TANGLED UP IN BLUE

New Year[s]. Cal Towney wakes up to find Ashley Bateman’s side of the bed empty. He stands up. Walks around the room. It doesn’t take him too long to realize she’s gone. Feeling a knot in the middle of his throat, he stumbles out the room, rushes towards reception. He asks if they’ve seen her. No, they haven’t.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Thomas Braddock is wearing plastic fluorescent glasses shaped like the number 2008. He is, also, in his underwear. Cal stares at him for a second, and then asks:

“Is Ashley Bateman here?”

“No.”

“Doesn’t she live here?”

“She doesn’t.”

Then a voice comes from inside the apartment, and it takes a while for Cal to recognize it. It’s rougher than he remembers, but it’s her: “Let him in, you asshole!” Tom looks over his shoulder, and then back at Cal, annoyed.

“Wait,” he says. “I think you’re right.”

The asshole comes in wearing a suit. With a tie, and everything. It’s like twelve in the afternoon, and he’s dressed up like he’s dating a movie-star. I’m thinking it took me nothing but a couple of drinks to stick my dick inside of her— Why is this asshole trying so hard? Then again, it’s obvious these two have a history. One of those tumultuous relationship stories. Maybe he left her pregnant, and had her have an abortion or something. Probably went domestic on her ass.

Abortion-punch, that sort of thing. Scumbag.

“Is there a problem?” Cal asks. He’s been under fire from Tom’s glare for about a minute. The apartment is as ugly as the building— a broken down, graffiti-plagued place near the airport, which basically means the roof rattles every time a plane booms over it. In a few years, Cal suspected, it would be bulldozed. Deemed inappropriate to live in. It is a slum. “Who are you, again?”

“I’m Tom, Tom Braddock. Who are you?”

“I’m Cal. I’m an old friend of Ash’s.”

“Yeah? I’m her boyfriend.”

The quarter slides into the slot, and Cal dials the numbers as fast as he can remember them. He doesn’t know what he’s going to say, but he’s sure he is going to say something. The voice on the other side of the line is slow, monotone. Who is this? This is Cal, hello, Cal Towney. There’s a pause, and then: we don’t want to talk to you. No, I just wanna know if she’s there. If who’s here? Ashley— You know, Ashley, your daughter, is she there? He can hear other voices mumbling, disoriented. Hers, so sweet, so beautiful, is not among them. Why would she be here? You took her. She’s supposed to be with you. Cal takes his time to answer: no, she… she left. He hangs up the phone as soon as he hears the voices laugh, and then he rushes back to room 306. There has got to be something he can do.

“I’ll be right out!” she calls out. “Have a drink, or something, man!”

“I’m fine,” he calls back.

Tom is overweight, has a thick moustache and a burly nose. He walks with a certain sense of pride, but doesn’t have anything to be proud about. His armpits are wet, sweat creeping it’s way through the thin, greyish fabric of his t-shirt. He’s not attractive at all, and Cal is disappointed by the situation as whole. The apartment and the building seem like an appropriate environment for… Tom, but not for Ashley, never for her.

Cal can't help but wonder what the fuck she’s been doing with her life.

And then Ashley comes into the room. And she… looks so different. What he notices first: Ashley has dyed her hair black. She’s also got a piercing in her lips, and it’s small, and it doesn’t draw to much attention to itself, but Cal can’t help but think that it’s still her and she’s got a piercing in her mouth. It’s not that she looks bad. That’s not it. She looks wonderful: wearing tight blue jeans, a leather jacket and a pink shirt with the words “And Brains, Too” stamped on it. He just wasn’t prepared for her to look different from the image he has in his mind, where she is still seventeen, a child. Now Cal notices that her fingers are purple and that those blue eyes he used to stare at for hours are soaked in eyeliner. She never bragged about being beautiful, he thinks. She never felt like she was.

Ash rushes towards him, screaming his name. Cal can tell what’s going on, though. She can’t even look him in the eye. Is that how it’s going to be? Awkward? Ashley wraps her legs around Cal, and hugs him for what seems to be hours, shrieking giddily but he barely hugs her back. He can feel her breathing in his ear. Tom stares at them, arms crossed.

