The Girl On The Half Shell (32 page)

I crinkle my nose. “Unintentionally.”

“So, what do you want to do today?”

I pretend to give it serious thought. “How about a date-date?”

Alan laughs. “What’s a date-date?”

“An evening that doesn’t include an entire evening in the bedroom.”

His eyes sharpen.
Shit, what have I said now?
It seems to take him a long time to decide how to answer. “You are not getting bored with me, are you?”

I look at him, puzzled. “Why do you have to be so touchy? I’d just like to get out of the apartment today.”

“Do you want Colin to take you shopping?”

Shopping?
I make a face. “I didn’t say I wanted to go out without you.”

A knock on the bedroom door saves me from what I can feel is going to be a quickly escalating argument.

“Fuck, Jeanette,” Alan growls. “Stop pounding! What do you want?”

I enjoy his flash anger directed at someone other than me, right up to the point where Alan jerks open the door butt naked in front of his secretary.

They talk in quiet tones I can’t hear. Then Alan rakes an aggravated hand through his hair. “Shit! Is that today?”

“You can’t put this off, Manny,” Jeanette says sternly.

“Fuck.” He closes the door and jerks on a pair of jeans and nothing else.

“Get dressed,” he orders.

I don’t like the way he sounds. “Why?”

“Just do it.”

I roll my eyes and pull on a long sleeve T-shirt, shorts and my UGG boots. I’m still struggling to pull one up as his hand practically drags me down the hall to the terrace. It’s packed with chattering bodies, balancing food and drinks from a long buffet. My insides go numb as I recognize the well-known faces of his band, and what must surely be assorted wives and girlfriends.

There is no time for Alan to explain what this little unexpected interruption is about, or even why he wants me here for this. We are quickly swallowed up by fast quips and greetings, the unrelenting flow between him and the people competing for his attention. There is too much going on all at once to catch any of it in clarity, and it is a particularly haunting pathos to be trapped against him in the drape of his arms while they all fight to get near him.

Everyone seems to just bounce off Alan with hardly any notice, except Linda. She cuts her way through the circle, ruffles his hair, kisses his cheek.

“Poor Ugly,” she teases with a pout. “Thought you could hide out here with the little kitty forever, didn’t you?”

The entire cluster sinks in unison, almost like a moving football huddle, onto the large cushioned chaise lounges. I’m still against his chest, and they’re like a firing squad in front of us.

“Listen. We’re just going to clear the air,” Len Rowan says, silencing the disjointed chatter of the mob. “No pressure, mind you. But we just all need a no bullshit, straight answer about what’s up.”

Kenny Jones, Alan’s drummer, is not quite as pleasant in his manner. “I’m tired of being fucking jerked around by you. We hear things, OK. We leave on the road in three weeks and we need to know: are you going to be there?”

Alan takes a long sip of his whiskey and smiles at me. “Yes. We will be there.” He says it clipped, succinctly, but I tense in every muscle. We? What does he mean by we?

“But it’s not enough just to show,” Len says intensely. “You’ve got to really be there. No barricading yourself away for days in your room. No jumping tour and disappearing. You’ve got to be on the road for the show to be any good.”

Alan nods. “I get it. You don’t have to lecture me, Len.”

“We need to get back into the space. Rehearse,” Kenny adds.

“Soon. I have things to take care of in the city, and then we’ll go to the rehearsal space,” Alan says tonelessly.

“You are OK, aren’t you?” Pat Despensa asks.

“I’m OK,” Alan states flatly.

From there the conversation diverges into shoptalk, the upcoming tour, and everything Alan’s missed in the last six months. Silent, I listen and watch this totally bizarre dynamic, where the limit of their concern over Alan and all that has gone on the past year was to ask him once, evasively, if he was OK. It makes me hate each and every one of them, and it reminds me of Alan’s comment about real people and the
everyone else
in his life.

I stare at my toes, trying to ignore the group. No wonder he wants me here with him. I may be a fucked up girl, but on my worst day I’m better than them. I feel Linda watching, and I lift my chin to look at her. Except perhaps Linda. She is totally weird, but under the weirdness I think she really does care about both her husband and Alan.

I feel the steady pressure of eyes on me and shift my gaze to find Kenny Jones studying me. “I know you,” he says, almost as an accusation.

