10
“SO YOU REALLY WANNA KNOW why I want her back so badly?”
Paiger tosses her coat on the couch and sits down as I mix two vodka Gatorades. I lick my right pinky, which I use as a stirrer, and hand her one. She sips it, cringes, sighs.
“Yes, of course I want to know. I wouldn't have asked if I didn't.”
I guzzle. “It's because she's my drug.”
“What?”
“My drug.” I sigh. “Haven't you ever been so crazy in love with someone that their very presence is like a high, an addiction, and when you get to have sex with that person all your suspicions are confirmed? That they are, in fact, the key to your happiness, and bring you to extraordinary sexual heights and make you want to float away into space? Goddamn it, it was just... so good.”
She stands up. “Are you telling me this was just about the sex the whole time? Didn't you have any real feelings for her?”
“Of course I did!”
“Jim, it was eleven days! Your relationship revolved around alcohol and orgasms! That's not love, that's infatuation. Do you really think things would have been different if you hadn't...”
She pauses. I finish.
“... blown it?”
Paiger shrugs.
“Well, you did.”
Guzzle, guzzle. “I did.”
“So what happened after you crashed there?”
Guzzle. “Well, I wound up going out the next night and ran into her goddamn roommate and friends again, at the same goddamn bar. They were celebrating one of their birthdays and getting smashed so I got smashed along with them. It winds up being a blast and they invite me back to their place, Kara's place, so of course I say yes. Kara's working till two so we all hang out and play Whiskey, a drinking game that involves drinking whiskey whenever you blink. By the time she showed up... I was fucked.”
“Fucked up?”
“Fucked up.”
“That sucks.”
“Yup.” I drink more of my magic potion. “Worst part was, she was sober. At least the last times I'd been fucked up and stupid around her we were both drunk, so her being sober just... killed me. She saw me as a weak puppy dog who only wanted to hump her leg. As soon as she got there I insisted we go in her room, where we set some impressive records for tongue pressure but still abstained from the Big S. Sex. Duh.”
“I got it.”
“So I crashed there again and I guess in my sleepytime stupidity stupor I kept telling her how beautiful she was and all this cheesy crap about she's the most special person I've ever met and blah, blah, blah, I should've just shot her. I was just getting back into her good graces and I spout some insipid bullshit like that? Come on, Paiger, where's my sense?!”
“I don't know, Jim.”
“Me either! God, that was the worst walk of shame ever. Not only because there was no sex, but because it was then I knew for sure, for sure, that it was over. She gave me a second chance to enter into a casual relationship with her and for the second time, within seventeen days mind you, I had blown it. Just made the same goddamn mistake of getting too fucked up to control my emotions. Twice. Twice!”
I swig again, draining my drink, and plop down in my writing chair. Paiger sits back down also.
“So was that it?”
I look at her. “No. I texted her a few days later to see if we were still on for this concert we had talked about going to see. When she said no, I of course acted like a little bitch and made her feel guilty about it. I mean, she'd only said she might be able to go. It wasn't for sure. And I still acted crazy. I don't know why. So that was another bullet to the balls. And then... God. You remember asking me what my worst day was? Well, it happened about a week later. I was at our bar getting drunk when she walks in with some friends and even though she sees me on their way to a table she completely and utterly ignores me. Just... a total snub. Like I wasn't even there. Ugh. I felt so pathetic, like someone had sucker punched me right in the stomach. She didn't even want to know me anymore, it was obvious. That was... that was my worst day.”
Paiger has lit two cigarettes and hands me one. I accept graciously.
“Thanks. So that was that. I didn't hear from her again. Then she deleted me from her Facebook and Myspace pages. That hurt. So I spent about two months getting a few of my songs down pat and recorded a demo, ironically enough with a friend of hers that records acoustic acts for cheap. I also wrote a letter apologizing about everything and all of my regrets concerning the situation. Then I delivered them to her at work.”
Paiger drinks, then inhales. “Oh, man, you didn't.”
“I did. And we hadn't spoken since. Until tonight.”
I go to refill. Paiger sits on the couch, smoking silently. Then:
“So did you learn anything from all this?”
I actually think about it while I sip my fresh beverage. Did I learn anything? Did anything positive, anything at all, come out of this experience? A lesson, maybe? A hint?
I shrug.
“Yeah. Two things. One, I learned not to be a little bitch around women. They're so turned off by that. The trick is... to not care. If you don't care, they will. If you show you have feelings... you're fucked. Just ask every goddamn pansy ass nancy boy who ever fell in love and wound up getting treated like a leper. Nice guys don't finish last, they finish alone. Drunk. And without one, single, solitary sex story that ends in an injury. Not one.”
Drink. Paiger just shakes her head.
“And what's the other thing?”
“That with the right person time stands still.”
Either being hammered or horny or just plain having her listen draws me in, and I go sit next to her despite my drunkenness. My attempt at a kiss is one for the retarded record books and Paiger, sport that she is, politely evades me with a hug/dodge. I'm just happy to be in her company so I accept it with open arms.
After a moment, she pulls back.
“I've got to go, Jim.”
I put my drink on the table, anguish on the horizon. “Wait, don't leave, Paiger. I... I want you to stay.”
“I know you do. But I can't.”
She abruptly hugs me, and before I can even hug back she's up and out the door. I stare after her for what seems like ten minutes, then go grab the bottle. Then sit on the couch and drink myself into an Interpol stupor. Turn On The Bright Lights? Please. Antics? Hell yes. Our Love To Admire? Drown me in it.
I am such a fucking loser.
She'll never do the story. It's pathetic, lame, and insipid. No one gives two shits what the Dodger is up to these days, let alone the back story surrounding the Good Day America interview. It's stupid and a waste of time.