“I’ve missed you so fucking much, Cal,” she whispers.

“OK,” he croaks back.

It was retarded. Not that I was angry or something but, hey, I always took Ashley for the type of woman that didn’t do that kind of shit. I always thought about her as the quintessential woman of tomorrow, the type of woman that never needs a real relationship, that sees all men in the same light, yet here comes this guy from her sordid past and she’s throwing herself at him like there is no tomorrow. She’s got a look in her eyes like everything that’s happened since the last time she saw him had been a complete waste of time. And… I’m thinking that, you know, fuck it. That I didn’t need this. That was probably the second time I thought about leaving. And I swear I was gonna. Things got in the way, though. As they often do.

Ashley finally climbs down from him. “Wanna get out of here?”

Cal smiles at her, just like he remembered doing years ago, and says: “Sure.”

Outside, the sky is pale. It’s like the sun is struggling to stay awake. Last night’s celebrations lasted till the morning, and the cold asphalt is covered in confetti, masks, pamphlets, broken beer bottles and even the occasional piece of clothing. It’s almost one in the afternoon now, but you can still see people, dressed in cheap suits, sitting in the steps of apartment buildings, drinking from half-empty bottles of rum or whisky. Most of the town, however, is still sleeping. Cal thinks: This is what it must’ve looked like when she came back. They walk together, speaking sparsely. They have no real destination, and lunch sounds more like an excuse than a concrete plan.

“So, this guy… Tom, or whatever his name is…?”

“Yeah?”

“Who the hell is he?”

“Just some dude,” she explains. “Just a friend.”

“You’re sleeping with him.”

Ashley shrugs, and lifts a line straight off a movie: “Still living dangerously after all these years, I guess. You know how it is.”

“Right,” he mutters. They don’t speak for a while. He’s been trying to get used to the fact that he’s walking next to the person he’s fantasized about for a long time. She’s trying to come up with a way to apologize.

And she goes, out of the blue: “You heard the new Dylan album, yet?”

“Is there a new Dylan album?”

“Oh, man. It’s an awesome album. It’s rock ‘n’ roll Dylan, like you like it, you know? And… He’s got a bunch of cool songs there, and even though he’s voice is all fucked up, it still sounds fantastic, alright? But he has this song… Like, this old 50s kinda ballad, and it was just— It’s about us, man. I’m serious, it’s like I was listening to it, and… I said to myself: whoa. This guy is singing about us.”

“What’s it about?”

“It’s this… really fucked up love story.”

“We’re a fucked up love story?”

“Well, what the hell kind of love story do you think ours is, man?” she asks, laughing. Her hand is grazing his, and a few steps later she’s already holding it. Cal feels a cold chill climb up his spine. He doesn’t know what it means. “You know, Cal… I really am sorry. I’ve always wanted to… I want you to know that. I am truly sorry.”

He’s been looking for a note, some sort of message, an explanation, anything. There’s nothing in the room. Cal is sitting next to the bed and the television is on. He barely pays attention to the images flashing in front of him. Room 306 seemed tiny the night before, but it seems a bit too big now. Empty. He needs to get out of there. Twenty minutes later he is inside the car. Los Angeles is a five hour drive away. Ashley's not there. As he turns the key and the engine wheezes, he still doesn’t know where he’s going to go.

“Is that what you want to talk about?”

“Not particularly,” she sighs.

“Then don’t.”

Ash gets closer and leans her head on his shoulder, softly, like she doesn’t even know she’s doing it, like it feels like the natural thing to do. The sidewalk they are walking on is old and fractured. The buildings around them are falling apart and there’s the littlest lawn a few meters away, completely barren. Cal asks:

“So, how are you doing?”

“What, in general? It’s alright. I’m working as a waiter and… I guess I do pretty good, with tips and stuff. How about you? Things good over in LA?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes they are.”

“You doing a lot of acting?”

“Not much.”

“I recognized you on the radio. The Colgate thingy?”

“That wasn’t me,” he states, bluntly.

“It wasn’t?”

