Color Me Crazy (21 page)

“It went to the top
because
of you, buddy. And you’re right, I hated your guts,” Mitch said. “I’d worked my ass off in that band for years, and nobody noticed us until you showed up. I should have been grateful, and I should have looked out for you. But I wasn’t capable of either of those things. I felt old and washed-up, and I blamed it on you, but Julian, I never thought of getting back at you through that little girl.”

Mitch’s voice was like a chameleon. It just kept sliding up and down the color spectrum, changing from word to word. Could he trust anything Mitch was saying?

“I’d say you most certainly got back at me through that little girl.”

“I tried to save her. Do you want to hear the whole story or not?”

Part of him wanted to hear the story of what happened the night Gina died. But the other bit, the bit that fed on rage to keep the self-loathing away, wanted to hear nothing more about it. But that bit was paralyzed with fear and unable to speak.

Mitch started talking. “She made a spoiled rich girl scene when I told her to go home, but I thought she’d left. I really did.”

“She was not a spoiled rich girl. You don’t know the first thing about her.”

“You’re right,” Mitch said. “I’m sorry.”

Gina had been a tragic little waif, although Julian hadn’t known it because he’d been a tragic little waif, too. Her dad was rich and absent. Her mom spent her days shopping on Rodeo Drive. And Gina spent her days trying to catch somebody’s attention. She’d caught his at an L.A. show at the Roxy.

Hair spiked up in punk style, eyeliner as thick as her sullen expression, but behind it all was a quiet desperation Julian’s heart recognized immediately. He’d kept his eye on Gina all through the show and nodded in her direction when he exited the stage. The roadie knew what to do.

He couldn’t claim her right away. There was a pecking order, and nobody grabbed a girl until Mitch had chosen his own entertainment for the evening. Gina, along with all the other girls, followed Mitch around while he took his sweet time. Julian hated to admit it, but Mitch didn’t ever party with the young ones. He’d known Mitch would pass her up, and she’d be his.

As the band boarded the bus that would take them from Los Angeles to Pasadena, a handful of groupies got on with them. The ones who hadn’t been chosen by Mitch stood outside, hoping to appeal to one of the other band members, road crew, or the backup band, anyone who could get them on the bus. Gina was among them, and Julian held out his hand. She’d hesitated, but then she’d grabbed it and followed him up the steps.

On board, the party had been in full swing. Cocaine and pills were laid out like candy on Halloween. Two women were making out while Mitch watched, and Lenny, the bassist, was well on his way to receiving a blow job right there in the middle of the bus. Gina had looked around with huge eyes before grabbing Julian’s arm and plastering herself against him. He’d felt her trembling. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“Pasadena.”

She’d looked truly alarmed. “I have school tomorrow.”

Julian had extolled the virtues of playing hooky in pursuit of other passions, but when her eyes filled with tears, he arranged for the driver to drop her off at the nearest gas station. Afraid to leave her there, he’d stayed while she waited for a cab. Then he’d gone home with her.

The two teens had made love surrounded by stuffed animals and posters of Mitch, as if Julian needed any reminders that he was a consolation prize. Then he’d sneaked off before dawn, hitching a ride to meet up with his furious bandmates in Pasadena—just in time for a live on-air interview.

As soon as the short tour was over and Julian was back in L.A., they became inseparable. Gina was his first and only girlfriend, and he’d been truly and horrifically in love. But he’d had another love then as well.

Heroin had started out as a seductive temptress, but once it caught him, it had turned into a mean, jealous bitch that wanted to own him completely.

He walked back to Mitch and leaned against his car, overwhelmed by memories and remorse. “Tell me how it happened,” he whispered.

He’d never heard the details. He only knew she’d overdosed, although he still couldn’t believe it. She’d hated drugs.

“I’d sent her packing and gone back to partying. I figured she’d call you, y’all would make up, and that would be it. I wasn’t worried about her doing anything crazy—I didn’t think she used. My worry had been that she’d try to make you jealous by hitting on the wrong asshole, and things would go too far. I watched her stomping across my front lawn and thought that was the end of it.”

“But it wasn’t,” Julian said.

“No, unfortunately, it wasn’t.” Mitch ran a hand over his face and sighed. He took a step closer to Julian, until they were almost toe to toe. “An hour or so later, I heard a commotion in the billiards room. As I headed down the hall, I about got knocked over by scumbags fleeing the scene. I knew it meant one of two things: either the cops were raiding the party or someone had gone blue. I ran smack into that dealer, Doug Addison. He and his crowd of losers used to crash our parties.”

