Second Best Fantasy (12 page)

Her parents had, however, been kind and respectful toward me, and I was sure they even liked me, even if they didn’t like what I was. I had taken my father to see The Blue Is one night at the Stone Pony down the shore, and he, I believed, developed a bit of a crush on Janine that very night. When my parents arrived at our front door that afternoon, he was wearing a Blue Is T-shirt, and I adored him for that.

When we went to gather everyone to sit down for lunch, I realized my mother had not shut up since she starting talking to Janine’s mom, Gayle.
My
mother, who usually you needed to coax even in idle chit-chat. Her dad, Wayne, and my dad were standing on the front porch smoking cigars (which my father rarely did) and I listened to them talk about the band and other music. They had been raised on Gene Pitney and Tijuana Brass and that apparently instilled a love for music in both of them.

When I was younger, I always thought the reason everyone’s dad owned the Tijuana Brass album was because of that picture with the girl covered in whipped cream on the front jacket. I came to understand years later it did have musical merit, the whipped cream girl was just a bonus. Neither dad understood the appeal of Nirvana or Kurt Cobain. They also weren’t fond of the sudden appearance of boy bands like All-4-One and Boys II Men, to them, if you weren’t going to be The Beatles then why bother? They both loved Janine’s cover of “Angel from Montgomery,” because, after all, John Prine was the best.

Wayne was a retired history professor, he had taught at Columbia for many years. My dad, Hal, was a huge history buff, 79

so they had that to talk about as well. When they stepped back inside, he tousled Janine’s hair then patted her on the head and quoted
Dracula
, “
Listen to them, children of the night, what music they make.
”

She looked at me, a little jarred to have my dad playing the game with her instead of me, but her look turned to one of admiration and she turned back to my dad and said, “I’m really, really glad you’re here Mr. O’Leary.”

Somewhere during lunch I realized the drug had worn off.

I fought the desire to call Corey myself and ask him to bring more, reminding myself I was “trying to be good.” The early afternoon passed languidly, it was a beautiful late September and I loved the way the sunlight fractured through our linden trees.

I gathered more instant photo memories to file away the day at various points: My father handing Wayne a Killian’s Irish Red and clapping him on the shoulder like they were old friends; my mother talking to Janine about the city and all its splendor while both leaned back in lawn chairs and my lover absentmindedly petted Joplin under her chair, Gayle stopping me with a tray of iced tea in my hands in the hallway and gently saying, “You two have made a very nice home,” our friends,
real
friends, pulling up in various vehicles in front of our very own house. I started thinking, if I could see these things and appreciate them sober (well, mostly, there were those Bloody Marys), then maybe I could actually
be
sober.

* * * *

It was four AM when Cindy shook me awake. Any dreams of sobriety I might have had earlier in the day had vanished somewhere in the evening between the shot for shot game Janine and I were playing with the neighbors and then frantically looking for Joplin when he escaped into the yard across the street. I vaguely remembered passing out on the couch, Cindy, Angela, and Bobby were the only ones left standing, everyone else had gone home. I convinced all of them to stay since I 80

thought none of them should drive. Angela and Bobby had fallen asleep on the floor, Janine was in the love seat, and Cindy and I were on the couch, we were all watching The Producers and laughing. I was very drunk, but giddy and fun, and I remembered thinking:
these guys almost never do this, they will be hung over tomorrow and won’t drink like this again for a very long time. I want to be like that.

“Is she singing?” I asked Cindy. I could hear Janine in the bathroom, and could have sworn she was wailing out a rendition of The Doors’
Five to One
. The Blue Is had done an amazing cover of it a few weeks ago at the Passaic Theater in Jersey.

She had changed the words from “you” to “I” when she sang,

“I walk across the floor with a flower in my hair, trying to tell you no one understands, trade in my hours for a handful of dimes, gonna make it baby in our prime…”

and strutted out into the audience while she sang. It was hot.

“Jesus, you’re still drunk. NO, you idiot, get up!

Something’s wrong.”

