After three years living in a small city, Jenna noticed she had developed prejudicial attitudes she was unaware she carried within her. This caused her some disappointment as she thought she might be above these things. But alas, no.
Certain types of people began to annoy her. Those ringing up sales in takeout places were the worst. They probably had their reasons. She found them hostile but perhaps they found her arrogant or just unworthy of any niceties. Maybe it wasn't even about her, but the woman before her. Maybe we mirror each other's stress and we will all eventually break. God will have to declare it a default and take heart with the natural world, while humanity chokes on its rabid artificiality. She was not even certain about this God of all-power. Such were the dire thoughts Jenna had while walking home on an gray afternoon, worn out from her temp job and the endless job search that seemed to yield not much of anything.
Perhaps I should go to the back to the country and remove myself from disheartening appraisals, she thought to herself. She worried that the city propels hostility and that she wasn't immune. Relaxed in the country she wouldn't have to worry over her insidious thoughts which she felt were somewhat justified as all racists do. She certainly never thought of herself as racist but then we never do. She concluded that she was not even sure what the exact definition of "racist" was as the word has become a cultural weapon. This she knew from working on a certain senator's political campaign during college. She had been raised in a liberal home, her parents were college professors, and she was never allowed to feel superior to anyone. The word "racist" had dark propensities akin to "murderer."
She continued up Market Street thinking about why so many people are born and how it keeps on going and why. It seemed to her the human experiment was not the success it was supposed to be, but a mishap of sorts. There are too many of us born in nothingness, she mused, although she did not include herself in this equation coming from a middle-class, educated home, but since she recognized her prejudices, she included herself in the great failed miasma, so astounding was her guilt in these matters.
On arriving home, she saw her mailbox contained a brochure from an urban peace organization she had once given money to. Some people are more optimistic she thought to herself upon entering her apartment. They think the world has much to offer and is worthy of building. They could look at a larger tableau and ignore rude cashiers. To them she aspired.
She was wearing down. No one told her life would be so hard in a city. She was led to believe she could have a jolly life, with dates, dinners, nice clothes and friendship. Instead she was mired in penny-pinching and thrift stores, poor food and sagging self-esteem. Her parents had no idea of her state and she didn't tell them. She was raised not to whine about things but to buck up and deal with what life offered. Her father was French and his favorite expression was "You just have to cope." Anyway, they were on a mission in Zimbabwe and couldn't help her.
Jenna could only speculate on all of this in the privacy of her own mind. She had been taught to see the ills of the world and to do her part in alleviating them. Instead she wished she could meet someone in a bar, have dinner in a nice restaurant and forget the world. She wished she could buy new clothes and have her hair highlighted. Her mother might call her superficial and she supposed she was. To each his own, she thought woefully but filled out the form on the back of the brochure letting the organizers know when she was available for volunteer shifts. She then reheated last night's takeout, another day of futile effort over with.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Thursday, May 27, 2010
#13 IS HE REALLY GOING OUT WITH HER?
This story continues from #12 GOOD TO BE BACK.
I’d been away from the city for a couple of months and after a little investigating, a few discreet inquiries, I found out who my boyfriend Jimmy has been seeing in my absence. Liz. Not someone I would have expected him to be involved with. She's not really his type and he often said so. She would not find him exactly lovable either. In fact she seemed disdainful of him over the years. Now I'm wondering, was she faking it all this time?
You see I've known her for years: she's been off and on in our circle. She backed off when she quit drinking for awhile but would eventually return to us. By us, I mean Jimmy's circle of friends who all drink quite a bit. Or did.
We were the most interesting company, I thought, but she said no, she had some artist friends in New York far more interesting. Then she would tell us how San Francisco is not at the cutting edge and lives on its past. She said New York still has it but Berlin is the new art capital, and that London has a good scene too.
As a native San Franciscan, Jimmy had disdain for these proclamations and would huff and puff over it the next day. Go to New York he would say. PLEASE go to New York. He would never actually say this in her presence but only to me later.
Liz is also from San Francisco. Roots are roots and she was frolicking in Golden Gate Park when I was still babysitting in rural Michigan. Even I have to admit she got off to a better start than I did by winning the hometown lottery, but that is neither here nor there nor anything to do with this story except that she is a little more sure of herself though my genuine love for San Francisco trumps her art capitals. She was everyone's first crush. I came later, after she moved to New York. A few people compared me to her but we're nothing alike really. I just became the “cool chick” with her departure decades ago.
They've been seen together and it has been hinted that she has emerged from his room in the morning. I can't picture these two in his small bed but then again, can we ever picture these things? I can't even picture myself in that small bed but I've been there, more than a few times. I almost have to see it to believe it. No one is talking much, at least to me. That is to be expected. He has first loyalty with our group, having been here forever and knowing everyone longer.