Julian nodded. He remembered. But he hadn’t known Doug had been there that night.

“He looked scared shitless,” Mitch said. “Told me somebody was sick and then ran. I hurried into the room and couldn’t believe it was Gina. I tried to tell myself she’d fainted, but there was no mistaking what I saw. I knelt down; I was going to sit her up and try to get her walking, but then I saw she still had a fucking needle in her arm. A
needle
. I hit her in the chest—”

“That’s enough,” Julian said. “I can’t hear any more.”

Mitch hesitated. “I never stopped trying to save her. I kept it up until the paramedics got there.”

“I said shut up.” Julian didn’t want any more details. “Fuck, it was such a waste,” he mumbled.

He wanted to keep hating Mitch, an asshole who’d stood at the crossroads of every wrong turn he’d ever taken, pointing the way each time. He looked at him, ready to pounce, but all he saw was a man in a stained sweatshirt, wiping at tears on his cheeks.

“Fucking Doug,” Mitch said, dabbing at his dripping nose. “He should have known better than to push that China shit on her. She was just a little girl.”

Julian’s knees quivered, and he leaned harder against his car so they wouldn’t give out entirely. “Are you saying it was Doug’s stuff? How do you know that?”

“Everybody knew it. He was arrested for it.”

Julian hadn’t known. After that night, he’d begun a three-year spiral into the depths of self-destruction that finally ended in a bathtub full of bloody water. He’d never paid his respects to her family or talked to any of their friends. He didn’t even know where she was buried. He’d spent all these years hating Mitch because it made it easier to avoid the elephant in the room—the question of where Gina had gotten the heroin.

“Bud,” Mitch said, “did you think that stuff was yours? Have you thought that all this time?”

Yes, he had. Where else would she have gotten it? His head swam, and he reached behind him to grab the El Camino’s handle. But before he could yank on it, Mitch grabbed him and pulled him away from the car.

This was good. They were going to fight. He wanted to fight. He took a swing, a bad one, and Mitch pulled him in, squeezing him tightly. Julian was taller, but Mitch was heavier, and he held him easily.

“Julian,” Mitch said. “You didn’t kill that girl. Do you hear me? It wasn’t you.”

Julian choked back a sob. Maybe the drugs weren’t his, but if Gina hadn’t hooked up with him, she’d probably be alive. Mitch seemed to think he could forget about it, as if life had moved on peacefully and they’d left no path of destruction in their wakes. No strung-out kids, no broken hearts, and no dead girls.

“The last thing I said to Gina was, ‘Stop being a crazy bitch,’” Julian said.

Mitch didn’t say anything at first. Kids’ voices floated on the breeze. Someone started a lawn mower somewhere. “You were young and stupid. You didn’t know you’d never see her again. Believe me, I know how that works.”

Julian pulled away and wiped his face. Fuck. He sniffed loudly and spat a manly loogie. Mitch did the same.

“When did your wife die?” Julian asked. It sounded horribly conversational.

Mitch adjusted his baseball cap, even grabbed his crotch briefly before replying, “Three years ago. A guy ran a stop sign. Emily was six months old and in the car seat. She barely had a scratch on her, thank God. But Meg caught it on the driver’s side. She died two days later. The last thing she heard me say was, ‘Get the right kind of cereal this time.’”

“Sorry,” Julian mumbled. That must have been awful.

Mitch cleared his throat before adding, “My three girls have kept me going.”

“Three? The biggest horndog of all time is raising three daughters?”

Mitch laughed. “Karma, man.”

“No shit.”

“Meg already had Rachel when we met, and we added two more to the mix. We talked about having another one, but, well, anyway.” He sniffed. “I sure as shit didn’t deserve her. Or the woman I’ve got now, for that matter.”

The woman I’ve got now.
Julian narrowed his eyes and glared at Mitch, who smiled that stupid Mitch smile and said, “Listen, about that. Addie and I have something to tell you.”

“Daddy!”

Julian winced and turned toward the source of the hot pink spear that had stabbed him between the shoulder blades. Addie walked down the driveway carrying a blue bundle. “I throwed up,” it shouted.

“Congratulations,” Mitch said, holding out his arms. Wispy blond hair poked out of the blue blanket. “Let me take her, Addie.”

