Technicolor Pulp (13 page)

“Yeah, that’ll be cool,” I say, thinking, Yeah…
Wow… Yippee… Great… Really… College banners and everything? The false promise of bonding with a bunch of american students
over in Europe is almost too much.

We walk in and there it is. Just like Jane said. We could be in any bar on the yuppified Upper West Side of Manhattan, my
only consolation being a Gold Card that Jane drops onto the bar.

“Tab please.”

I now… Love Jane.

The free-flowing booze softens my black heart towards Jane. I begin to see her in a new light—a mash-enlightened light. She’s
a lush. No surprise, but always still nice to see. One shot after another, with the confidence that comes from a lifetime
of spending daddy’s money. We gain, much to my chagrin, two young french idiots into our clique, both of whom make it their
business to make a run on Jane. I’m tired and I could care less as long as they don’t bump my arm while I’m drinking. But
after awhile, their putrid flirtations embitter me. Doobe’s trying to “get to know them,” thinking that maybe he just “doesn’t
understand them,” but I’m in no mood for such cultural sluttery. I think they’re ASSHOLES! Last Call comes and goes and I
finally step in.

“Jane… Ah, maybe we should go now?”

“Yeah… Jane… Jimi’s right… We are actually kinda tired from the trip… Maybe we could go home now?”

“Yeah… OK… ,” she says. “Nice meeting you guys… We’re gonna go now.”

And that’s when it happens….

“OOhhh cum onnn… Yew are nut go-ink to let theesse friennnzzz… Tell yew zwhat tu duuu… Are yuuuu?!”

She snaps and I see.

“… Ummm… Yeah… I mean no!!!” She barks, “I want to stay… Nobody tells me what to do!”

Need I write anymore? Right in front of me, in all her glory, is the ballbusting cunt who, in my mind, pushed Ray into the
noose when she shoulda pulled him out of it! Like a lightning bolt of “I told you so’s!” Right in front of me. We end up staying
another hour, bribing the bartender for shots and listening to these two french assholes make bogus small talk. It’s all I
can do to drink the bitch’s booze! Doobe’s literally asleep. The only reason I stay awake is because I’ve become so hateful
towards Jane.

In the end, Jane blows off both the swishy Paris boys, and we hail a cab home. Doobe and Jane go into her room “to talk,”
and I sneak into the kitchen to eat. The potatoes are gone! There isn’t a goddamn thing in the house except for some ancient
pine nuts, which I gobble down. After all the salt is licked off the bag, I tiptoe over to the couch, take off my clothes
and go to bed….

“Oh Fuck!… Jimi… You gotta put those boots outside… And wash your feet!”

“What?”

“I can smell those things in Jane’s room… This whole place stinks!”

“Thanks… Buddy,” I say, getting up. “I guess they are a little ripe, aren’t they?”

“Peaches are ripe… Those things fuckin’ stink!”

“Urgh… Uuuuchhhhhh… Joooook… Galoop… !” Jammed into a little white shitter, I scrape and pull at the bottom of my stomach.
I got the bad pine nut flu! Every once in awhile I muster a little bile, but mostly it’s just wretching painful dry heaves.
I taste the nuts with every heave. Hanging on to the edge of the cold porcelain bowl, my face thrust over the murky water,
I taste the nuts, again and again. If I could just drink some ginger ale… If I could just remember what life was like before
I started puking… I can’t… There was no life before this… I was born… They stamped a 9-digit number on my forehead… And I
caught the bad pine nut flu… That’s what it is… That’s what happened… Now I remember… I’ve had this bad stomach from day 2…
The pain… Ohhhhhhhhhh… Again… Uuuuurrrggghhh… Ssplunk… Oooooowwww… Jjjjjjaaaaa… Sswash… Over and over… I want my mom… I wanna
be a baby again… I want permission to
cry… Zzzzzooooowwwwww… Oooooccc-coooookkkk… And all that guttural hemming and hawing and what do I get… Two green chunks the
size of rabbit turds… The only nice thing is that Jane’s parents are outta the house… I wanna scream… I wanna puke my way
back to the womb… There’s no dignity… There’s no dignity when the chunks hit the bowl… Hit the bowl and splash back up in
my face… Murky puke-water slime dripping off my chin… Spitting… Trying not to swallow down any of the slime… This’s HELL…
This is truly HELL… Those fuckin’ pine nuts… Out the window it’s balmy… All the world’s happy but me… Everybody’s taken the
day off and is playing in the park but ME… No relief… I puke until I can’t breathe… I sit back… Start to sweat… And then…
I gotta do it all over again… I puke an hour for a moment’s joy… No relief… I’ll just ride it out… Think about funny things…
The Marx Brothers… They’re supposed to be funny… Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooohhhh fuck… UUURRRGGGHHH… Aaaaaalllllluuu-uuupppppp…
UUURRRGGGHHH… ZZZZZ OOOCCCCKKKKK… Always back to UUURRRGGGHHHH… All the world is happy… Everything is sunny… And my mom has
forgotten me… Strawberries… Here it is… There’s no peace… I wanna eat a peach… Juicy… I can’t remember how long it’s been
since I ate… Since I could eat… It’s chicken broth for the rest of my life.

