by Alisa Mullen
The apartment phone rang and I got up to answer. Then I sat back down. This wasn’t my apartment. I officially only had four more days to find a job and a place to live. Collecting the drugstore application, I threw on some of Johnny’s sweatpants, since all of my clothes were trash and headed down. First, I bought some red dye to go with my new hairdo. If I could make myself look as fucked up as I felt on the inside then maybe, just maybe I could figure out what to do next. I had always pretended with the fashionable clothing and sporty car. Wait, where was my car? Whatever. If I looked happy and nice, then life would turn out that way, too. When did I ever get that stupid notion in my brain?
An instant flash of the Ouija board made me look up to see an ATM machine in the back corner. “Nice”, it had said to me. I would be nice when I grew up. I teetered on my feet for a bit before I knew what to do.
I withdrew cash. I withdrew so much cash out of the ATM that I was getting serious concerned looks from customers. I knew I looked homeless, with Johnny’s too big clothes and my newly acquired hair style. Technically, I was homeless so how did I have a card that allowed me thousands of dollars? I was messing with my image but I couldn’t help myself. I wanted all the money I could get from Michael. Oh and I could take Michael’s money, just not the things he had purchased for me. I withdrew hundreds and hundreds of dollars until I felt my cell phone buzz in Johnny’s pants pocket. I had just turned the thing on not five minutes ago. I was never this popular before I become a homeless mooch.
“Yeah?” I answered as I stuffed more twenties in the other pocket. I was done with niceties. My world was shit. I didn’t even want a cell phone. I would toss this stupid device next. Or maybe I would give it away. Someone could call a loved one that actually gave a shit about how they were doing. I certainly didn’t have anyone.
“Emily, sweetheart. I’ve been calling you for two days. Where are you?” Michael’s voice made me want to puke.
“Oh, I am hanging with this gang I made friends with in Harlem,” I deadpanned.
Silence stretched long and hard. It was annoying. “Be serious, Emily,” he admonished me.
“Right now I am buying some things and taking out all of your money from the ATM,” I said as I punched the two hundred dollar button again and accepted the six dollar transaction fee.
“That’s also why I am calling. Why are you withdrawing so much money? I am getting the updates every thirty seconds,” he said sounding more pissed off now.
“I needed some new clothes. I’m trying to find a job.” I sighed. “What do you want, Michael?”
“Either you come home or I need an address to send the divorce papers to,” he threatened. He knew I didn’t actually want a divorce. Nice Emily would worry what the neighbors thought. I pondered it for a few seconds.
“You got a pen?” I asked. The gasp I heard on the other end of the phone was priceless.
“You can’t be serious, Emily. You are my wife, for better and for worse,” he countered.
“111 Main Street New York, NY 10001. Oh and two words. Taylor and expelled,” I said right before I hit the end button. I had no idea if there even was a Main Street in Manhattan. I suppose someone would find out one day when they tried to serve me with the papers. I laughed at that scenario and bought three racks of wine coolers.
I slapped the application down in front of boring lady. She slipped it off the counter and placed in a box to her right. There must have been over thirty papers already in there and I grimaced at the poor percentages that I would get the job. Well, fuck me.
“Excuse me?” she asked, startled. Had I said that out loud? Oh dear.
“Sorry, bad day,” I admitted, pointing to my hair. In that awkward moment, I recognized I was buying booze from a drugstore in Manhattan, looking like a Muppet with a mullet. Maybe Michael wasn’t that atrocious of a husband, because this whole finding a job and a place to start my life over was tough. I ought to call him back and express to him I would go to therapy after all. Evidently, there was something wrong with me. If I called now, I would look desperate seeing as I just withdrew bundles of cash. He would think he had the upper hand and that was not going to happen. I would give it another day and call. I would not grovel, especially since it was he that cheated on me with half of Massachusetts.
