Ginny Blue's Boyfriends Read online

  Dr. Dick hesitated momentarily, then blew my mind when he said, “He came to see me once.”

  “Who? Lang?” I sat bolt upright.

  “He came to ask me about psychology. He was researching a role.”

  “Oh.” I should have known Dr. Dick wouldn’t spill any of his real patients’ names, especially famous patients. “Las Vegas Blues?”

  “I think that was it.”

  “I knew him after that,” I said.

  “Why are you thinking about your past relationships?”

  I shrugged. “Because of Nate, I guess. It’s like giving myself a history lesson. If we don’t examine the mistakes of the past, we’re doomed to make them again. There’s a quote like that, isn’t there?”

  “Has examining the past helped?”

  “Not so far. The way I look at it ... it’s their fault, not mine.”

  He fought another smile.

  I left Dr. Dick’s office feeling better. Feeling surprised, in fact, that I’d spent less time actually fantasizing about him and more time in serious conversation. Well, pseudoserious, anyway. It’s hard for me to equate my failed romances with anything of true value.

  That night I met Daphne and Leo at the Standard. Leo has wild, curly hair and a full beard, and when people ask about the beard he pretends it’s for a role. This gets the conversation centered squarely on himself for a while, which I suspect is his game plan, but at least it gave me a chance to talk to Daphne. It was a tad nauseating how thrilled she was to be seen with him.

  “Be honest, Blue,” she said. “He’s cute, isn’t he? People just respond to him.”

  Because I was trying to be nice, and because Leo wasn’t terrible, I said, “He’s definitely cute.” I bit back the urge to ask about the so-called “role” and instead ordered my usual Ketel One vodka martini. No more stingers. I wanted familiarity and stability.

  Leo was trying harder than he had been the first time I’d met him. To be fair, he’d been working the Starbucks counter during that introduction and hadn’t given me more than a passing glance. He’d also been disinterested in Daphne, however; the only time he’d been able to brighten was when a young, heavily tattooed pal entered the place. I’d labeled Leo a Huge Waste of Time without really getting to know him. Maybe there was more to him than met the eye.

  “Leo,” I said. “What’s the role?”

  He slid me a look out of the corners of his eyes, his lips tightening a bit. “It’s for Spielberg.”

  “Steven Spielberg?”

  “Blue ...” Daphne’s eyes warned me.

  “A film?” I asked, shrugging.

  “Yes, a film,” Leo stated flatly, then moved across the room to seat himself deliberately in one of the clear, swinging plastic chairs.

  Daphne shot me a hurt look. “The part’s down to Leo and four other guys. It’s very stressful for him. I can’t believe you said that.”

  She scurried toward him, taking the only other plastic chair. I found myself sitting alone on one of the leather couches until a young couple sat down beside me. So much for trying to get to know Leo.

  Not long afterwards they decided to take a cab home rather than ride with me, the designated driver. I drove home lonely and annoyed with myself. Though I’m no fan of Leo’s, I envied their relationship—in the early days as it was—and wished I had someone to hug and kiss and make love to.

  I didn’t realize my prayers were going to be answered until I unlocked my front door and a shadow emerged from behind the jasmine bush that separated my small stoop from the condo facing toward the alley.

  I screamed bloody murder.

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” a slightly familiar voice declared, sounding as shaken as I felt.

  “Charlie?” I asked, peering into the darkness.

  “You could wake the dead. Jesus. My heart’s pounding.”

  “You scared me.”

  “No shit.”

  My neighbor’s porch light came on. I unlocked my door and practically yanked Charlie inside. That particular neighbor is what a few generations back they called a “nosey parker.” We get along fine, but I absolutely hate having to explain anything.

  I sat on one of my rickety bar stools at the kitchen counter. The stools are usually tucked beneath the breakfast bar, which is part of the piece of counter that also houses my sink. No one ever sits on either of the stools because they’re uncomfortable and dangerous. Since Nate took his chair, and then later his lamps and coffee table and a few other things, now my living room consists of, well ... a couch. A few end tables. The television, inside my only expensive piece of furniture—a Pottery Barn armoire that I’m still paying off. One nice table lamp and a convoluted sculptured piece of plastic and metal that Daphne gave me for my birthday a few years back. Art, she’d called it. I’m pretty sure it’s a bong.

