Plush (24 page)

“Take a deep breath, Hayley. The budget has been cut way down. We can’t afford the director’s rate right now, so we’re gonna have to make some changes.” Ah, fuck. More bad news for my career. Just what I need.

“Um, how low is the budget Annie?”

She looks me straight in the eye. “It’s about five-grand max.”

What the fuck? No one does things for that cheap when they think you’ve got the money. Ugh. I’m grabbing at her Crackberry. I’m going to call the asshole at the label and fucking tell him what’s what!

Annie fights the phone from my small fingers; hers are longer and her will is stronger. “Hayley, STOP IT! STOP IT! Look, I love you. I’m giving you the five grand and it’s for the new song you wrote with Enzo… The label isn’t paying for shit.”

Tears burst out of the weak little mouse.

“Annie, you can’t. Your mom has got too much crazy medical stuff going on and your condo… It’s too crazy… “ Annie throws her long, thin arm around me and tells me of that crazy story of her driving a ridiculous amount of hours to listen to some scrawny high-schooler girl and her weirdo brother play a few songs in their Dad’s garage in south Texas. She’s crying: “I have so much faith in you, I will dig you out of this hole or die trying.” I jump up and wrap my arms around her. Her bones and my bones. I melt. She continues: “What you and Enzo are doing is brilliant, maybe even better than anything you’ve done yet. Let’s make a super sexy video with Enzo and have some art school kid shoot it!” She wipes away my tears.

“ Sometimes I think the universe sent you to me to make up for fucking up with the whole my-mom-leaving-me-as-a-kid thing. I love you.”

She points at the door: “Now go to your choreo session… It’s already paid for.” Annie grabs all the wine bottles from the gift baskets, smiling from here to eternity. “These are mine!” And she leaves.

Ok. A plan. That’s what we need, and that’s what Annie’s got.

56

After dancing my ass off and letting myself eat a couple apples, I drive home and jump out the car. Sunny day, sunny day, and holy fuck! In my living room…

Enzo and Carter and the kids are dressed in wild costumes: boas on the new nanny’s neck; Cody is in a crazy big wig; Benjy is all Spinal Tap’d out. They’re all singing the chorus from ‘The Look’ dancing and howling with little fake electric guitars. Déjà vu… didn’t Jack and Carter do that a few years ago together? I’m shock-freaked-tweaked-scared to see Enzo rubbing all up against Carter like Carter is the scratching post to his long, fine, cat back. They perform like Mick and Keith. NO, NO, and MORE FUCKING NO! Enzo is totally flirting, and Carter is laughing and going along. I DO NOT FUCKING APPROVE:

a) ENZO IS MINE!

and b) CARTER IS MINE!

and c) ENZO SHOULD NOT be IN MY FUCKING HOUSE!

RULES, BOYS, RULES!

All the sweetness has been sucked out of my face and I scowl. Enzo takes notice of my expression and drops his fake guitar. “Haze… Sorry I didn’t tell you I was coming over; it’s just that Carter asked me to fix your kids’ puppets ‘cause Camila said I knew how… I – “

I want to finish his sentence and say he was just leaving, but he’s clearly not. Fuck, he’s giving guitar lessons to MY HUSBAND. Everything is not OK. He looks at me with that little bit of lost-boy love and it makes me insane, and I want to go fuck him but no. I ignore it. I must look casual… “That’s super cool. Thanks.”

Carter, in his bleached out wife-beater and a Slash top hat, grabs a gold guitar and starts to strum, proud of what Enzo taught him. He gets in the wide spread leg 80’s pose and yells, “G-C-D, oh, what’s E again?”

Enzo leans into Carter and moves his fingers to the position. This is too much. My lover. My husband. Too much confusion in my swamp heart.

I turn away and shuffle through the mail. Camila places a giant gift basket on the table: it’s got that big black bow on it like the other one. Inside is a serpent’s egg in moss. I feel sick. Ugh. I open the card. It’s the same fucking guy for sure – crazy lipstick heart. How the fuck did it get in here? “How did the trench-coat creep fan get my address?”

Carter walks over to me and forces me to look up at him. He’s got his serious Dad face on.

“What about this crazy fan?” Ah, shit. I didn’t tell him. I didn’t tell him anything about what was happening on tour…

“Enzo and I had to hide from him.” Carter’s eyes squint; he’s not happy about this. I can see him taking note. Fuck. Why did I blurt that out? Jeeze. I suck at fucking lying and covering shit up. I take a gulp of my Jack flask of Jack. The kids run back into the living-room play-area with war-woop yells. All roads lead to Enzo.

