by Van Quattro
“I’ll tell you what…we’re going to give you a lift but it won’t be home. We just want to take you down to the station so you can calm down a bit and don’t hurt yourself”
“Really? Hell yeah, fuck yeah I’ll check out an English jail. Are you going to put me in a dungeon or something? If you shackle me will you take a picture so I can send it to my mom.”
“Ha, play your cards right and we won’t have to do any of that.”
“Damn. What are the charges then?”
“So far, disturbing the peace and destroying public property.”
“Oh you mean that stupid club back there?”
“That’s the one mate.”
“Do you know what they did?”
“No, what?”
“Man they were playing the worst kinda music ever, that heavy metal crap. Man I was dying. They are wasting some awesome real estate with that dumpy outfit. Man I could put the best club in there. People would be happy and grooving.”
They smile as they escort me to the van. I’m thinking, see even when your getting busted people can be cool. I mean, ‘cause it’s all about everybody being equal right? Even if you fuck up it doesn’t have to be all getting smacked around with a fucking nightstick right?
The station is very small just a couple of cells, Mayberry in the United Kingdom. Ha. This really pretty woman books me in and takes my belongings. I only have cigs and some change, wallet, and keys. Hope she can tell my key opens the door to a fucking fine apartment on the river next to Jagger’s. If she does she doesn’t give it away. That’s cool, she looks so damn fine in her uniform. I ask her if her name is Rita, from the Beatles song. She gives me a slight smile without really looking up and says no. I ask her if girl Bobby’s are still called Bobby’s and she says she doesn’t know, much the same way she answered my first question. I tell her maybe they should call lady police Tabby’s. Then I ask her if her name is Tess because I told her I like that name and it’s the real reason I came to England, because I was in love with a Tess. She finally looks at me, smiles and says her name isn’t Tess. She blushes and I do too.
They put me in my cell and I want to sleep but there isn’t a cot and all of a sudden I have some pride about lying on the floor. I don’t want lovely Rita thinking I’m a degenerate. I have slept on some pretty nasty floors in my life and even though this one is cleaner than most plates I have eaten off of, Rita has my heart and I want to be a classy dude for her.
“Lovely Rita meter maid, where would I be without you?” I softly sing sitting on the concrete with my back against the wall. She digs it I can tell. “Hey, if I get a job at Scotland Yard as like a detective or something would you go out with me?” She doesn’t say anything, but I’m as much on her as her cute little hat, I can tell. I ask if she would make me a screwdriver and she ignores me. Dear sweet copper lady. I am a world class criminal and I’m in the famous Chelsea jail.
I figure I pass out sitting up because that’s what I’m doing in the morning. They are going to let me out and she is still here. I’m not feeling as frisky as last night but I do tell her I’m going to get in trouble soon so I can see her again. They give me a long scroll of paper that says I have to go see a bunch of Lords about my charges in a month or so. I ask them if they can make me a Bloody Mary for the road, they don’t answer. I thank them politely and set off home.
I see Jill almost everyday now. I feel pretty bad about flirting with the lady cop, for a minute. I don’t say anything to Jill about getting arrested. I think I love Jill very much. I tell her I do and I feel like shit when we fight. Most of our fights are about my drinking and her being insecure, or disagreeing about some stupid thing. She drinks too but not as much as I do. Sometimes she does it because I want her to, not because she wants to. That big box that was in front of her door the night I got busted turned out to be a case of the most expensive champagne in the world, she said. She doesn’t know who sent it. Men sometimes do things like that for her. It seems like she’s trying to make me jealous or something. Anyway, I say I don’t care how much it cost, let’s just drink it. It does fuck with my head a bit though because I can’t buy her all this stuff, and my not going to her events makes me feel like she’s ashamed of me. She always tells me how much she loves and me and how all the other men have nothing on me, but I don’t believe her much. I mean I do and I don’t. I always need more proof. She can become pretty jealous herself when I look at a woman. She calls the women cunts and says that’s the kind of shallow bitch I deserve. Whoa. I’m flattered she feels this strongly but it can get ugly. I don’t do it on purpose, it’s like a knee jerk reaction. I haven’t had a real girlfriend before Jill for over nine years. Man, my last one fucked me up so bad that I didn’t think I would ever be with anyone again. I’m not just talking about some little breakup song either; I loved so hard that it became everything. I didn’t ever take care of myself much, just ‘cause I didn’t know how to, so when the breakup happened, and I always knew it would, my negative life became negative in reverse. Like it collapsed in to itself. That means I disappeared deeper into a painful empty space than I could have ever known. But here’s the thing: I always knew that horrible place existed but I tried to pretend it didn’t by acting like a regular person. I am not a regular person. I have some poisonous anchors attached to me.
