The Girl On The Half Shell

by Susan Ward

  Chapter Six

  I jerk awake, pushing the hair from my face. There is a voice in the room. Low. Raspy. Just enough rough that it brings my senses alive. It’s Alan on TV. An afternoon talk show program. Why is he suddenly impossible to escape? I fight not to focus on the interview and find myself doing exactly that. God, he looks different. So different. Harsh. Angry. And I hate the way he’s dressed. Leather pants and open shirt. Definitely, not your type, Chrissie. Not your type at all!

  The phone rings and I fumble for the receiver, my eyes still glued on the TV.

  “Chrissie, I’m not interrupting something, am I?” Rene asks, sounding a little miffed.

  For a moment, I hesitate. “No, just catching up on my reading. What’s happening in DC?”

  “Total shitstorm. Dad was right about that. He’s bought a house in Georgetown. He is marrying fembot number thirty-seven. It seems Daddy Dearest is about to have a new family. And I can’t reach Mom. Apparently Mom went off the deep end. She’s probably halfway into a bottle of Cristal consoling herself at Elizabeth Arden. Total shitstorm, Chrissie.”

  Rene has my full attention now. I mute the TV. It’s impossible to concentrate with Alan’s sexy voice in the background. “Do you want me to come down to DC?”

  “No, it’s no big deal, other than Mom and fembot thirty-seven. Really, what did Mother expect? They’ve been divorced eight years. Dad remarrying was bound to happen eventually.”

  “I can be in DC by dinner time,” I offer.

  “Don’t bother. I’m OK. Really I am.” A pause. “Here’s the bad part, Chrissie. The wedding isn’t until next week. Thirty-seven wants me to be her maid of honor or some such nonsense. I am going to be trapped here until a week from Sunday.”

  I freeze. She is leaving me in New York for two more weeks alone. “But we are only here for three weeks. I don’t know anyone in Manhattan.”

  Silence. It is heavy this time. I wonder if Rene’s “I’m good rolling with everything” attitude is just a front. I wonder if this is hitting her hard. Is that what I feel through the silence of the phone?

  “Do you want to hear something funny?” she asks.

  “Sure, Rene.”

  “Dad saw the picture in the Post. Do you know what his only comment was?”

  I can’t imagine what insensitive, stupid thing Mr. Thompson would say.

  “What did he say?”

  A harsh laugh. “I should get the number for Manny’s press people for him. He’s been trying to get legendary civil rights attorney in print forever. Apparently, the headline is very good for business.”

  Poor Rene. Poor, poor Rene.

  “One of these days you should just tell your dad to go screw himself.”

  “I should have told him that before number thirty-seven. Go get into some trouble for me, will you? I won’t have any fun at the wedding. Thirty-seven is forcing me to wear fuchsia. I look terrible in fuchsia.”

  * * *

  At 9 p.m. I’m sitting on the couch where I pretty much haven’t moved from all day, wearing a pair of old, fuzzy flannel PJ bottoms, my dad’s Harvard sweatshirt, and picking Chinese food out of cartons while trying to focus on an HBO movie I’ve already seen a dozen times.

  Maybe I should just fly home. But what would I do in Santa Barbara without Rene? Anyone who is anyone is in Palm Springs. I stab my Chicken Chow Mein.

  The phone rings. It’s got to be about the tenth time Rene has called today. She is worrying me. Rene is not needy. The blow-by-blow updates from Mr. Thompson’s wedding preparations are only an excuse to call.

  “How are things with you, Chrissie?”

  Oh crap! Jack! In the chaos of everything going on I forgot to call him after my audition.

  “I’m great. How are you? Still trapped in your thing?”

  Jack laughs.

  “I was expecting you to call yesterday. I waited. I didn’t want to crowd you. But I got tired of waiting. Liz called. What happened?”

  Liz? Who is Liz? Probably that dreadful woman who led me down the hall at Juilliard, the one who made sure I got a healthy dose of This is Your Life before my audition.

  “Just an off day.”

  Silence. “It happens. We all have bad performances, Chrissie. You’ve just got to blow them off.”

