.
Am I imagining? No, I see it down at the bottom of the swimming pool---a wobbly mirage, hidden in plain sight under the chlorine and sunshine. I don't think anyone has noticed yet. I lower myself into the chaise lounge and breathe. In. Out. In. Out. The air is soft, still that early, gentle sun.
Oh! Did I put on my sunscreen? How could I forget my sunscreen?
Am I imagining? No, I see it down at the bottom of the swimming pool---a wobbly mirage, hidden in plain sight under the chlorine and sunshine. I don't think anyone has noticed yet. I lower myself into the chaise lounge and breathe. In. Out. In. Out. The air is soft, still that early, gentle sun.
Oh! Did I put on my sunscreen? How could I forget my sunscreen?
I close my eyes and envision the bright orange dispenser sitting on the counter in the apartment. But my hands aren't sticky, which means I must not have put the lotion on. This is terrible. Forgetting sunscreen is like forgetting my arm, or my purse. Now what? I can't go back in the apartment. My breath is not calm, and my brain is starting to cramp. I feel panic knocking. What am I going to do? That is a very familiar looking gun in the pool...
Just stop it, I say to myself. Maybe a little daydream will help. I adjust the sunglasses and tip my chin up. I'm quite good at this. Wearing giant sunglasses gives you the feeling of being invisible, you know, like how a cat gets partway under the couch. Her tail is still sticking out, as well as her rear end, but she thinks she is hidden, and safe. Like me.
OH, MOM
"She could be so pretty," the hairdresser nodded as my mother got her roots touched up and talked about me, the pre-teen with the magazine. Personally, I liked my glasses and had no desire to shove little pieces of saran wrap in my eyes. What did she want anyway? I was wearing the matching skirt and sweater, including the stupid scotty dog pin.
"A nice page boy cut might help," Mom nattered on. Better than the perm, I reminded myself.
"Oooh, looks like Annette is getting ready for the big dance!" Mom wiggled her fingers at Annette's mother who was supervising Annette's transformation to princess, mom-gloat all the way. Annette, my former babysitter, now high school celebrity. She sunk down in the chair and crossed her eyes at me. I flashed her my friendly vampire smile.
"We're working on the acne now," Mom continued splattering embarrassing personal information all over the beauty shop. "So far, I think Neutrogena is the best." They turned to stare at my pimples. I lifted the magazine.
"Now, if she would just smile more." Always Mom's final solution.
Does this sound like a Judy Bloom novel? And if so, how did I get into this gun situation, this sitting by the pool at the Flamingo Apartments in Las Vegas situation? And what about my sunscreen? I seem to be more upset about forgetting to put on sunscreen than I am about possibly having shot someone. What kind of person am I?
There's a little curtain in my brain that is ready to slide open and show me what happened. But no. First I need a plan.
UH OH, DAD
"So, what's your plan?" Dad said, putting down his pipe and focusing on me for the first time since 5th grade. After years under the radar, there I was under the microscope. His smile was way too big.
"Uh," I responded.
"What's next on your agenda?"
"Well, I graduated," I put forth brightly. That's something.
"And now?"
"College?" I suggested.
"College?" He seemed puzzled by this, so I tried again.
"A job?"
"A job?" More furrowed brow.
"Marry Bob?" He stopped tapping his pipe.
"Has Bob asked you to marry him?"
"Not exactly. But he will." Probably.
"Well, okay." Dad re-lit his pipe and opened the newspaper. Settled.
I always had a rather detached relationship with my father. I think he noticed when my transformation happened, or did he? Mom would have made sure he heard all about my merit badges in the pretty girl scouts: the pom poms and elections and crowns and tall boyfriends whose tuxedo bow ties matched my evening gowns. But what did he really notice?
And what about school? No one ever said anything about my grades. It's not easy getting Bs when you're in the pretty girl scouts cheering your way to the top. No time. Those Bs were like A pluses. Regular people do not understand this. It's way easier to not try. Silly me, I couldn't help trying, which was usually stressful, and sometimes strangely pleasant.
Sure enough, Bob asked me to marry him. And sure enough, I said yes. Oh, wow. Diamond ring, announcement party, girlfriend jealousy, bride magazines, manic mother. Life happening all around me, just like in the movies.
OOPS, SANJAY
Then I met Sanjay, and just like that, I returned Bob's engagement ring, bleached my hair blonde, and moved to Las Vegas with Sanjay to become a Playboy bunny or a showgirl, one of those. Of course, everyone freaked, and the only explanation I had was, well, nothing. It seemed like a good idea at the time?
