Love Lucky

by Van Quattro

  While we’re waiting for our limousine some guy starts waving his arms to get my attention. He comes towards us and looks pretty shabby in old clothes. As he gets to me I move in front of Jill to protect her, the guy reaches out to hand me something, it’s money he says,

  “Tole ya I’d pay ya back,” and walks away. I start cracking up. This is the fella I gave five pounds to in Piccadilly a few months ago. I explain this to Jill and she looks at me like I am an angel or something.

  At her house I sneak one drink and we make love. I feel very calm somehow and just want to make her happy for being a part of my big night, so I do things like really look at her and stuff. It feels strange but not as bad as I thought it would. I am really glad she seems pleased. Her face is very soft with love. Like it has a God filter over it. I wonder if this is what people look like in the after world, like they’ve just made love. I hope so. I mean I hope we can see each other after we die. Sometimes I get all panicky thinking there is nothing after this life; we suffer here then it’s all gone? If that’s true, then there is no chance for the divinest of loves. And I don’t mean God, because God’s love is supposed to always be here isn’t it? I’m talking about the love we never get to experience with other people; all the stuff that would make this world a meaningful place instead of some kind of petty transaction lacking true joy or soulful communication. Oh, God I hope there is something else. I mean there has to be something, right?

  There’s like two things that really ring my fear bell. One is what if I love someone so much in this life and I may never see them again after I die? I don’t think I could bare that. Two, what if I never have true love in this life and then there’s nothing after I die? I can’t deal with that either, so what the fuck are you supposed to do? Live forever like a vampire I guess.

  For Christmas Jill wants to take me to the Ritz for dinner. This is a big deal because all the rich people who can’t be bothered to cook at home go to the Ritz. I am one of them I guess. I’m wearing my ballet suit. I hope I don’t run in to any of my new hoity toity friends. They will know I only have one suit.

  Boy, it’s fancy in here all right, but very cold feeling. There are chandeliers bigger than my apartment in L.A. So much silver flashing it feels like we’re in some kind of pirate’s hideout. The food is good but it feels stiff as hell in here. My family cooks lasagna and ham with all kinds of casseroles for Christmas. I usually drink my ass off and try to put on good music, but someone always wants Christmas songs. I don’t hate Christmas music, just some of the dumb people that sing it. We always end up in a fight for some stupid reason. Sometimes even a fistfight. Last year my brother tackled me and we crashed through a window. I don’t remember why, but we were pretty pissed at each other, and drunk. My mom has a way of getting us worked up. So figure me being here at the Ritz and the loudest sound I hear is a fork cautiously tapping a plate. I need a gallon of vodka. Hardly anyone my age is here and the music sucks. I drink as many Champagne’s as I can, but even the waiter’s are kinda pissy. I feel like they’re counting my drinks. They think they are so fucking important.

  I am glad to get the hell outa there. I’m still a bit hungry but I’ll hold out in case I can drink more later. The streets are empty as we make our way back to my, (Brian’s) flat in Fulham. I like being out on serious holidays because even though the cities look barren there is a comfort knowing people may be nestled warmly, and maybe even happily in each other’s presence. It gives me the same feeling as the perfect picnic might - love. It’s as if on couple of labeled days a year we get our priorities straight.

  As soon as we get to the flat I make myself a drink. I bought a couple of bottles extra yesterday knowing today was going to be dry as a desert. No booze sold here on Christmas or Sunday. Fucking stupid huh?

  Once before on a Saturday I forgot to buy booze for Sunday and it was hell. I had nothing to drink and I was at Jill’s. I think she might have even thrown some away so I wouldn’t drink. Whether she did or didn’t it pissed me off royally. I don’t like being told what to do, or even thinking I’m being told what to do. So I figure I’ll show her how crafty I can be. I walked to the pubs that were open and ordered a bunch of drinks, then I talked the bartender in to selling me a large glass of vodka to go. Ha, I paid double for it but I fucking got it. Jill even ends up drinking with me. Probably because of how hard I worked to get it. I can provide.

