An American Love Story (26 page)

“But we are married.”

“No. I mean really marry me. Nina’s almost grown. She’ll understand.”

He looked pained. “Do you know what it would cost me to get a divorce? I’d have to give Laura half of everything I made, plus support her and Nina and that expensive apartment in The Dakota, and Nina’s college … all from my half. I’d be broke. I’m not making nearly enough to handle that.”

“I don’t understand,” Susan said. It seemed so illogical and unfair. “If you gave her half why would you have to pay all the other bills too? Why only you and not Laura too?”

“You
don’t
understand,” Clay said. “Don’t you think I’d be relieved if she’d go live in East Hampton and not bother me? I wish she would.”

“You love that apartment in The Dakota,” she said gently. “It means a lot to you.”

“My first success,” Clay said. “I’d have to sell it.” His tone said
lose it.
Susan’s heart went out to him, the young man she had never known, with all his optimistic dreams.

“It’s a symbol. I do understand.”

“I don’t care about a symbol for me,” he said. “I love that apartment but I’m beginning to hate it too. I need it as a symbol for the world. Look—” For the first time he sounded testy. “I hardly have a job. Let me get on my feet. I’d be strapped if I tried to divorce Laura now. I’d have nothing.”

Susan sighed. She couldn’t contest his logic. But, it hurt.

He smiled then and squeezed her hand. “You’re my life,” he said. “You’re my precious magical monkey. We’re together. We’re going to make movies together and make love together and be together for the rest of our lives. Come on, have a glass of champagne and be happy. It’s Christmas!”

Their “Christmas celebration” the next night was drinks at the Russian Tea Room, a properly decorated and festive place; iced vodka with smoked salmon and caviar; early, because he had to go home for dinner with Nina and to watch her trimming the tree. “I just put on one ornament and escape to my bed as quickly as possible,” Clay said. “Don’t be lonely and don’t be sad. If you’re sad it makes me sad.”

“I won’t be,” Susan lied.

First he had come to her apartment where they exchanged presents. She had bought him cuff links yet again because they were the only jewelry either of them approved of for a man to wear aside from a watch. He gave her a beautiful necklace of delicate gold petals. It was obviously expensive and she felt guilty.

He had written another beautiful card for her. His cards always made her feel inadequate about hers, even though she was the writer. She stood it on her dresser, where it would stay throughout the holidays and then be put into her scrapbook along with the others.

At the restaurant they were loving but subdued. This wasn’t the way it should be, but it was part of the bargain, part of the tradeoff when you gave your heart to a married man. Soon they would be together again in California, and they would be working on The Romeo and Juliet Murder movie, she knew it.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you.”

When it was time to go he dropped her off first in the cab. Susan saw the familiar lights of her apartment building coming toward her, and looked at them with a kind of dread. No matter how unhappy he was spending the night with his family, he was going to be with
them.
He was hers, she had lived with him, and
did, and would, but there were times like this when she felt abandoned.

His lips when he kissed her good night were gentle and cool. Her doorman was still holding the cab door open, but she nodded no, Clay would be going on. A cab behind them was honking impatiently.

“Merry Christmas, monkey,” Clay said lightly, preparing himself for the ordeal to come at home.

“Merry Christmas, monkey catcher.”

They kissed again, briefly, and the cab with him in it drove away. Susan went upstairs, pulled the silver foil off her large chocolate Santa and bit his head off. Then she sucked and ate the rest until she was both comforted and sick, staring out the windows at the lights on the Christmas trees in other people’s apartments.

This was the way it was.

17

1979—SEATTLE AND LOS ANGELES

F
our years out in the world was the same as a college education, Bambi was thinking, as she dressed to go to Simon Sez for the evening. At college she had been first excited and challenged by the newness, then finally impatient and bored, waiting to graduate and get on to her wonderful grown-up life and career with Simon. By the end she hadn’t even cared what grades she got as long as she didn’t get thrown out. And now, after four years at Simon Sez, she realized that instead of the glamorous showcase she had envisioned it was really a cozy womb for Simon, a dead end where they would remain two big fish in a small pond.

