Love Lucky

by Van Quattro

  “I am from Los Angeles. And you? Here?”

  “L.A. that’s lovely. Los Angeles I very much enjoy myself when I am there. Yes, I’m from London.” I am still holding her hand.

  “You are very pretty.”

  “Thank you Van, you are a handsome man.” I don’t look around the room to make sure she is talking to me or compare myself with other l men, like guys with real haircuts, and styles they maintain. It’s just enough to hear her mouth say the words. I need nothing else.

  She takes my hand that is in her hand and holds it with her other hand. The ten little fingernail cuts on my face flare up and feel like some neon light advertising my crippled insides. She says nothing about them, even though I know she can see them. Maybe they’re even oozing something. I want to tell her these holes are from the thorny crown that was gouged into my face instead of my head. These are mine. I’ll die for my own sins. I fuck up. But I’ll be good to you, I swear. But that would be too much wouldn’t it? I just want to come clean from the inside out. I want a soul transfusion so I can begin again.

  I can’t maintain eye contact with her now, ‘cause I’m afraid she’ll find me out in an instant.

  “How are you here? At this party I mean?”

  “We come every year. My Father has many friends here and knows Ruth quite well.”

  “Ah, so you know a bunch of people here?”

  “Oh yes, many.”

  “I am really glad we met. Thanks for climbing all the way up here to meet me.”

  “Well, I’m glad we met as well. You seem interesting to me. Maybe it’s the pants.”

  “Ha, I knew they would pay off.” The fans have cooled me to the drying point and I have desires in the flesh so I lean in and give her a smooch on the lips. It is meaningful and direct. She receives it with what seems to be the same intention.

  My heart flips and I can feel my old self leaving me, gushing off like the tide before a tidal wave. I sit back, feel it and wait. I want to kiss her again but don’t because now I’m thinking of Jill. What’s even more scary is I don’t want to tarnish this thing with some stupid physical grope. I don’t know what the heck to do. This is too perfect for mauling even though I’d make some kinda deal with God to make love with her.

  “Wow, who are you? I mean, not who you are, but…?”

  “Are you married Van?”

  “Me no, ha. Are you?”

  “No. I am not.”

  “Do you work, or something?”

  “Yes, I work for my father’s company. Actually I am Vice president.”

  “Holy cow, is it a big company?”

  “Yes, we are one of the largest import exporters in Europe.”

  “You’re a Vice President of a company?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “I don’t think I could do that.”

  “Oh, why?”

  “Because I wouldn’t know how. Ha. Do you like what you do?”

  “Yes, it’s fair enough isn’t it? I don’t want for much. What do you do Van?”

  “I’m an actor.”

  “Wonderful, I love actors.” I think this is at least the second time I have said I’m an actor tonight and it doesn’t scare me or make me feel like a big phony.

  “Yeah, I have to go back to the U.S in two days because I don’t have a work permit. But when I get back I’ll be able to act.”

  “Oh, why is that? What are you going to do to get your permit?”

  “Well, I was told because I am a second generation Italian that I may be eligible for an Italian passport which would allow me to work in the common market.”

  “Yes I think that’s true. Do you have connections here for acting?”

  “Yeah, a few. I am very good friends with Jill Bennett.”

  “Okay. I know who Jill is. A very good actress.”

  “Oh yeah, she is.” Half of my body or mind wants to tell her how beautiful she is and how I would drop everything to be with her, and the other half is wretchedly calm about being true to Jill. Her hand feels like it’s part of mine now. I’m not sure why I’m still hanging on to it except maybe to make sure she’s real and that I don’t ever want her to leave.

  Her green brown eyes caress the general area around my face, and then find gentle welcoming focus. Boy I’ll tell you if I wasn’t so fucked up I would be pretty nervous about all this. But as it is I look back at her and try not to shock her with my baffled submission.

  My head starts to spin from the booze so I stand to avoid the spiral pit. Oh God, please don’t let me throw up. She stands with me. I sway and need to use her for balance.

