PFK1

by U

  made a mistake in going back to Mark.

  "How many other women have you known who said that they were

  wrong, that they made a mistake?" Nick asked.

  I had to think hard about that one. From my mother to the nuns at

  school to Meredith to Leanne to Marie to the other one, I could not

  remember a single woman ever admitting that she wasn’t perfect, who

  frankly said that she was capable of making a mistake.

  They nearly always had explanations or rationalizations or

  managed to somehow blame me when things went wrong. Even Jill

  had only said that she changed her mind about me. I think her words

  were that she "came around." None had ever said she was wrong or

  made an apology, at least not that I could recall.

  Except for Megan.

  So Nick and I had a long conversation, sort of an argument, with

  Nick taking Megan’s side. He said that my leaving town would hurt

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  her badly. Instead, he said I should stick around to see how things

  developed.

  Nick is a big fan of Megan’s. Always has been. He said she didn’t

  deserve to have me just up and boogie (his word) without a decent

  explanation or the courtesy of a goodbye.

  "So if I had showed up here five minutes later than I did, you’d

  have been out the door? Just like that?" Nick asked.

  I shrugged. "I’ve abandoned other places and other people on

  shorter notice," I said. "So what?"

  Nick laughed, amused as hell for some reason.

  "You really are a character," he said. "Did you know that Eleanor’s

  teacher friends all asked about you after the poetry reading? One by

  one, they came up to Eleanor later and wanted to know if you were

  going with Megan and if so, how serious was it?"

  I said nothing.

  "You know, having you around is like being around some movie

  star," Nick went on. "You attract so many women your aura even

  rubs off some on me. Sorta makes me feel like I’m sprinkled with

  pixie dust too."

  "I’m so pleased for you."

  Nick laughed again. "That is so like you, Patrick. Truth is, I got a

  lot of pleasure in making sure Eleanor told her friends that you are

  already spoken for. It’s plain that you’re in love with Megan.

  Eleanor says the female staff at the middle school is pretty darn

  disappointed. Whatever it is you’ve got, they want it and they want it

  bad."

  "But I’ve got nothing," I said. "I’ve never had anything. I am a

  loser and I’ve been one as long as I can remember. I’m not interested

  in a relationship anymore. I know I am in love Megan but she has

  betrayed me. What she did was the worst. Tell me why I shouldn’t

  hold her to the same standards I have been held to? Can you tell me

  that? Indecision is a negative decision as far as I am concerned.

  She’s already up made her mind."

  Nick gaped at me like I was out of my fucking goddamned mind.

  He took a drag on his cigarette.

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  "You are out of your fucking goddamned mind," he said. "You

  can’t hold Megan to those standards because those are crazy

  standards. They are the standards of a person who wants to be

  unhappy, who is insisting on failure."

  "Whaddaya mean?"

  "Look, just because you let that other woman jerk your chain

  doesn’t mean it has to stay jerked forever. She was the fool, my

  friend, not you. She played you wrong and walked out on the best

  there is, the cream of the crop. That is you, my friend. You have it

  all. You’ve got brains, personality, good looks, and loads of ambition.

  Even better, you seem capable of falling in love, actually in love, the

  way women want to be loved. You know, with real passion, with

  romance. Which is more than I can say for most guys, myself

  probably included."

  "That’s nice of you to say, but I’m not happy," I told him. "I’m not.

  I never have been."

  "That’s because you won’t let yourself be happy. Start with

  Megan. Stop doing the same crappy stuff to her that’s been done to

  you. Enough with the guilt trip, the hassles, the tragedy, the bullshit.

  What a fucking waste of energy. Stop doing it. It’ll make a world of

  difference, Patrick, I swear it will. You gotta be a little more open, a

  little more forgiving. Stop always fighting the last war."

  "Huh?"

  "You’re going wrong just like that other woman, by refusing to

  give Megan another chance. Yes, that’s it – I know I’m right. Simple

  as that."

  "I think this is different," I said.

  "Oh, yeah? How so? That other woman you were so hot for

  fucked with your head and showed you no respect by reading your

  journal. Then she fucked some other guy and turned around and then

  tried to make you feel guilty about it. She dumped you and never

  gave you a second chance. The next thing you know she winds up

  pregnant and blames you as the fucking jerk. Patrick, everything that

  dame pulled on you was a con job and a mind fuck. From the

  beginning, she never played you straight, not once."

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  "I’ve read someone else’s journal," I said.

  "Your woman friend in Florida? So what? That isn’t the same

  thing. You glanced at a couple of pages of her book and let it go.

  You certainly didn’t try to use it against her, didn’t try to hurt her

  feelings with it. And now that I’m on the subject," – Nick stubbed out

  his cigarette, one of many in the astray – "let me say something about

  that Florida woman – her name was Marie, wasn’t it?"

  "Uh huh."

