You Love Me(You #3)(32)

“You’re hard-core,” he says. “What about you? You got a name?”

“Jay,” I say, happy I worked so hard on my character.

He hawks a loogie on the pavement. “No worries,” he says. “It’s not like you’re blowing my cover. Everyone knows who I am. What’s your name again?”

I literally just said it but then again he doesn’t even know the name of his daughter’s favorite book. “I’m Jay,” I say. “Jesus Christ, man. What are you even doing here?”

“Same thing you are, man. Day by day.”

“But you’re you. I mean… come on. You don’t need this. That shit you said about Phoenix. How do you even stand it?”

He chuckles. “Yeah, Phoenix sucked.”

“See, what you said in there made me think. A few years back, you told Mojo that you couldn’t go six hours without touching a guitar…” I smile. “Or getting laid.”

He laughs at his own old bad joke. “Well, that was then, man. Things change.”

He doesn’t really think things change and he’s right. They don’t. I smoke my butt and I hope I don’t get cancer from these fucking things. I can’t stand the idea of dying before you, leaving you here to miss me. He blows a smoke ring and I try and fail—perfect—and I ash on a pile of old freebie newspapers because he ashed on it first but that’s a fire hazard, Mary Kay. Your husband is a fire hazard.

“So,” I say. “Can I ask… Are you working on anything now?”

“Hell yeah,” he says. “Always.”

“Good, cuz I am dying for a new album. And a tour. People say it’s not gonna happen… I’m like fuck yes it is. Phil DiMarco is gonna come back in a big way.”

He picks at his dirty fingernail. “You can’t push. Every album comes when it comes.”

Spoken like a true procrastinator and I nod. “I never thought I’d get to meet you cuz you don’t tour anymore.”

“We don’t tour right now,” he says. Boom. “Your album’s on the way, I promise.”

“I gotta ask. Were you… were you writing a song in there?”

“You bet I was. See, as an artist, I go to these meetings for the pathos. Not to sound like a douche…” As if the disclaimer doesn’t classify him as a douche. “But as an artist I get more out of it. Ya got a beast in you, ya gotta feed the beast. I get a lotta good material in there. Tons.”

“That’s so rad.” I was right. He’s a thief. “You know, I’m thinking I might go get a guitar… a Schecter…” Find a new plaything. “You can say no… but is there any way I can hit you up for advice?”

He gives me his number and says he has to get home as he quotes his own song—I got a crate in a barrel and a barrel in a gun. “Here’s my advice about finding a good Schecter…” Pregnant pause. “Get a Gibson, man.”

I laugh as if that was clever and he starts his car and did I do it? Did I get in his head?

I tune in to his show at midnight, and sure enough, he’s wailing about the holidays, pining for the good old days when he had time to focus on his true calling, his music. The man is in pain, Mary Kay. And you can’t make him happy. Listen to his “show” and look at his body. He has a Sacriphil tattoo. He bled for that band. He took a needle for that band. But your name’s not inked on his skin, and it’s time for you both to realize it.





11





The next day, I walk into the library and I slink into the back without saying hello but an hour later, you find me. You’re frisky. You put your hands on Dolly and you tell me that Nomi wants to get a kitten for Christmas.

“Are you allergic or anything?”

“No, I love cats, but she’s going away soon…” You look right at me. “Do you like cats?” You are so hot for me that you are planning our life together and you squeeze Dolly. Nervous. “I ask because our friends… they have three kittens, so you know, you could get one too.”

You want us to adopt kittens together and I smile. “I love cats. It’s tempting.”

You pull your hands off Dolly. “Well, it’s something to think about. Our cats would be siblings.” You fiddle with your belt. “Well,” you say. “Let’s both think about it, yeah?”

I give you a yeah and already my plan is working.

The next day, I go to a meeting and Phil bitches to me… about cats. “Cats are cool. But do I need one more thing to take care of? Already I don’t have enough time to play.”

In a normal situation, you can’t advise someone to leave their spouse because when they don’t, you become that asshole who talked shit about the spouse. But nothing about our situation is normal and I am #TeamPhil. “You don’t need a cat,” I say. “You need a studio.”

“Tell that to the wife. Man, we’re so close to freedom. My kid’s on her way to college in a few months and the wife wants to tie me down with a new cat.”

“Does she not… I don’t wanna overstep… but does she not get who you are?”

He flicks his cigarette into a pile of leaves. “Nope,” he says. “Not lately.”