The Girl On The Half Shell (33 page)

We meet up again at the sales counter. I stare off in horror when I’m told the total.
Four thousand dollars? How could it be more than four thousand dollars? Some panties, some bras, one dress, one pair of shoes! Four thousand dollars!

I’ve never spent four thousand dollars in a single day. Everyone around me looks like it’s no big deal. I frown. I don’t have that much cash. I’ll have to charge it. Jeez, what will Jack think when he sees this?

Linda laughs. “Are you OK, Chrissie? You have the funniest look on your face.”

“I wasn’t expecting it to be so much.”

“It’s Prada. Just give her one of Manny’s credit cards. It’s not like he can’t afford it.”

I stare at her. “I have my own credit cards. Why would you think I would have Alan’s?”

Linda studies my face, confused. “You’re living together. I just assumed.”

I can feel the color drain from my face. Is that what Linda thinks? Is that what they all think?

“We’re not living together, Linda,” I say emphatically. “Why would you think we are living together?”

Linda’s eyes round. “Because you are. He moved you in. You go to sleep there. You wake up there. Your things are there. He moved you in, Chrissie. He doesn’t do that just for fun and kicks. It’s not his thing.”

Is it possible that I’ve moved in with Alan without knowing it? Not just in a stay-for-a-while-then-go-home thing, but in a we’re living together type way? No, no, no. Alan is unpredictable and confusing, but he was very clear about my staying in his apartment only while I was in New York. Linda misunderstood.

“I’ve not moved in. I’m not living with him.”

Oh, shit. Why did that have to sound so irrational and why did it have to be so loud? The salesgirl is staring. Linda is staring. Burning color is moving down my cheeks.

Linda shakes her head and reaches for her bag. “Fine. You’re not living with him. It’s nothing to get all pissed off about, Chrissie.”

“I want to go home.”

“Fine. Except you are not living together so I don’t know where to take you.”

In the car on the way back to the apartment, Linda is sulking.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m not usually so…snappy.”

She shakes her head. “I get it. I shouldn’t have been rude.” She unbends and smiles sympathetically. “I’m just really glad he has you. I just want us to be friends and for you to know you won’t get any garbage from me.”

I’m not certain what that assurance means, but I smile.

“It’s hard for him, you know,” she adds sadly. “Out on the road, never anyone like him. You’re like him, I think.”

Like him? What does that mean? Alan and I are complete opposites, in all ways, except the one way I still am not comfortable admitting to myself.

“I think I might be in love with him,” I confess, shocking the hell out of myself. I don’t have a clue why I am telling Linda this.

Linda laughs. “It’s obvious that you’re in love with him.”

“It’s almost impossible to get a feel that you really know what’s going on with Alan. And the living together thing. Definitely not something I expected having someone say to me. I’m still trying to figure out what it is we’re doing. He’s good for me. And he’s bad for me. And I don’t know what to do.”

Linda grins. “Yeah, well, welcome to guys. He’s used to having things his own way. And all the other shit, the stuff in the papers, well that’s just what it is, Chrissie, just shit. You know everyone has it wrong about him. The only place he’s ever real is on stage. Off stage is the show. That’s where he doesn’t trust anyone enough to be himself.”

I expel a long, shuddering breath. “I feel that way sometimes when we’re together. Like he’s sometimes putting on an act.”

“No,” Linda counters, “he’s totally himself with you. I’ve known him a long time. I saw it at once. He’s never been that way with a girl, just totally himself from the start, but then what is there usually for him to meet? It’s nearly impossible for him to meet someone worth caring about, and the guy is a giver to the core.”

There is acid in Linda’s voice when she says that last part, as if she’s thinking of someone particular in Alan’s past. Was it a girl that hurt him so badly? I debate with myself whether to ask her.

I smile weakly. “So, that’s where I am. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Linda laughs and leans in to hug me. “I’ve been married five years and I don’t know what I’m doing. Keeps life interesting, though. Doesn’t it?”

We’re laughing as we take our bags from Colin and step into the garage elevator. I lean back into the mirrored walls, smiling and feeling OK. It was good to get out with Linda, to just let all the emotions rest for a while. There is no law that says I have to figure out everything today.

