Punk and Zen (38 page)

“I know what you’ve given me,” she said quietly, “I’ll
always treasure that. But,” and I heard her take a breath, “I’m not the one
you’ll live for.”

This was ridiculous. This was insane, this was just
plain-out wrong—there had to be a way through it. In person—if we were
face-to-face. I knew if she saw me we would be okay. “Where are you in
California? I’ll come to you. I’ll fly out as soon as I can get a flight,” I
swore, mentally reviewing airports and airlines. “Just tell me where you are.”

She sighed, but didn’t answer. “Where’s Ann?” she
asked instead.

“She’s sleeping. I’m out in the hallway because I
wanted to talk with you. Come on, Kitt baby, where are you? You back in LA?” I
hazarded.

She exhaled slowly, and when she spoke, she didn’t
answer my question, and she no longer spoke with tears. Her voice was angry and
resigned. “Trust me, Nina, she’s not sleeping. In two seconds, she’ll step out,
put her arms around you, and these past months will be a beautiful memory.
Then? She’ll fuck you, then fuck you over.”

She hung up on me.

Stunned, wounded beyond belief, I sat on the floor and
dropped the phone, buried my face in my hands, and wept. When Samantha came out
of the room, crouched down, and silently put her arms around me, I cried even
harder.

“Okay, let it out, baby, it’s okay,” she crooned
softly, “it’ll work out.” She kissed the top of my head.

“No, it won’t,” I told her, gasping, choking through
the ragged tear that had split me wide open, “and it’s my fault.” But a part of
my mind didn’t agree at all. I’d given Fran everything I had and then some. And
it hadn’t mattered what I had felt for Samantha—I had honored what Fran and I
shared, hadn’t I?

“Francesca?” Samantha asked quietly.

“Yeah,” I nodded, wiping my face, “yeah.”

“She’s mad…because I’m here?” Samantha asked slowly.

“She’s upset because you’re
here
,” I corrected,
indicating my place.

“But…nothing happened,” Samantha said. “I mean—there
wasn’t…”

Something in me snapped. The memory of Trace rose in
my mind and I remembered, I remembered everything she’d made me feel,
everything I’d let her put me through—and I had let her do it. It left a bitter
taste in my mouth, while a combined burst of anger and shame coiled through me.
Fuck. It was icy.

I adored Fran, but I wouldn’t do that to myself again,
not for anyone, not ever again. Trace had made me feel like nothing; I wasn’t
going to let Fran do that to me. I wasn’t ever going to be that weak again. I
picked up my phone from the floor, dried my eyes, and wiggled out of Samantha’s
embrace. I can’t really explain what had happened, but a different person stood
than had sat there crying.

“Doesn’t matter,” I stated flatly. Suddenly, the
ridiculousness of the situation hit me and I smiled, a twist to my face that
hurt. “She dumped me,” I laughed humorlessly, “she told me you’d fuck me over,
and she dumped me.”

Even in the gloomy darkness of the hallway, I could
see Samantha’s astonishment.

“You’re kidding!”

“About which? The dumping me or the fucking me over?”
I asked as I felt that painful grimace cross my face again.

Samantha waved her hands in the air. “Either…both—she
broke up with you? On the phone? Just now?”

ABC

“Yup,” I agreed, my voice sounding way too cheerful to
my ears, so bright it literally hurt me to hear, “on the phone, just now.”

This was crazy, this was insane. This was not how I’d
ever imagined I’d end my first gig or—and okay, I admit, this had been a dream
for a long time, too—see Samantha again. But honestly, I’d never imagined that
Fran and I would end, either. I felt the shakes race up my body—you know, that
internal shiver that won’t let you go when you’re just way too fuckin’ tired? I
was done, I’d had it.

“Bed,” I said to Samantha and indicated my door with a
nod, “I’m too tired for this.” I dragged myself in and sat down on the side I’d
slept on before the world had flipped upside down, then turned to see Samantha
outlined in the doorway.