“No, you don’t, Kenny,” Alan says flatly. I don’t know what was in that
no you don’t
but Kenny backs off and changes the subject.

I realize we’ve been on the terrace quite awhile and Alan hasn’t introduced me to any of them, and I wonder why. I can feel that they are all curious about me, the yet-to-be-determined significance of my presence.

The talk shifts into that strange guy-world mode, half talking and half laughing. Guys talk about nothing, and yet they give the air that everything they say has a deeper, important meaning. Stories I know nothing about. Places. Things they’ve done, girls from the road…I feel myself get a little queasy. Music, parties, concerts and nothing. Guys talk about anything. All shit. Except the real shit. There is no real shit in guy-world.

All the girls except Linda have vanished, and I would have vanished too, except Alan hasn’t relaxed his grip on me.

“I am bored, Len.” Linda breaks through the talking with her voice, which can be so earsplitting at times.

“Why can’t you be a good house cat like the little kitty, love? She just sits there looking beautiful and smiles. The perfect girl.”

Len winks at me.

Linda pushes up from the cushion. She downs her margarita and then sets the glass on the table. She makes a face at Len. “You’re right, Len. I am not the perfect girl. I’m the expensive wife.” She springs to her feet. “Come on, Chrissie, let’s get out of here. They are almost to resurrecting Hamburg. If I have to hear the Hamburg shit one more time this little kitty will go ballistic.”

The thought of escaping instantly lifts my mood, I’m halfway off the chaise before the impulse is in me is to look to Alan for permission, and I feel relief that he nods. Would I have stayed if he hadn’t? God, I don’t even want to try to figure that one out.

As I walk into the apartment, Linda follows behind me all the way to the bedroom. My duffel was beside the chair when I left, my things still inside, but now it’s gone.

She plops on the bed. “God, that was awful!”

I’m really glad she said it first. “Are they always like that?”

She nods. “We’re a dysfunctional family. I never thought they’d last after the first year.”

“Is Alan always like that with them? Tense and withdrawn and sort of just tired of them all?”

She starts randomly rummaging through a drawer in the bedside table. “Just for the past two, maybe three years. It’s hard to be the star. Everyone pulling on you, depending on you. Using you. It’s made him cynical, and I don’t think he’d be here at all if he wasn’t loyal. Alan is the most loyal guy I know.”

Loyal? Interesting. I hadn’t really thought of Alan in that way.

I return to my search for my things. It’s then I notice that the bed is made. Alan and I were in it right up to point when the band arrived. I frown. Bed made. The room no longer smells like sex and everything is back in perfect order. Sheets changed? Who cleaned the bedroom? Jeanette? I cringe. Too creepy of a thought for today.

Linda grabs the phone. “Colin, its Linda Rowan. Can you bring the car around? Now, please.”

She hangs up the phone. Her eyes lock on me. “What’s the matter, Chrissie?”

“I can’t find anything. I want to change and I don’t know where my clothes are.”

Linda shrugs. “Why are you changing? You look cute in the little shorts and fuzzy boot thing.”

“Who do you think cleans the bedroom? Do you think it’s Jeanette?”

Linda makes a face. “God, I hope not. I’d rather have a bullet in my head than that bitch touching my things.”

“What’s up with that, Linda?”

Linda lifts her brows. “We used to be best friends. She was my roommate at USC. We did our year abroad together in England and that’s when we met Alan and Len. We’ve been enemies ever since. I’ll leave it at that.”

And then I know, I just know. Linda had a thing for Alan and Jeanette was her best friend. And only one thing can turn that into a feud that never ends. Alan had a thing with Jeanette. Yuck, she’s his ex-girlfriend and now works as his secretary. God, no wonder she hates me.

I can see exactly when Linda realizes I put together the pieces. She crinkles her nose. “I wish he’d fire her. It’s been over like forever. Manny hates her.”

“Then why does she live here?”

Linda shakes her head in aggravation. “Showed up on his door maybe a year ago. That’s when everything first started to get weird. Manny all secretive and shit. Cruella in the background. And then all the shit started. That’s all I know, Chrissie. And I shouldn’t have told you that. Manny is going to be pissed at me.”

I am suddenly very uncomfortable and feeling very territorial. “I don’t give a shit who she is. I don’t want her touching my things.”