I did feel bad about Bob. He was generally a pretty good boyfriend, even though he cheated on me with Sandra, twice, and wrecked my dad's car when we borrowed it for homecoming. I think he only asked me to marry him because he didn't have any better plan, sort of like why I said yes. We looked good together, that's for sure. Way better than I looked with Sanjay who was not tall, muscled, or blond. When I wore my heels and did the big hair, I was like 3 inches taller than Sanjay. But he loved it.
Sanjay was intense and unpredictable. At first, he used to scare me. I half expected him to pull a knife out of his shoe or know some deadly martial art. He didn't smile that much, but when he did, those white teeth against his dark face just knocked me out. When I first saw him outside Walmart he reminded me of a Doberman pincher. My uncle used to have two Dobies, Spike and Mike. These dogs stood very still and looked at you hard. No tail wagging even if they liked you. Okay, Dobies generally don't have tails, but if they did, they wouldn't wag them for just anyone like a Golden Retriever does. Bob was more like a Golden Retriever. I guess I was too.
Sanjay was six years older than me. He'd done things. He'd been to other countries and lots of other states, like Florida. His girlfriend before me was a bartender in Harrah's Lake Tahoe Casino, a very classy place. Sanjay had ideas and plans, and he was interested in my ideas too, even if I didn't have very many when we met. All of this appealed to me more than what Bob and I had, which was mainly what you usually do. Sort of like comparing vanilla to chile chocolate. Some people would choose vanilla every time. Who would have thought I would go for the chile?
PRESENT TENSE
"Lookit me!"
A scrawny little boy pounds his chest and jumps into the pool. What!? Where did he come from? I secretly freak out, completely paralyzed. This is the end for me and that gun. The kid surfaces and holds up a red dump truck.
"Look!" He shouts joyfully. I, on the other hand, am stunned. What about the gun?
"Cool goin', Jimmy," says Georgina as the boy shakes the wet truck at her. Georgina is my next door neighbor and girl pal, sort of. When did they come out to the pool? I sure didn't notice them. Sometimes I think I go into a death trance when I'm behind these sunglasses. I believe Jimmy is her nephew, or possibly her little brother.
"Ha there!" Georgina yells at me. I stretch and get up, slowly, very slowly. I sneak a peek into the pool. The gun is still there. Well, I suppose a kid would choose a dump truck over a boring old gun. Of course.
"Greetings," I say as I sit down at the umbrella table with Georgina. I take a sip of her Bloody Mary.
"Do you have any sunscreen?" I ask. Of course, she does. Showgirls go nowhere without their sunscreen. She digs around in her bag, then plunks the dispenser on the table. Spritz and smear. I lean over and Georgina spreads lotion on my back where I can't reach. We sit in companionable silence and stare out at the desert for a while.
"Jimmy's visitin' for a couple days," she says. "We're goin' out to Hoova Dam." Oh, whoopee. Hoover Dam. Sometimes I forget why I moved here. Must have been for the fame and fortune because there's not much fun. Hey, that's quite poetic.
"Ya'll workin' tonight?" Georgina asks.
"Uh, huh," I nod. Of course, I'm working tonight. Suddenly I feel like screaming. Of course, I'm working tonight, and every damn shift I can get to avoid turning tricks like you, bitch! Oh. This is upsetting. I never think this way. What is with me? Just because there is a gun in the pool, which might not even be mine, is no reason to be unpleasant.
"I'm bored," Jimmy whines. Georgina rolls her eyes and chugs the rest of her drink.
"Here ya go, kiddo," she says as she flings the celery stick into the pool. I choke, then hold my breath until Jimmy comes up with the ... celery stick?
No gun. Maybe I'm in a twilight zone episode. Do I hear spooky electronic noise? Are the casinos really in Mars instead of Nevada? I thought I knew where this was going, but, well, I guess it will go somewhere.
Georgina gathers up her stuff and they head out.
"Bye, bye, hon," she calls over her shoulder as the gate clinks shut.
I tiptoe over and put my foot in the pool. Yep, cool and wet. And there's the gun.
THE GUN
"I don't see why we need it," I said as we drove to Henderson in my Toyota.
"We do," Sanjay replied, looking straight ahead, doing his usual 85 MPH. I gave up telling him that speeding scared me. To him, speeding was one of the great joys of living in Nevada. He'd go 100 if my car didn't start shaking so bad. Sanjay loved to talk about the day when he would have a decent car, like a Corvette. Then he'd show me fear.