  I laugh. “Well, they didn’t boo me. They politely excused me before my second piece.”

  “It happens. So now what, baby girl?”

  Now what? Crap, I must have really blown Juilliard if Juilliard informed Jack before they informed me, and it’s real now and it feels really oh shit!

  “I think I’ll go to Cal with Rene.”

  “Oh well, we can’t have everything, baby girl. I’ll check on you later this week. Don’t let your audition get you down. It happens.”

  I stare at the receiver for a long time before I hang it up. It happens. I wanted something from Jack, I don’t know what, but not that. Not It happens. I mean, this is a pretty big screw up. It deserves some parental response: anger, sympathy, something. Not It happens.

  I blew Juilliard. That brief uplift of spirit I felt knowing I was off to Cal with Rene is completely gone.

  I shut off the TV and go to the sound system. I unwind from the heads the Blondie tape and loop another tape into place. I switch it on and crank up the volume. My brother’s voice fills the room. God, Sammy was incredible.

  I feel tears start to push out and I start to sing as I wander out onto the terrace. An entire city of lights. Eight million people and I am totally alone.

  “There’s no mercy in death. Death doesn’t feel that way,” I sing at the top of my voice.

  The city swallows my voice. I stare down at the tiny, miniature world below the terrace and exhale a ragged breath. I’ve been missing Sammy so much lately, more than usual. Why?

  The phone rings and I run for it in grateful eagerness. It’s probably only Rene with more wedding updates. I gave up my fantasies yesterday —well sort of—of Alan calling, and since the night is totally not promising, I say hello into the receiver in an even less promising way.

  “Where’s Rene?” says a familiar voice in a harshly imperative way.

  I tense and settle on my knees on the couch. “Well, hello to you too, Jimmy Stallworth. She’s in DC visiting her dad.”

  “Listen, I’m not pissed at you.”

  I roll my eyes. “That’s good to know since I really don’t care what you think about anything.”

  “I could call the cops, you know.”

  I tense. Oh crap, what has Rene done now? “Then why don’t you? Why waste my time with this?” I say with a calmness I don’t feel.

  A long pause. “Listen, I don’t want any trouble here. I just want either my weed or my money.”

  I bite my lip, remembering the joint I shared with Rene in the bedroom. “What? Are you kidding?”

  “She copped my weed from my apartment, so no I’m fucking serious here!”

  “Call the cops, Jimmy,” I say, fiercely defensive. “Let’s see how far that gets you. I’d really like to see you do it.”

  “Well, you don’t have to be a bitch about it. I just want to know where Rene is and to get my money. Listen, there are guys I’ve got to pay.”

  “Not my problem.”

  “If I tell them about Rene it is your problem.”

  Oh shit!

  “I just want my stash back or the money. Get it? No reason to make a big scene out of it. I like Rene, but this isn’t cool. I don’t have the cash to cover the weed she took, so you’ve got to help me here.”

  I feel sort of sorry for Jimmy Stallworth. Still, I say, “Your weed isn’t my problem. I don’t know who stole your weed, but someone lifted some cash from my apartment. When are you going to give me back my money?”

  I don’t know how I manage to pull off this ruse with such a believable, accusatory tone, since I know Rene did snake the weed and lift my cash. I also know that my cash will mysteriously reappear without me ever saying anything becaus
e it’s only a temporary lapse for her to steal from me. Jimmy Stallworth is pretty much out of luck where his weed is concerned.

  “We were talking about my weed,” Jimmy reminds in heavy frustration.

  “And I was talking about my cash.”

  “Are you accusing me of stealing?” Jimmy yells heatedly. “You fucking rich girls never give a shit about who you shit on. It’s your fucked up friend who light fingers everything she sees. Don’t think I didn’t see her lift the glasses at the club.”

  “Sorry. I can’t help you.”

  “When will Rene be back? Listen, I’m in a tough spot here.”

  “I don’t know when she’ll be back.”

  “Shit.”

  Silence. I wait for Jimmy Stallworth to slam down the phone. But nothing. Silence. Frowning, I listen to him breathe into the receiver.

  “So what are you doing tonight?”