“Jimi… Are you OK in there?”

“Yeahqq… Pretty muchqqqqq…”

No end… A day… A life… I’m in HELL! “Doober and I are gonna go out and get some juice… Do you want anything?”

“Ginger ale… Pleaseqqqq…?”

I hear the door close… I begin to cut loose… Scrapping and pulling… Wanting it to end… Looking for one of those motherfucking
gods again… LOOKING AGAIN….

Jane’s on the telephone in the kitchen. Doobe’s in the bathroom. I sneak into the master bedroom. It’s a small room, clean
to the point that it’s got a Pine-Sol mist wafting about in the air. A small double bed with a powder-blue quilt takes up
the back corner of the room. I have to stop and imagine Mom and Dad getting it on before I make another move. Jane’s mother’s
quite the 40-ish looker—that air of wisdom sautéd lightly in a been-around-the-block tapenade. I can see her now, soothing
poor Papa Bankerman’s woes with her tanned fingers and those knowing taut thighs.

Back to business. I’m not here to wank it in some
soiled Bloomies cotton panties. THIS IS A MISSION. I spot the dresser and I make my move, listening carefully to the outside;
keeping audio track of what’s going on with Jane and Doobe. Of course, there’s the required family pix on the top of the dresser.
Jane’s got some nice sisters. Jane’s the petite one. All the other sisters are broad, jock-types. That’s OK, where I grew
up, a girl could throw a softball or two. I’m used to that active model—the tomboy. I want a woman who can rope a cow if she
has to. Anyways, the dresser’s got five drawers. I go for the top one… T-shirts… No dice… The second down… Boxers… What’s
the point? My jeans are already so cruddy… The third one… BINGO… SOCKS GALORE… Colored socks… White socks… Wool socks… Silk
socks… Argyles… Plaids… This guy doesn’t fuck around! I’ve got a new respect for Jane’s father! I mean I’d seen him in some
nice royal-blue tweedy socks, but who knew? The guy’s got depth! I select a pair to my liking… Nothing special… A knee-high
tube… Goes a long way. I slip them on… My feet are squeaky from the shower… Yes… Better than a sauna and a rub down… My feet
love me… It’s been a while… Things were bleak in London… Doobe doesn’t do enough laundry… I debate whether or not to grab
a thick purple wool pair for the road, but decide against it on the grounds that I think it would show no class… Take what
you need, Jimi… Not what you want… And sneak back
out into the living room, flopping down with a magazine I can’t read.

Jane comes out of the kitchen.

“You look a lot better today, Jimi.”

“Feel a lot better too, Jane.”

“Doobe’s gone out to get some wine. I told him to get you some more ginger ale.”

“Jane, you’re a good woman.”

“I’ll be in the shower if anyone calls for me.”

“Ok… Jane… Is it alright if I try to get in touch with that guy, Harry, I told you about?”

“Sure… Mom put instructions for dialing out next to the phone,” she says, and closes the bedroom door behind her.

“Thanks a lot,” I yell back, and go into the kitchen. I call the school that Harry goes to, and they say that they can’t give
me his number but that they’ll take a message and give it to him. I promise that I’m not a rapist but to no avail. I leave
Jane’s number and hang up. Doobe returns with ginger ale and vino.

“You look a lot better today, Jimi.”

“Better than I looked when I was lapping up water out of the commode?”

“Exactly… Have some ginger ale. I got some broth I’ll heat up for you.”

I sit back on the couch while Doobe heats up the soup. Life is good again, sipping on soda with clean thick socks on, not
puking my guts up.

Notre-Dame standing tall in the middle of Paris—a monument to years of Christian suffering and terrorism reduced to a stop
on a guided tour. There’s a big crater in front of it where some Nazi bomb landed. The locals say it’s a miracle, the bomb
that is. Burn the fucking building, and save a few million people, I say. Faith.

“Let’s go in and light a candle for Ray,” Doobe says earnestly.