  “You okay?” she asks chuckling.

  “Yeah, just a little too much I guess.”

  “I would like to see you again.”

  “You would?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, me too. I will be back from America in a couple of weeks. I can call you or just start yelling out your name when I get back to Heathrow airport.”

  “Let me give you my phone number, it might be easier on your lungs.” I open a book of matches and write her name and number on it then stuff it back in my pocket as if it were hand written from God.

  “Oh and all that work permit stuff, not to worry, we can take care of that in a flash.”

  “Wow,” I say to me and her. I lean forward to make contact but I’m cautious. I don’t want to throw up on her. I do it the way I would if I were truly kissing an angel. I give her peck for the ages, a lip-to-lip bond. I wish we could exchange blood. Cut our hands right here. We smile and she walks back downstairs. I reach in my pocket to look at the phone number to make sure it’s real. It is. I touch it, I feel the ink carefully so it doesn’t rub off.

  She looks back up at me as if to reassure me that all is real and divine.

  Oh doggie love puppies, I am done. I am finished, for this night, for my life, I throw in the towel. I am so fucking high on the future. Things fucking happen in the winter. I don’t know what the fuck to do with myself now, all has been done. I surely don’t want to follow her or anything because I feel secure about what just happened so I go get another drink and stagger around like some born again Christian with a lopsided smile on my silly face.

  Midnight is in a couple of minutes and all the partiers move near where they are going to place their lips when the ball thingy drops. Not me though, I am fine. My lips have been graced by something far better than I could ever imagine. Deirdre and I will be good friends, nothing more. Maybe good friends with lips, I don’t know. I just know I am not going to mess it up with Jill again. I wonder if she is kissing anyone at her dinner party. I don’t think I care, I just wouldn’t want see it, I guess.

  I am so far beyond this countdown bullshit, you can’t contain me in a damn moment of false hope. I am a real guy of the universe, a child of a God that wants good stuff for people, things like love and peace and sharing and caring. I will die for these things, but not right now. Not tonight.

  I see Deirdre across the room through my slushy glance and she holds the moment to smile. I can’t remember when I felt better.

  I spend the rest of the night dancing slowly with my holy self.

  It’s three in the morning when I crawl in to bed with Jill, clothes and all. I just need to close my pickled eyes. She senses me near and mumbles something cute which I feel good about. Sleepy happy mumbles are beautiful. I haven’t really done anything wrong, have I?

  Some daylight hours later I wake to Jill shaking me and yelling. My head feels like it’s been caught in the pistons of a cars engine. I don’t know much about cars but that’s the parts where these metal cylinders keep pounding away in a closed chamber.

  “Get up. Get up. Get out of my bed.”

  “What? What’s going on?”

  “You have peed my bed, now get out of it.”

  “Huh?” I feel around and sure enough the bed is wet and I am soaked in my golden pants. I’m a sacred fucking pissing cow. Oh fuck, I wet the bed a lot growing up so now it
’s like, really? I did again, now? I thought I was done with this stuff.

  It must have been a big pee because I am drenched, how the fuck did this happen. She is a world-class actress and I pissed like a camel in her bed. I’ll never forget this. I am doomed.

  Bits and pieces of last night are coming back to me and I feel relieved she at least hasn’t said anything about Deirdre, even though we really didn’t do anything. I guess I would rather deal with pee than that.

  “You do not piss in my bed, now get out of the fucking bed.” I really do love the way she says fucking.

  “I didn’t pee your bed, it must have been the dogs, they were in bed with me. I don’t wet the bed.”

  “My dogs have never pissed on my bed, ever.”

  “Maybe it’s the medication they’re on? They’ve been peeing around the house a lot lately.” I’m lying, hard. I don’t like lying but it doesn’t stop me. It feels more like survival and I’m clinging to the cliff.

  “Just get up. Even those alcoholics I was married to never wet the bed.”

  “Jill, I went to the bathroom as soon as I got home, so…”

  “Now I have to buy a new bed.” I head to the bathroom to get cleaned up feeling like some three-year-old stepchild that needs to sleep in the barn from now on.

