Once I was over at the record company to hear some reel-to-reels off the new album. Alex was there too, making phone calls. There were lots of other writers there as well, mostly from fanzines, but the entertainment editor of Seventeen showed up so I had someone to talk to.
I wandered outside of the conference room to the desk where Alex was answering his messages and I stood over him. He was talking about meeting some people at a bar. He was saying he'd probably end up doing things he didn't think he should do and saying things he didn't want to say because that's what happens whenever they all get together. Then he hung up the phone.
I'm sorry. I began. I don't want to bother you. I always feel so weird when I deal with musicians because there's this kind of us-and-them thing going on you know, we're the press and you guys have to watch what you say when we're around.
Don't be silly, he said. We're all people.
Well, I was just wondering, you once told me that you knew where I could get my tattoo fixed and
Give me your number and I'll give you a call.
You always say that, I said.
I was moving at that point, for the third time in six months, and I couldn't really be reached. I never gave Alex my new phone number. He told me where I could leave him a message when I settled in.
But I never left one.
Later that day, his publicist brought out a birthday cake for him. It was early in February, so I knew he was an Aquarius. I was sitting on the floor at that point, and as he walked out of the room I asked, How old are you? He didn't answer so I pulled his leg until he bent down and whispered 31 in my ear.
I lie down next to him but I have no interest in sleeping. I hope you don't mind if I sleep, he says.
Oh no. Of course not. You're tired.
I pull my skirt back down over my thighs as I sit up on the edge of the bed and feel my hair, how it sticks together, and touch my ear, which is not just gooey but also in pain from being pushed into so hard. My whole body has been pushed into pretty hard. I feel at my lobe that an earring is missing, but I get up to leave because I don't want to look for it right now.
Can you pass me the soda at the side of the bed? Alex asks.
I hand him the liter-size bottle of Orangina, which he gulps down.
Maybe I'll go running, I say as if I'm looking for a better suggestion.
You're a very energetic girl, he says.
Yes, I suppose.
I stand up and look at him lying there. I think I'm going to marry my bed, he says. He starts telling me that he'll be at a concert I am going to at the Bottom Line later on, but I know he won't. I look at my watch. It's 4:20. I arrived there at 3:30. Fifty minutes. Not bad.
He shows me to the door, even though it means getting out of bed, not because he is being chivalrous but because the knob is broken and he knows I'll never figure my way out alone.
It was fun, I say, because that's what you say. Let's, um, do it again sometime.
Yeah, he says.
Did you have fun? I turn around and ask before I walk through the door. I want to know this because be didn't come, at least not as far as I could tell.
Yeah.
I want to ask him why we did this since it seemed so unmonumental. I want to ask why he didn't say the things men always do in bed, whether they mean them or not, like, Ah baby you're so pretty. Or whatever. I want to ask what the point of this was but instead, the only words I say are, Do you do this often?
What? Screw? Yes.
No invite strange women to your apartment to fuck?
He doesn't answer.
When you asked me to come up here, did you know this was going to happen?
Yes.
I must be very naïve because I had no idea.
I kind of doubt that.
I do too, I think. But I realize that I really did assume we'd hang out, maybe go for a walk, maybe watch MTV, maybe get something to eat. I thought he was just one of me disguised as one of them. I thought heavy metal was just a show and offstage everyone is married and has kids and that the Jack Daniel's in the bottle is really just iced tea because that's what David Lee Roth once admitted. I thought that we were all people really.
He opens his door to let me out. I tell him l really want to go for a ride on his motorcycle. You got $700? he asks.
No, I tell him. No I don't.
I'd like to go for a ride on my motorcycle too. Maybe we will when it gets repaired.
I offer to try to get his cat out of the hospital, but he says he's got people working on it already.
I'll see you tonight, he says as I turn to leave.
should do and saying things he didn't want to say because that's what happens whenever they all get together. Then he hung up the phone.
answer so I pulled his leg until he bent down and whispered 31 in my ear.
Bottom Line later on, but I know he won't. I look at my watch. It's 4:20. I arrived there at 3:30. Fifty minutes. Not bad.
bottle is really just iced tea because that's what David Lee Roth once admitted. I thought that we were all people really.