  We check the telly to see what’s on. There’s a showing of an old Cary Grant comedy so we settle in on the couch and watch. I’m sensing she wants to hang and do the make love thing, but I really am not in to it today. I want to do something. There has to be something to do somewhere. I don’t know, even if we just drink listen to music and long for stuff would be better than this. If she wants me to hang I’m going to get drunk, seems fair enough to me.

  The movie, Bringing up Baby, is fun but I’ve seen it before. So now here we are again, just her and I, and she’s coming on like we are supposed to get intimate and I hate this part. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m not in to her body, or if I’m weird or something. The look on her face when things don’t go according to her plan fucking kills me. I don’t know what to do so I try to reverse shit to make her feel like she’s wrong. Fuck. Fuck. Why do I feel this way? I have craved a girl before, but that ended so horrifically that that couldn’t be right either, but it felt different than this, much different.

  I avoid her advancing with talk. I mean I kiss her and stuff but then I make an excuse to go to the kitchen to get more drink. I pour half the bottle in the glass. I figure the more drunk I get the more sense I can make. I’m thinking I got hurt so bad before that I can’t get close to anyone and that I really do love Jill and want her badly, and she is simply suffering because of my past. These thoughts overtake me like I’m dipped in understanding juice. I get flush with love. I go to her and embrace her with all of god’s permission, (I think he said ‘go do it’). We fall to the couch and take off our clothes. My head spins a bit but I know I’m okay; it’s not a full tilt. She acts reserved but still moves with me. I’m wanting to a hurry for some reason. After a few minutes of me groping for desire she pushes me away from her.

  “You can’t even get it up you’re so drunk.”

  “I am not drunk.” I mean shit I have been a hell of a lot drunker and fucked.

  “Yes you are. Look at you, you’re stroking your thing like some monkey in a zoo.” I look down and I am actually. Not like some perv, but I’m trying to get it working.

  “Have fun with your wanking. I am going home.” She gathers her stuff and heads to the bathroom. Now when a woman will not dress or undress in front of you and she has before, you’re in damn trouble. I go to her and hold her but she breaks away, goes to the kitchen counter, grabs a very large glass dish that has a bunch of beautiful colors in it and hurls it against the wall. It shatters like those pictures of the universe exploding.

  “I don’t want to be held. Leave me alone.” She looks around for something else to throw I guess. I wrap her up so she can’t grab anything more but she breaks free. She grabs another vase and hurls it in to the kitchen.

  “Jill STOP, this is not my stuff.”

  “I don’t care. If you’re not drunk, then you’re a poofta,” she says knocking furniture over.

  “STOP, STOP.” I grab her and hold on tight. She reaches up with both hands and claws my face. Her nails dig in and she holds them there like some Greek tragedy. I let her dig in, the deeper and longer they are there the better I feel. She is justified and I deserve this. I can’t give her what she needs so I take this like some kinda contrition to rectify my being a piece of shit. It’s like; I’ll give you this Jill, if you give me you. I’ll do better.

  She unclaws my flesh and walks out the door while I yell ‘I’m sorry’ after her. I don’t even know what the hell I am sorry for, but I know I am. The door closes and I start crying. In the mirror I see my face and there are ten deep puncture wounds. Each one has a drop of blood bel
ow like a teardrop. I think it looks cool in a way, it defiantly looks serious, I mean like something really important happened here. I punch a hole in the wall next to the door.

  “FUCK, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” I grab the vodka bottle and chug the biggest swig in my life. I don’t give a fuck. I finish the bottle and throw it hard into the kitchen. It leaves a big dent in the refrigerator. I don’t give a fuck. I grab another bottle and start in on it. I call Jill even though I know she won’t be there yet. I drink with a purpose, to annihilate. I constantly redial the phone. I can’t tell how much time passes because I’m fucking drunk so I’ll say maybe around fifty phone dials goes by.

  I am teetering and real close to passing out when the phone picks up on the other end.

  “Hello.” Her voice is tiny, defeated.

  “Oh Jill, Jill, Jill. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” I am drooling all over the mouthpiece. She doesn’t say anything for a long time. I almost fall asleep.

  “Jill, maybe I need help.”

