Fernie laughs. I’ve been to Frisco many times and have seen a lot of stuff, but I knew what she meant. She was talking about life too. I took one more Quaalude for the trip back home and half promise myself I won’t take anymore for a while. I finish the show and feel pretty good for it, but my life didn’t change because of John’s delicate kindness. I still got messed up a lot. I don’t know, I guess things stick to me in tiny little places and maybe one day I’ll have so many stickies that I won’t want to fuck up or die all the time.
Jill listens to me. She can be sarcastic as hell too but I like that about her. She makes fun of my accent by saying my words all drawn out and dumb sounding. It doesn’t bother me because I want to talk like a Brit anyway. “Yeeeeaaaaah, suuuuure, and whaaaateeeever.” I laugh and think of all the dumb Americans.
I stay at her house three times a week now. I like her place. I am real familiar with it. We spend most of the time in the kitchen. I try to get at least a couple of drinks in a night. I notice in her bathroom she has plenty of Valium and other stuff. If I can’t sleep she’ll give me one or two.
I get up early, around five or so, and she rolls over and says what a wonderful man I am to go to work and I give her a kiss. She goes back to sleep and I head out. I’m glad to go to work but I do wonder about all my acting dreams and stuff. You know, like if I don’t try to do something about them they will go away, then what? I try not to worry about it too much and enjoy the cool shit I’m doing with Jill.
Nights, we’ll cook something or order in some tasty food from this scrumptious city. Jill has this clay tomb to cook a chicken in and it makes the chicken all juicy. Whatever you put in the tomb, the chicken will taste like. I’m being a chef putting all kinds of stuff in there like hot sauce, herbs and Indian spices, which I fucking love. We don’t make love every night I’m here, but I think she wants too. I feel comfortable like it’s okay to be silly and stuff. There are nights when she has to go do events and I stay at her place. It feels a little weird that I don’t get to go, but she thinks it’s better this way for now. I’ll go out and party on those nights.
So, Jill is at some benefit to keep tennis balls yellow or some thing, so I stay with Brian. We start to drink a bunch and all of a sudden I want to go out and party, but I don’t want to go all the way over to the West End. There’s this club on Kings Row that I’ve wanted to check out, it looks like it might be cool. I convince Brian he needs to go with me and we hit it. It cost ten quid to get in but I don’t care I want to party.
All the guys at the door have really long hair, not hippy long but more like Viking warrior shit. They’re wearing black leather also. I can hear music blaring from inside and it sounds like some hard metal rape your grandma shit. I’m so hoping they mix it up because I can’t take this stuff. I really want to hear some good stuff. I mean music your heart can identify with, not your fucking sword and sweaty eyeballs. Man, we walk in and the music is louder than fuck and it’s the worst kind of heavy metal ever, head banging garbage, and everybody looks like they’re from the same tribe. They’re talking and slamming their heads up and down. There might be some girls in here but I can’t fucking tell because they’re all dressed the same. Brian immediately has an, ‘I can’t take this look,’ on his face. I scream to him even though he’s two feet from me.
“LET’S HAVE ONE MORE DRINK.” He agrees, and of course I order a double. I go straight over to the guy playing the music and ask him to place some Clash to honor their concert next month. I mean I think that’s a fair enough request giving that the Clash’s early records are pretty raw and rocking. Nowhere as fucking stupid as this ‘scream across the ocean with a head in your hand,’ shit because you thought you saw the devil in your urinal.
The guy just looks at me for one simple second, like I’m serving him a warrant then turns away. I yell out,
“Fuck You Dick!” and walk back over to Brian. I hate people who discriminate especially if they are worthless Heavy Metal dudes. What the fuck do they have to feel good about, an oar? Pompous barbaric animals without a touch of wonder. Yeah wonder, this stuff is all gristle without any soul. Dumb fuckers. Man I am so pissed. I start walking around the club and give them a dose of their own medicine. I go right up to them and scream as loud as I can right in their faces, lots of them. I let them have it like I’m ready to do crazy battle and kill their mothers. I even do it to the D.J. again. I’m cracking myself up. These guys don’t know what to think of me.
I see Brian trying to get my attention from across the room. He’s pointing to the exit, that we should leave, and I motion for him to go ahead without me. He l
ooks a bit freaked out and goes. My voice is almost shot, raw and hoarse now but I still get a few more good ones out. Then I go to the middle of the room and scream like I’m calling the devil who’s deaf,
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHFUUUUUUUUCCCKYOOOOOOOOOU.” I swear to fuck I can see the devil’s head popping up through the floor when some dickheads grab me from behind. One gets me in a headlock and another guy punches me in the stomach. They drag me towards the door and more of them jump in. They throw me out the door down a flight of concrete stairs to the sidewalk. I’m conked pretty good, but yell some more, “Eat shit you cunts,” and crack up. I look around Kings Row for someone to help me jump these fuckers back but it’s pretty quiet. I spot some metal trashcans and grab one. I run up the stairs and fling it at the door as hard as I can, then I do the same with the other one. It doesn’t break the glass but I wouldn’t care if it did. Oh man, these guys come flying out like the place is on fire and start chasing me. I haul ass and I lose them down near Jill’s house. What a bunch of saps.
I stroll by Jill’s place; there is a box sitting in front her door, no lights on inside, so I walk on by. I start singing, ‘London Calling’ pretty loud. Man this is living. A couple of wankers yell for me to quiet down and I do but then I’d get all inspired and give it my all again,
“LONDON CALLING.” A van pulls up and a couple of bobby’s get out looking all cute with their helmet hats and start asking me questions
“Where you off to now then?”
“Uh now? Home I guess.” They are nice and all so I don’t get riled up. L.A. cops make you want to commit some kind of kamikaze on them.
“Where’s your home?”
“Oh it’s down on the embankment next to Mick Jagger’s place. You know where he lives?”
“I can’t say I do.”
“Oh okay, if you give me a ride I’ll show you how to get there. Maybe he’ll be around. He probably stays up late cause he’s the devil. Hahahaha.” I start laughing my ass off, so does one of the bobs. “You guys like the Beatles? How about the Beach Boys? I grew up with them man.”