  In the bathroom I smell the hell out of the pee clothes. I convince myself it doesn’t smell like my urine, it’s old dog’s piss. I clean up. Jill doesn’t have a lot to say to me. I am not sure if she’s entertaining the idea of the dogs, but she says no more about it.

  I am so relieved I don’t think I can stand anymore trauma before coffee.

  I have to wash some clothes before I leave tomorrow so I include my gold piss pants with my dirties. I give them another quick close up sniff and I swear it does smell a little like dog piss. I throw them in the washer then almost swallow my quivering liver. I remember the matchbook with Deirdre’s number on it. I grab the pants and pull out a pee stained piece of cardboard with washed out numbers on it.

  “Oh NOOOOOO.”

  “What? What is wrong?” I want to run out the door and scream, “Deirdre” in the streets of London until I find her. I don’t care how long it takes I will find her. My heart is lost. Pee is petty compare to this. I think of all the ways I can get her number back but none make sense, especially with my head pounding. Maybe Ruth? Maybe I’ll call every importer in England and ask for her? Maybe Jill knows who they are and I can somehow get it from her? I double over at the gut in agony.

  “Oh nothing, this guy gave me his phone number and asked me to look him up when I got back for a job.”

  “And?”

  “His number got washed out. That’s all.”

  “Well what is his name? Maybe I know him. I know many of those people, you know.” What the hell does she mean by that? Does she know something?

  “Uh, I can’t really read the name either. He is an importer, a big one.”

  “The only one I can think of is Welford, John Welford. Is that it?”

  “Maybe.” I roll that over in mind, Deirdre Welford. Hmm, could work.

  “Does he have children? ‘Cause this guy was there with his kids, like a daughter and maybe a son. I didn’t meet the son he was off in the crowd.”

  “No, I think he only has a daughter. A very nice man, he backed one our plays. Not to worry, I can get his number.” Just like that I am happy again, and you know what? This could be a sign from God that something is meant to be.

  “I’ll give Ruth a call in a few.”

  “Ah, great.” I’m a little worried that Ruth saw me with Deirdre and will tell Jill but I didn’t do anything wrong so I am clear.

  My bag is packed except for last minute shit like toothbrush, and the pills I am going to take before I leave. I grab some Valium and butt sleeping pills because you never know.

  I’m excited about going back. I have a lot to report. People always thought of me as the guy that does shit and now I am doing more. This time though it’s credible stuff with big ass people and ballets and things. I heard the Stones new album and Roxy Music’s before the public in America. That in its self is major. All those people who think I am a fuck up have another thing coming. I am endorsed by people more important than you will probably ever know in your whole life and I’m only twenty-seven. I have proof of my happenings with all the shit I am bringing back. Ha.

  I think about Deirdre all damn day. I mean, I dream we are married and I get to lay next to her naked every night. We go for walks on the beach, we open a nightclub, the kinda place where people can come and dance or hang out or anything and the music is awesome. I don’t know about kids, maybe her position in life will guarantee they would be healthy and safe from the shit, scum fucking world.

  I am only having a couple of glasses of wine today. I need to be clear to see how the Deirdre situation works out. I offer to make a chicken in the clay pot as kind of a last supper for now. I am as nice as can be all day because I’m still doing my pee penance. The more the day goes by the more removed from it I feel, thank God. You try going through that.

  I listen to Herman’s Hermits as I cook. I have a real wine glass in my hand, and am wearing an apron. I joyfully whistle to, ‘Something good’ and think of myself as some kinda for real dinner party dude.

  I can hear Jill on the phone downstairs. She’s using the tone she gets when she’s getting important information but doesn’t want to play her hand. I can usually see through it. Her face will get all serious, but I can’t see her face so I’m screwed. I’m sensing something is wrong, big time. She hangs up and I brace myself.

  Before I can see her I hear,

  “Yes, it’s the Welford’s alright, but it seems you didn’t talk to John at all.”

