Eat Your Heart Out (4 page)

She looked at me, real pissy, then she closed her mouth and turned away from me. I figured she must have been on her rag or something.

Then about five minutes later, when I was finally starting to follow the movie, she says, real loud, “You should write a book, you know that?”

I looked at her like she was crazy. “Why?”

“Because you think you know everything.”

She turned back away from me after she said it and didn't look at me again for the whole movie. She was crazier than a shithouse rat, but she really knew how to make a point, I'll give her that.

Yeah, she could really make a point.

Over the next
couple of weeks I found it real hard to focus at work. I would be writing a story, or interviewing some person, and Maggie would just pop into my head. I'd think of something she said, or some funny look she gave me, and I'd lose whatever was happening in front of me.

Not like I minded, though. Sometimes I liked the break it gave my mind from everything familiar.

Familiarity will kill a man quicker than cancer, believe me.

She turned eighteen
late that spring. I told her I'd take her out, and she said something bashful like I didn't have to. That it wasn't that big a deal.

I wanted to. Eighteen is a big deal. You make it that far it's something to celebrate.

I remember my eighteenth birthday like yesterday. I remember being alone and wishing I had my dad to take me out. I didn't tell her that, though. I made some joke that we needed to celebrate her entrance into adulthood and misery. And she laughed, but I could tell that she was excited. I think she was wanting to put everything behind her.

I picked her
up at her place at around seven o'clock.

I remember her walking out of her apartment. I have this clear mental picture of her walking down those stairs.

She was wearing this beautiful blue dress. I think she bought it special for that night because I'd never seen it before. It wasn't showy, just real simple, classy even. It held her at her waist. It made her look graceful. And she had her hair up in this special way that I'd never seen before. It was like Grace Kelly did it sometimes, or how some ladies have it on their wedding day. She wore this bright red lipstick. And in that blue dress her eyes looked bigger and bluer than ever before. I'll never forget how she looked, not for as long as I live.

“You really look like a woman tonight,” I told her as she walked to the car.

“Well, thank you, old man.”

“I'm not old.”

“You're a little old.”

“You're catching up.”

She looked pleased after I said that. She wanted to be older. She wanted to be something different.

I took her
to dinner at this French place that I'd taken a couple of ladies before. They'd all liked it, so I figured that Maggie would too. I kept ordering us glasses of red, and we were both drinking pretty fast.

Halfway through dinner I figured it was time I give her the present. I was tipsy and I remember feeling extremely excited. Bizarre.

I handed the little box across. She looked at it, frozen.

“Rich! You didn't have to get me anything!” She always squealed when she was drunk.

“Of course I did. Eighteen comes once in a lifetime.”

“Rich . . . you better not have spent a lot of money on this.”

“Don't worry, kid.”

Then she moved her little hands and opened the box. It was wrapped in red wrapping paper, I remember, because I asked them to wrap it special. She tore the paper off, just ripped it like a little gypsy.

Then she opened the little blue box. I remember her face looked like it melted.

“Oh my God, Rich.”

All I wanted right then was for her to like it.

“Do you like it?”

Then she looked up at me, and her eyes got misty, but in a different way than I'd seen before. Like she'd just witnessed something unreal happen, not sad or anything. Not happy either.

“Rich, I love it.”

She took the necklace and brought it close to her face, studying it.

“Does it look like the one that got stolen?”

“Exactly. Exactly the same.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

I was pleased as punch—I'd gone all through the department stores two towns over, trying really hard to find one that matched what she said her mom's had looked like.

Then she put the necklace down on the table. She just stared at me, like I was some painting in a museum or something.

“What?”

“It's just . . .”

“What?”

She went quiet. Then she looked away from me and her face got all scrunched together. She slowly turned back to me, with this expression that I couldn't read.

“No one has ever been as nice to me as you are.”

I didn't really know what to say so I just smiled.

“Thanks, kid.” And we both smiled at each other for a while after that. But then I think she got nervous somewhere in the middle of the smile. You know the nervous feeling you get when you are staring at someone and they are staring back? I think she got that feeling.

When she got nervous she would always say something real common, or make some stupid joke about herself.

“Rich, I'm shitfaced.”

Then the waiter came by and I ordered some more wine.

From that point
on I don't remember much. We did end up at my place, I'm sure of that.

Maggie was real gone at that point. Truth is, I was just as gone as she was. I don't know how because she was so much smaller than me, but that girl could really hold her liquor. I liked that about her.

So we were back at my apartment. The room was spinning type thing. You get my drift.

And I remember as soon as we got there, Maggie went to go get herself a glass of water from the kitchen. She tripped on nothing and fell on her little ass halfway there. She blamed her high heels.

I was lying on my couch, facing the ceiling.

“Maggie, I got a song that I just have to play for you.”

“Is it good?”

“No, it's awful. That's why I'm playing it for you. I'm not going to play you a shit song on your birthday, kid.”

“You can't call me kid anymore. I'm an adult now.”

“Okay, woman.”

She smiled.

“Yeah, I like that.”

She said she liked that real decisive. Her eyes narrowed and she pointed at me when she said it. She was saying it a specific way. She was getting at something, I'm certain.

Anyway, I went to my
CD
player, and I found this disc an old flame had made me.

It was this cover of Bowie's “Let's Dance,” this real slow version, acoustic almost. The guy singing it had this real simple, honest voice. Bowie's version isn't pretty or anything, but when you listen to this guy, you really hear the poetry.

Looking back, I really don't know why I was so dead set on playing it.

I put the song on and then I moved to the couch and I sat right next to her. I didn't realize how dark it was until I sat down.