Maybe it's a flash affair and will play out in a couple of weeks. Maybe I should just bide my time patiently. Maybe I should go out with someone else. Yes, to the Greg Brown show. I could tell him all about it because he would have to hear how beautifully Greg did The Evening Call, lately our song. He will be jealous that he wasn't there with me.
Maybe I should call him. No, I shouldn't give him the satisfaction. Maybe I should just ignore him for a very long time. Maybe I should send him a letter. I'll say I need to know what's what so I can plan accordingly. Maybe I should stop planning; it hasn't gotten me much so far. Now he is lonely and seeking company in the wrong arms while I am busy making plans.
Okay, I've got to stop projecting. Stop this looping of rapid test-fire thinking. I've got to feign nonchalance. It's imperative. I can't let him see me rattled. I've got to play it cool. Yes...cool.
Okay, I couldn't do that: I called him. But I kept it casual and asked about his cat that was missing. I talked around the issues. I mentioned that he hasn't called lately. I listened to him try to fish his way out of any trouble with precise, clipped sentences. He continued playing it offhandedly and so did I.
Thursday he's coming to my place for a party. He can't get out of it; it's for his best friend. I certainly hope he's not bringing her to my dinner. How will I handle that? Would he dare? Yes, he probably would. I've been away more than two months, he will feel justified. And if she’s in town, she’ll want to come; she’s known everyone forever. He won't be quite at ease because she will say things that irk him beyond endurance and he will have to be polite and include her opinions in the conversation which will nearly kill him. Instead he will have to listen to her analysis on the hippest clubs in the world. Liz doesn’t placate. Good! Why is he going out with her anyway?
Maybe he's feeling desperate. He must be. He always said it was not just her stupid opinions but that he couldn't stand her thick ankles. He judged women by their ankles: he told me that when we first met, many years ago. That she wouldn't do, with those ankles, he always said.
I have to have a date helping me in the kitchen the way he always does. This he will most certainly not like. He likes to rule the kitchen at our parties. Maybe I can get Greg Brown to come over. He'll be in town. I'll ask him after the show when he signs my CD. Wouldn't that be just desserts?
Okay, I called him again. Had to ask if he is planning on bringing someone or could I depend on him for some cooking. He hedged horribly.
"Why?" he falteringly asked.
"Just wondering," I hedged even more.
"Well, is it alright if I bring someone?"
The nerve! I thought to myself but said, "Depends on who it is."
He hedged some more.
"So is that a yes, you are bringing someone?"
"Well, if it's alright..."
I had a moment there to stop this but I chickened out. I said, "Sure bring whomever you want." I had my chance...now she's coming and I'll have to see them together. Maybe I'll have a better picture of where things stand. Maybe I'll want to throw the seafood lasagna he's bringing against the wall. We'll see.
I will just have to accept this temporary insanity on Jimmy’s part. I hope she's wearing a skirt, showing off her ankles. I hope she tells us where the music scene is really taking off. That will necessitate his first stiff drink. I hope she gets really drunk and embarrasses him. I'll smile knowingly at his discomfort. Our eyes will lock for more than a few seconds. She'll get jealous. He'll get nervous. Greg Brown won't understand any of it but will be busy serving drinks and appetizers. She'll then come on to Greg Brown which he gets all the time but he won’t know all the history, the subterfuge, the innuendo, and only mutter, It's always weird in San Francisco.
Okay, so except for the phone calls, none of this has happened--it’s endless projection. I haven't even bought my Greg Brown tickets yet. Maybe I'll call him to see if he wants to go to the show. Then I'll have to ask if he's seeing a certain someone which will be painful and maybe he will cry. Maybe I will. He'll remind me of my departure, not his idea, and then he will admit he was thinking of bringing someone and yes...he can't really get out of it at this point...
"Because she leaves your room with the early morning daylight?" I sarcastically ask over coffee at Peet’s.
"Don't start. I can't take any fighting," he moans.
"We won't fight."
"I'm glad. I can't do this stuff. I'm burned out. Be here or there, just don't upset me. I'm not strong anymore."
"What a baby," I say, knowing I’m baiting him.
"Stop it!"
"Okay, okay don't have a stroke."
"God, I hate this. Why did you ask me to meet you?"
"To find out the situation."
"I can't talk about it. I won't."
"You couldn't stand her, if I remember correctly and I do."
"Will you stop, or I'm leaving." He’s starting to get rattled--he hates fighting and being picked on and clams up even more.
"Calm down!” I say a little shrill.
"Look, we all know each other. We're friends.”
Did he really say that? "I'm glad we're so liberal, so modern."
"We're just people. It doesn't get beyond that. Don't make it more than it is"
"Yeah. You're right," I mumble, not really accepting his equation.