So fuck it. I'm content with whatever happens. The story probably wouldn't be accurate anyway because she was just as fucked up as I was every time I told her anything. There's no possible way in a hundred years that she could remember it all. It'll have its fifteen minutes and I'll have my fifteen minutes and then, before you know it, I'll get to disappear again.
But this time with way more money.
It's just a story. What harm could it do?
I get drunker, smoke some pot to haze it up. The last thing that resonates in my brain before I pass out is holy shit, I saw Kara today, and holy shit, I might actually see her again. I haven't really been thinking about it but now that I finally do it's surreal.
And I love it.
And she calls. Two days later.
I'm not expecting it and nearly drop my phone in the sink when her name pops up. I catch it by a nose and answer.
“Hello?”
“Hey Jim, it's Kara.”
“Hey, what's up?”
“Not much. Listen, I was seeing if you wanted to hang out tonight. Grab a coffee or something?”
I nearly drop the phone again but maintain. “Uh, yeah, sure. What time?”
“I don't know, five-ish? We can meet in Wicker Park. I live really close to there now.”
“Yeah, I'm right up the street from t
here.”
“I remember.”
“Oh, right.” Duh. “You want to just... meet by the Damen stop and pick a place?”
“Yeah, sounds great.”
“Great. See you at five.”
I hit End. Holy shit. Holy shit! It worked! She wants to see me again! Jealousy is the best emotion ever!
I do the stupid Chandler Bing dance, waving my arms around like an epileptic chicken and shaking my money maker. I want to call Paiger and tell her the good news but remember what I told her about not wanting the present events to have an effect on the past, AKA the story. So I don't. It's probably better not to jinx it, anyway.
I pop open an ice cold Stella to celebrate, but just one. I'm not getting wasted before I see her this time. This is my chance, my third chance, and the third time's a charm. I can't blow it again.
And I shan’t.
I walk out of the train station and spot her immediately. That head of red hair would be hard to miss even in a snowstorm.
“Kara!”
She turns, looking more gorgeous than ever. Her hair billows in the breeze, clips and all, and her worn faux army jacket and cut up jeans compliment her petite yet voluptuous body completely. I walk over, smiling stupidly yet feeling confident. No pot or drinks resonate this time, and I'm clear, clean, comforted, cool. Calm. Ca.
“Hi, Jim.”
“Hi.”
She runs her hand down my arm. “Hey, I remember this jacket. It still looks great.”
“Oh, thanks. Never washed it once.”
She smiles. “So there's a coffee shop right up the street. Earwax Cafe. Sounds irresistible.”
“I've heard of it but I've never been.”
“Then let's do it.”
“Sure.”
We start walking, and she keeps close. I turn my head and smell the familiar meadow of her hair, and it takes all my might to keep from dipping my nose straight into it. As we approach the Earwax we pass Pint, a brewpub with sixty seven different microbrews. She stops in front of it, as do I.
She looks at me.
“Actually... do you feel like a beer?”
Oh.
No.
It only takes a few to loosen up, and the past comes swirling back for both of us. We're able to laugh about the times we shared, all the bullshit we went through, all the joy, all the pain. All the hurt we caused each other. It is two years later, and we are that much wiser.
Then she brings up the birthday calls.
Eek.
“You know, I'm really sorry about those. I just... I thought I was being nice, remembering your birthday and all.”
“It was nice, but... you were so fucking hammered. And being hammered is what drove us apart in the first place.”
“Believe me, I remember. Well, mostly. But come on – wasn't our drunken debauchery fun? I don't know about you, but back then all that drama brought a lot of excitement into my life. It was... god, it was great. And intense. And passionate.”
I can see the memories dancing around in her head. She smiles.
“It was pretty passionate. But Jim... come on. We were poisonous to each other.”
And the truth finally comes out. We were. We were despicable to each other. She played me and I in turn made her feel completely rotten. Then ostracized her. Then cared about her again. Then drove her out of town.
Oh well. Lesson learned.
That's all in the past.
“Kara,” I start, “I never wanted things to get so bad between us. I know it's pretty much all my fault, and that giving you that letter was a total amateur move, but... come on. You came into my life like a hurricane of lovely and it absolutely knocked me on my ass. I didn't know how to react because that had never happened to me before. At least so strongly. It was just... all so funny. You made me laugh. No one's ever made me laugh like you do, or made me want to be more than I am. You inspired me. You... you still do.”
I realize I'm blathering and falling into the same pattern I always do when I'm with her and shut my trap. I'm thirty, for Christ's sake. I can't lay my cards on the table this soon. Again.
Ah, hell. It's not like she doesn't know how I feel anyway.
And looking into her eyes at this moment... I can tell she feels the same.
Then she brings up the Good Day America interview.
I sigh.
“Yeah, that was pretty fucked up.”
“What the hell, Jim?”
“What?”
“You said I was the reason you wanted to die. On national TV.”
“Oh, nobody knew it was you.”
“Our friends did!”
“Yeah, but they knew I was crazy about you.”
“Whatever. That was still really weird, what you said. I mean, shit, you sounded wasted.”
“I was.”
“On national television? At seven in the morning?”
“Hey, they gave me a minibar. What was I supposed to do?” Two more beers arrive, and I hoist mine. “Cheers!”
Kara just shakes her head, smiling, and bottoms up.
Three beers later we pay the tab and leave the bar, and we don't get five feet out the door before our tongues meet again. It's been awhile but our slithering patterns are the same and it's off to the races. Off to my place. Off with our clothes. Off with our heads.
As I plunge into her ever so softly her warm breath whispers in my ear.
“My God, I missed you so much.”
My tongue dances around her ear.
“Me too, Kara, me too.”
Old habits die hard.
Dodger Page 11