Dirty Rocker Boys (23 page)

“I can’t feel the top of my left leg—it’s totally numb,” I complained one day.

“Well, that could be the result of bad circulation due to drug use. But that’s not what I’m saying it is.”

He had a way of tiptoeing around me if I was fucking up and just quietly picking up the pieces. He has a quiet strength that is so powerful most people never even notice it. I knew that he loved me and had mad respect for me, even though I often felt like the poster child for what
not
to do with your life. Not once did he make me feel judged, although it was obvious that he and Taylar had their doubts about this Dave Navarro character I was so enamored with.

Something about my closeness with Dave was bothering Jay Gordon. Every time I hung out at Dave’s, Jay would magically show up. If I talked about Dave, he would change the subject. Jay was just my club buddy, as far as I was concerned, one of the boys in my friend zone. I loved to make Jay the butt of my jokes, and would go out of my way to horrify him. He took himself very, very seriously, which of course only made me tease him more. He had this robotic emo look, all black spiky hair. So I
would stick gum on his forehead, spit Altoids at him, and throw quarters at his head—anything to snap him out of his poseur-ness. We had an antagonistic brother-sister relationship going on. As such I couldn’t ever imagine being sexual with Jay. Which is why his jealousy seemed strange. Then the penny dropped. He must be in love with me! I thought it was cute. When was Jay ever going to realize that sex with me just simply wasn’t on the cards? Poor thing.

“C’mon, Bobbie, don’t you want to sleep with me?” said Dave. “Just think how amazing it’s going to feel with me inside you, after five years of nothing.” We’d kissed once, and he had played with himself while we did. Dave was all about self- pleasure, and he really loved to masturbate. This was by far the most intimate sexual contact I’d had in a long time. I didn’t let him touch me, though. I was tormented.
How can I go from Tommy Lee to everyone, to no one, to a guy doing needles?

The best trip I ever had on ecstasy was with Dave. I had done ecstasy a million times, and to be honest, I wasn’t a huge fan. But one night Dave had some MDMA powder in capsules. I shook my head and shuddered. “No, dude. Every time I do it I don’t have that much fun.”

“Trust me, Bobbie, it’s the best stuff,” he said. Grudgingly, I took the pill and waited for the grossness to begin. As I came up, I noticed I wasn’t suffering the usual side effects. There was no nausea, no wooziness, no heart palpitations. Just an intense warmth and clarity that filled my heart and focused my vision almost entirely upon Dave. He seemed to be glowing. We roared
with laughter about God knows what, finishing each other’s sentences. “You’re freaking me out!” I giggled as I started a sentence and he finished it, again.

“No,
you’re
freaking
me
out,” he said.

“Actually, you’re freaking
us
out, so go fuck yourselves,” said one of Dave’s friends, who was also hanging out in the living room with us. It felt like the drug had opened a gateway between my mind and his, and I no longer knew where I began and Dave ended.

That night, after everyone left, we kissed until the sun rose. Dave, of course, couldn’t help but touch himself—he is the most masturbatory man I have ever known. But he did not attempt to touch me. For months, we hung out like this at his house. He never tried to press me into going further with him sexually, which made me feel safe. One night, when we were finally alone (there was almost always somebody at his house), we were on the couch and Dave got carried away, putting his hands up my dress. His familiarity was starting to freak me out. Suddenly, having sex with Dave Navarro was starting to feel like a real possibility. I realized he really wanted to take it there.
Do I even know how to have sex anymore?
I wondered.
Is he going to be turned on by me?
My mind became flooded with self-doubt. When I realized that I was on the brink of tumbling into something sexual with Dave, instead of going with the flow, I decided to rob us both of that experience and waste that incredible closeness and buildup we had created.

How?

“Okay, I’m going to try this. Jay,
don’t move
. Just do what I tell you, okay?” Having friend sex with Jay was the last thing I wanted to do. But I did it anyway. I couldn’t bear the thought of being an out-of-practice sex loser with Dave, so I figured I’d oil up the wheels with Jay. And boy, was it nothing to write home about. In fact, it was over as soon as it started. You must understand, I hadn’t had sex in so long, it was like cranking up an ancient machine and hoping that it still worked. It felt mechanical and strange, not romantic at all, and about eleven seconds in, I was done. I rode Jay like a bicycle, letting off five years’ worth of steam, and then hopped off when I was finished, glad it was over with. “That was fucked-up, Bobbie, I feel totally used,” said Jay afterward. “Well, sure, Jay,” I said, ruffling his hair. “Think of it as a favor to a friend.” Delighted that my girl parts still worked, I hopped out of bed, and texted Dave, telling him I was coming over.