That's the thing about him: you know he's in the wrong but somehow you end up mollifying him. So I'll play my part. We'll all talk. I'll be listening to her tell us about the how boring San Francisco is compared to whatever place she's recently been. Jimmy doesn't relate to anything that's not in his immediate sphere. She doesn't know or care. I can tell you I'm a better choice but as he says, "You left."
Okay, I'm still projecting like mad again although we did have coffee at Peet’s with the gnarly conversation. Notice how he didn’t admit to anything. The more I think of them together, the angrier I get. And disappointed. Couldn't he do better than that? So predictable. Maybe I should call her. She'll be easier to talk to. She'll be hesitant at first but she won't have the nerve to dissemble with me. We know each other pretty well. She'll come right out and say she got drunk at a party and he came on to her and she just let it happen even though she has never really been attracted to him. She'll mention how he's a misogynist, arrogant, hates women, blah, blah, blah. I'll then ask her why she's been staying with him for the past week. She'll say she just got involved and now doesn't know what to do.
“Anyway, I'll be leaving soon. I'm going back to New York. San Francisco is so small-town, so not happening unless you're a into gadgets and gimmicks. All the really cool people have long moved on. I can't stay here. There's no energy.”
More projection on my part but it’s a fairly accurate portrayal of her.
What she did say was "You shouldn't have left him. He was miserable. I've never seen him sad; he's always so bloated and full of himself but you’ve managed to make him seem humble somehow.”
So you see, just bide my time. After all, they've never really liked each other. Before you know it, I'll be back in the little bed though I don't think I like following her. It's like old times; first she was the belle of the ball, then me. I suspect I'll always be following her. She was here first and there's nothing I can do about that. I'll always be the gate-crasher with this crowd. Some things you just have to accept.
THE PARTY
The party was quite the success. I outclassed myself by getting beautiful stemware in thrift stores all over the city. I knew everyone would bring really good things to drink; wine, brandy, cordials, more wine...scotch. I served Pastis because a few of us like it. I had a huge tray of mismatched drinking glasses and it made an impressive array on the sideboard for a group largely of antique dealers, artists and musicians. Jimmy came with me on a couple of those treasure hunts as his taste is impeccable in certain areas, stemware being one of them. He's also good with flowers and fruit and sets a fine table. He could make a centerpiece out of a dead leaf if he had to. He meandered around with me the afternoon before the party. We wandered up and down Polk Street twice. He recommended cheese, cold meat, pate; he knows what to serve this crowd, his friends of many years. He told me he would bring flowers from his yard. My party was shaping up nicely except for the dread of seeing them together. Not a word was spoken on this topic.
The night of the party, I paid special attention to my appearance. I had my hair done and bought a 1950’s cocktail dress in a vintage store. I overspent on food and felt no fault could be mine if the party sagged. I did my part. The first to ring the bell was Jimmy with an enormous arrangement of flowers, fruit and branches. It was pivotal in adding to the true party spirit. I thanked him and wondered why he was alone. I didn't have anyone special with me in the kitchen. Greg couldn't make it…okay so I didn’t have the nerve to ask him…but it turns out I didn't really need a prop. It was all in my head. I'm fine. My new stemware sparkled. In fact the entire flat was shining. I told him I wanted to control the music for the most part but he could step in now and again. This is the host's job and as far as I knew he wasn't the host at this juncture.
"I thought you said you were bringing someone?"
"Changed my mind," he said in his most evasive manner, another of his talents.
"So, up for any kitchen work?"
"That's why I'm here so unfashionably early."
"I'm glad you're here, I need your help with the salad.”
We got busy in the kitchen and cracked open a bottle of wine and listened to an old record he’d played on, just re-released. We talked about music then and now.
Liz did arrive only she wasn't alone and had a young (ish) leather guy with his arm around her to balance himself. She was also wearing leather, some of it shiny. Her hair was dyed black and she wore quite a bit of makeup. I did not envy her look: she was trying to look hip and tough. She is tough so she doesn't have to try for it. Hip is a whole subjective category but everyone in our crowd falls somewhere into it. So she arrived on the arms of another man and at first I was confused--she introduced him as Brad and moved in and around the room like a snake ready to pounce. She hugged and kissed, called out to everyone in loud bursts of glee. She grabbed at this one and that, they slightly worried she was going to make them spill their drink which would be a bother.
She ignored Brad for the most part. I felt sorry for him. This crowd does not take to newcomers and wasn't warming to Brad at all. He hid in the kitchen making friends with Jimmy. Liz seemed happy to see me. She begged me to tell her Brad was "really cute" and mentioned that he may be a tad too young but that she found him refreshing. When she asked about me, I had no news worth telling her, but the truth is I didn't feel like telling her anything particular about myself. I didn’t care about her new boyfriend either except that I was mystified.
