Burn Down The Night (27 page)

Morrison's
standing beside me suddenly, walking somehow. He puts his hand on my shoulder, watching me watch
her walk away.

"Cold girl'll kill
you in a darkened room," he says.

I nod,
understanding, remembering what I always thought I knew. I put my arm around his
shoulder.

We start walking
down the beach, away from her, to find a place to sleep in the sun. My face hurts from changing
back into a machine.

"The trouble is,"
I tell him, "sometimes graveyards make you forget."

The sun was too
hot for sleeping even though a cold girl had taken me into winter. Morrison went under easy,
swimming in wine but I couldn t get into it myself. Maybe I was afraid I might dream about
Deirdre, that sleeping I'd think she was still in my arms, and I'd rather die than feel that
again. So there was no place else to go, except back to Tamara, back to soft asylum. So I
went.

Tamara looks at me
strange, that same soft, unspo­ken mystery number she's been doing all morning, all
afternoon.

"You're so
restless. Is something wrong?" she says, moving next to me on the couch. "I wish you'd been here
with me last night. I wanted you next to me."

It's getting dark
outside and I haven't slept yet from the day before. I'm just sitting there, stiff awkward,
dressed in clothes to go out, to go cruising again. She'd watched me dress, silent, afraid to
approach me.

"Where'd you go
last night? What did you do? I know you haven't slept. You don't look so good. Have you been in
another fight?"

"I'm all
right."

"Is something
bothering you?" Her hand lightly caresses my face. "Is it something you can tell me?"

I push her hand
away. "I'm all right," I say. "Nothing's wrong." That's a lie. Everything's wrong. The whole
world's wrong.

"Why don't you
stay here tonight?" she says, that wistful look in her eyes.

I reach for a
cigarette from a ctumpled pack on the coffee table. She uses the beer can, with a cigarette
lighter built into it, to light my cigarette for me. I draw the smoke in too greedily, have to
cough.

"You smoke too
much."

"I do everything
too much."

"What's that
mean?"

"Nothing."

"What do you do
when you go out at night? You're not just selling drugs or just working for the rock and roll
bands like you say you are, are you?"

"Sure. What else
would I be doing?"

She looks
troubled. "I guess you have to go out tonight too, huh?"

"Yeah."

"I wish you
wouldn't. I wish you'd stay with me tonight." She looks like she wants to cry.

"Tomorrow night.
I'll be here tomorrow night. I'm helping a band set up for a gig over in Pasadena tonight. I
promise I'll be with you tomorrow night." And maybe I will be if I can remember anything by then.
Knowing me, I won't remember who I am, let alone where I'm supposed to be.

"Couldn't you...
couldn't you not go tonight? Just this once... for me?" It's that hurt-puppy look, please just
this once?

It makes me angry.
"I do what I want to do."

"Do you love me?"
She turns my face with her hand, forcing me to look at her. Goddamn! She's so serious. It means
so much to her.

"Sure," I manage
to say, trying not to think about it.

"Are you really
sure or are you just saying that?" She trembles, wrapping her arm around my neck, holding me
tight.

"I'm just saying
that." Why not tell her what I think is the truth. She won't believe me anyway.

"I don't believe
you. I think you really love me but you don't like the idea of it somehow. I think it makes you
feel too vulnerable." She kisses me on the neck.

"That's
bullshit!"

"Call it what you
like, I just know you love me and I love you."

She makes me
tired. I remember Deirdre on the beach, what Morrison said! "A cold girl'll kill you in a
darkened room." I push Tamara away from me, saying, "Then you're stupid. Love's a Japanese
corpse, short and quick to rot."

Tamara just
smiles, avoiding the hand that keeps her away, snuggling up to me. "You can talk as tough as you
want. It doesn't fool me."

"Nobody fools you
ever. You're so goddamn smart it's semisickening." She scares me and I feel like hitting her,
feel like making her hate me. She scares me. I'm afraid she'll make me feel something and I can't
handle that. It's Deirdre's world I live in, not Tamara's.

"Why do you always
have to sound bitter about ev­erything? There's a lot of good in the world, you know?"

"Like your
parents, for instance."

She drops her
head, really stung. That really hurts. Makes me wish I hadn't said it. It's about the same as
taking a swing at her.

"They've got their
good sides too. There's a good side to everything and to everybody if you take the time to
look."

"Christ! You'd
find something positive about a child molester."

She pulls away
from me, hurt. "I don't like it when you talk this way. I think it's all an act."

"Baby, if you knew
what was an act and what wasn't, maybe you wouldn't be in so much trouble."

"Am I in trouble?"

"Yes." If just
once she could see me for what I really am.

"Trouble with
you?"

"Trouble with
everything. You don't know anything about anything." Christ! Her innocence drives me
crazy.

"I just know I
love you. That's not trouble." She leans against my chest, putting her head close to mine. "And
even if it is, it's the kind I like. The kind I want."

I don't say
anything, just stare at her. She always messes me up inside. Maybe tonight I'll go out and I
won't come back. Maybe tonight.

She looks down at
her lap, staring at her hands. She's got that strange look again, that mystery that's surrounded
her all day.

"So what's the big
deal? What's with the strange stares all day long and the half-secretive, half-proud,
cat-with-cream look in your eyes? What's the big secret? What do you know that I don't
know?"

"It
shows?"

"Yeah. What's
going on?"

She looks up at me
and I see things in her eyes I don't want to see. Love and hope. Anything but that. I can't
handle it. Not after Deirdre. I've known too many Deirdres.