I realized Janine was not singing, she was crying out in pain. I ran down the hallway to the bathroom. When I burst into the room, Janine was lying in the fetal position on the floor, a small pool of blood collecting beneath her.

“Cin! Call an ambulance!”

I sunk down on the floor next to her and cradled her head in my arms. “It’s okay, baby, I’m right here. You’ll be fine, everything is going to be fine.”

Internally I doubted; I had no idea why she was bleeding, or even where she was bleeding from. I looked her over, first I thought she’d made a suicide attempt, but there were no cuts anywhere I could see. Then I thought maybe she was in the bathroom using, and did something wrong with a needle, but there was no evidence of that either. Then I saw, she was bleeding from between her legs.

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“I don’t know, I don’t…I’m…I’m so sorry Maggie…I’m so sorry…” she was whimpering.

“Shh…don’t talk baby. The ambulance is on its way.” I started to cry. What was wrong with her? Was she sick? Dying? I didn’t know what I would do if I lost her and, in spite of our lifestyle, it had never even entered my mind as a possibility before. I looked down at her red face, hair all sweaty and disheveled, and still thought she was so beautiful. My sweet Janine, the love of my life, I couldn’t lose her, I just couldn’t.

“Where the HELL IS THAT AMBULANCE?!”

* * * *

I was standing outside the ER doors smoking when Dean and Sheila arrived. Sheila came to me and put her arms around me and I broke down sobbing. Dean went on inside and Sheila held me saying, “It’s going to be okay, Maggie. Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay.”

After a few hours in the waiting room with no news from anyone, a doctor finally approached us. “Who is her family?”

We just looked at each other. Dean got up, ushered the doctor aside, and had a quiet conversation a few feet down the hall. The doctor turned to me and said, “Miss O’Leary, will you come with me please?”

He said nothing until we reached an office. He waved me to a chair and closed the door behind us.

“Did you know she was pregnant?”

My heart sank.

“No.”

“Did she know she was pregnant?”

“I don’t know. I mean…I don’t know. If she did, she didn’t tell me.”

“I’m sorry, Miss O’Leary. Listen, I’m talking to you because Dean explained to me who you are. And I know who she is. Look…I’m a doctor, I’m not here to talk to you about your relationship with Janine. I’m here to give you the facts because you are considered her primary caregiver since you live together.

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Janine was pregnant. If I had to guess, I would say she didn’t know either. This isn’t a miscarriage, really, it’s what we call a chemical pregnancy, which means it was less than five weeks into gestation, that means no gestational sac had fully developed yet…it means her body won’t pass anything else… do you understand?”

“I think so.”

“Janine is going to be fine. Some women have these and never even know they were pregnant. In Janine’s case, her body behaved as if the pregnancy were further along, we’re not sure why, there are any number of reasons, the most likely cause is an elevated level of estrogen, which she should be tested for, she might have some sort of hormonal imbalance. In any event, we were able to stop the bleeding and give her pain medication for the cramping. You will be able to take her home tonight. Just make sure she gets plenty of rest the next day or two, and she’ll be as good as new.”

“Okay. Thank you, doctor. Can I see her now?”

“Yes.”

He left me alone in the room. I did not know how to feel. I was, of course, relieved Janine was okay, not sick, not dying. But she’d gotten pregnant. And, unless I had performed a biological miracle, it meant she had cheated on me. We had never actually stated that we were monogamous with one another, and, in the beginning, I hadn’t been either. But after we’d been together for about three months, I had no desire to be with anyone else, and I didn’t think she did either. The fact that she cheated on me with a man was, of course, much worse. Maybe since it was a man, she didn’t consider it cheating. I was very confused. I always assumed “real love” implied exclusivity, and I thought that’s what we had. Had I been wrong to never actually declare it out loud? I wondered which gig it had happened at, and if anyone else knew about it, if on top of being betrayed I had also been humiliated in front of the rest of the band. Did Dean know? Would he have told me if he did?

I ran down the hall to the ladies room and vomited. I washed off my face with cool water, sank down on the floor, and 83

started bawling. Sheila came in and found me.

“Oh, Maggie. Are you alright? She’s asking for you.”