My party started to sizzle. Brad began to annoy me. He started talking and no one wanted to hear about an underground club he played in Prague. Luckily the food was ready and we could all relax and find new topics of conversation. I changed the music to classical in order to calm everyone down enough to eat. A great deal of alcohol was consumed. The salad was brought in. Liz went giddy over its color and composition and then ate it in two bites. She said she hadn't eaten since the day before yesterday. I didn't care about her dietary habits either. She was a dope, I thought. I briefly wondered if it was always the case or if the years have not been kind to her mind. Jimmy was drunk and wrote her off just as he did years ago when she told us that the only real rock and roll bands were in England that American music had become too commercial; he said he never wanted to talk to her again and he meant it. Luckily she moved to Berlin and he very rarely had to.
Meanwhile the seafood lasagna was finally presented with copious bottles of white Bordeaux. Everyone was uproarious by this time. Toasts were offered and glasses were clinked. More joints were rolled and passed around. Brad was getting really drunk and he told me he didn't usually drink because it affects his meds. I could believe it. Liz was now hanging on Jimmy and when I went up to them she started telling me when she last saw him in Paris during the ’80s and she drove him to the airport and how wasted they were. Ha, ha, ha. I guess she forgot coming out of his room in a state of dishevelment last weekend.
I was a little drunk but only a little. Who could tell me what was happening? Everyone was in deep conversation over Brahms. We had an expert in the house, several musicians and Brad who plays bass in an unknown band in Czechoslovakia. For a moment I stopped listening to the party chatter and enjoyed the smooth voices, oiled from food, from drink, from the promulgation of a cherished viewpoint, the sound of one’s mind working a crowd. The loveliest part of a party; when it dies down, everyone satiated and amiable. The coats are gathered, the candle light is dimming, the smell of wax fills the air and mixes with the smell of the fruit from the centerpiece. It’s a blend of love, gratitude and perfect self-expression and I felt warm and fuzzy.
I'd begun to realize a mistake had been made on my part. I headed to the kitchen to ask Jimmy a few questions without showing how ignorant I'd been. I said, "I thought you were bringing someone? Where is she?" And he replied, " It wasn't a she." And I exclaimed "What do you mean?" And he recognizing my confusion laughed and said "I mean I was planning on bringing Makowsky because he's in town and I didn't want you to freak out so I didn't tell you he was coming but figured once the party was in full swing you wouldn't mind seeing him. I know you two had a thing and he hurt you but he's still our friend. I had to ask him. He wants to see you."
"Makowsky? You were going to bring Makowsky? Why would I mind?"
"I thought you two weren’t speaking."
"That's long over. I never see him. I don't have a problem with him. He could have come to my party."
"Good. Because I think he just arrived."
I tingled for a moment taking that information in. Yes, there he was in the doorway. Why is he so attractive to me? I was instantly buzzing. He was a part of our group but had long ago disappeared. No one really knew where he lived but every five years or so he showed up. I’d had a brief affair with him ten years ago that left me reeling. I was about to greet him when to my right an avalanche of humanity banged into me, knocking me off the path I'd maneuvered to Makowsky. I jumped in irritation as Liz flopped forward and landed on his chest with Brad close behind, landing on the floor with his drink overturned on my recently purchased rug. Makowsky laughed and held her to him and she laughed and said how she hadn't seen him since she left him in London in '85 and how was he...on an on she went as I stood there roiling, ignored, while Brad was attempting to wipe up his spilled drink but was instead grinding it into my carpet. Thanks Brad. Makowsky held out his arms to me and I shyly greeted him, accepted his kiss and invited him in. Everyone was really glad to see him: he’s something of a legend but that is another story.
Jimmy came up behind me and put his arm around me. "Nice party. Everything was perfect, just great. I hope you're not mad at me anymore. What's been with you since you got back? You seem like you're pissed off at me and I didn't do anything. You left."
Boy, if only he knew. “Someone hinted at a fling with Dizzy Lizzy and I’ve been wondering how to handle it,” I admitted.
“Why would I go with her, you know my feelings on her; I think I’ve mentioned them over the years. She's way not my type.” He seemed momentarily derailed.
“I was told she comes out of your room in the morning and you didn’t seem to deny it when we had coffee?”
“Tom invited her to stay. I didn’t want to mention that, it’s complicated between them. Anyway, she needed a place for a couple of nights, he invited her then I gave up my room after they fought, surprise, surprise. She's leaving Saturday, thank God.”