“Maybe…I should go,” Samantha said. “I’ll just call a
cab.”

Dammit. This wasn’t Sam’s fault. I was being rude and
obnoxious, and that wasn’t fair of me. Still clutching my phone, I walked back
over to her. Her hands came up automatically to enfold me as I approached, and
I put my arms around her shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m just really fucked up
right now.”

Her arms tightened around me, and I tucked my head
into her neck.

“Don’t worry about me,” Samantha whispered back. “I
just want you to be all right. I’ll give her a call tomorrow, see if I can talk
some sense into her.”

That was
not
a good idea. If we couldn’t
straighten this out ourselves, then adding anyone else into the mix wouldn’t
help. Especially not Samantha.

I tossed my head. “No. She has no reason not to trust
me, and if she finds she can’t, well,” I gave Samantha a tight little grin,
“then we have nothing anyway.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little harsh?” she asked,
her voice low and concerned.

I dropped my arms from her shoulders and took her
hand, leading her back to the promised land of sleep. “No, I don’t,” I
answered, letting my breath out in a contained rush. “It’s all about the bottom
line.”

I stopped by the foot of the bed and faced Samantha
again. “Life’s too short, Sammy, you taught me that, years ago. She loves me,
or she doesn’t. It’s bone simple.”

She searched my face, then finally nodded. “Yeah. I
guess you’re right,” she said, looking at the ground, “but still—”

“I might feel differently in the morning,” I allowed
with a small ABC smile. “Sleep now.”

We gave each other a quick and fierce hug, and as I
stepped back to my side of the bed, the phone went off. I answered it before
the first note had completed itself as I sat back on the mattress, hoping it
was Fran calling back.

“Hey,” I said.

“Nina!” Ronnie’s voice cheered out brightly, “do you
have a passport?”

Thrown for a moment because it wasn’t the voice I was
expecting, I had to think. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I do. At least, I think so. Why?”

“You’ve got six days to get your band, your paperwork,
and your gear in order. Rude Records and Skapunkt Records are jointly
sponsoring the Microwaves tour—with special supporting guest, Adam’s Rib.”

“Are you serious?” I asked him, totally amazed.

Samantha stirred behind me, and I felt her sit by my
back.

“Dead-on straight,” he said, “bigger than a heart
attack, but smaller than an atom bomb.”

“Holy shit!” I responded, momentarily losing my cool.
“Where we going?” I figured we’d be crossing the continent—East Coast to West
Coast with a whole lot of “non-coast” in between.

“London, baby. You’re starting in London—expect to be
gone eight to ten weeks. Why do you think I asked about your passport?”

Holy Christ on a cracker. I fumbled behind the amp for
the notebook and pen I kept there—for song-writing emergencies.

“We’re there,” I told him. “Who do I need to talk
with, what do I need to know?”

I wrote down all the information he gave me, including
Graham Crack’s and Paulie-Boy’s numbers. I promised to call him after I spoke
with the band, then hung up.

I sat there, staring at the phone.

“Who was that?” Sam asked, gently stroking my hair
away from my shoulder.

“That was Ronnie—the sound guy from CB’s,” I told her
while I still stared at nothing. I grabbed a cigarette from next to the amp and
lit it. I wasn’t going to sleep after all.

“Oh,” Samantha said. She waited a beat. “What did he
want?”

I twisted around to face her, my mind, my hands numb.
“To tell me about the Microwaves—we’re going on tour.”

∗ ∗ ∗ ∗

First
And Last And Always

Never
thought I’d wonder if all that I feel is true

Right
now? There’s no difference between just me and you

I
know you know me well

I
know you lie like hell

Do
you want me for me?

“Me For Me”—Life
Underwater

∗ ∗ ∗ ∗

Right after my call from Ronnie, I phoned Stephie, and
I left it up to her to get in touch with the Jerkster. It was insane. We had to
rehearse with Paulie-Boy, who would do two sets a night—ours and the
Microwaves’. We got to meet all of them, including Graham, during rehearsals.
Graham was from “Liver peeyool” as he said it; Paulie-Boy was from Boston. The
rest of the band were from all over—the West Indies, London, the bassist was
from South Dakota—how weird was that?

