Hollywood Ass. (20 page)

I could of course have stayed in New York, moved in with Cesar and taken some job. But I needed my space and my time away from
B
. And then it became too late, because Cesar’s girlfriend moved in with him. His happiness was evident the few times we talked over Skype or phone, and although I was happy for my friend, I couldn’t help but feel jealous too. How could things have turned out so smoothly for him and not for me?

But then, one day, when I was sitting in my parents’ beige and worn leather sofa, enjoying a glass of wine (cheaper than what I was used to, but good anyway) after a day of hard manual labour with my father’s firm, my mother was calling my name. I turned down the sound of the old LP player (which was spinning “The Best of James Brown”) and shouted back at her: “What is it?”

“Someone’s here to see you.” My mouther shouted back.

I walked over to the hallway, and outside, on the doorstep, stood
B
with a brown shoulder bag slung over her shoulder and a grey trench coat hanging on her skinny frame. She had lost weight and looked haggard and tired.

“Hi,” she said when she saw me. Just hi.

“I'll let you two talk,” my mother sensed the privacy needed and walked back to the kitchen.

“Hi,” I said, my voice unsteady.

“I've come all this way, can I at least come in?”

“Yeah, sure.” I said, in shock and stood aside to let the movie star enter my parents’ modest house.

***

B
stayed in my parents' guest room that night. We all had dinner together, my mother fretting out about not being able to cook something better than a spaghetti bolognese for the superstar, but
B
said she loved it and that she was very happy to sit down in a
real
family setting for once in a while. She seemed comfortable around us, which made me happy. My father was visibly affected by her “star glow” and I could sense how impressed he was that I'd struck such a chord with someone as successful as her, at least strong enough for her to travel all the way to Clarendon alone to see me. He offered her a glass from his finest whisky (he's quite a collector) but she declined politely and said she was staying away from alcohol for time being. I looked at her face, which had a couple of new lines from last time I saw her and thought,
good for you
.

After dinner, which mostly involved my parents asking shallow questions about her and her movies, I suggested
B
and I go for a walk. She gladly agreed, probably looking forward to speak in private.

We passed my old playground (the same old rusty swing still there), while B told me the story on how she fell on dark days as soon as both
A
and I left her to her own devices. She cried, drank and painted a lot. She said I was right all along about Matteo and his intentions and that he “imposed” himself on her and that she, in her need for company and any kind of love, fell for it.

Matteo turned out to be more into her fame and lifestyle than her person so she kicked him out of the apartment after a few weeks and then got even more depressed about the lack of love and human interaction in her life. She thought of calling
A
and begging him to take her back, but by then the magazines had already told the story about his new girlfriend and she didn't stomach it. Instead she drank even more and spent the days “trying to capture herself on canvas”, like any true and depressed artist. This often ended up with her stamping the foot through what she was working on or just laying on the couch in her apartment, trying to cure monster hangovers.

B looked at me with tears in her eyes as we walked past three young boys shooting hoops in the schoolyard, “I was slowly killing myself,” she said. “At first I was so excited to be in New York, to experience the city full out and be the truly independent girl I always wanted to be, but it's not easy to do that when you're...well, me.”

“So what made you come here?”

“I don't know. I guess one day I just felt it was either death or getting out, getting away from my own demons, the strange pressure I've been putting on myself my entire life. I thought I could fix it on my own, but that turned out to be far from true. Actually the only one who can relieve this pressure without expecting anything in return, is you. I know I treated you like shit and I feel awful for doing that. You're the only person who has never judged me and I need that. For me, that has become the most important feeling in the world.”

I didn't know how to react. It warmed my heart to hear how she valued me and my support, but then she didn’t know that I
had
wanted something back from her, I had wanted love. But we had gotten passed that so I said nothing and just held out my arms and hugged her for a long time while I let her tears dry against my shirt.

***

That night I had a vivid nightmare. I dreamt I entered
B
’s New York apartment and found her dead, in the bathtub, her wrists cut and her body lying in a pool of blood. I jumped up from my sleep and felt my heart beat heavy inside my chest. I tried to fall asleep again, but couldn’t. I was afraid of falling back into that horrible dream. I turned on the light and after a few minutes of just lying there, looking up at the ceiling and trying not to think, I heard a faint sound.
Tock-tock.
My heart jumped again. Was it raining or were there just some old floorboards creaking? I heard the sound again and rose from my puny bed and walked over to my bedroom window to look for drops of rain. Then I heard a whisper, “Darryl...Darryl.”

I opened the door to find B standing there in a short, red silk robe. “You're awake?” she said.

“Yeah, well, obviously,” I replied.

“I couldn't sleep either, can I come in?” And without waiting for my reply, she entered my bedroom.

She sat down on my bed, “Your bed is so cute. I can really see you sleeping here as a kid.”

“If you mean cute like in small, yes, I guess it's cute. I don’t know if it’s cute that I sleep here now though.” I said and smiled nervously. Making jokes out of my own misfortune was my trusted defense mechanism.

“It's not that small. Would you mind if we just lay down a bit and talk or try to sleep? You know I'm no good with sleeping alone.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. I
did
know that
B
wasn’t very good with being alone, that’s why it made sense that her whole adventure of going it alone in New York didn’t work out.

“Well, yeah, sure - unless you want to grab a tea or warm milk or something? My parents are in the other end of the corridor and they won't hear us if we go downstairs for a bit.” I said and felt 15 years old.

“I'd rather just lay down for a bit if that's okay.”

“Okay.”

We laid down next to each other in my small bed, which was impossible to fit two people in without them touching. I felt her naked leg against mine and suddenly my blood started rushing. Rushing downhill.

“Darryl, do you mind holding me for a bit? I'm freezing.”