What I'd been going through. If he knew how ridiculous I have been. All that fuming and fussing for nothing. I forgot she and Tom had a thing. But what a relief. I don't think I could have stood it if my boyfriend was really going out with someone who wears black patent leather leggings with those ankles. She really is a little ditzy. I don’t think she knows where she is anymore. Maybe I’ll invite her for coffee this week to talk girl stuff. Sometimes it's good to be wrong. I was immediately sorry I'd been giving Jimmy such an attitude. To make it up to him, I let him spend the night and help with the cleanup in the morning. It was the least I could do. Now we can once again began repairing our rattled relationship. Of course Makowsky is back. With a little planning we can all come together in harmony. We’ve all known each other forever.
I’d been away from the city for a couple of months and after a little investigating, a few discreet inquiries, I found out who my boyfriend Jimmy has been seeing in my absence. Liz. Not someone I would have expected him to be involved with. She's not really his type and he often said so. She would not find him exactly lovable either. In fact she seemed disdainful of him over the years. Now I'm wondering, was she faking it all this time?
You see I've known her for years: she's been off and on in our circle. She backed off when she quit drinking for awhile but would eventually return to us. By us, I mean Jimmy's circle of friends who all drink quite a bit. Or did.
We were the most interesting company, I thought, but she said no, she had some artist friends in New York far more interesting. Then she would tell us how San Francisco is not at the cutting edge and lives on its past. She said New York still has it but Berlin is the new art capital, and that London has a good scene too.
As a native San Franciscan, Jimmy had disdain for these proclamations and would huff and puff over it the next day. Go to New York he would say. PLEASE go to New York. He would never actually say this in her presence but only to me later.
Liz is also from San Francisco. Roots are roots and she was frolicking in Golden Gate Park when I was still babysitting in rural Michigan. Even I have to admit she got off to a better start than I did by winning the hometown lottery, but that is neither here nor there nor anything to do with this story except that she is a little more sure of herself though my genuine love for San Francisco trumps her art capitals. She was everyone's first crush. I came later, after she moved to New York. A few people compared me to her but we're nothing alike really. I just became the “cool chick” with her departure decades ago.
They've been seen together and it has been hinted that she has emerged from his room in the morning. I can't picture these two in his small bed but then again, can we ever picture these things? I can't even picture myself in that small bed but I've been there, more than a few times. I almost have to see it to believe it. No one is talking much, at least to me. That is to be expected. He has first loyalty with our group, having been here forever and knowing everyone longer.
Maybe it's a flash affair and will play out in a couple of weeks. Maybe I should just bide my time patiently. Maybe I should go out with someone else. Yes, to the Greg Brown show. I could tell him all about it because he would have to hear how beautifully Greg did The Evening Call, lately our song. He will be jealous that he wasn't there with me.
Maybe I should call him. No, I shouldn't give him the satisfaction. Maybe I should just ignore him for a very long time. Maybe I should send him a letter. I'll say I need to know what's what so I can plan accordingly. Maybe I should stop planning; it hasn't gotten me much so far. Now he is lonely and seeking company in the wrong arms while I am busy making plans.
Okay, I've got to stop projecting. Stop this looping of rapid test-fire thinking. I've got to feign nonchalance. It's imperative. I can't let him see me rattled. I've got to play it cool. Yes...cool.
Okay, I couldn't do that: I called him. But I kept it casual and asked about his cat that was missing. I talked around the issues. I mentioned that he hasn't called lately. I listened to him try to fish his way out of any trouble with precise, clipped sentences. He continued playing it offhandedly and so did I.
Thursday he's coming to my place for a party. He can't get out of it; it's for his best friend. I certainly hope he's not bringing her to my dinner. How will I handle that? Would he dare? Yes, he probably would. I've been away more than two months, he will feel justified. And if she’s in town, she’ll want to come; she’s known everyone forever. He won't be quite at ease because she will say things that irk him beyond endurance and he will have to be polite and include her opinions in the conversation which will nearly kill him. Instead he will have to listen to her analysis on the hippest clubs in the world. Liz doesn’t placate. Good! Why is he going out with her anyway?
Maybe he's feeling desperate. He must be. He always said it was not just her stupid opinions but that he couldn't stand her thick ankles. He judged women by their ankles: he told me that when we first met, many years ago. That she wouldn't do, with those ankles, he always said.
I have to have a date helping me in the kitchen the way he always does. This he will most certainly not like. He likes to rule the kitchen at our parties. Maybe I can get Greg Brown to come over. He'll be in town. I'll ask him after the show when he signs my CD. Wouldn't that be just desserts?
Okay, I called him again. Had to ask if he is planning on bringing someone or could I depend on him for some cooking. He hedged horribly.
"Why?" he falteringly asked.
"Just wondering," I hedged even more.
"Well, is it alright if I bring someone?"
The nerve! I thought to myself but said, "Depends on who it is."
He hedged some more.
"So is that a yes, you are bringing someone?"
"Well, if it's alright..."