  "She was by far the best thing you ever came across until you met

  Megan. I can’t believe you let that babe slip through your fingers.

  Man, what a knockout. Smart as a whip too, judging from her letters.

  I really love that photo of her in a bikini you’ve got. Oh man,

  incredible. Compared to Marie, that Polly Ellsworth dame was a

  stick."

  "You’ve read Marie’s letters?" I asked.

  "Oh, sure. And all of your journals, too. I’ve read just about

  everything you’ve got in that black trunk of yours upstairs," Nick said.

  I was dumbfounded.

  He fired up another cigarette. "Patrick, I’m an expert on you. In

  my opinion, your novels, stories, and poems need a lot of work, but

  your journal is wonderful. It’s really fun to read, once you get used to

  your weird loopy handwriting."

  It took me a full minute to recover from the shock of having my

  privacy violated yet again. I could not believe my ears.

  "Who said you could get into my stuff?" I said.

  Nick shrugged. "Nobody. But you never expressly forbid it, either.

  Besides, I get bored around here with you gone most of the day.

  You’ve created a lot of great reading material. Wish I could write

  stuff like you. I know you really dig the beat writers and Bukowski,

  but you’ve got to start moving away from them. Be a little more

  controlled. By the way, the lock on your trunk isn’t worth a damn. I

  picked it with a bobby pin."

  I suppose I should have been more angry about Nick’s invasion of<
br />
  my privacy than I was. But the sad truth is, I am so used to being

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  trampled on by other people I hardly get upset about it anymore. Still,

  I had to protest.

  "You are fucking a snoop," I said. "You are no better than the other

  one," I said. "Goddamnit."

  "No, I am a lot better than her. I only poked into your stuff for

  entertainment purposes. She read it to use it against you. She pulled

  underhanded tricks to manipulate you. She was dirty. She kept

  seeing her old boyfriend on the sly while demanding that you profess

  your love to her. The woman had no integrity, Patrick. None. That

  letter she wrote to you about her abortion was unbelievably cruel.

  What sort of man do you suppose a woman like her will end up with?

  Hmmm? What’s your guess?"

  "I don’t know. Probably some chump," I said.

  "That’s right. It will be some chump with a checkbook and nothing

  else. Not that she’s going to get anything for free. I’m sure there will

  always be a transaction. She even called him ‘parsimonious’ in a

  letter herself, didn’t she?"

  I said nothing. It was true.

  Nick laughed a little before going on, adding:

  "That’s great because that is what she deserves. For her, the

  checkbook will always be the main attraction. She is the big loser.

  I’ve been around you, man. When you are on, you are on. You are

  smart and funny and hip and really care about people. When you are

  here, everybody parties and has a good time. You are the life of the

  party, Patrick. You are the fucking party. People dig you. Women

  really dig you. Even people who don’t want to dig you end up

  digging you. You are totally cool."

  "Thanks, but I don’t see what it has to do with anything."

  "See? See? There’s another part of your charm. I honestly don’t

  think you understand how cool you are. You’ve got it all going for

  you, dammit. Don’t be so blue. Megan loves you and she is yours for

  the asking. And it is obvious you are in love with her. If you wanted

  to hurt her back, you’ve done that but good. You’ve way overdone it,

  in my opinion. She’s freaked. But there is no quarrel, my friend. It is

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  over. You’ve won her heart. Don’t throw it away. Go with the

  flow."

  "Megan isn’t the only woman in the world," I said.

  Nick wrinkled his nose, frowning.

  "Okay, I just thought of something else," he said. "Remember

  where you wrote in your diary that if you ever got angry or frustrated

  with someone you loved you’d give them a second chance? Do you

  remember? I think you wrote it right after your trip to see that other

  dame in 1976. I thought it was such a great line. The perfectly

  described lesson learned. But are you doing what you said you would

  do? Doesn’t seem like it to me."

  I hadn’t thought about writing that line for a long time. But Nick

  was correct. I had written it. I clearly remembered putting it down.

  "You’ve read that?"

  Nick took a puff on his cigarette, nodding. "Yes, and you’ve got to

  distinguish between a normal romantic shakeout and a mind fuck.

  What the other one pulled was a mind fuck. With Megan, you’ve

  experienced a normal romantic shakeout. There is a big difference.

  Do you always want to be lonely and unhappy? Don’t you want to

  win someday?"

  I looked at Nick. I couldn’t think of anything to say. He was right

  and I suddenly realized he was right.

  Puffing on his cigarette, Nick laughed and gave me a look of smug

  self-satisfaction. Older than me by five years and shorter by five

  inches, Nick has bright green eyes, and curly brown hair, and the

  impishness of a Leprechaun.

  A sneaky little Leprechaun fuck.

  All of a sudden I didn’t feel very much like leaving town anymore.

  Nick was right. Dammit. I was deliberately making myself unhappy,

  just like always. All the anger I felt towards Megan suddenly drained

  out of me.