Angry, I stomp into the bathroom to see if my clothes are there.

“Chrissie? Let’s go,” Linda calls from the bedroom. “You don’t have to change. I’m not changing. Fuck the New York foo-foo bullshit on Park Avenue. We can do what we want. Let’s roll.”

* * *

Lunch and four hours later, we’re still shopping. I can’t even count the number of stores we’ve been to. Linda is right. She is the expensive wife, but I wonder if this marathon of shopping isn’t really her ploy to keep me away from Alan for the afternoon.

So far, I’ve bought only one thing: sunglasses from Versace. As I rummage on a rack, I admit I’ve sort of enjoyed the afternoon. Linda is fun, like a hurricane version of Rene, and it’s been nice having a small break from Alan. He’s just so intense, and it’s like you don’t realize that you need time for your emotions to quiet, because he is all-consuming.

I look up from the dress I’m studying to find Linda watching me. “You OK, Chrissie?”

I smile. “I’m fine.” I hold up the dress. “What do you think of this?”

Linda nods. “I love Prada. Drew Barrymore wore a dress almost exactly like that to the Oscars.”

I bite my lip and stare. It is completely impractical for Santa Barbara. There is no place at home to wear this. Even at the most posh restaurants, I never wear anything fancier than a sundress and flip flops. This would be too much even for the clubs.

I start to put the dress back and Linda frowns. “You are taking care of yourself, aren’t you?”

I flush scarlet.
Are we really about to have a sex talk here in the middle of a New York boutique?
Oh my god…Linda is beyond weird.

I smile. I nod. I pull out another dress and pretend to focus on it.

She comes around the display rack. “You need to take care of yourself, always. You can get home, can’t you? I mean, you do have people waiting for you should you need to go home?”

Oh.
Is that was this is about? She thinks I’m some girl Alan just snatched from the road and brought home with him.

“Don’t worry, Linda. I can get home. I have a return ticket in my bag.”

“You do?” Linda sounds surprised and relieved. “I just … I just wanted you to know that if you ever needed anything that you can depend on me. You know they don’t think of us girls. Not really. Not ever. And with Manny, you are everything until you are not, and then before you even know what’s hit you, it’s like he doesn’t know your name.”

I know Linda means well, but that warning helped me not in the least. It’s hard enough to try to figure out what this is with Alan without someone telling you its most likely nothing. I’m starting to feel a little sick and very unfocused.

I search through the rack for the Prada.

“You going to try that on?” Linda asks. “I think you’re going to look sensational in it.”

“Um, maybe.” I hand the dress to our shopping associate.

I just want to get away from Linda right now, but unfortunately she follows me to the dressing room. The salesgirl stays, as well. It didn’t occur to me that the salesgirl would stay or that Linda would follow, and, Jeez, I just want a moment alone.

Linda is lying on the couch sipping champagne. Every store. Champagne. She looks at me, since I’ve been here several minutes doing nothing but staring at the dress.

“What’s wrong, Chrissie? You haven’t gone cold on the dress, have you?”

“Can you find me some shoes, Linda? Size seven. I want to see it with shoes.”

Linda springs to her feet and smiles as if thrilled to be of assistance. “I’ll find you just the perfect ones.”

Thankfully, the sales associate leaves with her. I shed my clothes and pull on the dress quickly. Linda gapes when she returns with several pairs of black spike-heeled shoes.

“I love that, Chrissie. You should get that dress.”

The sales girl gushes that it looks like it was made for me, but then that is her job. I look in the mirror. I do look kind of sexy. It is short, it is black, and it is tight, with a straight cut low neck and small sleeves at the bicep. A little red flower design on each sleeve. And the Tiffany bracelet I never take off is just the right jewelry for it.

Prada. I’ve never purchased anything Prada before. Rene will positively die when she sees it. I do like the dress. I do like the shoes.

I smile at Linda. “Fine. The dress. The shoes. Can we go home now, Linda?”

Linda laughs. “Sure, Chrissie. One afternoon and you’re already hot to get back. Not good, Chrissie. Not good. It doesn’t pay to let them know you want them.”

I flush, but Linda is already out of the room to call Colin, and I quickly pull on my clothes and then hand the dress and shoes to the sales associate.