Simon was so bright, so attractive and sexy, so good with people, but in some ways he was like a leftover flower child from the Sixties. He thought Simon Sez was the “magical kingdom,” and for him it was; but she no longer did.

Big fish, Bambi thought, and ran to get a pad of paper
and a pen to write down the new lyrics of a song. “You want to be a biiiig fish, you think that’s such a cool wish …” It didn’t matter that she couldn’t write conventional music, or that her voice was thin. She considered herself innovative. At Simon Sez the people who got up on the tiny stage to perform were weird or amateurs or both, and half the time the audience was so busy yapping that they didn’t even pay attention. She deserved better. She wanted more out of her life.

“Big fish alone in L.A., you keep waitin’ for your day, didn’t I tell you to stay … back home, back home.” It was genius! Her best song ever. And written in an instant of inspiration, the way some of the great songs were. Hadn’t John Lennon said that about a couple of his songs, or was it Paul McCartney? Maybe both of them … “Nobody sees how lonely you look, nobody even throws you a hook, poor fish, poor fish.” She folded the paper and put it into her pocket. She would try out the song tonight.

She had learned to play a few chords on the guitar, and, bent over it, her long walnut-colored braid gleaming in the spotlight over her head, her big brown eyes looking up every once in a while soulfully, she felt she made a pretty picture. Someone should discover her, but they wouldn’t be likely to here in Seattle, in a tiny little coffeehouse; no way.

When she walked into Simon Sez all the regulars were there. Simon was working the room as always; his two partners Judd and Tom were sitting in the back booth they used as a throne. The new waitress, a college girl making money to help toward her tuition, smiled, and Bambi smiled back. She stopped to say hello at each table and booth, to friends and strangers alike. Everyone knew who she was, even if they didn’t know her personally.

“Ah! The Lady Green.” Topo, the semi drag queen, who plucked his eyebrows and wore a ton of makeup, but didn’t have the nerve to wear a dress, was at his usual booth with his other nelly friends. They were all crazy about her. “Divine outfit. Do you have a new song for us tonight?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Bambi said.

“Be still, my heart,” Topo said, and put his hands over his breast. Bambi moved on.

“She’s so terrible she’s wonderful,” he whispered to a first-timer as Bambi went past, but she heard him. She stopped dead.

“What did you say?” she asked in a voice of absolute ice.

“Nothing.”

“I heard you.”

“Just teasing …”

“I want you to get the fuck out of my club,” Bambi said quietly, in that same cold voice. Inside she felt like bursting into tears. Hypocritical little shit, making fun of her behind her back! Did anyone else think she was ridiculous?

“Kidding …”

“Out.”

Simon was beside her then, his arm around her shoulders, as if he had radar. He smiled pleasantly at the party of six he didn’t want to lose. “What’s the problem?”

Topo shrugged extravagantly. “The Lady Green is persecuting this poor queen, I have no idea why.”

“Did he do something?” Simon asked her.

She tensed. She was smart enough to know that if Simon threw out Topo and his friends, by the next day it would be all over town—what he had said to her, and then the jokes and insults at her expense. “He doesn’t seem to appreciate the entertainment,” she said.

“But I
worship
you,” Topo said.

“A free round of whatever you’re having for the entire table,” Simon said pleasantly. His smile said
You’re forgiven
. but his eyes said
Watch it.
He kissed Bambi on the cheek.

“Hemlock,” Bambi said sweetly. She followed Simon through the room.

“What did he say to you?” Simon asked.

“He said I was so terrible I was wonderful,” Bambi said, and her voice caught in her throat.

Simon put his arms around her. “Well, he’s wrong. You’re wonderful, period. And don’t you ever forget it.”

She felt herself melting. She wished they could go home and make love long and wildly right this minute. “I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you.”

“Maybe if you have some free time later we could step into the supply closet.”

They grinned at each other conspiratorially and then he tweaked her braid. “Not again. I’m supposed to have some dignity here. It’s the law of averages that we’re bound to get caught.”

“It’s more fun when we think we’ll get caught,” Bambi said.

“I like it better lying down.”