My makeup was starting to melt. This was not surprising since the Toyota had no air conditioning, and Sanjay preferred windows up. He believed it was better than having hot desert wind blasting our hair. I agreed, our hair looked good, but my makeup was often in danger of collapse.
Glamour was important to Sanjay. He waited quite patiently for me to get beautiful. "Better than ugly," he said more than once. So I went to the trouble of full hair and makeup, especially since he wouldn't really look at me if I wasn't fixed up, like when I got out of the shower or the swimming pool. I don't go in the pool any more---bad for the skin---but you can't give up showers. I was focusing on keeping my head still so the mascara didn't start dripping. Just in time, we arrived. Like most buildings in Las Vegas, Henderson Hardware was massively air conditioned. My makeup solidified in seconds.
"Hep you folks?" said the guy at the counter as he ogled me. Sanjay smirked.
"Need a gun," Sanjay said, like he bought guns all the time. I sauntered over to the counter in my mini-skirted way and leaned on the glass. Holy shit. The handgun prices were astronomical! $800 for a tiny one that could fit in my pocket. It wasn't even cute.
"38?" the guy winked at me.
"Mm," Sanjay mumbled, probably in shock at the prices. Silence went on for a while. Gun guy finally chuckled and told us the secret price, which was like 10% of the price marked on the ticket. This, he explained, was so he had a clever excuse for not selling to undesirable people, such as criminals or jealous wives. Not us, of course, because we looked so fine and proper, Sanjay with his tatoos and chains and me with my cleavage.
So we bought this gun and took it home, with some bird shot bullets and some serious bullets. Sanjay got all turned on watching me hold the gun, which I finally supposed was the point. So I treated the gun like a sex toy and quit being creeped out by it. Eventually the gun and the bullets ended up in the nightstand with the fur handcuffs and I forgot about it.
MORE NOW
Georgina and the kid have shuffled off to Hoover Dam, the Bloody Mary is gone, and the sun is no longer gentle. In Las Vegas, you get hurt if you sit out in the sun very long. High sun means high heat and major glare, like being under those big lights in a photo shoot. You start to squint and drip, then you get yelled at and they have to start the shoot over and they threaten to get someone else. My eyes are starting to hurt just like that, and I feel a sunburn starting. Tan lines are something a showgirl does not want, definitely not a sunburn.
"Stop dallying and do something constructive," I say to myself.
But I just know there is something bad in the apartment. But the shade is almost gone. But I have to do something. But, but, but. I am stuck in a mountain of unpleasant possibilities. So I don't do anything, and it's fine. Life is fine. Being a showgirl is fine. Sanjay and I are fine. Las Vegas is fine. When was the last time things weren't fine?
Oh, that would be yesterday. Unless I imagined yesterday altogether.
THE BANK
Robbing a bank was not my idea. Okay, maybe it was, but I was not serious. It was just the most outrageous thing I could think of while yelling at Sanjay that I didn't want to moonlight for the escort service. Not really yelling, but I had my serious expression that says No. At least any normal person would think so, but not Sanjay.
"Come on, baby," he wheedled. "They want you bad at the Texans party." Like I cared what they wanted. Sanjay whispered in my ear. "You could get those fancy-ass shoes," he crooned, trying to get me to look at him and his big dopey brown eyes.
"Come on, baby." He started tickling my inner arm, which we both knew was my cave and roll over spot. But No! I wouldn't do it! Everyone knew about the Texans and their parties. I was not going, period. Not, not, not! I crossed my arms over my chest. Sanjay give me his mean look, then he turned his back and started that thing where he's about to slam out the door. I couldn't stand it.
"I'd rather rob a bank!" I shouted in my very loud voice.
Although I got his attention and he didn't stomp out, this didn't actually help very much. We watched car racing in silence for a few hours, then he went back to work trying to sweet talk me into going. When I still refused, he sulked and wouldn't talk to me for two days. I was just starting to enjoy the silence when he finally spoke.
"Okay, we'll rob a bank."
CHANGE OF PLAN
So I ask you, was that my fault?
[Writer: "A bank?! Where did that come from? I don't know anything about banks!"]
"Well," I begin, "we could change it if you think ... "
"Oh, just shoot me," Sanjay interrupts.
[Writer: "Yep, that was the original plan ..."]
"No, no," I say. "I don't want to shoot Sanjay." They are both glaring at me. "Or, maybe something else could happen to him?"