  I felt foolish and ashamed of myself.

  "What should I do now?" I asked.

  "Make up with Megan. Tell her you’re sorry for being such an ass.

  Tell her that you love her."

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  "Right now?"

  Nick thought about it for a moment. "Tell her tonight when she

  comes over."

  "What should I do in the meantime?"

  "Unpack your shit. And then let’s stoned and drunk. Let’s get

  really fucked up. Call the office. Tell them you need to take the rest

  of the day off. Then we’ll get really wasted."

  "Shouldn’t you be going back to work?"

  "It’s nothing I can’t put off," Nick said.

  I got on the phone and spoke to the boss. I told her I had a bad

  burrito at lunch and wasn’t feeling so hot. The boss said she would

  mark the calendar and pass the message to Megan.

  Holy cow! For the rest of the afternoon I was now free as a bee!

  Nick got his bong out of the closet and asked if I had any my special

  African weed left.

  "A couple of buds," I said.

  "Ooooh yeah. A couple of buds. Perfect."

  We got really stoned. Later Nick broke out his bottle of Chivas

  Regal and started telling me about this Eurasian chick named Fianne

  he fell in love with in Bangkok during the war. I only half listened, as

  I had heard the story many times before. Fianne was both nicer and a

  better fuck than Clarice, from what I have gathered.

  The Chivas Regal hit me like a ton of bricks. Wham. I started

  thinking about the years I spent at Jesus, Mary, and Joseph Catholic

  School. What a fucking bum trip that was. Marching in lockstep.

  Uniforms. Catholic bullshit. Taught to obey orders, no matter how

  insane.

  After a while, I saw tears running down Nick’s cheeks. The

  inevitable climax to the Fianne story. I put aside my thoughts of

  Catholic school as Nick went on a crying jag.

  "I shoulda brought Fianne back home," he wailed. "I wanted to

  take her with me but I figured that people would treat her like shit

  back in Peoria."

  "On account of her being half Siamese?" I said.

  Nick nodded.

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  "They probably would have," I said.

  Nick nodded again, paused, and then started shaking his head

  slowly back and forth, like my old man used to do. "That’s why you

  gotta get back together with Megan," he rasped. "It is such a tiny

  thing and you stand to gain so much."

  "Now why should I get back with Megan?" I asked, playing devil’s

  advocate. I already had my mind made up but I wanted to hear it

  anyway. "Explain it to me again," I said.

  "Because you are the one that needs her, my friend. You need her

  bad. Have you by any chance considered what you stand to gain at

  this point? Have you ever thought seriously about it?"

  "What do you mean?"

  An amused gleam appeared in his boozy leprechaun eyes. I

  thought he was drunk but maybe not, because that’s when he sprung

  the clincher.

  "If you patch it up with her now and put it all behind you, I figure

 
you’re probably in line for some of the best sex you’ve ever had, my

  friend. There’s nothing like making up after a lover’s quarrel to get a

  woman’s juices flowing. Works like a charm. Mark my words."

  Of all the things Nick had said, that may not have had the most

  immediate and powerful impact, but it was right up there. I mean

  before, when we were doing it, I could sense Megan was still kind of

  holding back. Kind of.

  Maybe Nick was on to something here.

  "So what if we do get back together? What then?"

  Nick grinned. "Name the baby after me."

  * * * *

  March 19, 1979

  Practically a whole lifetime has passed since I decided to stay in

  town. Megan and I have made up and I think things will be okay from

  here on out. We took some psilocybin mushrooms to celebrate our

  reconciliation and really grooved together. When the mushrooms

  were at their peak, Megan kissed me and said we must leave our

  problems in the past and act as though we were meeting each other for

  the very first time.

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  "Think of it this way," Megan said. "This is our own special life

  from now on. It belongs to you and me alone. Everything that

  happened before was an introduction. From this moment forward, we

  are reborn."

  "Yeah, I like that," I said. "We are reborn."

  On the mushrooms, Megan acquired a deeply magnetic aura, tinged

  ever so strangely golden. Her eyes stood out like saucers, shaded a

  blue patina I think is aquamarine in color.

  "I love you," I said.

  "And I love you," Megan answered.

  We sat on the sofa in the living room, in front of the fireplace,

  listening to music, looking at each other. She wore this long-sleeved

  green turtleneck sweater and tight blue jeans.

  She looked so goddamned fucking beautiful in that warm,

  flickering firelight. As the mushrooms started to wear off, we stood

  up and danced to the music of Nick’s Boz Scaggs record. Silk

  Degrees.

  Once the mushrooms faded completely, we headed upstairs to bed.

  However, we did not sleep. We spent hours making love. I cannot

  explain how erotic and wonderful it was, not in mere words. Suffice

  it to say that everything I’ve ever wanted in a lover Megan supplied in