  The reason I was sitting on a stool was that Charlie had draped himself over the sofa. He had that aging hippie, well used look. His hair was long and suspect; it may have seen soap and water in the last decade but a hair brush was something else again. His clothes were wrinkled and all in shades of cream—or what once was cream—and army green. He wore sandals; the strap was broken on his right one. I had a picture of him in Eugene, at the University of Oregon, fitting in with a kind of bohemian lifestyle, but I don’t think he ever really made it to college.

  He still had a boyish look, but it was spoiled somewhat when he smiled and revealed a space about three teeth back on the left side of his jaw. His blue eyes were innocent and joyful, however. I kept my gaze on them and tried hard not to think about the hair. One of my true inner fears is lice. I can hear a whole news story about death, disease, and despair and feel bad, but mention lice and my skin crawls and I instantly have to do an intense check of my own scalp. Phobias. What can you say. They’re not rational.

  Kristl appeared from upstairs, surprising me, as she’d been missing in action for an untold number of days. She regarded Charlie curiously after I introduced him as someone from Carriage Hill High. I was so glad to have her with me that I forgot to finish the introductions. I never mentioned her name to him. She ended up doing that herself, leaning forward and shaking Charlie’s hand. I watched surreptitiously and noticed that she frowned a bit and stealthily examined her palm when she thought Charlie wouldn’t notice. He didn’t. I did, however, and I wondered what she thought she’d picked up from him. Another frisson down my back.

  “How’d you find my place?” I asked, belatedly, having initially been too bemused to pop out with the most important question. He had my number, yes, but the address?

  “Your mom,” he said. “After you called, I checked in with her. She said she’s gonna come down this way sometime, too. I always liked her. She’s cool.”

  Charlie had never known my mother except by sight, as Mom was a sometime real estate agent whose picture smiled from the card she handed out to my friends right and left. As if any of them could buy property. Mom had carefully woven the white streak into a purposely bleached, more blondish mane before the photographer got hold of her.

  “Why do I feel like I know you?” Kristl mused to Charlie, turning to give me a puzzled look.

  Ex-File Number One, I silently telegraphed, but she didn’t pick up the message.

  Charlie said, “Me and a buddy are heading down to Tijuana. I just wanted to stop in.”

  “Where’s your buddy, now?” I asked.

  “At the Sav-On. Buying some beer. Good thing it’s open 24/7. Roadies, y’know.” He winked at us both.

  I damn near opened my mouth to give him the old “don’t drink and drive” caution, but I managed to contain myself at the last moment. If he didn’t know it by now, my blathering wasn’t going to help.

  Kristl, however, had no such compunction. “I hope you don’t really mean that you’d drink and drive.”

  He looked offended. “Hell, no. I’m the passenger!”

  That was it for Kristl. She gave me a hard look, made some excuse a
nd headed for the stairs. Panicked, I said, “Where’re you going?”

  “I’m meeting Brandon,” she said, and I thought I detected a whiff of true relief in the fact that she had an excuse for departure. Charlie had clearly not made the best impression. Given that she got married every time someone said “boo,” I didn’t see that she had anything to feel so superior about.

  I was also extremely annoyed with my mother for being such a blabbermouth. Note to self: Call Mom and lie to her about where I live.

  The phone rang and I snatched it up like a lifeline. It was Holly. I’ve never been so delighted to talk business in my life.

  She said flatly, “We got a bill here. That Liam Engleston person. Charged us twenty-five percent of his catering fee for canceling with him.”

  “What?” I screamed.

  “He can go fuck himself,” Holly said. “Take care of it.”

  She hung up.

  “Bad news?” Charlie asked.

  The guy was quick.

  Before I could react, Charlie’s buddy—someone Charlie introduced as Hog for obvious reasons—returned, carrying two sacks from Sav-On. Hog must have weighed three-fifty and he had short, stubby hair covering his pink scalp. I thought I saw screw-tops on the wine.