"This sucks." Sanjay kicks the coffee table.
[Writer: ... whining ... "C'mon. Can't we just stick with the first plot?"]
"But I like Sanjay now," I say. "I really do." Sanjay blows me a kiss.
[Writer: "Just great. What I want to know is how Sanjay got to be so important? He was a minor character, for chrissake!"]
"And maybe Sanjay is not cut out to be a minor character," Sanjay says, not helping a bit.
Just stop it, I say to myself. Maybe a little daydream will help. I adjust the sunglasses and tip my chin up. I'm quite good at this. Wearing giant sunglasses gives you the feeling of being invisible, you know, like how a cat gets partway under the couch. Her tail is still sticking out, as well as her rear end, but she thinks she is hidden, and safe. Like me.
OH, MOM
"She could be so pretty," the hairdresser nodded as my mother got her roots touched up and talked about me, the pre-teen with the magazine. Personally, I liked my glasses and had no desire to shove little pieces of saran wrap in my eyes. What did she want anyway? I was wearing the matching skirt and sweater, including the stupid scotty dog pin.
"A nice page boy cut might help," Mom nattered on. Better than the perm, I reminded myself.
"Oooh, looks like Annette is getting ready for the big dance!" Mom wiggled her fingers at Annette's mother who was supervising Annette's transformation to princess, mom-gloat all the way. Annette, my former babysitter, now high school celebrity. She sunk down in the chair and crossed her eyes at me. I flashed her my friendly vampire smile.
"We're working on the acne now," Mom continued splattering embarrassing personal information all over the beauty shop. "So far, I think Neutrogena is the best." They turned to stare at my pimples. I lifted the magazine.
"Now, if she would just smile more." Always Mom's final solution.
Does this sound like a Judy Bloom novel? And if so, how did I get into this gun situation, this sitting by the pool at the Flamingo Apartments in Las Vegas situation? And what about my sunscreen? I seem to be more upset about forgetting to put on sunscreen than I am about possibly having shot someone. What kind of person am I?
There's a little curtain in my brain that is ready to slide open and show me what happened. But no. First I need a plan.
UH OH, DAD
"So, what's your plan?" Dad said, putting down his pipe and focusing on me for the first time since 5th grade. After years under the radar, there I was under the microscope. His smile was way too big.
"Uh," I responded.
"What's next on your agenda?"
"Well, I graduated," I put forth brightly. That's something.
"And now?"
"College?" I suggested.
"College?" He seemed puzzled by this, so I tried again.
"A job?"
"A job?" More furrowed brow.
"Marry Bob?" He stopped tapping his pipe.
"Has Bob asked you to marry him?"
"Not exactly. But he will." Probably.
"Well, okay." Dad re-lit his pipe and opened the newspaper. Settled.
I always had a rather detached relationship with my father. I think he noticed when my transformation happened, or did he? Mom would have made sure he heard all about my merit badges in the pretty girl scouts: the pom poms and elections and crowns and tall boyfriends whose tuxedo bow ties matched my evening gowns. But what did he really notice?
And what about school? No one ever said anything about my grades. It's not easy getting Bs when you're in the pretty girl scouts cheering your way to the top. No time. Those Bs were like A pluses. Regular people do not understand this. It's way easier to not try. Silly me, I couldn't help trying, which was usually stressful, and sometimes strangely pleasant.
Sure enough, Bob asked me to marry him. And sure enough, I said yes. Oh, wow. Diamond ring, announcement party, girlfriend jealousy, bride magazines, manic mother. Life happening all around me, just like in the movies.
OOPS, SANJAY
Then I met Sanjay, and just like that, I returned Bob's engagement ring, bleached my hair blonde, and moved to Las Vegas with Sanjay to become a Playboy bunny or a showgirl, one of those. Of course, everyone freaked, and the only explanation I had was, well, nothing. It seemed like a good idea at the time?
I did feel bad about Bob. He was generally a pretty good boyfriend, even though he cheated on me with Sandra, twice, and wrecked my dad's car when we borrowed it for homecoming. I think he only asked me to marry him because he didn't have any better plan, sort of like why I said yes. We looked good together, that's for sure. Way better than I looked with Sanjay who was not tall, muscled, or blond. When I wore my heels and did the big hair, I was like 3 inches taller than Sanjay. But he loved it.
