Hollywood Ass. (23 page)

B
looked at me with a sour face while I rambled on: “I really need to find my own rhythm and that’s all I ask. I move out, but stay in New York and start working on something for myself. Well, actually not only myself,” and here I had hoped to launch myself into my proposal in a natural way, because asking for favors was never one of my strong suits, “I have an idea of something we can do together. You know this wine bar I’ve been talking about? I’ve seen this place, this great, great location for it. I have everything thought out: budgets, interior, menu, staff, everything. All I need is a little loan to get started.”

“A loan?”
B
looked like she had just sunk her teeth into a lemon. It was too late for me to understand that saying I needed distance, but still wanted her money, sounded a bit...lame.

“Yes, not something huge. Just for me to get started. The rest I have saved up. It would really mean a lot to me and you would of course get your money back. You
know
my word is good and all I’m asking for is a small investment. You can either loan me the money or put them in as my partner and we’ll own the place together. I promise you we can make it into a success.” I tried my best to be convincing and really
sell
the idea, but her reaction made me lose all hope.

“How much money do you need?”
B
struggled to swallow. But like I said, it was all or nothing at this point - so I told her the amount. Which in turn made her look down on her Prada purse like I was about to snatch it from her.

“I don’t think I can do that, Darryl. Not that I wouldn’t want to, but it’s quite a bit of money and my finances hasn’t exactly been growing these last few months without work. I’m also paying quite a steep rent. I really needed to take on another film project to get some more cash flow. I’m sorry - I know this is your dream and all, but right now isn’t the time.”

In retrospect, I should’ve seen this coming but at the time it was still a mighty punch in the gut. I told her I understood, because I knew there wasn’t any point in pressing further. When it came to these types of decisions,
B
was exactly like Barry - she wouldn’t change her mind.

The rest of the evening I was left with a fake smile on my lips and a sinking feeling in my stomach.
J
arrived like promised, for the dessert. He was dressed in a v-necked white t-shirt, a cheap-looking silver chain Jesus and a grey blazer with his sleeves rolled up like Miami Vice. His faded jeans were hanging from his skinny butt and his arms were loaded with tattoos.
B
was obviously quite taken by him and he seemed to be too. Taken by himself that is.

I don’t know how I managed to keep calm and take it, but I did. I saw them exchange jokes and smiles and look so goddamn worry-free that for a second I felt like throwing my wine glass in their faces and leave.
Take that you rich and soulless motherfuckers! How does the wine taste when you got it through your nose?

After dinner, which I barely enjoyed despite it probably being my life’s only opportunity to eat at Rao’s, the two lovebirds wanted to hit the club while I wanted to hit a wall. With my head.

Instead I went home. Although
B
’s apartment wasn’t exactly home anymore.

***

The next two days I spent most of my time walking around with a sullen look on my face and my hands in my pockets.
B
was leaving for Egypt and I was left alone in her apartment, without anything but my cracked heart to mend. The only good thing was that I didn’t need to be around her anymore - it had become close to unbearable. I still loved her, but I’d completely given up on the idea of us together and every time I saw her I was reminded of that. She probably felt it too, my disappointment in not “having” her, and as an added “bonus” my disappointment about her not helping me. I had expected too much and I scolded myself for it.

The hug before she left to the airport was painful and I struggled to hold back my tears.

“Thanks for looking out for the apartment for me.” She said with her face close to my ear.

“No worries,” I said, fighting a strong impulse to smell her hair. Oh, how I loved her hair. And her smell.

She removed herself from my arms, “Just know that the offer of being my assistant is still up for grabs.” And then she blew me a kiss, took her Louis Vuitton travel kit and walked out of the apartment and inside the elevator.

This left me without a plan, in an apartment which wasn’t mine, with a credit card which wasn’t mine, in a life which couldn’t be mine.

Needless to say, I wasn’t feeling great.