“No. You’re not the first one that’s said that to me, though.”

“I could’ve sworn that was you—! I mean, it’s not like it’s a bad gig, man.”

“I know it’s not. It’s just… not me.”

“Like, I don’t even remember when it was the last time I went to an audition, much less got the job,” she continues, encouraging. Then lies to him, as if not to disappoint: “Been doing a lot of writing, though. May even get a piece published in a magazine or something.”

“That’s great,” Cal tells her. She smiles. The congratulations seems genuine, makes her feel good, even though she hasn’t even thought about writing in years. “You always did write pretty good.”

He feels her hand tightening its grip on his.

Joanne walks out of the bedroom, trying not to make any noise. Cal’s mother is in the next room, and Joanne’s been hearing her cry all morning. Wailing, even. As if she’d forgotten her son’s girlfriend was even there or didn’t care at all. Stealthily, she hurries to the bathroom, closes the door behind her, sits on the toilet. Ugh. She can’t believe him. Didn’t even say goodbye. Does that seem right? I mean, she’s right to be upset, isn’t she? Left her here with his mourning mother, went to see an ex girlfriend that obviously still holds some sort of psychological grip on him, and didn’t even bother to say goodbye, didn’t even bother to wake her up and say: ‘hey, I’m leaving now.’

Joanne groans. Why does she even care?

Granted, Cal has been a great boyfriend, but he’s always been a bit distant, hasn’t he? At least now, Joanne thinks, she knows why. Looks at her watch. How long has it been since he left? She can’t know for sure. At least an hour. How long does a lunch last? She can picture them talking. She can picture them laughing. She can picture them kissing. She can picture them screwing. Damn it. Outside, she can still hear his mother whimpering. It’s uncomfortable.

“He’s not my boyfriend, you know.”

“What?”

“Tom,” she says. “I don’t even know him, really.” Cal can’t help but laugh. She goes: “What? What’s so funny, man?”

“I don’t even know. I mean, is that supposed to make me feel better or something, Ashley?”

She answers, without hesitation: “Yeah.”

“Well, it doesn’t. Look— I mean, I come into your apartment, alright? And here’s this… dude, and we spoke on the phone this morning and you didn’t even mention him, you know? He’s walking around in his underwear. The place is a wreck.”

“Hey, don’t be an asshole.”

“It is a wreck.”

“I know it’s a wreck. You don’t have to say it’s a wreck.”

“Look, you’re just not living the life I expected you to be living, you know? And… OK, he’s not your boyfriend. That’s supposed to make me feel better? It doesn’t, Ashley. Kinda makes me feel worse.”

“He’s not taking advantage of me, if that’s what you mean.”

“That’s not what I meant at all,” he says. Then, lower: “That’d be better.” Ashley pretends she didn’t hear him.

He feels her hand loosening its grip on his.

There’s a small park they used to frequent not so far away from where they are now. Cal remembers laying in the grass with her, sipping vodka and talking gibberish. They imagined themselves as people of great importance, destined to leave their mark in the world. Fate, that sort of thing. Ashley reaches into her pocket and takes out a pack of cigarettes. Cal arcs his eyebrows: this is new. She lights one up and then offers him one. He declines, says he quit some months ago, can’t remember why exactly.

“I’ve been meaning to quit too,” she explains. “But I figured that since we’re already doing heart and liver transplants, it won’t be long till doctors are able to take a dog’s lung and put it my chest, you know?”

“I heard there’s this thing where… they get a needle, and stick it in your lungs. Takes the bad stuff right out.”

Ash looks intrigued. “Seriously?”

“Nah,” Cal mutters. They both laugh.

When she gets there it’s already late at night, and she’s tired. Rings the doorbell four times, before mother opens the door. Neither one of her parents looks surprised. We got a call from him, they calmly explain. There’s no screaming or getting angry or telling her that what she did was wrong. They instead inform her that there’s some food in the kitchen. Cold, stale chicken. Cal, more than three hundred miles away, cries in his motel room. Outside his door, LA welcomes him.

Ashley takes a long drag from her cigarette. She seems thoughtful, like she’s considering something. Finally, she asks:

“You wanna go see if it’s still there?”

