Can't Get Enough of Your Love

by J. J. Murray

  “I loved you all.”

  “Right.” He looks over my head. “Look, she’ll be back any minute, so say your piece and get to stepping.”

  His words are making me shiver. “Is there anything you miss about me?”

  “Miss about you? Hell no. You were always paging me, digging into my business, trying to control me. You were holding me back.”

  “From what?”

  “From my future, girl. You didn’t believe in me, in what I was trying to accomplish. You didn’t respect me, and you didn’t respect my career. You remember that deal I was working on?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, it’s happening. I’m about to open my first store.”

  “Yeah? What will it be called?”

  “My Bag.”

  That’s an easy name to remember. “I like the name. Where will it be?”

  “In a new strip mall at Shenandoah and Peters Creek, you know, where that Food Lion is. High traffic, lots of parking, no competition whatsoever. There’s a Subway to my left and a check-cashing place to my right, a Chinese takeout two doors down. I’ll be having my grand opening two weeks before Christmas so I can cash in on the holiday rush, and I already have plenty of orders. My Web site gets a couple thousand hits a day, and I have a couple dozen orders to fill and ship this week alone.”

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “You have a Web site?”

  “Yeah. MyBag-dot-com. I designed it myself. You should check it out.”

  If I had only … No. Don’t listen to yourself, Lana. You’re supposed to be living in the present now. “Things are certainly working out for you.” I sigh. “I’m sorry we didn’t work out.”

  “I’m not.”

  Ouch. “So, would you have broken it off eventually?”

  He laughs. “Hell, I didn’t even know we were together. We kicked it for a while is all.”

  Damn, that’s cold. “You weren’t serious about me at all?”

  “No. You were just a good time, Peanut. That’s all.” Karl then throws back his head and sighs. “Shit.”

  I turn and see a fancy black conversion van with chrome wheels and lots of dark-tinted windows come into the parking lot. “That’s her?” And she drives a conversion van?

  “Yeah. That’s her.”

  “Where’s your Blazer?”

  “I traded it in on that. I got a nice deal on it at Berglund thanks to Juan.”

  But of course. “If you want me to go, I’ll go.”

  “Nah. It’s too late. She’s already seen you.”

  The van parks….

  And Izzie gets out.

  No … way.

  I look again at the door. This is Izzie’s apartment. I had visited her only once or twice, when she first moved in. Was the door that color then? It’s been painted or something. They’ve … moved in together, just like that, and she’s at least two years older than I am. Does Karl even live here? Or maybe they both have their own phones at this address? That makes sense. He’ll need a phone for his business, right?

  I’m so confused.

  Izzie doesn’t look confused. She walks right up to Karl and gives him a deep soul kiss right there in front of me. She then turns, grinds her little booty against him, and smiles at me. “Wow, look at you, Lana, all skinny and shit.”

  No … way.

  Karl has rubbed off on Izzie in the worst way! She has both ears pierced every which way, and one of her eyebrows is pierced. Is that a tattoo on her neck? I wonder what else is pierced or tattooed. I shudder. No. I don’t want to know.

  She takes Karl’s hands and wraps his arms around her. “Boo, you didn’t tell me Lana was coming over.”

  “She just dropped by out of the blue,” Karl says. “And she was just leaving.”

  “Boo, why haven’t you asked Lana inside our apartment?”

  Did she say “our” a little louder? Of course she did. “I was just leaving, Izzie,” I say. “It was good to see you.”

  “Oh, do stay,” Izzie says.

  I see Karl shaking his head slightly. I know it’s not a good idea, Karl. You don’t have to shake your head at me. “That’s okay, Izzie. I have a long drive home.”

  She steps closer to me. “Notice anything different about me, Lana?”

  That suddenly you look like a pavement princess? I point to her eyebrow. “That’s new.”

  Izzie turns to Karl. “Go on in, boo. I’ll cook for you in a few.”

  Karl escapes, closing the door quietly behind him. Yeah, Karl has dinner taken care of, and no wonder he has his own store. I’ll bet Izzie is paying most of his start-up costs.