I like to sleep in cold rooms and often have the air condition turned down low, but my room had no air condition and it wasn’t particularly cold. I thought of offering her the whole bed, not to poke her and embarrass myself again, but before I could say anything, she positioned herself close and brushed the pointiest part of my body.

“But Darryl,” she said in a light and humorous voice, “Are you
that
happy to see me?” Then she giggled and I felt her hand reach down.

Oh,
I thought.

***

The next day I woke with an aching back and
B
next to me, wheezing toxic air from her mouth, but her face more peaceful and beautiful than ever. I was wedged between her and the wall, but using all the strength in my arms, I managed to get out of bed without waking her.

I walked across the hall to the bathroom and took a long shower, relieving some of the strain in my back with the hot water. I was still really tired, but in a good, post-intercourse, way. I didn't know what to think of the night before, I was just happy it happened. Whether or not it would happen again, was up for
B
to decide.

I knew I would gladly oblige.

After the shower I went back to my room and got dressed, while
B
slept soundly and then I headed downstairs for a cup of coffee. It was Saturday, so I wasn’t surprised to find my parents around the kitchen table, reading different parts of the newspaper with their reading glasses on. It was a friendly and familiar image.

“Morning,” they said when they saw me approach the table, “She's still asleep?” My mother smiled like it was my child we were talking about.

“Think so,” I said, not wanting to divulge the information that
B
slept next to me (and on top of me) and not in the guest room.

“She's such a nice girl, why can’t you find yourself someone like her,” my mother suddenly burst out, almost like she knew.

“Yeah, she is,” I said, “complicated, but nice.”

“Show me a woman who isn't,” my father shot back, chuckled and touched my mother on her shoulder like she would be the first one to agree. It was a gesture of love I was thankful to see; a reminder that true love could actually last. My folks had been going strong for more than thirty years, something that was becoming increasingly rare.

“True,” I said and poured myself a cup of coffee, “Any good news today?” I looked towards the newspaper spread around the kitchen table.

“If you want good news I don't think you should read the paper, son.” My father said, without looking up.

I popped two slices of white bread in the toaster and looked out of the kitchen window and on my parents’ lawn. I used to play all kinds of sports out there when I was kid, it had truly been my playground then, but gone back to being just a lawn. A lawn in need of a trim.

I sipped the strong and acidic coffee, which was how my father had taken it for 35 years. He was built like a bull and not exactly what you would call a
latte person
. But the bull looked softer than a puppy when
B
entered the kitchen in her red silk robe and Four Seasons slippers. She sure knew how to melt the heart of men (and the brains of husbands and employees).

“Good morning,” she said, stretched and yawned like a cat. It was like it was the most natural thing for her to be walking around in my parent's house wearing practically nothing. And it looked like my father could get used to it.

“Good morning,” my mother said, either not witnessing my father's stare, or just choosing to ignore it. I knew they really liked her, so I wasn’t worried about her presence here, in fact it felt oddly comfortable, like it was how it was meant to be. If you scrap the living-with-the-parents thing.

B
sat down by the kitchen table and I put a freshly-poured cup of ulcer coffee in front of her without saying anything. My tongue was suddenly stuck to my throat. In many ways we knew each other like a married couple, but things usually changed as soon as you started sleeping together.

“Thanks,” she said and gave me a flirtatious little smile. Something stirred inside of me.

“Slept well?” My father asked, trying to sound his casual self, despite having a celebrity at the breakfast table.

“Yes, like a baby,”
B
said, sounding chipper, “I can't begin to tell you how much this means to me, how good it feels to be around a loving family for a change.”

I remember telling my parents about
B
’s own family situation, so they knew what she was talking about. “We’re really happy to have you here as well and you should feel like you’re always welcome in our home. I just wish I’d been able to clean up first,” my mother said looking around the room, seeing dust and mess where nobody else could. This is a mother’s superhuman ability, among others.

“But you have a lovely home, I absolutely adore this house, it's so cute.” Everything small but not too small, was “cute” to
B
. I had a hard time seeing my parents’ house objectively though, it was too ingrained in my system - the smells, the carpets, I think even the old sofa had become a part of me.

“I'm glad you like it,” my father said, “we've lived here for 30 years now and hopefully we can live here the rest of our lives.” He looked over at my mother who nodded her head. They were proud to call it home.

“I envy you, Darryl, you must have had that childhood everybody wants.”
B
’s voice tailed off a bit on the end and I could feel the honesty in her pain - this was the kind of family life she’d been missing all along. The one who shared breakfast around the kitchen table.

“I know,” I said and sat down, “I'm one lucky guy,” and I looked at my parents who smiled back. And I did feel that way, I
was
lucky.

“Would you mind,”
B
said, in her modest I’m-asking-you-a-favor voice, “if I stayed here a few more days? Would that be okay with you guys?”

I was relieved to hear this, because in my head I had feared she would be taking the first flight back.

“Of course - stay as long as you like,” my mother said, probably hearing wedding bells somewhere in the back of her head. They hadn’t seen me with a girl in a long time, a void my mother was desperate to fill - it had been far too obvious in the way she talked to me.

“Great, I really love it here. It’s so nice and down-to-earth and normal in the best possible way.”

And I was of course happy to have her there too, although to me, when I saw her sitting at our old kitchen table in that short, red silk robe, looking like a million bucks - “normal” was out the door.
***

My head was a mess over the coming days as I was trying to block myself from falling head over heels back in love with a re-energized and relaxed
B
. I tried desperately not to get too high, because I knew how much harder the fall back to reality would be. I simply didn’t want to get hurt, but it wasn’t easy not to be endeared by the happy, humorous girl who acted in all those romantic comedies for a reason - when she was in this mood, it was almost impossible
not
to fall for her.