  “I’ve got something to take care of,” I said, glancing at the clock.

  “No problemo.” Charlie grinned and he and Hog started digging through their Sav-On sacks.

  I headed out the door, hoping my condo would still be standing when I returned and that my neighbor wouldn’t call the cops.

  Chapter 9

  Liam Engleston’s restaurant was closed by the time I got there. It was nearly midnight. I guess I’d hoped the bar would at least still be open, but as the place was centered in the business district, everything was shut tight. Nobody hangs around this section of LA for late-night partying.

  I was going to have to wait to confront Liam the next day, which was too bad, as I was spoiling for a fight tonight. I’d probably known this at some level but I was so infuriated with the rat that I’d run out of my condo like a madwoman. Anger still coursed through me. I wanted to spit and rant and throw myself at the door. General-usage swear words could not cover how I felt.

  And I sure as hell didn’t want to go home to Charlie and Hog.

  As I drove away from Liam’s restaurant, I castigated myself for listening to the crew about Liam and even meeting with the man in the first place. How could he send that bill?

  Gnashing my teeth, I hit the gas and tore down the 10 back toward Santa Monica. I was not in a logical frame of mind, to say the least. This is my explanation and excuse for what happened next.

  I veered off to see Sean.

  I had not made the colossal mistake of stopping in at his place earlier, though I’d been invited. Nobody, but nobody, drops in on a guy as young as Sean. (Let’s just start with the decorating motif of most straight males under thirty, if you get my drift.) And then there’s the whole, “what does this mean?” thing. I did not want a sexual relationship with Sean, and with that in mind, I had decided early on that I didn’t want to get myself into any place/scene/abode that was “too comfortable.”

  But here I was, parking the car, yanking on the brake, and walking up to Sean’s front door. It was no surprise he resided in a tired-looking apartment building south of Pico and on the eastern border of Santa Monica. I immediately realized my fears about getting too comfortable were unfounded. Nothing about his place could remotely get me in the mood for a sexual romp. Peeking through the windows I saw the front room was a place where pizza boxes came to die.

  I would have turned right there, tiptoeing back to my car, but his door flew open and there he was—in boxer shorts and a blue cloud of marijuana smoke.

  “Hey, Blue!” He was delighted to see me.

  “Hey, yourself. Thought I’d stop by and say hello, but y’know, it wasn’t such a good idea. I’m beat. Maybe we can get together tomorrow.”

  My words tumbled from my lips in rapid succession but Sean was deaf and heedless as he ushered me inside the tiny, messy room. “My roommate’s gone ’til Saturday. Death in the family. He lives in some place in Minnesota. Here, have a seat.” He swept pizza boxes and crusts out of the way and patted a worn-looking pad with his hand. Dust, or maybe flour—or, God forbid, dog dander—poofed upward. I struggled with my phobias and managed to perch on the edge.

  “Do you have pets?” I asked.

  “Nah ... hey, I haven’t seen you at all lately,” Sean said. “You’ve been in that office and on the shoot you were just ... whew ... really a bitch!” He laughed. “God. I thought you were like somebody new. Like a pod-person, or something, y’know. Like Invasion of the Body Snatchers.”

  “I just had a job to do. Bettina brought in the rest of your petty cash receipts.”

  “Ah, yeah ... kind of a mess, huh?” He rubbed a hand through his hair, yawned, then patted his bare stomach. The guy did have nice pecs and abs. He was young enough to have a firm body with minimal ritualistic workouts. I instantly imagined what it would be like to be naked with him, his taut body pressed against mine. But the pizza boxes stayed in my peripheral vision ...

  “I shouldn’t have come over here this late.” I tried to rise, but he waved me back down, accidentally slapping my arm in the process. I lost my balance and fell, half sprawling onto the sofa. Instantly I thought of cooties. All kinds. With an effort I tried to crush these traitorous thoughts, but I suddenly felt itchy all over.

  “Y’wanna smoke?” He searched through a pile of stuff on one of the end tables—matching scarred garage sale rejects.