She looked at the crotch of his jeans. She still had that effect on him, and he on her. She felt the familiar throbbing, even though they had made love all morning before he went to work and had left her exhausted. They loved each other so much, they were so perfect together; why couldn’t they get out of this town and go where it was happening; New York or Los Angeles? Los Angeles was closer, they could go there. Hollywood, and open another Simon Sez … 
Yes!
she thought. That was where her dissatisfaction had been leading, to the move they should make. The moment she thought of it she realized the idea was brilliant.

“Do you want to be on next?” Simon asked.

“Sure.”

She sat down in the booth with the partners and watched Buck O’Neill doing his act. He was a cute young comic just a few years out of college, and next month he was moving to L.A. to seek his fortune. He and Simon had become good friends.

“So this man walks in and says: ‘A ham sandwich on rye, please.’ ” Buck gave his impish grin. “And the man behind the counter says: ‘You must be Polish.’ ‘Why do you think I’m Polish?’ the first man says. ‘If I asked for corned beef would you say I was Irish? If I asked for pastrami would you say I was Jewish? Why do you think I’m Polish?’ The first man says, ‘This is a hardware store.’ ”

There was laughter. It was a friendly crowd tonight. Just wait till they hear my new song, Bambi thought.

“So the lady goes to see the vet, and she says: ‘I have a problem. Every time I bend over, my dog tries to mount me.’ The vet says: ‘I’ll neuter him right away.’ ‘No,’ she says, ‘just cut his nails.’ ”
There was more laughter and a few scattered boos. “Thank you, thank you,” Buck said cheerfully, and bounded off.

“What timing,” Simon said. He was drinking beer straight from the bottle. Since the coffeehouse had gotten its liquor license most people did. Bambi got up, went into the back behind the curtain, and emerged carrying her guitar. The stool she would sit on was ready, the light pink. She settled herself, waited like a stern teacher fixing her class with a look until there was an instant of quiet, and began to sing “Big Fish.”

When she sang it always made her feel important, peaceful and full. “Poor fish, poor fish, poor fish …” Her voice trailed off at the end of the song and she gave them a flourish. There was some applause. It was hard to gauge their reaction. She could hear Topo clapping very hard and cheering, but then he always did. It made her feel so angry and frustrated lately when people didn’t give her complete attention, when they talked and laughed during her performance, when she couldn’t really analyze their reaction at the end. If she and Simon opened a Simon Sez in Hollywood adults would come, movie people, even music people. It wouldn’t be just university students getting high and hanging out with their friends. She sang two more of her older songs, got up and thanked those fools, and went back to join Simon and the partners.

Buck was in the booth now, too. “Nice new song, Bambi,” Simon said. “Wasn’t it?” The other three nodded.

“I miss your monologues though,” Judd said. “I like the one about the old woman. You haven’t done that one for a long time.”

“Does that mean you didn’t like my song?” Bambi said.

“No, I like both.”

“The song was great,” Simon said. He leaned toward Buck. “So, there’s this seventy-five-year-old man with this gorgeous, sexy forty-year-old wife. And this other man comes over and asks in amazement, ‘How did you get such a young woman to marry you?’ ”

“ ‘It was easy,’ ” Buck finished. “ ‘I told her I was ninety.’ ” They all roared, except for Simon, who looked disappointed.

“You heard it,” Simon said.

Buck nodded. “I’ll use it if you want,” he said. “I think it’s funny.”

“Someday I’m going to come up with a joke you haven’t heard,” Simon said.

A guy in a rabbit suit was on stage now, doing mime to a record of a flute player. Buck looked at him and made a face. “That’s a joke I haven’t heard,” he said. They all laughed. He turned to Bambi. “Was your song supposed to be about me?”

“What do you mean?” she said.

“The person who goes to L.A. and fails. Is that a warning?”

“No,” she said indignantly. “I wasn’t even thinking about you. Everybody wants to go to California.”

“I don’t,” Simon said.

“There’s a blonde over there,” Judd said. “See her, that one? Is she amazing or what?”

“I like her friend,” Tom said.

“Shall we?” Judd asked. The two of them got up and sauntered over to the booth where the girls they wanted to pick up were sitting alone.

“Tweedledum and Tweedledee,” Bambi said. It was hard for her to hide her contempt for them; they had no ambition whatsoever except to own a piece of Simon Sez, pick up women, and rot here forever.