I don’t know what the hell to do. Jill says I am an alcoholic and I tell her no fucking way. She also says for a guy that can’t stand himself I sure have some forceful opinions and I am the only man she has known who will look at himself in the mirror while we are arguing. I tell her it’s only because I hate myself that I have to look at me. She says she knows alcoholics because all of her ex husbands are ones. I feel privileged to be considered in the same group as her husbands. They are some heavy fucking hitters.
It’s starting to get dark earlier in the afternoon because of fall. I always hate this time of year because I think the damn day should be light. I get weirded out at five when it’s dark. I mean on the drinking level it works out because as soon as it’s dark you can start drinking and not have to worry about what people think, but on every other level it feels like twilight zone time. Ha, twilight zone time, I didn’t plan saying that. Ha.
The days pass and I’m mostly happy. Jill tells me she has a big benefit to go to and wonders if I would be all right hanging at her place till she gets back and I say sure, yeah, why not? It’s a Friday and I figure I’ll drink and listen to some music on her stereo downstairs. She says she won’t be late, maybe around ten or so. It has something to do with the Royal Court Theater so it’s close. She says she’s quite anxious about John Osborne possibly being there.
“Was he that bad?”
“He wrote, Look back in Anger, what do you think?”
“Did you have any good times?”
“Once when he was passed out, I cut his hair off. That was fun.”
“Wow. Do you still have it?” She gives me a look like, ‘You really just said that?’ I shrug it over as if I don’t really mean it but the truth is I think I say some dumb things I mean once in a while.
“I don’t want to go to this damn thing, especially since he said all those awful things about me in his book. My God, I am paralyzed. There is nothing he would like more than to see me unravel up there.”
“You won’t unravel, I’ll be there with you in spirit, right at your ankles looking up your pretty legs, and if he tries anything I’ll kick his arse.”
“Oooh how nice, at my ankles eh, what would you do? Oh never mind. Okay I must go, my darling. I’ll bet you would kick his bloody arse too. Oh you are such a hero aren’t you? Now, I won’t be long. When I get back I have a treat for us, I think anyway. Quickly follow me darling.” We go up to her bedroom and she searches a nightstand deeply then pulls out the old familiar tiny, baby envelope.
“Oh dear, I have had this forever. I don’t know if it’s still good.” I try to maintain myself but cocaine is a mutts’ drug and I am a mutt’s runt.
“What is it?”
“It’s cocaine, some young courter brought it to me years ago. We can indulge when I return.”
“Let me check and see if it’s any good so we don’t get our expectations up. Just a little toot.”
“Well okay. Good luck. Wait!” She giggles like a schoolgirl with no underwear. “I hope it’s not poisonous by now.”
“I am sure it isn’t.” I open the teeny folds and it’s packed all tight as if fifty years ago it was preserved for a time capsule. I fluff it all up and do a snort from a pound note.
“Oh boy, a pound for a toot. It’s supposed to be very good stuff. He was a roller.”
“Oh yeah it’s still good alright.” I do one more quick snort.
“Don’t be greedy, we’ll have some fun later. I shall be thinking of you the whole time I am there.” She takes it, walks over to the other side of the room and places it somewhere. I can’t tell where exactly but It doesn’t matter there isn’t much more than a gram and it will only be a couple of hours before we go at it. I give her a big life is wonderful cocaine hug and kiss goodbye.