Linda is chattering on, probing what I would like to do tonight, when the elevator doors open. My face falls and my heart stills.

The music is blasting and there are hundreds of people in the apartment. It’s packed, packed with famous faces: the currently hot; the always freaky; the artsy; a hodgepodge of everything that is the music industry. There are bars set up everywhere and I wonder where the set-up bars and serving help came from. There is food, lots of food, floating around the room on pretty trays: sushi, dim sum, caviar, and a lot of food I can’t even identify. And the air is suffocating with laughter, talk, and smoke.

Linda studies my face. “Fuck! This is what you get when you leave them alone for more than an hour. The party is on speed dial.”

“Really! How convenient.”

We have to fight just to get through the entryway. I spot Alan on the terrace, exactly where I left him, only now he is New York Rock Star chic. He is laughing, barefooted, cross-legged on a cushioned chaise in a black flowing shirt and leather pants with tousled long hair and twinkling black eyes.

Exactly where I left him, except he’s surrounded by girls, being pulled at, claimed, kissed, fawned on and wooed. It is a surprisingly unsettling thing to see him like this, restless with adrenalin, surrounded by swarming admirers. He doesn’t even look like the same guy I left at four.

At four he was tense, aloof, almost as if he were uncomfortable with people near him, but now he is the magnet in the center of the universe, making all things twirl, holding everyone captive of him, and completely engaged and alive and dominant.

Len is reclined on a chaise across from Alan, and they are laughing and drinking as if they hadn’t nearly killed each other earlier this week. Beautiful women are all around, pressed up against them. My heart goes out to Linda.
Poor, Linda. Poor, poor Linda.

“Are you OK, Chrissie?”

I can feel Linda staring at me.

“I’m just going to put my things away. Do you want me to take yours?”

I slip quickly down the hall into the bedroom and close the door. That familiar anxiety and sadness whispers through me. I’ve never liked parties. Why did Alan do this? Shouldn’t he have at least asked me if I wanted a party? I’m starting to feel chaotic inside, off balance and disoriented, and I wish I could just go out there and make everyone go away.

There is a push on the bedroom door, and I slam it shut and lock it. I sink on the bed, running my hands through my hair. That party has nothing to do with me, so there is no point in being a pissed off mess about it.

I go into the bathroom, wash my face and brush my hair. As an afterthought, I grab the phone and call the service for messages. Seven from Rene. One from Jack. The call from Jack surprises me and I wonder what’s up with that.

I cringe. Has the gossip from New York reached Santa Barbara? Santa Barbara only just feels like the edge of the earth. It isn’t really. It’s a phone call away and I was stupid not to consider that, after working a week in a studio with him, that Ian Kennedy might mention it in passing to Jack. They’re good friends.

Ring, ring, ring.

“Hello?”

I exhale. “Hi, Daddy.”

“Chrissie! I was just thinking about you.”

I try to pick out clues in Jack’s voice to figure out where this conversation might take me. Jack sounds happy. He doesn’t sound like a father who has just learned that his daughter is having a relationship with a recovering heroin addict.

I curl the phone cord around my arm until it pinches hard. “So, what’s up? You called yesterday. Sorry I didn’t call you earlier. I just got the message from the service. Everything going OK?”

“Everything is fine. I was just checking on you. It’s allowed. I am your dad.”

My cheeks burn. Even though he’s laughing, there is something in Jack’s voice I can’t read.

“Daddy, I need to tell you something.”

Silence. “OK. Why so serious?”

I’m having an affair with Alan Manzone!
“It’s just…I spent four thousand dollars shopping today.”

I roll my eyes at myself. A long pause. God, that came out so lame.

“Are you worried that I’m going to be angry that you spent four grand shopping? Is that why you sound so strange?” Jack laughs almost in relief. I stare at the receiver.
Do I sound strange?
“It’s relative. You’re shopping in New York. I wouldn’t want you to get in the habit of it, but it’s no big deal, Chrissie.”

Jack laughs harder. I almost start to cry. He says, “Shit, you had me really worried for a while. I don’t know. Something in your voice. I thought you were going to tell me something I don’t want to hear.”