  Izzie leans in like a conspirator. “I got my nipples done, too. Wanna see ‘em?”

  “No, thank you.”

  I have got to stop blinking. Is my head shaking? It is. I’m almost having a seizure.

  “I’ve been meaning to invite you over, but Karl was against it for obvious reasons. I hope you aren’t offended.”

  “No. I’m not offended.” Shocked, yes. Offended? No. “So, how long have you two been, uh, been …”

  “Together?”

  I nod.

  “Let’s see … three months now.”

  That was quick. He left me and went to her almost immediately. Damn. She got a phone call that night …. Shit! I guess I was just a good time to Karl! He hooked up with Izzie later that night? Did I ever really have Karl all to myself?

  “And guess what?”

  I don’t want to guess.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  My legs turn to jelly.

  “Now, I know what you’re thinking, and you can stop thinking it. I didn’t trap him. You know I have a thing about … fluids. Karl wanted this child, and I was only too happy to oblige him.”

  Damn. He really meant what he said to me that night. He really wanted to settle down and start a family.

  The door opens, Karl popping his head outside. “You gonna be long, Isabel? I’m starving.”

  “Oh, boo, I was just telling Lana the good news about our child.”

  Karl’s eyes zero in on mine. “You mean the great news, right?”

  “Of course,” Izzie says. “The doctor says I’ll be showing in another month, and I can’t wait. I’ll have to get my belly button ring taken out, of course. I wouldn’t want to have my belly button pop out with the ring in there. The ring might kill someone!” She laughs.

  Yeah. How interesting that would be. Ha ha. How funny.

  “There’s another one a little lower, you know,” she whispers. “I’ll have to take that one out before the birth.”

  Oh wow. That is just … so gross. Now what? “Well, I’m glad that things have worked out for you two.”

  “Did Karl tell you about the store?”

  I nod.

  “Girl, I can’t wait till that place takes off, so I can quit working. Did he tell you about his Web site?”

  I nod.

  “It is the bomb, girl. Every kind of bag you can imagine. And once a customer places an order, we get a printout of what to send and where, and the money is deposited electronically into our checking account.”

  And they have a checking account.

  “We’re using our second bedroom to store all the bags now.” She smiles and looks at Karl. “That’s going to be the baby’s room. Girl, Karl is blowing up!”

  Yeah. Izzie is blowing up, Karl is blowing up, and the Web site is the bomb. I have so much … artillery going off in my head right now.

  “Well, I have to go,” I say. “I’m glad things are working out.”

  “And you brought us together,” Izzie says. “We should be thanking you.”

  Yeah, right. This is all going so fast! I haven’t said what I’ve come to say yet. I look at Karl. “Karl, I want you to know how sorry I am. You were—are—a good man, and I was stupid. I wish you both lots of happiness.”

  And I do. I want Karl to be happy. He wanted a child, and I didn’t.

  “You be sure to come visit
often, okay, especially after the baby is born,” Izzie says. “And call me sometime. Maybe we can have a girls’ night out or something.”

  “Yeah. Sure.” Not likely.

  And as I’m walking away, I can’t help but think, Will the baby come out pierced and tattooed, too?

  Chapter 35

  I have to get out of the house. If I sit in there any longer beating myself up over Karl, I’ll go crazy. He had been homing in on me—on us—with his plans, and we were this close to making it. And now Izzie is getting the good loving I used to get, and Karl is getting … Izzie. And Izzie’s money, too.

  Karl said I was too controlling, so I took an online survey to see if that was true.

  It was.

  Whenever Karl and I went out, which was rare, I always got my way. Whenever we watched movies at his place, I held the remote. Whenever we ate out, I chose the restaurant. And all that calling I did to him, all those pages—I was a control freak with Karl, hardly spontaneous at all. The survey told me that I would miss out on great chances for love.

  And I have.