I had a moment there to stop this but I chickened out. I said, "Sure bring whomever you want." I had my chance...now she's coming and I'll have to see them together. Maybe I'll have a better picture of where things stand. Maybe I'll want to throw the seafood lasagna he's bringing against the wall. We'll see.
I will just have to accept this temporary insanity on Jimmy’s part. I hope she's wearing a skirt, showing off her ankles. I hope she tells us where the music scene is really taking off. That will necessitate his first stiff drink. I hope she gets really drunk and embarrasses him. I'll smile knowingly at his discomfort. Our eyes will lock for more than a few seconds. She'll get jealous. He'll get nervous. Greg Brown won't understand any of it but will be busy serving drinks and appetizers. She'll then come on to Greg Brown which he gets all the time but he won’t know all the history, the subterfuge, the innuendo, and only mutter, It's always weird in San Francisco.
Okay, so except for the phone calls, none of this has happened--it’s endless projection. I haven't even bought my Greg Brown tickets yet. Maybe I'll call him to see if he wants to go to the show. Then I'll have to ask if he's seeing a certain someone which will be painful and maybe he will cry. Maybe I will. He'll remind me of my departure, not his idea, and then he will admit he was thinking of bringing someone and yes...he can't really get out of it at this point...
"Because she leaves your room with the early morning daylight?" I sarcastically ask over coffee at Peet’s.
"Don't start. I can't take any fighting," he moans.
"We won't fight."
"I'm glad. I can't do this stuff. I'm burned out. Be here or there, just don't upset me. I'm not strong anymore."
"What a baby," I say, knowing I’m baiting him.
"Stop it!"
"Okay, okay don't have a stroke."
"God, I hate this. Why did you ask me to meet you?"
"To find out the situation."
"I can't talk about it. I won't."
"You couldn't stand her, if I remember correctly and I do."
"Will you stop, or I'm leaving." He’s starting to get rattled--he hates fighting and being picked on and clams up even more.
"Calm down!” I say a little shrill.
"Look, we all know each other. We're friends.”
Did he really say that? "I'm glad we're so liberal, so modern."
"We're just people. It doesn't get beyond that. Don't make it more than it is"
"Yeah. You're right," I mumble, not really accepting his equation.
That's the thing about him: you know he's in the wrong but somehow you end up mollifying him. So I'll play my part. We'll all talk. I'll be listening to her tell us about the how boring San Francisco is compared to whatever place she's recently been. Jimmy doesn't relate to anything that's not in his immediate sphere. She doesn't know or care. I can tell you I'm a better choice but as he says, "You left."
Okay, I'm still projecting like mad again although we did have coffee at Peet’s with the gnarly conversation. Notice how he didn’t admit to anything. The more I think of them together, the angrier I get. And disappointed. Couldn't he do better than that? So predictable. Maybe I should call her. She'll be easier to talk to. She'll be hesitant at first but she won't have the nerve to dissemble with me. We know each other pretty well. She'll come right out and say she got drunk at a party and he came on to her and she just let it happen even though she has never really been attracted to him. She'll mention how he's a misogynist, arrogant, hates women, blah, blah, blah. I'll then ask her why she's been staying with him for the past week. She'll say she just got involved and now doesn't know what to do.
“Anyway, I'll be leaving soon. I'm going back to New York. San Francisco is so small-town, so not happening unless you're a into gadgets and gimmicks. All the really cool people have long moved on. I can't stay here. There's no energy.”
More projection on my part but it’s a fairly accurate portrayal of her.
What she did say was "You shouldn't have left him. He was miserable. I've never seen him sad; he's always so bloated and full of himself but you’ve managed to make him seem humble somehow.”
So you see, just bide my time. After all, they've never really liked each other. Before you know it, I'll be back in the little bed though I don't think I like following her. It's like old times; first she was the belle of the ball, then me. I suspect I'll always be following her. She was here first and there's nothing I can do about that. I'll always be the gate-crasher with this crowd. Some things you just have to accept.
THE PARTY
The party was quite the success. I outclassed myself by getting beautiful stemware in thrift stores all over the city. I knew everyone would bring really good things to drink; wine, brandy, cordials, more wine...scotch. I served Pastis because a few of us like it. I had a huge tray of mismatched drinking glasses and it made an impressive array on the sideboard for a group largely of antique dealers, artists and musicians. Jimmy came with me on a couple of those treasure hunts as his taste is impeccable in certain areas, stemware being one of them. He's also good with flowers and fruit and sets a fine table. He could make a centerpiece out of a dead leaf if he had to. He meandered around with me the afternoon before the party. We wandered up and down Polk Street twice. He recommended cheese, cold meat, pate; he knows what to serve this crowd, his friends of many years. He told me he would bring flowers from his yard. My party was shaping up nicely except for the dread of seeing them together. Not a word was spoken on this topic.