I took a long shower where I almost broke down in tears - and I never cry. I had no idea how to move on in my
B
-less existence and I couldn’t stop mentally punishing me for being naive enough to fall for her...again. I’d probably never felt more lonely in my life than those hours after she left me. I didn’t want to disturb Cesar, who had more or less faded away from my life and was spending 99 percent of his time with Rosa. I couldn’t move back to Clarendon again, because I couldn’t take the feeling of defeat. I had to do something, something unexpected. I had to take a risk.

And that’s where I made up my mind to take most of my savings, get a loan, put the deposit on the dusty old coffee shop and move in there. I had to take things as they came and if that meant doing the place up myself using whatever materials and furniture I could afford, that would be it. I had to go out in the world and be my own man, no matter how uncomfortable it was compared to the life I was in. I took the cherished expense card from my wallet and put it on
B
’s nightstand.

The dream ride was over. And in some little way it felt good.

***

I coughed dust for days cleaning the place up. I watched my bank account rapidly disintegrate. I spent sleepless nights in the tiny loft, thinking what the hell I was doing. But things progressed, slowly, slowly, my humble
enoteca
taking shape.

It wasn’t only
my
own blood, sweat and tears that was spilled, because my father blessed me by bringing his expertise, building materials from his company, and also some money in helping me getting the place ready. I still didn’t have enough to make it exactly how I wanted, but at least I was doing my best.

B
texted me twice from Egypt, she seemed in a joyous mood, but wrote that she missed me. I replied that I was busy working on getting my wine bar ready and that things were progressing, albeit at a slow pace. Then the communication ceased. Maybe because I wanted it too. The only way I could get over was to let her fade out and not be in the forefront of my brain all the time. She probably understood this, and let me be and heal.

And I slowly did. I locked all my energy into my business and although it was becoming somewhat of a “compromise”, I was thrilled to finally be doing something for me and me only. I was living in a sparse and microscopic loft with a rusty bathtub in the kitchen and a cooking plate to boil noodles from - quite a contrast from the glamorous existence in the Johnson mansion - but still I felt better than I had in a long time. Cesar had been right, it was about time I got my chunky ass out from my padded life and into reality.

My father was helping me choose lounge chairs when I got the text. I was frustrated because everything was so expensive. I had always liked the vintage leather style, but everything I really wanted would take a big bite from my budget. I pulled up my cracked iPhone from my back pocket and opened the message. It was from
B
and it said, “Made a small contribution to your project. It’s in your bank account. And it’s a gift, not a loan :) Good luck. Love x.”

After reading it, it was like someone had let loose an animal inside of me and I could hardly sit still. I had to get some air.

I told my father the news and suggested we have lunch so I could check the bank account and ponder how much this changed things. The amount was of essence of course, although any sum would have been appreciated.

I went to the nearest ATM and what my bank statement told me made me jump up in the air and shout. Suddenly I had the financial freedom to make my vision come alive. All thanks to
B
.

It was impossible not to love that girl.

My father and I toasted to my good fortune. I wore a silly smile on my face and said, “I just can’t believe it. I never thought she would do something like this.”

“Why not? She cares for you, it’s obvious. And she has the money.”

“Yeah, but she told me she had to be careful. But maybe her circumstances has changed now, with her latest role and everything. Or maybe she just sees things differently.”

“She has maybe realized how good you are for her. She probably wants you back.” My father tried.

“Hold your horses dad, I’m sure it’s not that. I’d rather think she’s feeling guilty for how she used me and wants to pay me back. But I’m okay with that, it’s not a bad compensation.”

In all honesty, if someone asked me if I wanted a big sack of money to fulfill my dream or for
B
and I to be together ever after, I would obviously choose the latter. But if I couldn’t have that, a sack of money was pretty good.

I texted her after lunch: “You’re the BEST! I’ll pay you back every cent, I promise. THANKS SO MUCH. xxx.” (Capital letters are okay when you feel as ecstatic as I did).

After that things got easier. I picked the furniture and the finishings I wanted. I could invest in a good selection of wines. I would make my desired launch date. Everything was coming together.