“Where are you going?” said Jay, looking annoyed.

“To Dave’s,” I said. I hadn’t even showered. But I had just had sex for the first time in five years. The famine was over. Time to go.

“Well, I’m coming with you,” said Jay.

“Sure, babe,” I said, distracted.

I walked in the door to Dave’s house, with Jay on my tail, right behind me. “Bobbie, it’s going to be so amazing when we’re together,” said Dave, pulling me close and kissing me as soon as I walked in the door. He too felt that our time was drawing near. “I’ll be your first man in nearly five years.”

“First guy in five years? Make that five minutes,” Jay chimed in, grumpily. Dave looked confused, and then angry, and then disappointed, as Jay blurted out what had just happened between us.

“Wow . . . okay,” said Dave.

“Wait, you don’t mind, do you?” I asked him.

Dave had never said that he wanted to have a committed relationship with me or anything like that. He had never said that he was in love with me. So I assumed he wouldn’t mind about the Jay thing. He was a rock star. And rock stars don’t have feelings. Right?

“Well, congratulations, Bobbie,” said Dave. “I hope you both had fun.”

We had been hanging out for seven months straight, but after that night, everything changed. He became very detached and unemotional. He wouldn’t return my calls or my texts. It was surreal. I wondered if Dave Navarro had been some guy I just dreamed. But no, he was just another guy I had fallen in love with, exploding into my life and disappearing in a puff of smoke, much like the others.
Fuck.

At least I still had the ever-devoted Jay. One night, he was massaging me on my bed; it felt good to be touched by someone I trusted. “If you ever want to try that thing again . . . let me know
,”
he said, grinding my shoulders with his thumbs. Even though I was pining for Dave, I was more open to Jay’s suggestion than I might have been before. “OK,” I said, coyly. “What’s the harm.”

The first time Jay and I had slept together, I had not given him any opportunity to prove his prowess as a lover. This time, he insisted on taking the lead.

“Just lie there, Bobbie, and don’t move.” He started going down on me and I winced, feeling self-conscious. “Jay, c’mon, you really don’t have to.” He looked up from between my legs, annoyed.

“Bobbie, you need to just fucking relax. I love doing this and I don’t care if it takes hours. Now shut your trap.” I had never really been into oral. That night, I learned why. Because no one had ever done it right. I would always pretend to be excited while thinking,
Let’s just get to the fucking point.
But that night was the first time I had an orgasm through oral sex. Jay went down on me for hours, making me come three times before even entering me. It was like a whole new world. Now I understood why he had lots of girls in his life; he was blessed with a silver tongue. I couldn’t wait to try it again with Jay, even though we were, of course, just friends.

The next day, I felt stronger, renewed. But Dave was still refusing to respond to my messages and apologies.
Fuck him,
I thought, suddenly angry. I was sick of being treated this way.

Hey, Dave, it’s okay that you’re blowing me off, because I’m seeing someone else anyway,
I typed into my phone, feeling triumphant.

Dave wrote back immediately.

You’ve been seeing someone all this time? You lied to me?

My heart pounded.
Oh, shit. What had I done?

No, I wasn’t really seeing someone, I kind of just said that,
I
backpedaled. Hearing back from him was such a relief.
Maybe we have a second chance here.

You’re a mess, Bobbie! A mind-fucking bitch! Fuck you!

Maybe not.
I was stunned. I tried calling him, but he wouldn’t pick up. I kept calling him and calling him and he finally agreed to let me come over. He was so businesslike, it hurt.

“That wasn’t cool, Bobbie—you really hurt my feelings,” he said, matter of fact. “I don’t like you anymore. Why would you sleep with Jay like it didn’t even mean anything? That is the dumbest thing I have ever heard.”

“Dave, I don’t know what the fuck I was doing, I was trying to protect myself. You’re a famous rock star. . . . I really thought I just had to play it cool with you.”

Dave just shook his head.

“You’re not cool, you’re over-the-top, Bobbie. You act like yours is the only broken heart in the world.”