“Yeah, that cut is pretty awful. My dog has a nicer hair style than you,” she deadpanned as she rang up my purchases. I nodded solemnly in agreement. What else could I say? Her dog was probably prettier and clearly, didn’t have to worry about cheating husbands and finding a job. I pushed the twenty dollar bills into the sack of junk I purchased and headed back to Johnny’s to drink more and dye my hair red. I would turn my frown upside down. If only for today.
Chapter Eleven
Johnny
I looked out the window at the changing leaves. They were so vivid. I couldn’t remember a time in my life where I took in all of the colors and thought about how much nature was miraculous. Change was definitely in the air. What the fuck was going on with my brain? Since when was I so philosophical? I took out my wallet and grabbed the three photos of Jules. She was laughing in one. Her long dark hair was put up in braids that went everywhere. I remember the moment I took this photo. It was right after I told her I sat outside the train station in Baltimore and played for tips. I sang and someone came up to me and said I should pay them to listen. She didn’t let me live that one down for months.
I felt the comfortable pain of losing her once more. It was familiar. I wondered if Brennan and she were back from their trip. After the tour, I would make a trip to Martha’s Vineyard to see how they were getting along. The moment I saw any conflict, I was going to be right there for her.
“You still can’t get over her?” Dex asked from behind me. I shook my head slowly.
“She was such a huge part of my fucking life. I feel like I’m missing something all the time,” I summarized. I couldn’t say more without choking up. In no way was I going to show Dex that I knew how to cry and I knew how to do it well.
“Dude, I hate to say it, but she’s never coming back. The lawyers are about done. She just signed an agreement that she would never cover our songs or be part of the band again. She wanted the royalties, I guess. Money talks, you know?” he sighed as he ran his fingers under his chin.
“No. Not for Jules. She signed that so if she got the impulse to play again, she would have to do it on her own. Money isn’t that important to her and her house is bad ass. She’s fine financially,” I said. I didn’t realize I had slipped up until Dex came around and sat on the bench across from me.
“You went to her house on Martha’s Vineyard? You’ve got to fucking be kidding me.” He was pissed. He looked both pissed and ashamed. No, maybe he was disappointed. Dr. Screw - cock had the same face. Yes, I was a stalker. Yes, I was out of my mind obsessed with her.
“I just went once. I had to see her. She…she really hurt me, Dex,” I whispered. A tear was starting to form and I turned to look out the window again. I took out my phone and went to my recent calls.
Emily hadn’t answered the house phone all day. Stupidly, I forgot to get her phone number and she probably figured it was too rude to answer someone else’s phone. I only hoped she listened to the voicemail. I also prayed that she wouldn’t go back to her husband. It felt really good to know that she was there, maybe even waiting for me to come back. Nah, that wasn’t true. She was getting a divorce, looking for a new job, and oh shit - Danielle had her number. Hell yes. I just remembered she called her the other night before the show.
I plugged in my earphones to listen to The Shins newest album. Their song, “New Slang,” was bad ass and I thought I would cover it one day when I went to open mic night at the local pub. No one knew I went solo a lot and it hadn’t gotten out yet that I made regular guest appearances there around one in the morning. This song, though, would need a tambourine. Jules would have done it for me. I winced at the thought of her being on stage with me.
&nb
sp; I texted Danielle for Emily’s number. Danielle was driving to the next venue in her car and probably didn’t text and drive. Chicks were so against that shit. I waited - and then painfully waited for anything to come through. Nothing. Listening to The Shins was all I had to occupy my mind but to no avail. I couldn’t shake that something was amiss.
No one but Dex - who still looked shell shocked - appeared to care about me. Appeared being the operative word. Dex also appeared to have taken a big liking to spending time with Ethan. Whatever – I didn’t own his time.
Where the fuck was Emily and why did I feel the need to call her all the god damn time? A voice inside me said I was ten shades of crazy about her, like a wild donkey on a rocket; I wanted to shoot myself straight back to Manhattan and into her head.