“If what’s still there?”

“You know,” Ash answers, pointing towards the park.

Cal smiles again. “Sure.”

Their first time was Cal’s first time. They were in the park with some friends, having a joint, and she asked him if he could come with her to the bathroom. The others laughed, clapped, whooped. It’s not what you think, man. It’s late at night, I don’t wanna get hurt or something, be a gentleman. When they got there –far from where their friends were, a tiny vandalized room with a toilet and a urinal-, she kissed him. What are you doing? She kissed him again. Nothing.

The bathroom stunk, it was not very romantic.

Cal was clumsy, ended fast and apologized as soon as they were done. It’s alright, she’d told him. You’d never done that before? Yeah. Yeah, what? I’d never done that before. And she couldn’t help but laugh a bit, and hug him. They’d been in the same school for years, but had only recently started to hang out. Cal had never really thought about her romantically up until that moment. I mean, I’ve done some stuff before, just never the… You know. Ashley nodded and knelt down. Took something out of her boot: a knife. What the fuck are you doing now? She leaned towards the old wooden door and carved, patiently: HERE, CAL TOWNEY SEXED ME. That’s not even a word! He still can’t believe how calm she was, how she could joke about it. It was as if… he had experienced a miracle and she had witnessed an interesting incident. By the time they walked back, their friends were gone. Want me to take you home? Yeah, sure.

The door creaks open. Ashley pushes Cal inside. He is close enough to smell her hair, as she touches the carving with the tip of her finger.

“It’s still not a word.”

“It’s a word, man. Like— I sexed, you sexed, he sexes. It’s a fucking -what do you call it?-, a verb.” She takes a step back. Cal feels her rear press against his groin. Ash goes: “I can’t believe it’s still here.”

The bathroom looks exactly like it did ten years ago. The floor is wet, the mirror in the wall is half broken, the toilet is overflowing with brownish water. Everything looks as shitty as it did ten years ago. Ash closes the door, unceremoniously. Cal knows what’s coming.

“What are you doing, Ashley? The place smells.”

“I wanna write something new.”

“Do you even have a knife?” he asks, trying to sound annoyed. Ashley turns around, and faces him. Their personal space is nonexistent. “Well, do you?”

“Yeah. In my pocket. What do you want me to write?”

“I don’t know,” he mumbles. “There’s nothing to write. Let’s just go.”

“There must be something we can write. Come on, just give me something to write about, man. Anything. Something… you know, new.”

He leans his head forward, and she does too. Their foreheads touch. Without even realizing it, Ashley wraps her arms around his neck. Cal is touching her waist.

“I have a girlfriend.”

“Yeah?”

“She’s back at my parent’s.”

“Yeah?”

“She’s really nice.”

“Fuck you, Cal,” Ashley sighs. “You didn’t mention her until now, you came to see me anyways. What’d you think would happen? I don’t care. You certainly don’t, either. You’ll leave in a couple of days, what difference does it make?”

“She’s my girlfriend, Ash. Don’t try to make it sound like it doesn’t matter.”

“I’m sure she’s a great girl.”

“Don’t make fun of her. Don’t you fucking talk about her.”

Their faces are still close to each other. He’s still touching her waist. Ash stares, accusingly: “You’re angry at me.”

“I’m not angry at you, Ashley, I stopped being angry ages ago.”

“No, because it’s like you can’t even talk about it. You’re acting like nothing happened, asking me about my job and shit? You can’t even acknowledge it and ignoring things isn’t the same as being past them.”

“It’s been eight years.”

“So, what? You don’t even wanna know why I left? You’re not even curious?”

“No. Why would I be curious? I forgave you.”

“That’s exactly it! You love me no matter what, it’s like I can’t do anything to scare you away. I was doing you a fucking favour, Cal.”

There’s a pause. They kiss. She tastes like cigarettes. It lasts about five seconds. Then, Cal lets go off her waist, and takes her arms off around his neck.

“I need to go now,” he whispers and Ashley nods. He’s probably right. The door creaks open and the door creaks shut. They will never see each other again.

THE END