I brush at my tears. “I went shopping today with a girlfriend. I know it’s a lot of money. I just sort of got carried away and before I could stop myself it was done.”

I’m talking about shopping, but not really, not inside of me. Tears fill up my air way.

“Whoa, Chrissie. Slow down. Why are you crying? Why are you upset?”

Oh god, why did I start this? Why did I call Jack today?

“Are you OK?” he presses more insistently into the phone. “Did something happen?”

“Nothing happened, Daddy.”

“Then why are you crying?”

“I’m just emotional today, I guess.”

“Is that all there is, Chrissie? I sense something more. You can tell me anything. What’s wrong?”

I bite my lip.
I’m in love. That’s what’s wrong.

“Is there anything you need to talk to me about, Chrissie?”

What does he know? Why does it always feel like he knows everything, but won’t ever tip his hand about anything?

“There’s nothing, Daddy.”

I expect to hear the click. Instead, “Tell me about New York, baby girl.”

I curl around the phone, and for the first time in a very long time I just talk to Jack. I can’t remember the last time we talked this way and I’m not exactly sure why we are doing it today. But it feels good. Really, really good.

* * *

I’ve just finished my call when there is a soft tap on the bedroom, and instinctively I know its Linda. I open the door to find her holding two glasses. She sinks beside me with a look of heavy dread and pushes what I think is a daiquiri into my hand.

“You OK?” she asks.

I nod. “I’m OK.”

“I want us to be great friends.”

I remind myself that Linda is a fragile girl. I take a sip of the daiquiri. I smile. “It’s good.”

Linda downs her daiquiri in a single gulp. “I really, really hate this shit.”

I nod. We both know she’s not talking about the drink.

Linda sighs. “I should have brought the whole pitcher!”

Chapter Thirteen

When we return to the party, Alan is slow dancing with Nia, and it really bothers me that he looks completely into her. His body presses against her flesh in a way that tells me they’ve been intimate before.

The sharp, burning knives cutting my insides take me completely by surprise. I never expected to feel flash jealousy over Alan, and I realize that is exactly what I’m feeling, standing here like an idiot watching him dance with another girl.

“Alan and Nia are old news, Chrissie. They’ve been over forever,” Linda informs, reading me without effort.

I shrug. “It’s no big deal. We are not exclusive or anything. He can do what he wants. I think I’m going to get another drink before I go out there.”

I decide not to follow Linda to one of the bars set up in the great room. There are people crowded several bodies deep around all of them, and I don’t have Linda’s nerve. She just pushes through, telling people to get the fuck out of her way, and they do.

I go instead into the kitchen and find it empty, when in California the kitchen is often the party room.

I rummage through the refrigerator until I find a Diet Coke.

“Hi. You hiding from that mess out there, too? An hour ago there were only about fifty of them. I ducked out at somewhere around one hundred. How many are in there now?”

I whirl around to realize that “hi” is intended for me. There’s a guy sitting alone on the counter, nursing a beer. Very attractive, blond hair, hazel eyes, light tan, good body. Why is he hiding in the kitchen?

“Nope, I’m not hiding. Just didn’t want to have to fight for a drink. It didn’t seem right to fight for a Coke. I’m shocked to find practically no one else in the kitchen. New Yorkers, very strange people. Who knew?”

He laughs. “You must be from California. I thought my brother and I were the only ones here. Sandy is a promoter. He’s the idiot who dragged me here. But I can tell you are from California.”

Now I’m intrigued and I smile. “OK, how can you tell?”

He smiles. He points at my shoes. “Beyond the nice tan and the shorts? The UGG boots. Definitely a California thing.”

“How very observant of you.”

“I’m a writer. That’s my thing. Crowds, not so much. But people watching definitely my thing.”

He says it in a silly, self-depreciating way that is kind of charming. I can tell he’s quiet and a little shy like me.

“Have you written anything I might know?”

“Maybe. I’m a reporter for the
Los Angeles Times.
”

I tense and have a sudden urge to flee the kitchen. He notices. “I am off the record tonight, so relax. I’m just a guest here like you.”

He extends his hand. “Jesse Harris.”

“Chrissie.”