  I did the same survey with Juan Carlos and Roger in mind, and I wasn’t nearly as compulsive or controlling. In fact, I let Juan Carlos control me almost completely, but with Roger, we shared. Roger and I had a balance.

  I don’t usually take much stock in surveys, online or otherwise, but this one … This one was absolutely right.

  On a warm, sunny, Indian summer October day, I decide to get out of the house and visit Bobby’s grave to spruce it up. We’ve been having lots of rain and wind, and I’m worried that leaves have covered his grave. That wouldn’t be right. I mean, you lay down for your eternal rest, and a bunch of crunchy orange, red, and brown leaves block your view of the mountains and the sky.

  Okay, okay. Yes, I want to check on Bobby’s grave, but mainly … mainly, I want to see Roger.

  When I stand over Bobby’s plaque in the ground, “Beloved son and friend to many” shines brightly. There isn’t a single fragment of a leaf, a stray blade of grass, or even any dust on the plaque. Roger obviously takes good care of these. The grass around the plaque seems cut with scissors, not a blade out of place. A little sconce above the plaque contains a fresh arrangement of orange and yellow mums.

  “Hey, Bobby Fischer,” I whisper. “How ya doin’?”

  I hear the rumbling of a tractor in the distance.

  Roger.

  “I’m … I’m okay.”

  The rumbling grows louder.

  “You know, Bobby, this is a good day to play some football, huh? Not too hot, not too cold, just enough of a breeze to make passes interesting.” It might be a little too cold to play naked tackle football, though, but I don’t tell Bobby that.

  I sit, tracing Bobby’s name, the rumbling growing even louder.

  “Who am I going to play chess with now? It’s no fun playing by myself. I always win, you know? I need some competition.”

  I see Roger’s head in all its blazing orange first, then the tractor, then the little trailer behind him.

  “I wonder if Roger plays chess. You think he does, Bobby?”

  Roger sees me, and the tractor stops about fifty yards away. Has he shaved off his “man-gina”? He has. I like it.

  “Should I wave at him, Bobby? Hmm. I don’t want to seem needy.”

  Who am I kidding? I am needy.

  I wave.

  Roger waves back.

  I feel several goose bumps creeping up my legs. “Should I go to him, Bobby? Should I go talk to him?”

  Roger and the tractor leap forward, and he moves down another row away from me.

  That was pretty obvious.

  “The chess game begins,” I say, laughing. “And white moved first.” I laugh again. “That’s Roger, Bobby. I like him. A lot. He’s a really good man, and he used to play games with me, football mostly.”

  And maybe we’re playing games again.

  I watch Roger work on another gravesite, this one marked by a huge marble headstone. He parks the tractor and leaps off, snatching a weed eater and cranking it up. In a few sweeps, the grass around the base of the headstone is gone. He turns off the weed eater, laying it in the trailer and withdrawing a rake. He rakes up the clippings and puts them in a black plastic bag. Then he shines up the front of the headstone with a cloth. He pulls a clump of wilted flowers from the sconce, gets a fresh bunch of mums from the trailer…. He’s very efficient.

  “Well, Bobby, it’s my move. I’ll visit you soon.”

  I stand and walk as slowly as humanly possible back to my car, cutting across where Roger has already been. Roger and his tractor cruise off in the opposite direction.

  He’s making defensive moves, taking his time. I can’t blame him. He’s playing careful, biding his time. I suppose I can do that, too, though it’s not in my nature. I really want to run past all these dead people, tackle his ass, and kiss his freckles off.

  In a cemetery? That wasn’t on our list. Hmm. We’ll have to add it.

  When I get to my car, one of my windshield wipers holds a single white rose. I pick up the rose and smell it. Fresh. I look around, hoping to see Roger watching me. I’m sure he is. This is so sweet. But it’s white, not red. Red is for love. What’s white for?

  Oh yeah. White is for friendship.

  He wants to be friends. What’s that old saying? Oh yeah. “Make new friends and keep the old. One is silver, one is gold.”

  I’m all up for a golden friendship.

  I am definitely coming back here soon.