"I went to the
doctor yesterday."

Oh, shit! Not
that! Anything but that!

"I'm pregnant.
We're going to have a baby."

"Christ!" Now what
do you say? Now what do you do?

She falls against
me, and I can hear her heart beating like a butterfly hitting its wings against the insides of a
glass jar.

"I was scared at
first. Really scared. But later, I felt like everything bright and good was happening, really
happening. It's really amazing. Another life has been started, inside me."

I just stare at
her. Why did I let it go this long, why did I dance this long on promises I never really meant to
keep?

"I really want
this baby. It's a part of you and me. It's wonderful." She hugs me like Jesus with his arms
around the cross.

"Uh, you found out
yesterday?"

"At noon. I wasn't
going to tell you. I was going to wait until it showed."

She pushes away
from me, arms around my neck, stares directly in my eyes. "Don't you think it's
wonderful?"

"No. I think it
stinks."

She jumps back, as
if I have physically struck her.

"You don't mean
it!" Eyes wide, too much trust in them.

"I mean it." I
throw her arms off my neck and stand up. "I'm going out."

"Where?" She looks
frightened, like she's never seen me before, until just now. "Don't. Please don't. Stay with me."
She looks like she's going to cry now. "Where are you going?"

"Just
out."

I start for the
door. Guess I'll sneak back in tomorrow and get my stuff while she's at work. Got to find a place
to stay first. That won't be hard. The world is full of empty caves and girls not too careful
about who they choose to fill them.

She moves fast,
gets between me and the door, puts her back to it and holds her arms out to me. "I don't want to
be alone tonight."

I turn, not
wanting to touch her, stand there in front of her, with no place to go.

"I love you. I'm
going to have your baby. I want you beside me tonight." Now she's crying. Her arms go down by her
sides and she leans against the door, against the way out, tears running down her face.
"Please."

I can't stand the
ache in her voice.

"Please. Please
stay with me. I don't want to be alone tonight."

I reach past her,
touching the doorknob, turning it. She sees me reaching and moves toward me, thinking I'm trying
to take her in my arms. Pulling the door open with a jerk, I thrust her aside. She hits the wall,
not very hard, and I see that awful look, the betrayal of love in her eyes, before I go through
the door.

"Don't
go!"

Her cry follows me
as I run through the door and down the steps. It follows me as I run down the street. It follows
me all through the night, and into the nights yet to come.

Away from Tamara
it´s the beach for me and I walk the burning miles of it looking for the next lady, trying to
find the right lie.

And I find her
easy enough. Sitting on her beach tow­el like a cat on a comfortable chair. A body mostly hidden
by a one-piece bathing suit. Transistor radio blaring, suntan oil glistening, eyes properly
hidden by dark sunglasses that make her look like a welder wearing a protective mask.

A dyed-blond
beast, turning on the spit of her own ribs in the warmth of the sun's summer fire. Nice legs,
long like a model's legs, young looking, which is good because the rest of her isn't.

"Got any spare
change? I was hitchhiking. A guy stole my pack and my money." She looks at me, the nurse novel in
her hands forgotten for the moment. With one hand, she tilts the sunglasses back so that they
rest on the top of her head.

I know right away
from the look on her face that the look on my face is just right. I am properly
pathetic.

I go into my
stance, my little-lost-puppy-please-adopt phase. It works. She asks the right
questions.

"Are you hungry?
Is that why you want money? It's not for drugs, right?"

You don't answer
right away because first you have to look angry, just a little bit, as if your pride was hurt. I
do that and she notices it.

"You really are
hungry, aren't you?" she says and she looks you over. She's sizing you up and you hesitate,
waiting to see if she thinks you are eminently jumpable. Her eyes go all over your body and
there's a flicker in her eyes and you know she's interested. Good.

So now you pretend
to be terribly embarrassed by her question. "Uh, yeah. I guess I am."

Then you wipe your
brow, staggering a little in the sun. "God, it's hot! I feel a little dizzy!"

"How long has it
been since you've eaten anything?" She's really concerned now, all her maternal buttons having
been pushed.

"Don't know." Look
confused, smile at her winningly. "Day before yesterday I guess. Except I had a candy bar this
morning."

She starts moving
her stuff around on her towel, gathering things up, having already come to a decision. "Would you
be upset—I mean, it wouldn't hurt your pride if maybe we went somewhere and I bought you
something to eat?"

You look down now,
hiding the amused look as you watch her gathering her things up, pretending to be paintully shy.
"Uh..."

She's standing up
now, puts her arm around me. "Hey! I won't bite. I promise. Come with me. We'll go to a
restaurant in Malibu. I can't stand to see anybody go hungry. Besides, I'm hungry
too."

I lean against
her, letting her hug me maternally, and we look each other in tho eyes as if in that instant we
know we are both going to be lovers.

I sigh but not for
the reasons she probably thinks I do. I sigh because I've been to this well so many times before
that the water no longer tastes wet, but what else is there?

We go to a fancy
place in Malibu that looks like a Swiss chateau and smells like one. It's an expensive place and
much better than I expected. I order double portions and eat like a pig. All through the meal I
pass myself off as a nice-guy type out on the road because my girl left me (recent heartbreak
being a good key for the opening of bedroom doors) and now am fallen on hard times. She eats like
a bird, spending most of her appetite on hungry looks at my body. She doesn't even blink when she
gets the bill, just digs out her credit card and charges the whole thing.