Sanjay was intense and unpredictable. At first, he used to scare me. I half expected him to pull a knife out of his shoe or know some deadly martial art. He didn't smile that much, but when he did, those white teeth against his dark face just knocked me out. When I first saw him outside Walmart he reminded me of a Doberman pincher. My uncle used to have two Dobies, Spike and Mike. These dogs stood very still and looked at you hard. No tail wagging even if they liked you. Okay, Dobies generally don't have tails, but if they did, they wouldn't wag them for just anyone like a Golden Retriever does. Bob was more like a Golden Retriever. I guess I was too.
Sanjay was six years older than me. He'd done things. He'd been to other countries and lots of other states, like Florida. His girlfriend before me was a bartender in Harrah's Lake Tahoe Casino, a very classy place. Sanjay had ideas and plans, and he was interested in my ideas too, even if I didn't have very many when we met. All of this appealed to me more than what Bob and I had, which was mainly what you usually do. Sort of like comparing vanilla to chile chocolate. Some people would choose vanilla every time. Who would have thought I would go for the chile?
PRESENT TENSE
"Lookit me!"
A scrawny little boy pounds his chest and jumps into the pool. What!? Where did he come from? I secretly freak out, completely paralyzed. This is the end for me and that gun. The kid surfaces and holds up a red dump truck.
"Look!" He shouts joyfully. I, on the other hand, am stunned. What about the gun?
"Cool goin', Jimmy," says Georgina as the boy shakes the wet truck at her. Georgina is my next door neighbor and girl pal, sort of. When did they come out to the pool? I sure didn't notice them. Sometimes I think I go into a death trance when I'm behind these sunglasses. I believe Jimmy is her nephew, or possibly her little brother.
"Ha there!" Georgina yells at me. I stretch and get up, slowly, very slowly. I sneak a peek into the pool. The gun is still there. Well, I suppose a kid would choose a dump truck over a boring old gun. Of course.
"Greetings," I say as I sit down at the umbrella table with Georgina. I take a sip of her Bloody Mary.
"Do you have any sunscreen?" I ask. Of course, she does. Showgirls go nowhere without their sunscreen. She digs around in her bag, then plunks the dispenser on the table. Spritz and smear. I lean over and Georgina spreads lotion on my back where I can't reach. We sit in companionable silence and stare out at the desert for a while.
"Jimmy's visitin' for a couple days," she says. "We're goin' out to Hoova Dam." Oh, whoopee. Hoover Dam. Sometimes I forget why I moved here. Must have been for the fame and fortune because there's not much fun. Hey, that's quite poetic.
"Ya'll workin' tonight?" Georgina asks.
"Uh, huh," I nod. Of course, I'm working tonight. Suddenly I feel like screaming. Of course, I'm working tonight, and every damn shift I can get to avoid turning tricks like you, bitch! Oh. This is upsetting. I never think this way. What is with me? Just because there is a gun in the pool, which might not even be mine, is no reason to be unpleasant.
"I'm bored," Jimmy whines. Georgina rolls her eyes and chugs the rest of her drink.
"Here ya go, kiddo," she says as she flings the celery stick into the pool. I choke, then hold my breath until Jimmy comes up with the ... celery stick?
No gun. Maybe I'm in a twilight zone episode. Do I hear spooky electronic noise? Are the casinos really in Mars instead of Nevada? I thought I knew where this was going, but, well, I guess it will go somewhere.
Georgina gathers up her stuff and they head out.
"Bye, bye, hon," she calls over her shoulder as the gate clinks shut.
I tiptoe over and put my foot in the pool. Yep, cool and wet. And there's the gun.
THE GUN
"I don't see why we need it," I said as we drove to Henderson in my Toyota.
"We do," Sanjay replied, looking straight ahead, doing his usual 85 MPH. I gave up telling him that speeding scared me. To him, speeding was one of the great joys of living in Nevada. He'd go 100 if my car didn't start shaking so bad. Sanjay loved to talk about the day when he would have a decent car, like a Corvette. Then he'd show me fear.
My makeup was starting to melt. This was not surprising since the Toyota had no air conditioning, and Sanjay preferred windows up. He believed it was better than having hot desert wind blasting our hair. I agreed, our hair looked good, but my makeup was often in danger of collapse.
Glamour was important to Sanjay. He waited quite patiently for me to get beautiful. "Better than ugly," he said more than once. So I went to the trouble of full hair and makeup, especially since he wouldn't really look at me if I wasn't fixed up, like when I got out of the shower or the swimming pool. I don't go in the pool any more---bad for the skin---but you can't give up showers. I was focusing on keeping my head still so the mascara didn't start dripping. Just in time, we arrived. Like most buildings in Las Vegas, Henderson Hardware was massively air conditioned. My makeup solidified in seconds.