I liked everyone, but I found something about Graham
intriguing. Not in an I-want-to-date-you way, but more in a
there’s-more-to-you-th an-you-say-isn’t-there way.

Anyhow, we somehow managed to get all of our papers
and passports processed, and we all found the equipment we needed—especially
those all-important current converters—just in time to get to the airport.
Samantha had been the one to find the converters. “You’ll need these,
desperately,” she’d said with a grin as she handed me five of them. She ended
up being two hundred percent on the money.

Dee Dee threw me a surprise party two nights before we
left. I had gone in on my next work night and told her directly—and requested
the time off. I still needed a job when I got back, didn’t I?

“Ah, Nina,” she’d smiled and hugged me, “I always knew
you were too big for this place.” That had been almost exactly what Fran had
said to me, and I froze just as I was returning Dee Dee’s hug. She noticed.

“Nina, what’s the matter?” Dee Dee asked as I stepped
back. She reached to touch my face, but I pulled my head away, uncomfortable. I
didn’t want anyone to touch me.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized.

“No…I am.” I shook my head regretfully, ashamed of my
behavior—I was being an ass to a friend. I was just completely out of sorts
lately.

Dee Dee pursed her lips as she studied me.
“Francesca?”

I glanced up into her eyes and nodded in mute
acquiescence, trying to grin, but failing miserably.

At that moment, the door opened and Samantha walked
in. When she saw me sitting with Dee Dee, she smiled and nodded, then found her
own corner. This time, I smiled for real—I couldn’t help that.

It was strange—she had a lot of errands to run during
the day, which she vaguely told me about, just that they were work and family
legal matters, and while she hadn’t stayed over again (because we both agreed
that the situation with Fran was bad enough, so she stayed at Fran’s apartment
like she’d originally planned), she made sure to see me every day—either after
rehearsals, which were now in Manhattan in the Music Building on East
Fifty-first on Tin Pan Alley, or she’d stop by the bar and say hello.

“Oh, I see why…” Dee Dee said, looking from me to her
and back again.

“No, it’s nothing like that,” I told her, “in fact
it’s…”

I don’t know why I did it, but I told her the whole
damn thing.

By the time I got to the end, Dee Dee had tears in her
eyes. I didn’t understand—it seemed to me more like stupidity on my part than
tragedy.

I should have never walked Fran home that night, I
thought bitterly, but stopped myself right there, because I knew myself better
than that. Given the opportunity, I wouldn’t have missed the chance to love my
lion.

Whatever had impelled Fran to her actions had come
from somewhere, and I knew it wasn’t me—not really, anyway. I truly felt bad
for her, that something or someone had hurt her so badly that even though she
said she knew me, she really didn’t. I didn’t realize I’d said the first part
out loud.

“Nina,
liebe
, you don’t really feel that way,
do you?” Dee Dee asked me with warmth. This time when she touched my face, I
let her.

“No, no, I don’t,” I told her sadly, “it’s just…I’m so
damned confused, I don’t even know what to do.”

Dee Dee sighed. “Have you considered staying, ABC Page
196then?”

I had, I honestly had. But this tour was the
opportunity of a lifetime; I mean, even
I
knew that this sort of thing
might never come again. And I had to consider the band, too. I couldn’t let
them down now, could I? Hell, no.

“I thought about it,” I admitted, staring down at the
glossy shine of the bar, “but it’s not just me involved.” I looked up into Dee
Dee’s clear-sighted face. “It’s Jer’s and Stephie’s dreams, too.”

Dee Dee bit her lower lip and nodded. She took one of
her ever-present bar rags out of her waistband and polished a microspot on the
bar. I was starting to suspect that it was just something she did whenever she
needed a moment to think. I started to grin, but quickly stopped; I didn’t want
her to think I was making fun of “her thing,” if that’s what it was.