Love Lucky

by Van Quattro

  “Uh yeah, working on a Shakespeare piece. He was helpful.” He told her I was good?

  “Darling, I don’t know Shakespeare from Chuckaspeare.” She rolls out a big laugh and walks to the couch. The drink is a tall damn near straight glass of fucking gin. I sip slowly to avoid ending up in a puddle on her floor. She sits on the couch and stretches her legs out across the cushions. “Come here baby.” I look down to see if the dog is near me thinking maybe she’s calling it, but nope, I hear doggie doing laps in some other part of the house. I slowly without a clue walk to her. She moves deeper in to the couch to make room and pats for me to sit down. My back is nestled against her mid-section. I sit upright because I don’t know what the hell else to do. I feel like Dustin Hoffman in, The Graduate.

  “Oh relax baby, you’re cooler than this. I know that much.”

  “Uh, oh okay.” I lean back a bit and can feel her breasts with my right arm. She wraps her arms around my waist and pulls me back to spoon me. I quickly set my drink down on the floor and settle in with her. I am now fully stretched out on the couch with my back to her and she embraces me with her every limb, I mean feet and all. She wraps me, she holds me, not like drastically or sexually, but to satisfy some kind of powerful craving that could have never been shared before. She slowly quivers around me and mumbles.

  I am so damn unsure what to do. Should I turn around and face her and try to kiss her? Should I just let her rub on me? I mean, it feels pretty good to be needed like this from her, is this cheating against Jill? I mean even if I did something with her would it be considered cheating because after all it is Ava, and if you have a chance to do anything with her you’re just supposed to do it, right?

  I start to roll over so I can be face to face with her but she holds me so I can’t turn. She grabs my head from behind with both hands and starts gently rubbing her face in my hair. Softly, she says things that I want to be for me only, but I know they’re not. It’s a snuggle talk and I can’t make out many words. I hear,

  “Baby, baby, baby,” but not much else is clear. It’s very loving though. This can’t be for me. I mean this stuff goes far beyond this couch, this room, even this planet. I am still. I feel like I’m in some kind of desire purgatory just experiencing what she needs. I don’t want to leave, I want to help her but I’m not sure she’s aware it’s me anymore. God, I want her too, I want it all to be me, the giver and the taker.

  I just want to help, God, I just want to help all of us right now. I feel like the whole world is talking to me right now through chirps and loving words and fingers that stroke my head as if it’s the Holy Grail. It addresses our loneliness, it’s like she’s conjuring. It feels full and sad at the same time. We are like this for longer than I figure I could ever be. The acting shame leaves me.

  Her hands winds down and her movements become like an after thought; the way a dying body might continue to move while it's soul is leaving. She fully releases me but I don't move, I’m waiting to make sure she is safe, and I’m safe too.

  I carefully get up and as I do her dog jumps up to replace me. Ava looks sound, okay. I want to get out before she see’s me. I don’t want to embarrass her, or me. I can’t talk to her now, today. Her trembling soul is my trembling soul. We were like magnets trying to get close. I really hope she’s peaceful. I am quiet as God as I let myself out. I glance up at Charles’s place, it looks the same; it all looks the same, except the sun is lower. I wonder if in the last hour anything at all changed in the world. I hope so. At least it’s not foggy.

  Thanksgiving is coming soon but they don’t celebrate it here. Ha, it makes sense. England was discovered long before America. Jill says we could have some turkey if it’ll make me feel more at home. I went to the audition Charles coached me for and did so, so, I guess. I thought they would be more excited about the fact I was from Hollywood. They didn’t even bat an eye. I thought I could start telling them about all the people I know here but didn’t. Fuck ‘em.

  Jill’s assistant’s husband is a middle tier agent here in London and he says he’ll consider representing me, but there’s a catch, I need a work permit. My visa is just about out so I have to figure something out. I usually don’t give a shit about laws or rules and all, but everyone says I could truly get kicked out of the country. Ha, I would be an illegal alien. We figure after Christmas I will go back to L.A. for a couple of weeks then come back in and try to get a work permit. I am all for this. I’ll get to go and tell people of my travels and also come back here and establish a real like foundation with an agent.