All that stuff I was talking about before regarding when my old girlfriend broke up with me? All those fucked up feelings? This high is the complete opposite, my heart is full and I can’t ask for more. I am so full of love I want to kiss the painting in the kitchen that she told me is a real Picasso, along with all the other real paintings. I think my life has something to do with this kind of emotion. I see things deeply. Feel them deeply. I am now experiencing a joy that seems to be promised from the start of my life. I love Jill so much I am sure I will die without her. Finally, someone understands me and loves me for what I am even though I don’t even know what I am. But that’s love isn’t it?
I go downstairs and put the new Rolling Stones album on, I think this is their best music in a long time. Last week I called Whammy from one of the houses I was painting. I knew it was wrong but I did it anyway, I do things like that, not sure why. Anyway he said the song, ‘Star’ made him think about me because there is a line in it where Jagger says, ‘Your such an actor you don’t need no acting school.’ Man that made my minute. My favorite song is, ‘Waiting on a friend.’
When you have a great buzz on and you can pick your own music it feels like your soul is on a heavenly merry go round. I start looking through Jill’s photos in the cabinet. There are pictures of her in the sixties with Go-go boots and stuff. She seems so much happier. I guess maybe carefree. There are shots from her plays and movies, and one with Lindsey Anderson and Malcolm McDowell that has, ‘Cannes,’ written above it. I am so inspired by it I can see myself accepting my academy award. I will thank Jill and Charles and Ava for showing me my brave new world. I won’t say anything about my family because Jill tells me time and time again they fucked me over. She says things like how kids aren’t supposed to be made to stand in a dark closet all day and parents shouldn’t ever put a padlock on the refrigerator and such. Damn, I wish I could give her whatever she wants in this life ‘cause I would do it. Maybe if I make love to her more and don’t drink as much I can make her life better. Sometimes she can seem so scared and mad that it even freaks me out a little. But the madder she gets at me means she loves me equally as much, right?
I am all about love. I feel it in the walls as the music gently rebounds around the room. I haven’t talked to Charles in a while so I ring him and I start to tell him about how my life is so beautiful right now and I mention I want to audition for a theater in town somewhere and he actually asks me if I want him to help me with the material. I tell him yes, of course. I usually don’t like people helping with acting but I have to do this right? He’s fucking Charles. He tells me Ava has been under the weather and that they miss me. I tell him I miss them too. I feel like a caring adult right now not like a fuck up. After I hang up I go look for some way to please Jill. I start by washing the few dishes in the sink, which is probably not a big deal because she has a maid but maybe she’ll notice. I go upstairs and I’m thinking about vacuuming but it seems really lame. I wish I could get her some flowers or something. I go over to her little dressing table and just kind of snoop around. She has all kinds of rich looking jewelry and there are some books lying around. I pick one up and its John Gielgud’s autobiography. I open it and on the first page there is a handwritten note, ‘Dear Jill, all my love and admiration John.’ John fucking Gielgud, I wonder if he mentions Jill a lot in the book. I want to read this damn thing but mostly I want to show it to fucking people back in the America. I set it aside with every intention of taking it but giving it back. I feel like a scum for a second but I convince myself I am just borrowing it. I run downstairs and pour myself a real strong drink. It hits the spot. I run down to the den and put on a mix tape of the Jam and the Clash. I start looking through all of Jill’s records, they are kinda old but she has some pretty good stuff. There’s some Elvis and Beatles and Lulu. ‘To Sir with Love,’ makes me cry every time I see it. I know what the heck I’m going I’ll do, I’m going to make Jill a tape of my special songs that will show her how I feel about her. I knock back a large dose of my drink but something is missing, I need greater love. I dart upstairs and rummage through the area where Jill put the cocaine. My hands are moving fast as if they have permission to pilfer, well, there is somehow right? The coke has to be easy to find it because it only took her a second to hide it. I feel it under a lamp. My hands are shaking with the joy of being able to give back to Jill once I take a little of the coke. That’s what it’s all about right? Giving. I go ahead and snort a couple of large lines and pack it up again so not to leave a clue. But I don’t think Jill will mind because it’s for her benefit too, like the love and the tape I’m going to give her. I haul my butt downstairs and in the kitchen, before I descend down to the den, I figure I’ll save myself a trip, so I run back upstairs to grab another line because I know I’m going to have more anyway. So yep, back up to get a couple of thick ones then down two stories to start the mix tape.
