A Pink Mansion, A Fake-Girlfriend, and A Lost Cause

The day I left for Santa Barbara, Brett had thrown himself across my car while I was driving. He fell off and grabbed his leg screaming acting like it was really hurt. I watched out the rear-view window until I hit the freeway, and eventually he gave up the act and walked in his suit to our apartment.


We lived on the bad section of Argyle. Not the top section where I would go rehearse with acting partners from Playhouse West. But, down near the freeway. 

His car was dead, so there wasn't anything I needed to worry about. He couldn't follow me, at least that's what I thought. At the time Brett wore suits and ties and real shoes. He was the only one in all of Los Angeles who dressed like that.

Anyway, I drove to Santa Barbara and found Chrissy. At least that's what I think her name was. Chrissy lived in a too tiny apartment that had pots and pans all over the living room floor. The clothes were stacked, like someone had washed them, but there was no furniture to put them away in. Clown masks and mardi gras beads hung from the walls. Her boyfriend sang songs without being in key. He made food, but we didn't eat it. We never ate back then. We left him there. 

"We're going to get lost, in case Brett shows up, you never saw us."

The boyfriend had a name, I think it was Jeremy, but I might be remembering the little heroin addict from the Kibitz Room. Jeremy was in a famous movie once, but I don't know if he's still alive. He gave me a book, it's Alan Watt or Watts, something about the beat poets. I've never opened it. 

We went out onto State Street, Chrissy taking me around to introduce me to her friends. She took me into a sex store holding up some ridiculous toy saying, "I've always wanted this one."

Chrissy and I spent our day drinking with other kids that had nothing else to do. We roamed the streets. We got cocaine and went to a party. At the party we were in the bathroom. We were doing the coke. We were supposed to share it with this guy, the guy who brought it to us, but we didn't. We pretended to forget. In there, she was like, should we do it off the back of the toilet or on the toilet. I said gross. And then cleaned both off with some Windex I found under the sink. But, now we were going to be inhaling Windex along with the coke. So, we decided to do it off the sink. Only the sink was tiled and some of the coke got stuck in the grout and after we snorted as much as we could we  both licked the sink. Me first. Then Chrissy. Someone was knocking. What the fuck are you two doing in there? Like that.

"Want me to go down on you?" Chrissy said. She actually said something much more graphic, but it's too obvious to say it out loud.

I stared at her. She said, "It's not like we have to be a couple or something, I just like you is all."

I swear I didn't even hear her, I mean I did, but I thought it was a joke. I shoved it back from what I could comprehend. At that moment anything would have been nice or awful depending on skill and if I liked it. I grabbed her arm and put it behind her back and pushed her up against the wall kissing her until she was breathless, pulled away and said, "I don't like you like that."

Finally, we got out of the bathroom.

The guy came up and said, do you have the coke and we handed over the bindle. It was empty. He looked at us and was like, dude. But, what could we do? Give it back? It was already in us. I was thinking at least we didn't eat the bindle. Then where would you be? We laughed at each other and Chrissy held me around the waist as we made our way down the long stairs into the back yard and up into another room with couches.

"Your waist is so small."

"No, it isn't."

"My fingers can touch at the back and at the front."

"Your hands are big."

Conversations ran together. Chrissy and I talked endlessly about nothing. We both had boyfriends. She would say things like, "It's not cheating if it's with a girl." I was in and out. Conscious then spinning then back. The cops came and we held our breath as if holding our breath made us invisible. We asked each other if it was worse to hide or stay put. But, neither of us could say anything that made sense. We said things about the stars. We pressed our bodies against each other. At some point we left. We were in the hills of Santa Barbara. Chrissy used the phone, some guy came to get us, it was a different guy. We went to the Cat Club and did more drugs that someone foolishly handed us. We were in the bathroom. I stared into the mirror trying to see the half of my face that kept disappearing. Chrissy kept trying to get with me, but I was too wasted to understand if I wanted to or not. 

It was the first time I had been away from Brett. It was the first time in two years I wouldn't be interrogated for my outfit or my actions.

I remember Chrissy's hands more than I remember her mouth. Just like with everyone. Except that one guy once. I can still feel his mouth burned into my flesh as it were a part of me. Where is that guy?

When we spoke it went like this, but don't hold me to the detail of it: I don't trust you, you came up here to get away from me and now you're with that whore. Chrissy is not a whore. Yes. She is. And she likes pussy, so keep away from her. I don't know what you mean. You think you can just fuck anyone and it doesn't matter, but it does matter. God sees you. I left him standing there. Chrissy and I snuck out the back and went to this giant pink mansion in the middle of Santa Barbara. We were there for three days.