I wanted to wake up in bed with her – just one more day- and have one more breakfast with her. If she was back with that…that fucking idiot, I might have to split my wall into a shrine for two.
My cell phone buzzed on the table next to my bunk and I clicked the on button without looking.
“Hello.” The snip in my voice couldn’t have gone unnoticed to the caller. I needed the call to be either Danielle or Emily.
“Um – Mr. Lennox?” An older guy’s voice trembled a bit as I rolled my eyes. Fucking leaching agents wanting my signature. Get a fucking clue, folks.
“You got him,” I stagnantly responded. Normally, I would have hung up but I was bored. I had nothing to think about and maybe this phone call would keep me entertained for a minute or two.
“Mr. Lennox.” His voice was firmer now. “I’m Richard Foster. I’m your Probation Officer for the Cape out of Dennis, Massachusetts.
Fuck. Me. Stupid.
“All-right,” I conceded with a laugh hidden by the end of the word.
“Well, then,” Foster cleared his throat. Three God damn times.
“Out with it, P.O.” I snapped.
“Right. Yes, sir. I mean, Mr. Lennox. You must serve a total of fifteen volunteer hours to a nonprofit of your choice by the end of this month. It has to be within our county lines and…”
I cut him off.
“By the end of this month? Did your fucking mother lock you in a closet with no dinner?”
Silence. Shit – she probably did. Filter, Johnny. What would Emily say?
“Look, Foster. It’s apparent from your verbal fumbling that you know exactly who I am. You probably also know I will be gone. I am on tour at least the rest of the month, making that next to impossible to do. Please help me figure something out.”
Silence. Was he still stuck on the closet remark?
“I’m home on Friday afternoon. Send me a list of the places I need to show up at and I’ll do my best but no fucking promises. I have a record company, a manager who’s the devil herself on a good day, and a band crew that would have me out on my ass in a flash. You have my details.”
I clicked off. Volunteer hours? I groaned into my hands and my brain conjured up the beautiful smile of Emily laughing at my sad predicament. I picked up the phone and tried the apartment again. Nothing. She had either gone out or she had left me. Either way, the feeling of knowing she wasn’t waiting for me in Manhattan made my chest feel pained and my lungs felt like I couldn’t actually get a solid, deep breath.
I almost wished I had made her come along on this tour and quickly dismissed that incredibly ridiculous thought.
Chapter Twelve
Emily
Even though I was belting out that I knew what love was, I knew for certain that I was the absolute last person who had a clue. Foreigner be damned. It was on repeat. It made me cry and scream the words, clutching my shirt in front of my heart. I wanted to believe I could know what love was. I sat on Johnny’s bed with a shot of something really strong in one hand and gazed at the wall of Jules. Johnny knew what love was. He had dedicated a wall – albeit one in an apartment in Manhattan – but those few that got to see it –we were special to know.
By Thursday, I’d bought some new clothes at a place like Marden’s. I spent six dollars on a pair of jeans, thinking Michael would throw a fit if he knew I was slumming it. I often wondered what the cuddling Johnny and I had experienced together was all about. I was sure it was just him being nice but I missed it. I missed him. Maybe I just missed human contact. I hadn’t ever gone this long without talking to anyone.
Johnny didn’t have to worry about being alone. His Julia wall told the truth – however unrequited his love was. So, I sang the song for Johnny, too. I wanted him to show me and I certainly wanted to feel. Feel something besides the betrayal and pain that slowly creeped in the longer I had been away from Michael and his leachy words.
“I didn’t mean to.” Or “I have a problem.” And “Those women came on to me. What was I supposed to do?”
I downed the shot and hissed out the burn that I had become accustomed to. I stood up and faced myself in the full length mirror opposite the wall of Jules. I wondered if Johnny had positioned it this way so that he would still be able to see her.