"Hep you folks?" said the guy at the counter as he ogled me. Sanjay smirked.
"Need a gun," Sanjay said, like he bought guns all the time. I sauntered over to the counter in my mini-skirted way and leaned on the glass. Holy shit. The handgun prices were astronomical! $800 for a tiny one that could fit in my pocket. It wasn't even cute.
"38?" the guy winked at me.
"Mm," Sanjay mumbled, probably in shock at the prices. Silence went on for a while. Gun guy finally chuckled and told us the secret price, which was like 10% of the price marked on the ticket. This, he explained, was so he had a clever excuse for not selling to undesirable people, such as criminals or jealous wives. Not us, of course, because we looked so fine and proper, Sanjay with his tatoos and chains and me with my cleavage.
So we bought this gun and took it home, with some bird shot bullets and some serious bullets. Sanjay got all turned on watching me hold the gun, which I finally supposed was the point. So I treated the gun like a sex toy and quit being creeped out by it. Eventually the gun and the bullets ended up in the nightstand with the fur handcuffs and I forgot about it.
MORE NOW
Georgina and the kid have shuffled off to Hoover Dam, the Bloody Mary is gone, and the sun is no longer gentle. In Las Vegas, you get hurt if you sit out in the sun very long. High sun means high heat and major glare, like being under those big lights in a photo shoot. You start to squint and drip, then you get yelled at and they have to start the shoot over and they threaten to get someone else. My eyes are starting to hurt just like that, and I feel a sunburn starting. Tan lines are something a showgirl does not want, definitely not a sunburn.
"Stop dallying and do something constructive," I say to myself.
But I just know there is something bad in the apartment. But the shade is almost gone. But I have to do something. But, but, but. I am stuck in a mountain of unpleasant possibilities. So I don't do anything, and it's fine. Life is fine. Being a showgirl is fine. Sanjay and I are fine. Las Vegas is fine. When was the last time things weren't fine?
Oh, that would be yesterday. Unless I imagined yesterday altogether.
THE BANK
Robbing a bank was not my idea. Okay, maybe it was, but I was not serious. It was just the most outrageous thing I could think of while yelling at Sanjay that I didn't want to moonlight for the escort service. Not really yelling, but I had my serious expression that says No. At least any normal person would think so, but not Sanjay.
"Come on, baby," he wheedled. "They want you bad at the Texans party." Like I cared what they wanted. Sanjay whispered in my ear. "You could get those fancy-ass shoes," he crooned, trying to get me to look at him and his big dopey brown eyes.
"Come on, baby." He started tickling my inner arm, which we both knew was my cave and roll over spot. But No! I wouldn't do it! Everyone knew about the Texans and their parties. I was not going, period. Not, not, not! I crossed my arms over my chest. Sanjay give me his mean look, then he turned his back and started that thing where he's about to slam out the door. I couldn't stand it.
"I'd rather rob a bank!" I shouted in my very loud voice.
Although I got his attention and he didn't stomp out, this didn't actually help very much. We watched car racing in silence for a few hours, then he went back to work trying to sweet talk me into going. When I still refused, he sulked and wouldn't talk to me for two days. I was just starting to enjoy the silence when he finally spoke.
"Okay, we'll rob a bank."
CHANGE OF PLAN
So I ask you, was that my fault?
[Writer: "A bank?! Where did that come from? I don't know anything about banks!"]
"Well," I begin, "we could change it if you think ... "
"Oh, just shoot me," Sanjay interrupts.
[Writer: "Yep, that was the original plan ..."]
"No, no," I say. "I don't want to shoot Sanjay." They are both glaring at me. "Or, maybe something else could happen to him?"
"This sucks." Sanjay kicks the coffee table.
[Writer: ... whining ... "C'mon. Can't we just stick with the first plot?"]
"But I like Sanjay now," I say. "I really do." Sanjay blows me a kiss.
[Writer: "Just great. What I want to know is how Sanjay got to be so important? He was a minor character, for chrissake!"]
"And maybe Sanjay is not cut out to be a minor character," Sanjay says, not helping a bit.
"Well, I don't know about that," I say tapping my nails together. I'm getting very tense not knowing what is next.
Knock, Knock
The three of us lock eyes.
"I wonder who that can be?" I say before either of them can do anything.