“Definitely… Don’t you think so, Jimi?” Jane chirps.

“I’m not adverse to a little prayer.” Might be a good time to look for some help with my stomach virus.

We walk inside the massive wooden front doors and sit down at a bench along the wall.

“I’ll get us a candle to light.”

Jane and I sit in silence while Doobe trots over to a divinely inspired huckster and gets a candle. He comes back and sits
down next to Jane. Not a word is spoken for what seems like hours until finally, Helms turns with tear-streaked eyes.

“Come on… Let’s go over to that side altar,” and takes hold of Jane’s hand.

My first impulse is to say, “Hey, if we’re gonna light one last one for our man, shouldn’t we at least go to the center altar
and get a straight-on audience with the Man?” but I don’t say it. The truth is that I got the emotions flowing. I let the
corniness slide. For a moment I stop being “the guy with the funny line” and I let this thing be whatever it is. I see Jane
for the first time… For the pained soul that she is. The look in her eyes and the sadness in her face… Whether or not she
could have helped is neither here nor there at this point. She cared about Ray. The only thing getting in the way is that
she’s as fucked up as he was! We’re all as fucked up as he was! It’s no secret… THIS LIFE… Probably takes out most of us.

Doobe motions to Jane to come up and join him at the altar. I stay behind, not knowing if they want me to be RIGHT there with
them. I’m here, more or less, as a witness, but that’s alright. I’m here. Doobe lights a long wooden match, bringing it up
in front of him and Jane, illuminating their faces… The match ignites with a leap… The flame stretching bright… And then settles
into a steady burn… Looking soft… Looking kind… Free… For just a second… Of all my fear… And my suffocating judgments… I see
Doobe… I see Jane… I see Ray… And I see me… Climbing upwards… The flame… But always dying back down again… Jane puts her little-girl
hand… In
need of a cigarette… On Doobe’s hand… And they reach out to the candle in front of them… I watch as the wick scorches… And
then accepts the fire….

RITUAL

SILENCE

What is a hero but a silly prelude to a tragedy… A victim… Built up and torn down like so many billboards on Hollywood Boulevard.
A need for more and bigger, leaves no choice. Ray’s gone and we’re lighting a candle, trying to make ourselves feel better,
or bring back some part of him. Sitting there watching a flame burn, wishing I wasn’t puking so much… Wishing I was drinking
in a dark bar… Drinking with Ray… Drinking with anyone… But I stay… And sit… Doobe is crying… And Jane is crying… And I’m
wishing… Wishing that I could cry… The tears locked behind some thing… Some wall… I can’t see… Wishing a candle could change
anything… Errol Flynn was a faggot, I see… Marilyn Monroe was a junky, I hear… And JFK was a slut, I speak… My old man once
asked me what I believe in and I shrugged… Thinking I’d be an asshole to say anything other than “I don’t know.” A test. I
really don’t know… I just remember… Ray… Laughing… Talking… Walking… Being alive… Being my friend… He was such a doomed fool
to begin with… The guy never did anything right… The last time I saw him alive he was standing in front of a group of people
outside the fraternity… Impressing
them… I remember thinking… Poor Ray… When’s he ever gonna get over it… I barely spoke with the guy… I just wanted out of school
and as far away from all those people as I could get… HIS CHOICE… He made a choice… A BIG LAST STAND… And now here I am in
Europe on some false little pilgrimage, trying to recapture some lost light….

The credits are rolling on the Ray movie and we’re walking out the door in a Day-Glo shroud of tears. The sun is going down
on the ancient streets of Paris, and all the women look so kind in the streets. I want to grab them and kiss them. I grab
Jane and kiss her.

“Jane, he’d be psyched about this.”

“He is.”

I start to blush. The blood inside me pumping through my face. Not caring. Seeing this world, and seeing Ray. Loving the women,
and hearing the music. Not being afraid to hold a small piece of it for once. Not being afraid of losing or failing. I’m in
love with the pain, and the joy, and all the in-between stuff. So much of it is in-between. Realizing my smallness and being
glad I don’t really have anything to do with the outcome of a whole day on this planet. Watching the world and drinking from
its filthy gold cup… Not because I can… But because I do….

A figure appears across the park. I watch as the body comes into focus, zigzagging between winos and fountains—Harry Clements.
Harry walks with his feet low on the ground, shuffling side to side like all hockey players walk. Feet down along the ground,
pushing off to the side with hips rolling, waiting for a puck, or a pass, or a hit. I get up from my spot next to Doobe and
make my way over to meet him.

“I didn’t know if you’d get that message or not.”