  “What kind of help?”

  “I don’t know, like how I can be better help.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because I keep hurting you and I don’t want to. I have had therapy before. I think it worked.” Silence.

  “I don’t want you talking about me with anyone.”

  “Okay, I wont say it’s you. I’ll pretend it’s someone else.”

  “Who will you pretend it is? You’ll probably make her prettier than me.”

  “NOOO, don’t be silly.”

  “I do think you could use some help. But I don’t want my name used at all. As a matter of fact, I’d rather you didn’t use our situations.” What does she mean I need help? She probably needs it just as much as I do. I mean she throws shit.

  “I won’t say anything about us. I will talk about me and how I’m afraid to get close to people.”

  “Yes, you do that.”

  “I will, when I get back to California.” I get up to go to the bathroom and am walking with the phone. When I reach the end of the cord I get yanked backwards and fall on my ass across the glass coffee table. I crash through it and it shatters. I can hear Jill yelling through the phone asking me if I am okay. I crawl out of the glass and on to the couch where I cuddle myself to sleep. Jill is still frantic on the phone.

  In the morning while I pick glass outa my butt and arms I look around the place and see all the damage to Brian’s flat and I throw up. I vow and even ask God to help me to stop drinking. It’s got to be booze, most of all the bad shit that happens in my life happens when I am drunk or stoned. I am so sure I want to make this happen I even call Jill to pledge it to her. She says it is a great decision.

  I finish out the week after Christmas slowly cleaning up Brian’s place, and re-thinking staying sober. I mean it’s pretty ridiculous to completely stop drinking with New Years coming, right?

  I stay with Jill my last two days to be in England. I know we will be in a lovemaking situation before I have to go, but I feel good about it. I pack my stuff and look around her place for those special things to prove my London experience was what it is. I get the John Gielgud book and sneak it in to my bag. I have the coins I found. There is also a signed copy of the play, Time Present, to Jill from John Osborne that Jill has. I’m going to borrow that as well along with a first edition of, Look Back in Anger. I’m not going to tell Jill about this, but I will return them. She comes into the room wearing this sweet long sleeve shirt with lateral stripes colored white, pink and green. I’m thinking it is the perfect statement. It’s mod and wild. I ask her if I can take it with me and she says sure. Then she finds me this wild dark blue and gold scarf to wear. I am really digging this, reminds me of Rod Stewart or Ray Davis. PERFECT. I just need some red shoes. Ha.

  “Now I have some friends over in L.A. you should probably call.” She finds her phone book and begins fingering through the pages.

  “I should, why? Okay.”

  “My Dear friend, Coral Brown and her husband Vince might be able to help you or something. Then there is Anthony Page and of course Gavin. You must meet Gavin Lambert.”

  “Oh, okay. What do they do?”

  “Sometimes you are so daft, or maybe your so young, either way, Coral is a fucking institution here. A wonderful actress who happens to be married to Vincent Price.”

  “Vincent Price? The Vincent Price?”

  “Yaaaaah, the Vincent Price.” She’s really mocking me now but it’s not mean, it’s because she’s trying to deal with my leaving, so I don’t get mad. Fucking Vincent Price is in one of the scariest movies I had ever seen as a boy, House on Haunted Hill. Even though it scared the pee out of me I would watch it every time it came on, alone, and it would curl the toes of my soul. As teenagers we’d go up to the house in the Los Feliz hills on the darkest nights to drink and see spooks.

  Vincent and Coral probably know everyone in Hollywood, damn!

  “They’ll talk to me?”

  “If I ask them to they will.”

  “Wow, thanks Jill.”

  “My pleasure. Now Anthony is a very well known director who is now working there and Gavin is a brilliant writer. So see my dear I send you off with love and friends.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too, my love.” She says it with a reservation, for herself only. But I’ll show her how true I am.

  It’s noon the day before New Years Eve and we are waiting for a friend of Jill’s to meet us for dinner at the same restaurant where Jill and I had our first lunch. Jill is explaining to me who this person is but I don’t quite understand.

  “She’s a very well known about London, social planner.”