“I don’t know what to do, Sheil.”

“Well, she needs you right now. You can fight about it tomorrow.”

“How could she do this to me?”

“I don’t know. I’m sure she didn’t do it to hurt you. She made a mistake.”

“That’s a pretty big fucking mistake,” I sobbed, sniffling.

“I know.”

She came over to me, helped me up off the floor, and wiped off my nose with a paper towel. “Come on.”

She walked me down the hall back past the waiting room to the ER bed where Janine was and everyone else was crowded around her. When I walked in the room went silent.

Cindy spoke up and said, “Come on everyone. It’s been a long night. I’ll take everybody home.”

One by one they filed out of the room. Dean kissed Janine on the forehead and squeezed my hand on the way out.

She looked at me and tears welled up in her eyes. My heart was breaking, I loved her so much in that moment. I knew I would forgive her and that made me feel weak and foolish. I went and sat down on the edge of the bed and took her hand in mine.

Soon we were both crying, and neither of us said anything, we were just there looking at each other with tears running down our faces. A nurse came in with a clipboard. “I’m sorry. I’ll need you both to sign these discharge papers, then Miss Jordan is free to go.”

* * * *

That night I slept on the couch with Sebastian and Joplin.

I tried to go to bed with her but I couldn’t sleep. Every time I rolled over I knew I woke her up, and every time I even glanced at her I got angry. That combined with knowing she’d been through a trauma and I knew she needed her rest. I could be considerate, even when I was mad.

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Around 11 AM on Sunday morning, I heard her shuffling down the hallway toward the living room. I got up and went into the kitchen because I didn’t want her to come sit by me and start crying again, it would dissolve my anger and what I had to say along with it.

I stood at the kitchen island and drank my coffee while she slid into the breakfast nook. We had argued about the damn nook for a week, we couldn’t agree on the tone of the wood.

Janine won and we got the pine. She always won.
God,
I hated myself.

I poured her a glass of apple juice, I knew that’s what she would want, it’s what she always wanted when she was hung over, so I assumed her body was feeling very much the same as it would under those circumstances.

“Thank you.”

I sat down across from her and said nothing.

“I don’t know how I got pregnant.”

“Really? What are you, five?”

“I didn’t mean it that way. I meant…I thought he wore a condom.”

I glared at her.

“Maggie…I don’t even know what to say. I know 'I’m sorry'

doesn’t do the trick. I know you’re angry, and you should be. I have no excuse.”

I glared at her some more.

“I assume next you’re going to tell me it didn’t mean anything.”

“It didn’t.”

“Of course it didn’t. Does anything?”

“Of course. I love you. I made a mistake. I was…loaded.

And I was lonely.”

“Lonely?”

“Yes, lonely.”

“Usually, when people get lonely and they are in a relationship, they call their partner to feel better, not go fuck some guy.”

“I’m sorry Maggie.”

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“You were right; sorry isn’t going to cut it.”

“Well what is?”

“I don’t know. I just…can you at least tell me what happened? When it happened? According to the doctor, it could not have been that long ago.”

“It was the show at Roseland. You were away for those couple of days, at that book expo down in Atlantic City.”

“I was away. So now this is my fault?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Glare, glare, glare.

“The show at Roseland had some problems. Me and the guys weren’t getting along, we argued about the set list right up until we went on stage. There was a lot of fighting in the audience, a rowdy crowd. It was one of those shows where I felt like I was singing out all my emotions and no one was listening.”

Oh, the poor, misunderstood artist, I thought to myself.

“I was a wreck, and I drank a lot during the show, there were these girls in the front that kept handing me shots. After the show I was backstage and this guy, a stagehand, walked right up to me and said, ‘They didn’t appreciate you, are you alright? It looked to me like you were having a hard time, like you could use a hug maybe.’ He was so sweet, and I was so…”

“Horny?”

“No! It wasn’t like that, Maggie. I didn’t plan on it happening, it just did.”

“At the club?”

“No.”

“You
went home
with him?”

“Yes.”

“Jesus Christ. Did you even
think
about me?”