  “What? How do you know?”

  “The girls name is Deirdre. Does that ring a bell?”

  “Yeah, I talked to her for a bit, after her dad.”

  “Oh, good. It seems you have a lot in common with her.”

  “Not too much, just a couple of things. You know like theatre and stuff. She loves you.”

  “Well, that’s very kind of her I am sure.”

  “Yeah, I told her all about you.”

  “Oh good, what did you tell her?”

  “Just the good stuff. I mean it’s all good stuff, but you know, like how we are together and what a great person and actress you are.”

  “You fucking liar! Did you talk about this when you were fucking kissing her?”

  “What? We might have kissed just a fucking peck at midnight. Who’s telling you this stuff?”

  “You think you can make a fool of me? I have friends, and you showed no fucking respect.”

  “Jill, all I did was say good things about you. It’s nothing really. We just talked about my getting a job with her dad. I talked to a lot of people and danced with a bunch of people. Did your friend tell you that?”

  “You’re only capable of thinking about yourself.”

  “Well if I don’t, who will?”

  “I want you to leave. Take your stuff and leave my house.” Goddamn, I am still thinking of how to get Deirdre’s number and call her before I go but I know it’s over. All of it is over, an angel blessed me and the cord is cut, a woman loved me and I killed it. I hang my head for love and leave her house without touching her shaking body. Her head sags almost as low as mine.

  Happy new years I guess. Hell of a way to start fresh. I still want to think Deirdre is in my life, but in the basement of my heart I know she is lost. It hurts because it was real, not some little fantasy I associated with a song that lullabied me to want live another day. We talked, we experienced each other’s beings for a little while. I almost wish I hadn’t been drinking last night so I can remember every little second of what happened. But it’s okay, it has to be, I am full of what I do remember. It doesn’t surprise me that it blew away faster than a little songbird in a tornado, shit happens in the dark winter.

  I have to find somewhere to
stay for the night so I settle on a cheap hostel joint a couple of stops down on the tube.

  Now I am hurting for Jill, what the hell s wrong with me? She is the best person I have ever met and we do have fun together and I do love her. This shit keeps coming up. I mean, shit, am I using Jill or am I just incapable of loving someone? I am pretty sure she knows me better than anybody I have ever known. Fuck, why does everything need to be so goddamn hard? GOD, just give me a sign, I’ll do whatever, I don’t want to keep fucking her over. I know I can be an asshole, I don’t ever feel satisfied with anything and I am always thinking and rumbling. I don’t know how to fucking stop. Anything. I begin shit, then napalm my way out weeping for the old and screaming for the new.

  I find a pub and drink thick beers and go to sleep with a butt bomb to end this day.

  I get to Heathrow early, better than sitting in that body sauce, five pound a night Hostel. I love airports. They mean travel, new stuff and places, booze, gift shops and frozen time. I think it’s a privilege to be able go in to the duty free. Only world travelers get to go inside and I am a man of the world. You don’t have to pay taxes because it’s some kinda neutral zone, like it belongs to no nation. Maybe I’ll just live in here. I think it’s so great. I can buy things like cigarettes and booze in a government free zone. Ha, fuck governments. I grab what I need head to the bar and order up.

  I call Jill and it’s three long attempts before she finally answers. I am so glad because I don’t think I’ll be able to get on the plane if I don’t talk to her. I tell her how sorry I am and how Deirdre means nothing to me and how she is the only one who matters now and forever. I feel like I am having what they call a nervous breakdown or something because I’m shaking and starting to shrivel up inside. I don’t want to leave England. I’m afraid I’ll wake up and find out none of this ever happened or that it didn’t happen long enough to really rub off on me and I’ll turn in to the same person I was before I came here, or that I won’t really want to come back. I take vows of death if I don’t return. Jill tells me to stop being so dramatic but I can hear in her voice my pledges relieve her. She sounds like she is being stoically strong. I finally have to hang up with words of love straining through my trembling body while I hold back tears.