The night of the party, I paid special attention to my appearance. I had my hair done and bought a 1950’s cocktail dress in a vintage store. I overspent on food and felt no fault could be mine if the party sagged. I did my part. The first to ring the bell was Jimmy with an enormous arrangement of flowers, fruit and branches. It was pivotal in adding to the true party spirit. I thanked him and wondered why he was alone. I didn't have anyone special with me in the kitchen. Greg couldn't make it…okay so I didn’t have the nerve to ask him…but it turns out I didn't really need a prop. It was all in my head. I'm fine. My new stemware sparkled. In fact the entire flat was shining. I told him I wanted to control the music for the most part but he could step in now and again. This is the host's job and as far as I knew he wasn't the host at this juncture.
"I thought you said you were bringing someone?"
"Changed my mind," he said in his most evasive manner, another of his talents.
"So, up for any kitchen work?"
"That's why I'm here so unfashionably early."
"I'm glad you're here, I need your help with the salad.”
We got busy in the kitchen and cracked open a bottle of wine and listened to an old record he’d played on, just re-released. We talked about music then and now.
Liz did arrive only she wasn't alone and had a young (ish) leather guy with his arm around her to balance himself. She was also wearing leather, some of it shiny. Her hair was dyed black and she wore quite a bit of makeup. I did not envy her look: she was trying to look hip and tough. She is tough so she doesn't have to try for it. Hip is a whole subjective category but everyone in our crowd falls somewhere into it. So she arrived on the arms of another man and at first I was confused--she introduced him as Brad and moved in and around the room like a snake ready to pounce. She hugged and kissed, called out to everyone in loud bursts of glee. She grabbed at this one and that, they slightly worried she was going to make them spill their drink which would be a bother.
She ignored Brad for the most part. I felt sorry for him. This crowd does not take to newcomers and wasn't warming to Brad at all. He hid in the kitchen making friends with Jimmy. Liz seemed happy to see me. She begged me to tell her Brad was "really cute" and mentioned that he may be a tad too young but that she found him refreshing. When she asked about me, I had no news worth telling her, but the truth is I didn't feel like telling her anything particular about myself. I didn’t care about her new boyfriend either except that I was mystified.
My party started to sizzle. Brad began to annoy me. He started talking and no one wanted to hear about an underground club he played in Prague. Luckily the food was ready and we could all relax and find new topics of conversation. I changed the music to classical in order to calm everyone down enough to eat. A great deal of alcohol was consumed. The salad was brought in. Liz went giddy over its color and composition and then ate it in two bites. She said she hadn't eaten since the day before yesterday. I didn't care about her dietary habits either. She was a dope, I thought. I briefly wondered if it was always the case or if the years have not been kind to her mind. Jimmy was drunk and wrote her off just as he did years ago when she told us that the only real rock and roll bands were in England that American music had become too commercial; he said he never wanted to talk to her again and he meant it. Luckily she moved to Berlin and he very rarely had to.
Meanwhile the seafood lasagna was finally presented with copious bottles of white Bordeaux. Everyone was uproarious by this time. Toasts were offered and glasses were clinked. More joints were rolled and passed around. Brad was getting really drunk and he told me he didn't usually drink because it affects his meds. I could believe it. Liz was now hanging on Jimmy and when I went up to them she started telling me when she last saw him in Paris during the ’80s and she drove him to the airport and how wasted they were. Ha, ha, ha. I guess she forgot coming out of his room in a state of dishevelment last weekend.
I was a little drunk but only a little. Who could tell me what was happening? Everyone was in deep conversation over Brahms. We had an expert in the house, several musicians and Brad who plays bass in an unknown band in Czechoslovakia. For a moment I stopped listening to the party chatter and enjoyed the smooth voices, oiled from food, from drink, from the promulgation of a cherished viewpoint, the sound of one’s mind working a crowd. The loveliest part of a party; when it dies down, everyone satiated and amiable. The coats are gathered, the candle light is dimming, the smell of wax fills the air and mixes with the smell of the fruit from the centerpiece. It’s a blend of love, gratitude and perfect self-expression and I felt warm and fuzzy.
I'd begun to realize a mistake had been made on my part. I headed to the kitchen to ask Jimmy a few questions without showing how ignorant I'd been. I said, "I thought you were bringing someone? Where is she?" And he replied, " It wasn't a she." And I exclaimed "What do you mean?" And he recognizing my confusion laughed and said "I mean I was planning on bringing Makowsky because he's in town and I didn't want you to freak out so I didn't tell you he was coming but figured once the party was in full swing you wouldn't mind seeing him. I know you two had a thing and he hurt you but he's still our friend. I had to ask him. He wants to see you."