I start fingering through the albums like some kind of detective stealing important files with someone right outside door. This shit is important. I decide to start with Elvis’s, ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love.’ I need a strong start and this song can kill me sometimes. Next I want to lighten up a tiny bit so I choose, ‘Two of Us’ from, Let it Be. It’s a song about deep hanging out. We do that. We’ll watch movies in bed and talk about them. Okay, now I need to come back strong and find something real personal for her. Something that has to do with us, like something we have talked about. What do I find? Fucking Nils Lofgren’s, ‘Home is Where the Hurt Is.’ this is so spot on I feel like God is looking over my right shoulder. So much so that I turn around and say thanks. I know what I’m doing is right other wise it wouldn’t be so perfect. I take all this goodness as a sign to have another couple of lines of the coke.
The stuff is getting a bit low so I fluff it up as much as I can. It looks okay. I think maybe I should add a little baking soda to bulk it up but I leave it be and start the taping again. Man, she has to see how talented and how smart in a creative way I am by how these songs are selected. This next one is crucial, it shouldn’t be too heavy on the love and other messages, but needs to rock and grab her in a less obvious way. Probably should be from an English group as well. Here’s some Zeppelin, ‘Living Loving Maid.’ I don’t know, might send the wrong message. I know! Kate Bush’s, ‘Wuthering Heights’ Yep, yes, yeah, fuck n A. Sing it Kate. This song has it all. Now I can follow it up with Zeppelin, rock it out even though Jill is not my maid.
I wonder how Brian is doing? We haven’t really talked in a while. I think I’ll call him. Damn, his machine picks up. I leave him a message.
“Hi Brian, Van here. How you been? Haven’t seen you in weeks. I miss you. I miss you my way. Ha, ha, ha. Jill and I are so great. I want to thank you for introducing us and I thank you for letting me live with you. I want to hang with you soon. Okay? I love England and the Thames. And I love
the way you decorate. You are an artist. I talked with Charles tonight, he is so awesome. He wants to help me with an audition. Hey I want to make some guacamole for you soon. Maybe we can have some tequila as well. Hey, I just said, ‘as well’ I got that from you. Ha. You know what else I got from you? ‘My dear.’ I said it to someone the other day. “Yes that will be all my dear.” It felt weird but what the fuck, right? Anyway we will catch up soon. Fuck heavy metal! Anyway, okay see you soon. Rule Britannia. Okay bye.”
There are so many cool people in my life right now. I wish I could call up Lindsey Anderson and introduce myself to him. I would tell him his style is kinda like Fellini’s and how I love all his stuff and want to be in a movie of his. Man maybe I should try to find Jill’s phone book. I run upstairs again and find her phone book on the table where the coke is. Guess what? His number is right there in the A section. Right fucking there. I write it down on a piece of paper and stick it deep into my wallet. I figure while I’m right here I’ll do another line then finish the tape, just a couple more songs will nail it. The envelope is looking like the ground the one time it snowed in Los Angeles: barely covered. I am not going to freak out because it’s not a big deal. I’ll finish the rest of it and we can get some more. I have the money. Jill will understand. She’ll probably know where to get more and we can get a couple of grams on me. Okay, I’m trying to figure out what to do with the wrapper, should I put it back empty or throw it away? It’ll look really stupid if I put it back right? She will go to get it and it will be empty? Naah. I’ll throw it away and deal with it as soon as she walks in. I lick the paper like it’s a faulty stamp, take it to the trash in the kitchen and push it way down to the bottom. I think about another drink but don’t want to spoil the flight I’m on. I’ll wait till I am ready to land.