  I stare at the receiver, mystified. “Talking to you. Then forgetting about you. Then going to sleep.”

  “Listen, I’m not pissed at you. I’m just in a tough spot here.” More silence. “I’m heading down to CBGBs with Richard and Victor. You remember them from The Blue Light, don’t you?”

  Why is he telling me this? “I remember.”

  “Hit us up there if you want to.”

  OK, that was a strange turn in the conversation and my internal turn was even stranger. Why am I considering it? Rene would be pissed if I took off with Jimmy Stallworth without her, and he did just threaten me and accuse Rene of stealing.

  “I really like Rene,” he breathes into the phone.

  I roll my eyes. Not this again. What is it about Rene that she can totally shit on a guy and still have them on the hook?

  Jimmy lets out a ragged sigh. “It was there and then not, and she was the only person in my room. Fuck, I don’t know what to think now. You should meet up with us if you want to.”

  It is truly amazing how desperate having no one to hang with can make you. Am I really considering going to CBGBs to try to console Jimmy Stallworth over Rene? Crud…

  “What time do you guys think you’ll hit the door?” I ask.

  “Richard and Victor are already in line. I just took off to call Rene. I really like her. Why does she have to be such a bitch?”

  I hang up the phone without committing to anything. I start to compile in my head a list of things that would be smarter to do than going to CBGBs with Jimmy Stallworth. I’m up to ten and I sit on the floor in front of Rene’s clothes to see what she left to lighten her suitcase for DC. I settle on a backless, black, glittery halter top and Italian leather spike heel shoes.

  In the car to CBGBs I stop questioning myself about why I decided to go. As pathetic as it is, I don’t want to be alone in the apartment; I don’t have anyone to call; I don’t have anywhere to go; and I don’t have anyone to be with.

  It’s nearly midnight and it’s packed even on a Tuesday night. There is a long line down the street waiting to get in, and I scan the crowd trying to see if I can see Jimmy and his friends.

  My car pulls over at the front door on Bowery, and David springs out and around the car to open my door.

  “Are you meeting someone inside, Miss Parker? I can give their name at the door.”

  I shake my head. I spot Jimmy Stallworth about thirty bodies deep in the line. “It’s OK, David. I see my friends.”

  My blond Nordic protector doesn’t look at all confident about leaving me here. He steps back. “I’ll be waiting there, Miss Parker.” He points at a spot across the street as if I need a visual aid. “I’ll pull up to the door when I see you. Don’t come to me.”

  To keep my hands warm, I shove them deeply into the pockets of Jack’s scarred leather bomber jacket as Victor calls out to me, though I make a point of not smiling, and fix my eyes on Jimmy.

  He’s leaning casually against the concrete wall, smoking, and I can see why Rene is attracted to him even though he’s a total loser. His smile of perfect white teeth accentuates a face that’s a little James Dean edgy and lost. Dark haired, dark eyed. I suppose there are some girls who’d find the black t-shirt, jeans and biker boots tough-guy look appealing, even if the slogan on his shirt does say Fuck the Free World.

  Richard and Victor, on the other hand, I am certain are complete dorks. That crappy clothes, I don’t care about trends sort of grunge thing only works if you’ve had a hard life or are interesting. But these are uptown NYU boys, posers for the evening, wanting to keep up with Jimmy Stallworth, and have neither a hard life nor are interesting. Total dorks. I didn’t see that at The Blue Light, but then again I was pretty drunk.

  Jimmy takes a long drag of his cigarette and watches me over the plume of smoke. “You showed up. I wasn’t expecting you to.”

  I shrug. “Why are you waiting in line? It’s freezing out here.”

  “It’s packed. Supposed to be on the list, but someone screwed up,” Victor informs me.

  Jimmy looks me over carefully piece by piece. “You get us into the club tonight, I’ll call it even on the weed Rene stole.”

  Oh shit…“What?”

  Victor shrugs. “How did you get into The Blue light? You know, they don’t just let anyone in. You have to be on the list or you stand in a fucking line going nowhere.”

  How could I have been so stupid as to come here? “The only reason you asked me down here was to get you into the club,” I hurl in disbelief.