  We have tomb chicken for thanksgiving and it turns out pretty cool. Jill says the American Indians got war and syphilis on this day so why the fuuuuuuck would we celebrate? I throw about five cloves of garlic, a prayer apologizing for fucking the natives over, and a bottle of wine in with the bird. It's my sacred offering. I mean it too. Man those poor people.

  I don’t know much about all these holidays. They were always an opportunity to drink and fight with my family. Ha, I still drink, but I'm not hitting any body.

  Christmas time is pretty here in London; lights on lights on lights. Fuck, cobblestones and carolers, and little Cratchet’s running around everywhere, I almost feel emotional. I drink a lot but stay away from pills and other stuff. I feel pretty good about that. I think I’m doing pretty darn good, but Jill and I still fight over the drink and other stuff. She’s worried if I go to the states that I won’t come back. I keep telling her I will for sure, but it’s always in our conversation.

  We’re watching T.V. in bed and all of a sudden we start yelling at each other and she tells me Charles told her I was a green actor. She says I probably can’t make it in the real world as an actor. I tell her she is a phony baloney and never stands up for what she says. Like how she’s always whining about how people are dicks, but when she sees them she’s all kissy assy. She fucking throws me out of the house and I spend all night at the lower door trying to break back in. After five hours of contorting my arms through a mail slot I unlocked the door. I have cuts all over my arms and some are real deep, but I don’t care.

  For some reason she’s sleeping in the top bedroom and all the lights are on. I gently wake her the way James Dean might, and hold her. I tell her I will never leave her and I don’t even care if I am a bad actor I just want her. She says Charles didn’t mean it badly and that I would most definitely make it as an actor or writer. Huh, I have no idea why she said writer, but I like it. We are okay again.

  Some times heavy shit happens in the wintertime.

  It’s only a couple of weeks from Christmas day and I’m doing double shifts at work to make enough money to go to California. I am not leaving until after January first because I don’t want to leave Jill alone for the Holidays. Brian says I need to find somewhere else to stay for the next month because he’s going to New York. Jill doesn’t want me to live at her house because of the press again. She says John’s always trying to fuck with her and she wants to keep me out of it. I feel kinda shitty man about having to be on the streets again but I’ll do what I have to. Two days before Brian is to leave he tells me about a small flat in Fulham he owns and says I can use it if I take good care of it. God is good baby.

  “Now dear boy, everything in this place is mine and mine only, so please take extra caution. In fact, don’t even use anything here just go out to eat and sleep. Ha, Ha.”

  “Oh man, thanks Brian. Man you are a life saver.”

  “Well, if anything happens in here you will need to save your own damn life because I will kill you. You see all this? None of this is mine, I use it, I use it beautifully, but I use it. My flat in Fulham is from my hard earned money. Well not really I have never worked hard a day in my life. Okay, nuff said. Go forth gently. And for god’s sake don’t have your fights with Jill there, have them at her place.” I laugh, but know what he means, we can wreck some shit.

  I pack my bags and leave the embankment. I wonder if I’ll see the inside of the Chelsea place
again. Something tells me no, but I’m not sure if it’s real or me just being negative.

  Brian’s new, old flat is cool. It’s like a cheaper version of the Chelsea joint, a smaller harem with a lot of imagination. Bright colors, draped things, very cool furniture and dishes. It’s on the second floor so I can look down on the high street. They call the main streets here high streets for some reason, maybe because you can get high on them. Ha. There are restaurants, fruit stands, and markets with a good deal of street life. I feel very homey here. I unpack and grab some vodka from his bar, which I’ll replace, for sure. I go through all the drawers and cabinets looking for cool stuff, or pills, but find nothing great. I mean he has good stuff if you’re living here but nothing cool to take back to America with me.

  I kick back on the couch and look out the window and around the flat. I wonder if I will ever have anything like this. I mean a place with real decorations not just posters on the wall. My dad used to say it didn’t matter what he gave me I always fucked it up. And I guess that’s true. I try to take care of stuff but it always gets a dent or rip, or some shit.