"Makowsky? You were going to bring Makowsky? Why would I mind?"
"I thought you two weren’t speaking."
"That's long over. I never see him. I don't have a problem with him. He could have come to my party."
"Good. Because I think he just arrived."
I tingled for a moment taking that information in. Yes, there he was in the doorway. Why is he so attractive to me? I was instantly buzzing. He was a part of our group but had long ago disappeared. No one really knew where he lived but every five years or so he showed up. I’d had a brief affair with him ten years ago that left me reeling. I was about to greet him when to my right an avalanche of humanity banged into me, knocking me off the path I'd maneuvered to Makowsky. I jumped in irritation as Liz flopped forward and landed on his chest with Brad close behind, landing on the floor with his drink overturned on my recently purchased rug. Makowsky laughed and held her to him and she laughed and said how she hadn't seen him since she left him in London in '85 and how was he...on an on she went as I stood there roiling, ignored, while Brad was attempting to wipe up his spilled drink but was instead grinding it into my carpet. Thanks Brad. Makowsky held out his arms to me and I shyly greeted him, accepted his kiss and invited him in. Everyone was really glad to see him: he’s something of a legend but that is another story.
Jimmy came up behind me and put his arm around me. "Nice party. Everything was perfect, just great. I hope you're not mad at me anymore. What's been with you since you got back? You seem like you're pissed off at me and I didn't do anything. You left."
Boy, if only he knew. “Someone hinted at a fling with Dizzy Lizzy and I’ve been wondering how to handle it,” I admitted.
“Why would I go with her, you know my feelings on her; I think I’ve mentioned them over the years. She's way not my type.” He seemed momentarily derailed.
“I was told she comes out of your room in the morning and you didn’t seem to deny it when we had coffee?”
“Tom invited her to stay. I didn’t want to mention that, it’s complicated between them. Anyway, she needed a place for a couple of nights, he invited her then I gave up my room after they fought, surprise, surprise. She's leaving Saturday, thank God.”
What I'd been going through. If he knew how ridiculous I have been. All that fuming and fussing for nothing. I forgot she and Tom had a thing. But what a relief. I don't think I could have stood it if my boyfriend was really going out with someone who wears black patent leather leggings with those ankles. She really is a little ditzy. I don’t think she knows where she is anymore. Maybe I’ll invite her for coffee this week to talk girl stuff. Sometimes it's good to be wrong. I was immediately sorry I'd been giving Jimmy such an attitude. To make it up to him, I let him spend the night and help with the cleanup in the morning. It was the least I could do. Now we can once again began repairing our rattled relationship. Of course Makowsky is back. With a little planning we can all come together in harmony. We’ve all known each other forever.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
#12 GOOD TO BE BACK
I've been away from the city for almost two months. In my absence, I suspect my boyfriend has found someone new.
He warned me - He would not be alone, could NOT be alone!
What a baby. But we all have our needs. Oh so many needs. One gets weary just enumerating them, just paying them their due. Our needs become our screeds. (We are in hell.)
But yes, I'm certain he's found someone new. I don't know her name yet; it could be someone he met in my absence or someone from the dark, deadly past. Or it could be just a rumor. Maybe it's Christine McVie. He's always had a thing for her. He thought she was better than Stevie Nicks and often said so.
It's possible that I dreamt it so I just gave him a call to see if he still remembers me. Just barely, I can tell you. Something IS up. He didn't answer any of my questions - but just dissembled. While normally so gifted in this art form, he found it was too much work and brushed off any real communication with little useless lemming-like responses. (Admittedly he was caught off guard.)
The call ended on a vague note with ambiguous plans for an ambivalent date. Much can happen in two months. Yes, I'm sure he's found a new girlfriend. I just hope I can find a new boyfriend; I'm not interested in Mick Fleetwood.
He warned me - He would not be alone, could NOT be alone!
What a baby. But we all have our needs. Oh so many needs. One gets weary just enumerating them, just paying them their due. Our needs become our screeds. (We are in hell.)
But yes, I'm certain he's found someone new. I don't know her name yet; it could be someone he met in my absence or someone from the dark, deadly past. Or it could be just a rumor. Maybe it's Christine McVie. He's always had a thing for her. He thought she was better than Stevie Nicks and often said so.
It's possible that I dreamt it so I just gave him a call to see if he still remembers me. Just barely, I can tell you. Something IS up. He didn't answer any of my questions - but just dissembled. While normally so gifted in this art form, he found it was too much work and brushed off any real communication with little useless lemming-like responses. (Admittedly he was caught off guard.)
The call ended on a vague note with ambiguous plans for an ambivalent date. Much can happen in two months. Yes, I'm sure he's found a new girlfriend. I just hope I can find a new boyfriend; I'm not interested in Mick Fleetwood.
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