  “No, thanks.” I made myself sit back. Sean smoked another joint and babbled happily away about—oh, hell, I have no idea. I wasn’t there any longer. Not in spirit, anyway. I’d jumped back to my anger at Liam Engleston. What an asshole. I’d never hired him and he knew it. No contract had been signed. His ploy was just meant to infuriate me and it was working.

  In an effort to stop roiling about it, I pulled my thoughts from Liam to Charlie and Hog. I wasn’t exactly horrified that they were at my condo, although that was pretty close. I was also bemused—no astounded—that I’d ever had anything in common with Charlie. High school is like this cult we live in for a few years then drift away from because— luckily—we graduate. The binding factor for members is merely locality, at least for public schools ... a proximity to each other on the planet.

  And some people, like Charlie, seem to stay there, happily cocooned in the cult.

  I inhaled, and definitely took in some secondhand smoke. Well, fine. I could probably use some self-medication. I grimaced. Who was I to judge Charlie, anyway? I’d found my way over to Sean’s tonight, hadn’t I? This wasn’t exactly something to be proud of.

  “Sean ...”

  “Shhh,” he said, a finger over his lips. “Y’hear that?”

  “No.”

  “Y’don’t?”

  “No,” I reiterated.

  “Oh. Yeah. It’s the washing machine. The coin-ops are directly beneath my unit. Sometimes I can hear ’em.”

  “Romantic,” I said, and Sean nodded. He was not a man for sarcasm.

  “Hey, I hear we might be going to Sedona,” he said with return of animation.

  I was surprised. “Holly talked to you about it already?”

  “Uh-huh. I’m driving a cube truck over.”

  I had a sudden vision of Sean driving, weaving and sucking on a joint. I imagined a wrecked rental truck and the ensuing insurance woes and expense to the production company. Already it felt like my fault. I hadn’t frowned on his extracurricular activities. Hell, I’d been egging him on, buying dope off him, encouraging his behavior. Good god.

  I fretted, wondering if I was going to have to get in the middle of this, too. If I’d just left Sean alone I wouldn’t be embroiled in this.

  “Jesus,” I muttered, getting to my feet.

  “Where ya goin’?”

  “Home, Sean. I’ll
talk to you later.” I patted him on the shoulder. He climbed onto a pair of wobbly legs, but couldn’t seem to find the energy to see me to the door. I practically ran outside and gulped clean, LA air—such as it is.

  I drove home and into the bunker, parking in my spot. My feet were leaden as they approached my front door. I could hear music and loud conversation. Wincing, I put the key in the lock and entered.

  Charlie and Hog were sitting on the two rickety bar stools, drinking and shouting at each other. Kristl stood to one side in silent disgust, clearly trying to figure out what to do. She turned to me. “My one night off where I can get some sleep and look.”

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “Blue, I’ve decided to move in with Brandon. I was going to tell you, but ...” She shrugged.

  I shrugged right back. “You’re getting married anyway, right? It was just a matter of time.”

  She clamped her lips shut. What more was there to say?

  Our conversation was set against a loud backdrop of male voices as Charlie and Hog downed their brewskies. Luckily, they seemed to be pretty happy drunks. I told them they could sleep on the couch and/or the floor and mentioned the blankets in the entry closet. Whether they heard me I couldn’t say. I followed Kristl upstairs, aware that her back was inordinately stiff; she was pissed.

  “What are you going to do with them?” she asked at the corner landing.

  “Sleep on it.”

  “Blue ...”

  She was getting ready to blow. Kristl’s Irish temper is generally kept well under rein—a result of her Libra rising, she’d once told me—but my snappish remark about her upcoming nuptials had gotten to her. I could see the flush gather beneath her skin.

  I cut her off at the pass. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with them. I’ll figure it out. And look, moving in with Brandon is okay.”

  My capitulation took all the fight out of her. “We’re moving to Seattle,” she said. “I don’t want to go.”

  I eyed her. The guys downstairs were bellowing with laughter. I hoped my walls were thicker than I believed. “Then don’t.”