  “What is a social planner, a person who tells you where to go?”

  “Dear Gawd. No, an event planner…like parties and fundraisers and such, but only very famous people attend.”

  “I need a party planner.”

  “You’d better not.”

  “Just kidding, I didn’t know people planned parties, cool.”

  Her friend shows up dressed all wacky, but cool, like she planned herself; leopard pants with a zebra top, bright blue scarf and all kinds of hanging things on her self. Her name is Ruth. She’s very outgoing and fun. She pleads with Jill about both of us coming to her very special New Years Eve party, which makes Jill uncomfortable. Jill says we have other plans. I didn’t know we had plans.

  “Well I’ve had plans for weeks,” she says smiling. I can tell she’s fibbing.

  “I’m sorry darling I thought I told you many times I had something I had to go to.”

  Well, I know for sure she never told me that but I let it go wondering where this is going.

  “Well then Van why don’t you join me, you can be my guest and my date. Your facial cuts will be a great topic of conversation. Now this is the number one party in all of England, you won’t want to miss it.” I look at Jill and she says,

  “Why don’t you go my dear?”

  “Really?” I am not sure what is happening but I’m thinking I would bleeding love to go to this party. I’ll need to get fucked up but it’ll be okay because Jill won’t be around. I just dummy up. I don’t want to say the wrong thing. Later, when we are alone I ask Jill what her plans are for New Years. I think I say it a little too strong and it sounds like I’m mad when really it’s the opposite. I’m glad she’s doing something but I want it to look like I’m a little upset about it.

  She tells me she has to go to a quiet dinner party. Nothing special.

  “Was I invited?”

  “Of course you were my dear.”

  “Well, how come I’m not going?”

  “Well, it’s going to be very boring. I didn’t think you would want to go. Plus, we were fighting when I RSVP’d.”

  “When were you going to tell me Jill?”

  “Oh, soon. Calm down, you wouldn’t want to go anyway.”

  “Yes I would. Why the hell would you say that?”
r />   “Because you think everything I do is boring.”

  “What the fuck. I have never said that.”

  “But you think it.”

  “What?’

  “I can see it in your face when we go out. You look so God awful bored. Oh never you mind, it doesn’t matter, my dear.”

  “How the hell do you know what I am thinking? You have no fucking idea!”

  “Please don’t start yelling darling, my dear neighbor already wants to move because of the way you raise your voice.”

  “Jill, WHAT THE GODDAMN FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?”

  “Please keep your voice down. I’m the one that has to live here when you’re gone.”

  “I don’t know what you are up to, but FUCK.”

  “Okay, let me see if I can change the reservation and add you. I figured…”

  “I know what you figured. You thought I’d be bored. You thought I be bored! WHEN THE FUCK HAVE I APPEARED BORED?”

  “Now calm down you have never appeared bored.”

  “Then why say it.”

  “Because I thought you were. I will call straight away in the morning and add you.”

  I pause…

  “Well shit, I don’t know if I want to go now.”

  “Don’t be silly I can fix it in the morning.”

  “No don’t fix anything, you got me all worked up now I don’t know what to do.”

  “Fine, go to your party then. I am sure you will find that much more entertaining.”

  “Fuck, I’m going to bed.”

  “Please go to the top floor tonight.”

  “Fine sure.” I climb the fucking stairs to the spare turd room and think what the fuck that was all about. And I decide I don’t really know. I do know I’m really mad about something and I would much rather go to the party. So what the hell?

  I wake and she is still asleep so I go for a walk along Kings Row. It is silent and beautiful. The street is gently waiting for the kindness of the people. Their warmth and their lovely morning chirps of welcome that ride the crisp air like bubbles. I feel this like a flower in a bouquet enjoying being on display, yet happy to go home with someone. I imagine the street in a few hours with all the people greeting each other, moving about with bright colors of joy, the shops wafting the smell of baked things to the street, its aroma claiming different air space than the scent of the flowers. Everything exists in its own glory and right. This is what I love: this morning, England. Let’s have a worldwide picnic today and a worldwide party tonight. I breathe deeply and make my way back to Jill’s.