Enzo swallow-swoops in and, like a knight in shining amour, rescues the situation using the most stereotypical, melodramatic, gay-boy voice as possible: “I wanted to punch him, but I was too scared.” He swishes his hand about to really hammer home that he’s gay. Carter loosens his stern look then stares at Enzo – now with even swishier hands – and busts up laughing. Enzo grabs Carter’s muscle-y arms and said, “Wish these bad boys were around to protect us…” Even I laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. Ugh. Men.

“Just don’t let me see any letters or anything from him. Just throw that shit away. I don’t wanna know. I’m not gonna live in fear.” I smile. Relax Hayley. It’ll be OK. There are lots of people around.

“Dinner’s almost ready!” Camila announces. Even in her kitchen smock she’s still elegant as all hell. I like her silly accent. Enzo pulls out a bag of heirloom tomatoes that he says he grew in his garden. How does he have time for it all? Everybody sits at the table, and of course Enzo is sitting right in the middle with Benjy chewing off his ear. They poke each other in the ribs and laugh. It’s strange how all of us fit so well together. If this were France and I were a man, Carter would be cool with me sleeping with Enzo. But this is the USA and I got a pussy, so, therefore, I’m not allowed.

Benjy and Enzo are whispering secrets to each other and making their silverware dance. Oh, his beautiful face. Hayley – don’t stare at him. Enzo makes a tomato top hat on the fork and the two of them laugh wild-cloud-fun. This is too fucking weird. I can’t let Carter find out. I pour myself another glass of wine and down it. I don’t eat. If I fail at everything else in life, at least I won’t fail at being pretty. I pour another. If I can just somehow get through this too-slow dinner – slow like waiting for summer to come when you’re in school and fall classes have just begun – slow like trying to get the last drop of syrup out of the bottle, slow – waiting for the man slow – SLOW – then I can set shit straight with the hot, dark prince and make sure he understands that he can’t come into my house
ever again
._

I yawn and try to act tired, which I actually am, I just dramatize it more, but no one notices me at all. It’s just like the time I put the ketchup on me. The kids are the rats behind the Pied Piper. Enzo is making them howl and let go and use their imaginations. All they want is to play with toys and have fun with him. Enzo is the perfect combination of masculine and feminine..

THEN… Cody grabs at a little leather pouch around Enzo’s neck: “ENZY! ENZY! Can I see it?” Enzo takes it off and gives it to him. Cody looks inside and pulls out a locket of hair, woven in a heart. And guess what… it’s the exact color as mine. Great, Enzo. Are you trying to set us up for failure?

Enzo whispers, “This belongs to my other half.” Me? Does he mean me? My heart twists. I am not sure if I want to fuck him or destroy him. How Sid and Nancy.

Shit, shit, shit, Enzo. As romantic as this fucking is, you can’t fuck my shit up! Good thing Benjy is using a screwdriver to carve into a brand new chair; Carter’s hands are trying to stop him. I hope he didn’t see…
I’m sick. I’m spinning; everything is crashing. Hayley is crashing. Her bad choices and rotten heart are collapsing on itself. The universe tilts a little too far and I lose grasp on who I am and what I want, and I fall
.

I proclaim, “BEDTIME!” and I drag the twins away. They fight me the whole time, saying they want to stay and play with Enzo all night. I put them down and go back to the kitchen. Carter and Enzo have already gone, and I’m left at the table with the leftovers of my life: scraps and broken sparrow’s wings. Alone. Drink. Drink. Xanax. Drink.

Hours pass, maybe years. I sit here. Trying to hold myself together. It’s time to go to bed. I walk downstairs to Carter’s den to say goodnight, and fuck me, Enzo is there drinking wine with my husband. Will this day ever end? I need to unravel. I need to find clarity. I’m so lost in all this love and my too-stretched-out heart. Jack. Carter. Enzo.

Enzo reads my mind. Stands. He wobbles and starts to walk out. Phew. Yes. Leave. Now. Leave before they find out I’m a sham. Carter grabs Enzo’s keys: “You are way too drunk to drive…” Fuck. I’m so depressed. What have I done? Carter is so beautiful, always taking care of everybody. Ok. Can I let go of Enzo? Carter tells me to go make a bed for Enzo in the studio, and of course Enzo loves the idea and shimmers a quirk of a smirk across his fine-featured face. “Yes and I can play you the new demo!”