  Out the window I can see a very pretty young woman walking down the street carrying a bag. I wonder who she’s carrying it for? Herself? A man waiting at home? She walks slowly, not like she needs to get anywhere soon, and she seems content. How can she be happy alone? She must be in a relationship. She has on a long, warm brown winter coat that’s unbuttoned. Her hair is dark and shoulder length and curled, dangling over her shoulders. Her lips are red and her steps seem to forgive everything. I want to yell something to her but that would be stupid so I decide to run downstairs and see if I can catch up with her.

  I run across the street and easily get close. Her blue blouse seems full with bounce, and I don’t mean in a sex perv way. She’s so alive, all of her, like a beautiful painting. I want to know her, touch her flesh, her arms, anywhere. Then I want to sing her ‘The little Drummer Boy,’ because it’s Christmas time and that’s my favorite Christmas song. Otherwise I would sing something else like maybe, ‘I Will’ by the Beatles.

  Fuck, she’s ripe is what I’ll say, but that probably sounds cruder than I want it to. It’s true though. Some things have a beauty that’s untouchable to me, as if it will blemish and rot if I touch it. I seem to get the things that can fall a long way and hit the ground hard - badly bruised things. It hurts me when I see things so good and I can’t do anything about them, except maybe damage them. I don’t imagine she would ever want me, but I just once want to caress something far beyond my reach. Something that is so much better than me. I will love and cherish it. I will devote my life to it. I almost say this to the back of her damn head. I’m a few feet behind her doing the stupid pretend to look at things in the shops trick while I’m dying inside. I don’t think she notices me but the further we walk the stupider and creepier I feel. I’m starting to sweat like some smarmy perv, so I drop back. That’s it people. My desire and hopelessness has a fucking limit. I head back and pass the luscious fruit stands, shops and people. I run back up to the apartment because I’m feeling as naked as a fucking newborn baby under a heat lamp.

  I down more vodka to get this defeated confused creep out of me. I can’t say I know very much about me, but there are times when I flat out know that I’m a rancid piece of shit and I need to get past it as soon as possible. Enter vodka. Plus, what’s so fucking wrong with me that I always want something else?

  Jill calls and asks if she can come over but I have finished creating my moat so I tell her tomorrow. I already feel like I betrayed her in the worst way, by longing so badly for something else. I want to start a fight with her or something. I don’t know, just to make her wrong about something too. She clams up when I tell her I’m tired.

  “Well…I guess it doesn’t matter that you are leaving me in a few weeks?”

  “Jill, I am not leaving you. I am just going away for a couple of weeks.”

  “Yes you are. You are leaving and not coming back.”

  “Why do you keep saying that? It’s not true Jill. I love you more than anything. How can you not know that? I tell you all the time.”

  “Yes dear, but telling is one thing and showing is another.”

  “What do you mean? I show you. When you were sick last week I went out and got you some medicine and soup.”

  “Oh sear boy…yes thank you for that. And you made a brilliant clay chicken yes, but, you don’t desire me.”

  “Yes I do, you’ve been sick so I haven’t tried anything.”

  “Well… that’s what you say, but I don’t see it. I suspect this trip will bring it all to the light.”

  “Jill, you’re the one I want.”

  “Oh you may think so, but wait till you get back there in Hollywood.” She says Hollywood with a derelict exaggeration. “You’ll meet some young actress and have two point five babies and live happily ever after.”

  “That’s insane. I’ll show you. People in L.A. are shallow. They have nothing on you. You’re a star.”

  “That’s right I am a star and don’t you forget it. My dearest friend Rachel Roberts went to L.A. and ended up killing herself. She told me Hollywood was aaawwful, and never to go there unless I want to kill myself. I miss her so very much. Don’t you do yourself in over there my love. I can’t keep and eye on you here, let alone in that pathetic city. Oh what will I do while your gone? I will be so randy I’ll want to fuck anything that moves”

  “Wow, listen to you. Just don’t go outside when it’s windy.”