Two chubby arms emerged from the blanket and wrapped around Addie’s neck. “No. Addie said she’d hold me all day ’cause I’m sick.”

The blanket fell away, revealing feverish blue eyes set in a cherubic face. “Who are you?” she asked Julian.

“Emily, this is my brother, Julian.”

Emily put a chubby hand on each cheek and emitted a squeal that was painfully fuchsia, tinted with the scents of bubble gum and vomit. It had been a while since anyone had been so thrilled to meet him. “Uncle Julian!”

“No, no,” said Julian. “I’m not your uncle.”

“Brothers are uncles, and sisters are aunts,” the little girl said. “Laura told me.”

It wasn’t smart to argue with someone of her stature, but he couldn’t help it. “I’m Addie’s brother, not your daddy’s. You’re not related to me.”

The child clearly didn’t believe him and turned to Addie. “But when we have the princess wedding, and you’re my mommy, he’ll be my uncle then, right?”

All of the color drained out of Addie’s face. She glanced up at Julian. “We were waiting for the right time to tell you.”

Jesus. How many shocks could he handle in one day? “There is no right time.”

“That seemed to be the problem we were experiencing, pal,” Mitch said.

The sounds, the smells, the unearthed emotions about Gina…Julian’s legs buckled.

“Julian,” Addie said, “don’t start.”

Like he could fucking help it. He took a deep breath, but he was still suffocating. He sat down on the driveway and covered his ears.

“Don’t you start that,” Addie warned, handing Emily to Mitch. “You cannot pull this right now, do you hear me? It won’t make a bit of difference. We’re getting married.”

A slight buzzing sound set in. “Motherfucker,” he said.

“Uncle Julian said a bad, bad word,” Emily yelled. The pink lightning bolt almost split his head in two, and then a tidal wave of colored sludge, consisting of every sound within a twelve-mile radius, descended. The distant traffic noise, the hum of the power lines, birds, dogs, kids—it all blended in a painful collision with Addie’s news, Gina’s memory, and Cleo’s absence.

Cleo. The scent of tangerines surrounded him, and he breathed in deeply again. This time it helped. The sludge began to lift.

“Don’t go nutters,” Addie said. “Come inside.”

“We’ll have tea,” Emily shrieked. He covered his ears with his hands and put his head between his knees. Some rocking would help. Then he’d get in his car and drive home, find Cleo, everything would be fine. If he could just get to Cleo…

“He’s rude,” Emily whispered. It was an earsplitting sound.

“Oh, dear,” said Addie. “Mitch, do something.”

“Do you want me to pick him up and carry him into the house?” Mitch asked.

“He’s not a child. And you couldn’t pick him up. Goodness, Mitch.”

“I’ve done it, before, sweetheart. Of course I was younger, then.” He touched Julian on the shoulder. “Come on, buddy. Let’s go inside.”

“Is he sick?” Emily asked.

“Yes,” Addie said.

“Is he gonna throw up?”

“He’s not sick, darlin’,” Mitch said. “He’s just weirder than shit.”

“Bad word,” screamed Emily.

“Mitch,” Addie snapped. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Addie, he’s a thirty-three-year-old man, rocking back and forth on my driveway with his hands over his ears. How do you explain it?”

Julian couldn’t take any more. While they bickered about how fucked-up he was, he pulled himself to his feet and yanked on the handle of his car door. Before they could stop him, he’d climbed in, started it up, and taken off down the road, concentrating on the scent of tangerines and, most of all, Cleo.

...

The studio’s mail formed a nice, round pile on Cleo’s love seat. She’d been trying to sort and re-sort it, but she couldn’t keep track of what was what. Where the heck was Julian?

The morning after had been awful. Julian had sneaked out, leaving her to wake alone. Three hours later, he’d torn back into the room, grabbing things and throwing them into suitcases—muttering about missing their flight.

By the time they’d gotten home, it was late, and, without a word to each other, they had both fallen into their own beds. She’d woken up this morning—dying of curiosity about the results of his clinic appointment—only to find he’d left again.

Abandoning the stack of mail, she flipped on the television, leaned back into the purple velour cushions of the love seat, and closed her eyes.

A slamming car door woke her a short time later. In a sleepy haze, she stumbled to her door. Did she want to close it and give Julian a taste of his own medicine? A nice whopping dose of the silent treatment? Or did she want to sit him down and force him to talk?