The weeks passed incredibly fast. I got into a flow and things started happening consistently to my advantage. My parents even came to New York for two weeks to help me get set up properly.

It’s good I didn’t know how much hard work setting up a wine bar would involve, because chances are I wouldn’t have gone through with it. But I’ve learned that sometimes it’s good just to fumble ahead in life and not worry too much about the consequences. I, the non-risk-taker, was suddenly risking something and it was exactly what I had to do.

I became a multi-talent. Or at least a multi-doer. I painted, bought supplies, interviewed for staff, bought cutlery, furniture and sweated buckets while doing so. The whole thing was so much work, I ended up shedding weight, looking healthier than I’ve done since I was 12 and had my first real love affair with the cheeseburger.

In the end, not only I did I look better than I had before, but the enoteca surpassed my expectations. The relaxed lounge style was there, the cigar room feel, the soft lighting, the plush velvet chairs, the bar with countless of expensive wine bottles on the wall, even my little attic was kind of cozy now - after all, I'd spent basically all my time there and would be for quite a while more. At least until I had enough money to rent or buy a proper apartment. I'd really put my heart and soul into this project and I was dying to see if it would pay off.

Cesar and Rosa actually helped me a lot with the marketing, spreading the word, putting up flyers, getting a guy from Cesar’s work to set up a professional website. Everything and everyone came together just beautifully and my dream was coming true at last.

The only thing that concerned me was that I hadn’t heard from
B
since her deposit into my account.

***

On opening night I was a bundle of nerves. Months of work were falling into place and my ego couldn’t take anything but a roaring success. Failure would kill me. Almost literally. Luckily, I had my friends and parents there with me, Cesar and Rosa at one table, my parents Lynne and Robert at another, giving their support and also making the place look less empty. I had my fresh staff of four: chef Lorenzo, bartender Matt, and waitresses Rachel and Deena, and of course myself, doing a little bit of everything. I had managed to set up a little stage in the corner, where a young local jazz trio, also from the university (thanks Matt!) were playing standards with great passion. Thankfully all the publicity, marketing and word-of-mouth had helped - the place was soon buzzing with wine, platters, music and talk, while I was running around like crazy, making sure everyone was enjoying themselves. Which they seemed to be.

The idea as such was simple and since we didn't offer any real dishes besides different varieties of platters, we weren’t stretched beyond what we could handle. This was why I wanted to open a wine bar and not a restaurant, because its all about the wine, the atmosphere and the company - not so much the food. And that has saved me from a lot of additional headache.

I poured a glass for my father and he looked up under his big, bushy eyebrows with a smile on his face, “I can’t believe this is really happening! It's a huge success, son. I'm so proud of you.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, dad. It’s a fantastic first night, I agree, but without your help it couldn’t have happened.” And without
B
’s financial push, of course.

“Yeah, we helped, but this place is all you, your dream, your hard work,
you
. And it makes me so damn happy to see it come to life! And the wine,” he added almost as an afterthought, “is of course spectacular.” He raised his glass towards me and took a full sip.

I nodded my head as to say,
I know, I know
and rushed off to another table to take their order and then to Cesar and Rosa to check on how they were doing. The couple was laughing and talking as usual, lucky to be so in-tune. I still had a hard time believing Cesar’s good luck.

“It's brilliant, man,” Cesar said, and gave me a slap on the back. “Congratulations, Darryl!” Rosa added, and put her slender arms around me in a hug. I was a lucky man to have friends like them to share my big moment. Their excitement on my behalf was genuine and it warmed my heart.

“It's a bit early to tell, but right now it's looking pretty good,” I said and smiled.

“Sure as hell it does. And the band is on fire.” Cesar sent thumbs up to the guys playing in the corner. They sure did their part in making the place more energetic and alive. And for the first month, I didn’t even have to pay them - it was a test to see if it would work and they were happy to be playing for a live audience.