The acoustic guitar started very slow. It sank into us both.

She moved closer to me and said something like “Oh, Rich! This is so beautiful.”

But she said it real quiet, like she wanted to keep listening.

I remember my body sagged closer to hers.

Then she put her hand on my thigh, and she said, “Rich, this is such a beautiful song.”

I wanted to be closer to her. I should've sent her home right then, but I didn't. I just wanted to be closer to her. I put my hand on hers. She was so small. I put my other hand on her thigh. I could feel the silk in her dress under my hands.

I could feel her move closer and press up against me. I could smell the alcohol on her. Her skin was so soft and so perfect. I could hear her breathing.

Then I kissed her. Just out of nowhere, just for no reason, just because honest to God I wanted to. I just kissed her. I put my lips on hers, real soft and real tender. I still remember how her lips felt. They were lush and expectant. I swear to you she was expecting it.

But I kissed her first. And that's about as clear as I can make it.

She pulled back
away from me, so fast.

“What the fuck are you doing, Rich?”

Then I opened my eyes, and I saw her looking at me with this mix of anger and fear. I'd never seen somebody look equal parts angry and afraid ever before in my life, but her eyes looked real scared. I felt so bad when I saw those eyes.

“I'm sorry, Maggie. I'm sorry. I'm shitfaced and—”

“You are unbelievable!”

“Maggie, I didn't mean it, I just wasn't thinking. Maggie, calm down, I'm sorry—”

She was real drunk, just trying to get her purse and her jacket.

“Maggie, no, don't leave.”

“Of course I'm leaving!”

“Maggie, just calm down.”

“You're a stupid asshole!”

She was looking at me like she was real shocked that I kissed her. Like she just couldn't believe it.

“Maggie, come on. It's not like you weren't wanting it.”

That's where I really messed up. She went off after that.

“Wanting it? Are you out of your mind? You know what you are, Rich? And you listen to me, you know what you are?”

“No, and you can calm right down.”

“You know what you are?”

“Maggie, you can lower your voice.”

“You are a fucking coward.”

“Maggie, I'm just drunk. I didn't mean anything by it—”

“Rich, I was your friend.”

“I wasn't trying to ruin it, Maggie. Just calm down.”

“Did you think I was going to fuck you?”

I stayed quiet. I didn't know what I thought.

“You are tragic.”

I remember being mad after she said that. Real mad.

“Get the fuck out of here, Maggie.”

Then she looked at me like I was despicable. I have never seen that type of hate in a woman's eyes before.

“Don't try and pretend like you're kicking me out of here.”

She slammed the door and then she was gone.

I lay back down on my couch and stared at the ceiling again.

I swear, I thought she was wanting it too.

I didn't call
her the next day.

I kept thinking that I would, but then I just didn't. I kept telling myself I was going to call, but I didn't. Surprised myself with that one.

A couple of days passed. She didn't call me either. So I stopped feeling bad and I just got real mad. I knew I'd made a mistake, but the stuff she said was out of line. And who was she to say all that to me after everything I'd done, you know?

She could pretend she wasn't asking for it, but she was. Then she just got scared. That's what happened. I know I did wrong, but I was drunk. She did some wrong too, she just didn't want to admit it. Women are always being like that.

I went to the bar a few days later, not hoping I'd see her or anything, just to get a drink. Barkeep told me she hadn't been in for about a week or so. I didn't care. It's not like I was looking for her.

One night I
picked up this blonde at the bar. I'd known the lady for a little while and she was always making eyes at me, but when I was sitting with Maggie I'd ignore her. I wasn't reading and definitely felt like talking.

“Hi there,” she said.

“Hi,” I said back.

“I seen you around here. Where's your little girlfriend?”

“She wasn't my girlfriend.”

“Daughter?”

“You're being smart.” There was no fucking way I looked old enough to be Maggie's dad.

“Yeah, I am.”

“My niece.”

“Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all.”

She sat across from me. I knew where it was going from the moment we started talking. But when I was sitting across from this blonde, staring at her mug, a part of me was wishing I was sitting with Maggie.

After a few beers, I guess I didn't mind so much.

“So this is
your place, huh?”

“Yeah.”

The blonde looked worse out of the bar. Her face was more wrinkled than I'd thought, and her body had real thickness in the middle. But I was pretty drunk, and beggars just can't be choosers.

“It's nice.”

“Not really.”

“No, it's nicer than my place.”

“Well, that says something.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Do you want another drink?”

The lady looked at me real salacious. I knew she did not need another drink.

So we got down to business, you get my drift? But I just wasn't enjoying it. I wasn't enjoying it at all. I don't know if it was the booze, or the lady, but I couldn't stop seeing Maggie's face every time I closed my eyes.

And it wasn't like I was seeing her in a sexual way. I was seeing that face she gave me that night, staring at me. I couldn't get her out of my head. I think the lady caught on after a couple of minutes.

“You okay?” she asks.

“Yeah, I'm fine, it's just the rubber. I can't . . . I've been drinking, I'm sorry.”

I rolled off her; there was no point in keeping going. I couldn't anyway. Not with Maggie's face haunting me like that.

The lady looked disappointed. I should've offered to do something for her, but I couldn't be bothered and about twenty minutes later she left.

I called Maggie. She didn't pick up, so I left her a message. Her voice sounded different on the message than I remembered, younger or something.

“Hi, kid, it's Rich. Look, I been meaning to call you, and I know I haven't. I just wanted to say I'm sorry. About everything. Call me back and we'll talk about it. Okay, kid?”

Then I hung up, and I felt satisfied, knowing she would call me back.

Maggie did not
call me back for a week.