"I wonder who cares," Sanjay snaps, flopping down on the sofa and grabbing the newspaper.
I get up and look through the little peek hole. Hmmm. I don't recognize these people. How exciting! I turn back and whisper to Sanjay "I don't recognize these people." He ignores me. I tiptoe to the kitchen so I can check them out through the side window. It's dark and I can't see much.
Oh, look! My sunscreen! I feel a surge of joy.
KNOCK! KNOCK!
"What the hell?!" Sanjay throws down the newspaper and steps toward the door. He points at me. I shrug palms up to show him I really don't know who they are. I sit slowly down at the kitchen table and wonder why Sanjay has the gun in his back pocket. In my opinion, he carries it around way too much.
"What do you want?!" Sanjay yells belligerently as he flings the front door open. Bang! It hits the wall. I jump. Big scary silence hangs there. Oh, this is going well.
[Writer: "Well? This is going well!?"]
"Hey!" a deep voice shouts in a possibly friendly way.
"Sanjito!?" Other voices join in, all talking at once. Shuffling and scuffling. "Where you been, man?" I peek out the curtain. From the light of the apartment it looks like there are maybe 10 of them. And a big dog. They don't seem dangerous. Yet.
[Writer: "What the hell?" Mouth hanging open. "Who are these extra characters!?"]
Soon the others are all in the front room and Sanjay is hugging some of the girls. Hey! I stand up in my tall way and try to catch his eye.
"Come on over here, baby," says Sanjay, sounding different. "These are my friends. And this gorgeous creature," he sweeps me a bow, "is my lady." I blush. This is the unexpected stuff you can expect from the wonderful Sanjay.
"Want a beer?" Sanjay heads for the kitchen and the talking breaks out again.
[Writer: "Okay, gimme a beer. Sighhhhh... I'll just sit over here and watch whatever this is."]
So we have a party and I invite Katy and Georgina over. The other people introduce themselves: Ramon, Steve, Frieda, Jinky, Ramakrishna or something, some names I can't remember. And Blackie the dog.
"Yeah, this is more like it!" says Sanjay as he hands out lots of beer and turns on the music. I wonder how it is we have so much beer on hand. Or maybe this is just another piece of my hallucination. I give Sanjay that confused look and he comes over and hugs me.
"You are so cute," he gives me a kiss. "This story is going to be way better than that lame shit you were going on." He hands me a beer. "Jinky has an arsenal in the Hummer."
No.
Oh, no.
He did it again. Shit, shit, shit. I throw the beer down and jump at him.
"You promised I could have this one!" I cry, pounding him on the chest.
"Well, you had it," his voice gets hard, "and what did you do with it?" He grabs my wrists. and shakes me. "I was looking like a real asshole! No one would believe a loser like that. I didn't even have a car!" I'm kicking at him with my pointy shoes.
"And what was that crazy thing with the gun?" Sanjay pulls the gun out of his back pocket. "This is the gun, and it is not in the pool!" He shoves the gun into my hand and closes my fingers around it.
My eyes fill up with tears. Everyone is staring at us.
[Writer: "This is actually not bad. I like it better than the bank job ...." Slurping beer, puts feet on coffee table.]
"And you," Sanjay whispers harshly at me. "Hell, baby, you don't even have a name."
I push him away and run crying into the bedroom.
Halfway down the hall I stop. He's right, I don't have a name!
Screw this.
[Writer: Sits up. "Uh, oh."]
"Time for the FBI and a SWAT team and a warrant to search for the cocaine and illegal weapons and throw that traitor Sanjay into jail for mucho long time! Then we'll see who has sexy brown eyes!"
[Writer: "No, wait! I've got a great name for you..."]
KNOCK!! KNOCK!!! KNOCK!!!!
"FBI! Open up!"
The door gets kicked in. Wham!
KNOCK! KNOCK!
"What the hell?!" Sanjay throws down the newspaper and steps toward the door. He points at me. I shrug palms up to show him I really don't know who they are. I sit slowly down at the kitchen table and wonder why Sanjay has the gun in his back pocket. In my opinion, he carries it around way too much.
"What do you want?!" Sanjay yells belligerently as he flings the front door open. Bang! It hits the wall. I jump. Big scary silence hangs there. Oh, this is going well.
[Writer: "Well? This is going well!?"]
"Hey!" a deep voice shouts in a possibly friendly way.