  Jimmy shrugs. “I’ve got someone in there I’ve got to see. Tonight. I’ve got to make some cash to make up for Rene fucking me over. You owe me.”

  “I don’t owe you anything.”

  I turn to walk back to the door so that David can spot me and bring the car around.

  Jimmy catches up to me, grabbing my arm, and I don’t quite know what to make of his facial expression. “Listen, I could use your help. It’s nothing to you. It’s everything to me. I’m just asking you to get me into the club, then we’ll call it even and I’ll be on my way.”

  I stare at him. Damn Rene and her messes. And damn Jimmy Stallworth.

  “I’ll forgive everything she owes me,” he adds. “The weed. The six large for the coke and the pills.”

  Jeez, in under a week Rene ran up quite a tab in New York. I would have paid off Jimmy Stallworth right then and there, and told him never to come around Rene again, if Rene hadn’t stolen my cash. I exhale a harsh breath. “Everything?”

  “Everything.”

  “And you’ll stay away while we’re in New York. I mean, you won’t sell to her ever again.”

  Jimmy stares at me, insultingly amused. “Your friend does a lot of drugs. Getting rid of me won’t help her, and I don’t think it’s necessary to point out again that she stole from me. But you can consider me gone after tonight if you do me this solid.”

  I work my way past the line of agitated, waiting New Yorkers, face averted downward, with Jimmy Stallworth following. I’m hardly able to believe I’m about to crash the door at a New York rocker club so a New York drug dealer can finish a deal, all because Rene ripped off the wrong guy and I was desperate enough to come here.

  “Wait here or I won’t do it,” I tell Jimmy a few feet from the door.

  “Don’t even think to try to ditch me out here,” Jimmy warns.

  I roll my eyes. The tough guy routine is really getting old. He may be a thug, but I don’t think he’s dangerous, and David my blond Nordic driver could kick the shit out of him without breaking a sweat if I called for him.

  There is a pretty brunette in a sequined mini dress haranguing the bouncer with the list, and there’s altogether too much jostling near the entrance. Pushing through the crowd is an effort, getting the bouncer’s attention more effort, and the way he looks at me not worth the effort of acknowledging.

  “Talk to me,” is all he says.

  “I’m on the list.”

  “Name,” he snaps.

  I bite my lower lip and curse Rene in my mind. “I’m not on that list. I’m
on the other list.”

  Burly man looks up from the clipboard as if he wants to punch someone. “There is no other list.”

  “Parker,” I whisper. “My dad is Jackson Parker.”

  Oh crap, I don’t think this is going to work. As I turn away, a hand harshly grabs my arm and the bouncer gives me a hard stare. He jerks me behind him and I call out for Jimmy Stallworth, as the crowd in front of the door pushes me through it.

  The walls and floors vibrate from the music of an edgy alternative rock song, and I feel like I’m suffocating in the packed, dimly lit room, trapped against the far wall beside Jimmy Stallworth and breathing in heavy waves of secondhand smoke.

  Jimmy gives me a curious stare. “OK, what just happened?”

  I shake my head. “I got you in. That’s what you wanted. Now leave me alone.”

  He’s combing my face intently. “You’re not some Congressman’s daughter or something like that?”

  I ignore the question and try to push through the bodies. A fat person in leather barges into me and knocks me into the wall, and Jimmy Stallworth pushes the fat guy away to give me room to walk.

  We stand against the wall not talking. The band breaks, runs off stage, and the bodies in front of us become less compressed.

  “I’m going to find a table,” I say.

  “Good luck with that,” counters Jimmy sarcastically, lighting another cigarette. “Do you want to dance?”

  Did Jimmy Stallworth really just ask me if I wanted to dance? I roll my eyes. “There’s no band on stage.”

  “Later. When the next band is up.”

  “I thought you had to meet someone here?”

  “Later.”

  “What about Victor and Richard? You should probably figure out how to get your friends in.”

  Jimmy crushes out his cigarette on the floor. “Fuck them. Rich college punks. They’re the ones who screwed up getting me on the list.”

  I start to walk away.

  “Where are you going?” Jimmy scolds me. “I expect you to come back.”