  I mean, it’s not every day a living girl gets a fresh flower in a cemetery.

  Chapter 36

  The football season mercifully over—though I did get Curtis, the Bony One, on the all-district team—and the weather getting colder, I have to get the woodstove going. And once it gets going (and the smoke dissipates some), it puts out a nice, even heat and gives me hot water all the time. I’m so glad that I chopped so much wood this summer. The wood smell is nice, Jenny’s dollhouse is cozy, and all that’s missing is someone who smells nice to cozy up to.

  I need to see Juan Carlos.

  I drive up Williamson Road to Berglund after school. I figure that Juan Carlos is married by now, so maybe he’ll take some time to talk to me.

  After being molested by several salesmen trying to sell me a Chevy Trailblazer “with a rear DVD-player for your kids,” I get to the service department. “I’m here to see Juan Carlos,” I say. I don’t say, “Is Juan Carlos available?”

  I’m on a mission, and I won’t take no for an answer.

  Juan Carlos comes up to me, wiping his greasy hands on a blue towel, and we walk out of the waiting area to the parking lot outside. He leans on an old Chevy van. I don’t see a wedding band, but I doubt he’d wear one while working on cars.

  “How have you been?” I ask.

  “I have work to do,” he says.

  I have work to do, too. “Fifteen minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”

  “So … talk.”

  This is going well. “I just wanted a chance to explain.”

  “And to apologize?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry for what happened.”

  He nods.

  “You never would have married me, anyway.”

  He puffs out his chest. “I might have. I was faithful to you.”

  “Would you really have married me? And be honest.”

  He looks away, squinting that cute squint of his. “No.”

  “I thought so.” My heart thuds. “Why not?”

  “You are not Catholic. You do not speak Spanish. You do not like to do what I like to do.”

  He didn’t like making love to me? “Such as?”

  “I like to salsa, to mambo. I love to dance, but where we went that time, that was not dancing. I am a good dancer, and you would have been impressed.”

  I nod.

  “I also like to play soccer and watch soccer on the television. I do not like American football at all.”


  Or, evidently, American football players.

  “I like to work on cars. I like to drink Corona, and I do not need the lime. I love to eat. We have nothing in common. We are so different.”

  “I like to eat.”

  He doesn’t respond.

  “Would you have married me if I was pregnant?”

  “Yes, but only if you had been pregnant. That would have been the only reason. I must go back to work.”

  “You didn’t love me at all?”

  He steps closer, his voice hoarse. “Yes, I did, Lana, like my heart was on fire all the time. You do not know how hard it is to have a dying mother and a need for a living woman. She was getting sicker all the time we were together, and I did not notice as much because of you. I could have saved her if I had been paying attention.”

  Whoa. It’s time to go. “I am so sorry, Juan Carlos. I want you to know that you are a good man, and any woman would be lucky to have you. I mean that.”

  “Lahhh-na,” he says, and my heart hurts. “I hurt for so long after you hurt me.”

  “I’m sorry. That’s all I can say. Is Monique good to you?”

  He smiles. “She will learn. I will teach her.”

  “Are you, um, married yet?”

  “Not yet. Soon. I must go.”

  I grab his arm. “Why did you ask me to your mama’s wake?”

  He sighs and looks away. “I wanted to see you.”

  “Why?”

  “To see if my heart was still on fire for you.” He looks back at me. “I felt no fire.”

  “Oh.” I shouldn’t have asked.

  “Goodbye.” He walks away.

  “Bye.”

  I had wondered earlier what was wrong with this man, and I think I’ve finally figured it out. Juan Carlos was too good for me. That’s what was wrong with him. He was just too good.

  Chapter 37

  Two down.

  I’m still not sure about the third man, but at least I have a white rose in a vase on my kitchen table because of him.

  Most of the leaves outside have fallen or been blown away by the November winds, so checking Bobby’s grave on Election Day for debris seems a stretch. Mama will know what to do.

  “You want a reason to visit a grave?” she asks.

  “Well, yeah.”