  “Oh you are so clever. Ha. I miss you my darling. I haven’t seen you in two days.”

  “I miss you as well. Why don’t you come over? You’ve got me all worked up now.”

  “Ha, ha, good, serves you right. I will not come over tonight for you already have forsaken me. I want you to suffer.”

  “Oh man.”

  “Tomorrow, you naughty boy.”

  “Yes tomorrow. Goodnight. I love you.”

  “Goodnight Darling, I love you too.” What’d she mean I forsakened her? I wonder if she knows I was checking out that woman. Not possible, no way.

  The phone call makes me feel pretty good and reassures me about my love for Jill. It’s like she can take the bad side of me too. God, I’m not sure why I want anyone but her.

  We’re going to the Royal Opera House to see Nureyev dance. This is going to be something. I wonder if there will be a bunch of press people taking pictures and stuff. I hope I don’t feel like a piece of crap about me. I am going to wear a suit and we are going to be with famous ballet people. I’ll be heaving cement bags during the day and sitting at the ballet in the evening. Man someone should make a movie about me.

  I meet Jill at her house feeling a little weird about being in this suit, and nervous about being at a big event with her. But she tells me I look handsome so I relax a bit. She looks very nice with a black dress that goes down to the floor and a real fur jacket. She always looks very nice, but not like hip. Kinda conservative. A big black car takes us to the theater and we pull up to the front to get out. There are a lot of people around and I make up my shaky, sober mind I’m going to pretend like I’m some dude that goes to the Ballet and wears a suit every day with a fucking great actress. We’re greeted by many ballet types and Jill introduces me as a friend. I get that; I’m her ‘friend’, wink, wink. We only take a couple of picture’s but that’s cool.

  Our seats are in the balcony, which is great because it reminds me that any time I see a movie in a place like this all the drama is in the balcony. I look around to see if there are any suspicious characters in the shadows. If I see one I can fuck him up and show these hooty tooties what real guys do.

  Jill tells me all about Nureyev. I’ve heard of him of course, but I have never seen a ballet. I mean why would I? Sounds pretty boring. I have to admit I like all the buzz here though. I don’t even crave a drink-yet. I look down at the stage and wonder what it would be like to see The Jam or Bowie rock this place? The
people here would become so confused their heads would explode.

  This thing begins and they dance around. I’m trying to be all cultured, and while the stage looks good with all the lighting and stuff, I’m not getting this tippy toe stuff. It seems so confined. I mean everyone has to act or dance in this fru fru realm. Kinda like opera. Dang, just talk people.

  At intermission Jill and her friends ask me how I like it and of course I say, ‘very much so,’ but I really don’t. During the first act I noticed that the main girl dancer, the one that did all the stuff with Nureyev was switched out during a scene break. I want to say something to Jill but feel stupid, like maybe it’s supposed to be that way. But it’s eating at me so as soon as we get alone for a minute I ask her.

  “No dear that’s the same girl, she’s the lead. A very fine dancer.”

  “Well…all I can say is the woman that started the show is not the one that finished the act. I just thought it was supposed to be like that.”

  “Let me find out.” She goes to a group of people standing around drinking champagne and says something to them. They lift their heads look around and shrug. Now I really don’t want to be on the spot over this but I’m pretty damn sure of what I saw. Right about the time I’m going to give in to being dumb there is an announcement saying exactly what I thought. The dancer had sprained an ankle and was replaced during the act. Everyone starts buzzing and saying stuff like,

  “Oh my dear,” and stuff. HA! I am not an asshole about this, but I know what the fuck I saw. It gives me a silent confidence about something.

  Jill congratulates me for being the only person that recognized the situation. She really means it too. I feel like I saved a baby in a runaway carriage or something. She starts telling the circle that I had pointed it out to her. Then they say things about how brilliant I am. One even says I’m a genius, or maybe that it was genius that I spotted it. I prefer the first. I filled out my suit a bit better for the rest of the show. The second act isn’t much better but I keep my cool.