Enzo hugs Carter goodnight. Carter wiggles out as Enzo sloppily plants one on Carter’s cheek; it would’ve hit Carter’s lips if he hadn’t dodged out. The fucking nerve of him! I want to scream! And if that wasn’t enough, Enzo pretends to stumble and puts his hand right on Carter’s big, ox-beauty ass, his hand so soft and sweet, and keeps it there with a little squeeze. Carter pulls away with that ‘uh-oh’ expression, and Enzo laughs in a high voice: “I can’t help myself.” Awesome, Enzo. Just fucking awesome. Pretend you are gay so he won’t notice a thing. Ugh.

I let Enzo walk ahead and pull Carter back on our way out the door. Carter’s big arms hold blankets .

“I don’t want ANYBODY staying out there. Not since Jack died does anybody but me stay out there. That’s my haven. AND ENZO ISNT EVEN
THAT
DRUNK!” He gives me that stern face, “And how can you judge? You’ve been partying like you’re Keith Richards all night!”

I yank the bedding out of his hands: “You’re not my dad!” Well that was the wrong comparison. My dad wouldn’t notice or care about anything anyway. Ugh! Enzo and Carter look at each other and whisper something I can’t quite hear about women. UGH! MEN! Don’t you two do your psycho, male-bonding, Joseph Campbell, voodoo trip on me. Jesus, my life is feeling a fuck of a lot more like some afternoon soap opera and less and less like my actual life.

I storm down the hill and Enzo follows, running after me. I’m so fucking pissed. Enzo didn’t have to stay. He could have left whenever he wanted. He is totally fucking with me, claiming his stake. And though I’m flattered he’s so into me, I can’t handle this. Dead leaves crack under my bare feet. The blankets are heavy.

I go in the studio and when he opens the door I throw the blankets at his head and quiet yell,
“You
have violated our pact, asshole! What happens on tour isn’t supposed to come to Malibu and especially not come to Malibu and squeeze my husbands ASS!” I’m not sure which I’m more mad about: the invasion of privacy in my home or the invasion of my husband.

“Hayley… don’t be mad. Please.” His eyes are big and soft again. “Carter texted me. If I said no I would have blown our cover. I was just protecting you. I do it all for you.” Maybe he’s right, but I don’t care. There’s too much fucking confusion. Hearts are swamps. “CALL A FUCKING CAB!” He reaches for his phone. Good. Leave. I don’t even know what you want from me or what this all means or what even I want. I just need time to think and be alone. But he plugs his phone into the speaker system.

The song comes on – our song – and there are layers upon layers in it like a Marie Antoinette dress, so big with layers of beauty and mystery and loss. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt or heard. I want to be mad – I want to be so fucking mad and throw him out and break his heart – but I can’t. This song. This song is everything in my soul. It’s all the sickness, all the desire, all the hunger, and all the loss collapsing into one painting. It just collapses into the void. I’ve never sounded better. I mean. I think it’s even better than me and Jack. Shit. Shit, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT. I’m not hiding it well, and Enzo sees I’m falling again. I’m
falling deeper than I’ve ever been
.

He grabs my wrists and whips his belt around them. Oh, no. I’m so weak. I’m so hungry for him. I’ve got to leave. Enzo puts his eyes so close to mine – oh, fuck – I’m fucked. His serpent’s voice slithers: “Nobody sounds like you. Nobody.” That’s exactly what I need to hear, to believe.
I want to believe in the world again; I want to believe in me; I want to be complete. And he completes me.

I look at the security monitors and see the lights are off in the main house except a TV glow in the bedroom. The music is getting more intense. Is that even fucking possible? His hand slides into my pants. My breathing is getting so deep. My heart is screaming. The world is tilting.

It’s the best thing I’ve ever done. “That’s it, Hayley… “

“Hhhhhhhhhhhh” Me.

I’m so wet.
Even my soul is wet. The dream is collapsing in on me
.

“Ok..” I say, “just don’t leave marks.”

His eyes demon-flare. I can see I’m in more trouble than I asked for.

“DON’T you EVER FUCKING TELL ME WHAT to do…” he slithers in my ear. He slithers in my soul. My arms are up, tied against the post. He slashes my shirt off and forces off my pants and before I can scream, “no.” he’s shoved my panties in my mouth and duct taped it shut. “Show me your thousand faces, Hayley…” Plush carpet under my feet, my bare back is exposed. I can hear him reaching for something, but he’s tied my legs down too and I can’t move. “You fucking whore. I know why you scream in your sleep.”

Slash ka-ching ka-pow
– a whip cuts into my back. I scream. I scream, but I’m tasting my own wetness on my dirty panties.
Black night, death capes, searing scars
.

“You fucking whore… you killed your brother.” And he slashes my back again, and he slashes me out of this cell I’ve been fucking living – this cage of a body that I fucking hate that I’m at war with.