I had never imagined that any rock star guy could ever be capable of breaking it down like that. Especially not Dave Navarro. The whole seven months we were spending time together, I was caught up in how fucking cool he was, I didn’t realize he was, like me, just another fuck up trying to survive and maybe find some real love along the way.

“Listen, Bobbie, I don’t even know if we can hang out anymore. I’m sorry.”

I drove home, devastated. Guilty. Confused. It didn’t seem to matter what I did; I couldn’t help but fuck things up.
Nobody fucking loves me,
I thought, a bottomless well of self-pity.
Through my tears, I scrolled through my phone, looking for Jay’s number.

Jay had been my friend for so long, I felt safe unloading all my rawness onto him. He had been pursuing me for so long, I assumed he must have been in love with me. All the truths I had been withholding from Dave I dumped straight onto Jay’s lap, assuming my open wounds were what he wanted. But Jay was not Dave.

Our decade of friendship, combined with the joy of my sexual reawakening and the transference of my feelings for Dave Navarro, blinded me to the fundamental incompatibilities of Jay Gordon and Bobbie Brown. Of which there were many.

1. We were an odd couple. He was a scene queen who plucked his eyebrows and wore cyber-goth platform boots, PVC, and latex; I was a blond mom who liked hip-hop, Ugg boots, and ’N Sync.

2. He was incapable of committing to one girl; I was used to being the center of every man’s attention.

3. He thought I was a big dork; I knew I was a big dork.

4. He wore more makeup than me, yet we couldn’t even share foundation—he preferred shades of alabaster, whereas I was always more California tan.

You couldn’t find two less compatible people. Until we were in bed.

Even though we saw each other nearly every day, Jay refused to refer to me as his girlfriend. Even after a year of being fuck buddies, I sensed that Jay would bail if I put any pressure on the
relationship, and I couldn’t bear the thought of being alone. But I couldn’t hold back my feelings any longer. He was lying on my bed, and I stood next to it and tapped his shoulder.

“Jay, I love you.”

He turned and looked up at me, surprised.

“I’m telling you that because it’s how I feel, not because I’m expecting a specific answer back from you,” I said, nobly. “Whether or not you can say it back to me doesn’t affect how I feel.” And then I walked away, and my chest relaxed for the first time in months.
Even if he can’t tell me he loves me, I know that he does,
I thought.

Actually, I don’t know that Jay ever loved me. He might have said he did once or twice in the five years we would spend together, on and off. But in that moment he just nodded his head and smiled. “That’s cool.”

The days I couldn’t see him were torture, because I sensed he might be with another woman. My obsession grew. I found myself parking my car outside his studio to watch which girls would come in and out, confirming whatever lie I suspected Jay had just told me. Even when he was caught red-handed, he would never be honest, so I would default to believing him. It was easier to believe his bullshit than to accept that yet again, I was alone and addicted to a fantasy. I was convinced I could make him fall in love with me. After all the bullshit I had gone through, the least he could do was
try
to love me.

When I walked in on him in bed with another girl, it sparked my first panic attack. “Bobbie, get the fuck out of here,”
he hissed, half-asleep. The girl next to him stirred a little. “And stop crying!” he whispered, pushing me out the door. I fell to the ground, hyperventilating.

“I think I’m having a heart attack,” I told my friend Dallas, who I had brought along with me. “Hush, honey, you’re having a panic attack,” she said, holding my hand. “Let’s get out of here and find you someplace quiet to lie down.” She, along with all my friends, couldn’t believe it when I took Jay back, time and again.

Jay had invited me to meet up with him on tour. A psychic had told me not to go, but I ignored her advice and went anyway. Big mistake. We both partied, and after three days of being awake, I was so fucking tired and emotional. We were in San Francisco, and I just wanted to curl up and get some alone time with Jay. But he decided to throw a full-blown after-party in our hotel room instead. There was this girl and that girl and my nerves were so fried by this point, I started to give him attitude. I couldn’t believe that my lover, and my friend for so many years, was treating me like just another groupie, in front of everyone. “What’s your fucking problem, Bobbie?” he screamed. I was dumbfounded. Jay told me to get on a plane and get the fuck out of there. In the wee hours, not having slept for three days and bawling my eyes out, I made my way to the airport, found a flight, and cried my way home. Jay and I didn’t speak for a year. That entire time, my spun mind still obsessed over him, plotting ways to win him back.