"Sanjito!?" Other voices join in, all talking at once. Shuffling and scuffling. "Where you been, man?" I peek out the curtain. From the light of the apartment it looks like there are maybe 10 of them. And a big dog. They don't seem dangerous. Yet.
[Writer: "What the hell?" Mouth hanging open. "Who are these extra characters!?"]
Soon the others are all in the front room and Sanjay is hugging some of the girls. Hey! I stand up in my tall way and try to catch his eye.
"Come on over here, baby," says Sanjay, sounding different. "These are my friends. And this gorgeous creature," he sweeps me a bow, "is my lady." I blush. This is the unexpected stuff you can expect from the wonderful Sanjay.
"Want a beer?" Sanjay heads for the kitchen and the talking breaks out again.
[Writer: "Okay, gimme a beer. Sighhhhh... I'll just sit over here and watch whatever this is."]
So we have a party and I invite Katy and Georgina over. The other people introduce themselves: Ramon, Steve, Frieda, Jinky, Ramakrishna or something, some names I can't remember. And Blackie the dog.
"Yeah, this is more like it!" says Sanjay as he hands out lots of beer and turns on the music. I wonder how it is we have so much beer on hand. Or maybe this is just another piece of my hallucination. I give Sanjay that confused look and he comes over and hugs me.
"You are so cute," he gives me a kiss. "This story is going to be way better than that lame shit you were going on." He hands me a beer. "Jinky has an arsenal in the Hummer."
No.
Oh, no.
He did it again. Shit, shit, shit. I throw the beer down and jump at him.
"You promised I could have this one!" I cry, pounding him on the chest.
"Well, you had it," his voice gets hard, "and what did you do with it?" He grabs my wrists. and shakes me. "I was looking like a real asshole! No one would believe a loser like that. I didn't even have a car!" I'm kicking at him with my pointy shoes.
"And what was that crazy thing with the gun?" Sanjay pulls the gun out of his back pocket. "This is the gun, and it is not in the pool!" He shoves the gun into my hand and closes my fingers around it.
My eyes fill up with tears. Everyone is staring at us.
[Writer: "This is actually not bad. I like it better than the bank job ...." Slurping beer, puts feet on coffee table.]
"And you," Sanjay whispers harshly at me. "Hell, baby, you don't even have a name."
I push him away and run crying into the bedroom.
Halfway down the hall I stop. He's right, I don't have a name!
Screw this.
[Writer: Sits up. "Uh, oh."]
"Time for the FBI and a SWAT team and a warrant to search for the cocaine and illegal weapons and throw that traitor Sanjay into jail for mucho long time! Then we'll see who has sexy brown eyes!"
[Writer: "No, wait! I've got a great name for you..."]
KNOCK!! KNOCK!!! KNOCK!!!!
"FBI! Open up!"
The door gets kicked in. Wham!
[Writer: "No, please. Just calm down."]
"Everyone on the floor!"
Glass shatters. Screaming and shouting. Tear gas!
More glass shatters.
[Writer: "Wait! I've got the name! It's, it's ... Lily!"]
I turn on him, extremely angry. "Lily?!" I yell. "You call that a name!" I point the gun at the picture window and pull the trigger. "Crash!" The kickback slams me against the wall. "Ow," I rub the back of my head and wobble over to the kitchen to look for my sunscreen.
Automatic weapons chatter.
More screams, sobbing.
Car wheels squeal. Crash!!
Rumbling comes from the sky.
[Writer: Looking up. "Is that a ... helicopter?"]
"Sure, why not?" smirks Sanjay. He flicks a lighter and tosses it onto the sofa, which bursts into flames. The writer jumps up and runs to the kitchen.
We hide together under the little table with my sunscreen.
The propellers get louder as the helicopter lands on the roof.
"This is the FBI! Come out with your hands up!"
A spotlight scans the scene, bodies, flames.
The apartment slowly collapses under the weight of the helicopter.
Large explosion. Kabooom!!
Sirens in the distance.
Fade to black . .
Later, Having Lost Control Again
Empty beer can rolls down the steps. Clunk, clunk ... clunk.
The FBI is gone. The gangsters are gone. The last of the smoke drifts up from the incinerated apartment building. The sky is turning a delicate pink.
Sanjay and Lily sit by the pool, and glance over at me sheepishly. Lily brushes the hair out of her eyes and places the gun on the ground. Sanjay gently kicks the it into the pool. We all watch as the gun drifts down through the ash and the chlorine, 'til it comes to rest at the bottom.
I toss my pen in after it.
.