My short, cropped to shit, and orange mess of head greeted me back and I watched the tears flow down my cheeks. It was a damn pretty sight. I wasn’t put together. I wasn’t in a dress with my lipstick just so. I was me, at my lowest.
There were holes scattered throughout the top half of my body. Obviously, one through the chest. No doubt, people always talk about the hollowness there. My stomach had a few holes, too, all different sizes. Watching, waiting on the sidelines, were the force of cold tentacles of hatred that wanted to bandage those holes. Healing, a natural bodily reaction. We don’t really have to force to heal anything. The body knows what to do all on its own. All the reasoning – all the singing and screaming? The body was the silent force behind the scenes - executing its automatic natural healing process without anyone doing a damn thing.
I could lie on a massage table all day long and still not feel the touch of someone else’s healing hands. Those healing hands on Michael. On the women. On every photo of Jules that Johnny had so delicately placed on the wall. Did that cure the pain inside? What would cure me? Orange hair? A new job? The one thousand hours of therapy I know I’m in need of.
A loud struggled sound came from the living room as I still perused myself in the mirror. I rushed in to the other room find nothing askew. Nothing except… her.
N-I-C-E.
N-I-C-E.
Over and over and over. The board screeched from the pointer’s lack of felt cover on the bottom. I dropped to my knees and watched with the horror I remembered having as a small girl.
GOOD BYE. The pointer found its way to the middle of the board, the board righted itself, and I sat there – looking at the word that had changed my whole life.
“Good bye, Grace,” I whispered shakily. For now, I thought. Would she ever stop haunting my life? Hadn’t I been everything she asked me to be as I grew up? Was she pissed off that I left my two timing, back-stabbing husband? No, it didn’t matter. She caught up with me everywhere I went.
My wedding day popped into my mind. Right after I took a hot shower, careful not to get any hair wet with my cap on, I walked out to find the infamous word written across the steamy mirror. By my wedding day, I was used to her following me around. I just couldn’t figure out how to get rid of her. Maybe the point was to finally come in contact with what started her watchful eye in the first place.
I went over to the board and as I was about to pick it up, the phone begun to ring. Scoffing at the phone, I ran to retrieve it. I don’t know why. Maybe I was desperate to communicate or maybe because I was a little drunk.
“Hello? Um… this is Johnny’s place,” I sputtered out the words in an exceptionally distasteful and drunken fashion. Only a few shots in and I was warm and swaying.
A deep chuckle vibrated through the phone and I squeezed my eyes shut as I felt a zinger pierce through my chest. Johnny was laughing at me.
“Don’t laugh at me, pretty rock star,”
I pouted. “I’m used to answering the phone in a certain manner. I suppose I need to practice how to answer yours.”
“That’s so sweet, Emily.” His voice was low and different from when I remembered talking to him in person. He sounded flirty, maybe flirty. Maybe it was my imagination. I wanted him to sound flirty. Except that wall of Jules was still there.
“Why, thank you Mr. Lennox. What can I do for you? You’re on your way back tonight, right?” I asked, trying to sound polite and professional. I was ecstatic. I did a little fist pump in the air when he hummed in agreement.
“So, I’ve been thinking about you. I’ve called so many damn times. Talk to me, Emily. What you are doing right this very moment. Tell me everything. I want to know every little detail - right down to what you’re wearing.” His voice was demanding and dire. Had he felt as lonely as I had all week? Impossible. Those tours had girls galore.
I sat down on a kitchen stool and started to swing my bare legs.
“Well, I just had a word with Grace Miller. I’m wearing a Celtics shirt because I refuse to wear your ridiculous Yankees shirts and then – underwear?” I asked like I was asking him if that was alright to say.
Johnny didn’t say anything right away. When he did, my breath caught.
“That’s fucking incredibly odd and sexy at the same time. Grace Miller? The chick who died when you girls were younger? The Ouija board? Why would you be talking to her?” he asked, sounding more than interested. “And what color panties are you wearing?”