Plush (23 page)

I dump out my purse on the porch. The one thing I need is the one thing I can’t find. Here it is. Everything is going to be fine. Fuck, I hear a car on the road… Paparazzi?… I need to call someone fast. Fuck, no bars! There’s no signal out here half the time! Why did I ever let Carter take me out of the city?!

CKKKK-CKK-CKKK-CKKK-CKK!

I scream! And I flash-whiplash-spiral my head around – the sprinklers
flash
on and nail my leg. FUCKING SPRINKLERS!
Have they gotten louder?
I need to calm the fuck down. It’s MAGIC XANAX TIME. I need the shelter of mother’s little helper. I search through all my purse contents already spread out like a store on my front porch. Some plane mini-vodka washes some pills down, and I throw all the shit back inside my black-hole purse. I pull my bags in and lock the door behind me.

Italian opera is playing on the stereo. No one listens to that shit here; the nanny is all into mall music for the masses, so I know it can’t be her. The house is so empty and dark. This is not fucking right. I take off my heels. At least I can run for it if I need to or gash somebody’s fucking eye out. DON’T FUCK WITH ME! MAGIC X KICK IN NOW! AHHHH! Maybe I’m just being paranoid…

“Cody… Benjy?” I shout. No one answers. I hear a twisted nursery rhyme playing and I start to rush down the hall, heartsick. I’m starting to sweat.
POP!
– a loud, metallic ‘ping’ hits, and I hear my kids screaming!

“BENJY! CODY! Where are you?! BENJY, CODY?!”

I run to the bedroom door. I feel so fucked up like I could puke. Maybe fucking with my children is karma’s way of fucking me for fucking Enzo. I shove open their bedroom door and there are toys everywhere. “CODY, BENJY?” I yell. I see them in the corner shrieking with laughter as a Jack-in-the-box head pops up. “What’s wrong, Mommy?”

Fuck, I’m paranoid. I laugh hard, grab the kids up in my arms, and spin them around. “I missed you boys so much! You have no idea!” They are so warm in my arms. How could have I forgotten all this love?

Me: “Where’s Mrs. R and where’s Daddy?” Who the hell would leave two 4-year-olds all alone? I feel stranger than ever and confused. Angry. This day is one shit-storm after another. Even at my rock bottom after Jack died, I always knew who was taking care of the kids. Well, I think I did. I mean, Carter was. The boys just look at me. Big, soft eyes stare up at me like I’m the moon, something they know but don’t. They touch my face, slow seaweed fingers of white. They’re trying to remember me. I don’t even think I remember me. I feel like I’ve lived another whole life out there, and they’re older and different, and I’m older and different. I wonder if they still love me or understand what I am. What am I?

Huh? What are they looking at behind me. I feel roaring fires of fear and spin around to see an older, dark-haired woman that I’ve never seen before standing in the doorway. I jump back with the kids, wrapping them close to my body. Who the fuck is this bitch in my house?

The woman speaks with a soft Italian accent that is so trance-like: “Hello. I’m Camila. Carter is on an interview; he should have sent you an email explaining that I’m the sub nanny sent out by the agency after Mrs. R had an emergency” – I’m guessing with her wild daughter in Guatamala who’s always getting into some mess. Jeeze, that sounds like me.

I look through the emails on my phone and see that she is totally right. I don’t really read Carter’s emails all the way through, just the first sentence or two, and yes, he’s at the Polo Lounge in Beverly Hells. I’m glad it’s him and not me. I fucking hate those shi-shi places. I need to chill the fuck out. Nothing is wrong. I’m just super paranoid, and I don’t know if it’s that fan or the booze, coke and pills. Ugh.

Camila reaches out her slender hand. She’s got great style in a vintage dress. I’m not sure if she’s forty or fifty, but there’s definitely Botox in her face. She smiles so sweet. I take her hand and shake.

Cody holds up the old school Jack-in-the-box and yelps, “MOMMY, MOMMY, LOOK WHAT SHE GAVE US!” Sweet. “Cool. Thanks, Camila.” She totally reassures me that she will protect the kids and that she is highly qualified. She does a ridiculous ninja-air-chop, and we all laugh so hard. Not what I expected. I tickle the kids and fall on the floor with them. So fun. Benjy grabs at my triple scarf and I try to stop him from pulling it off, but he yanks hard and it goes. Good thing there is makeup on imy neck just in case. I put the scarf in my pocket. I want to give the kids the puppets. Cody sprints for the front door. We open the suitcases, throwing stuff everywhere. There’s a confetti of clothes and books but no puppets. I fucked up. Ugh. The one good thing I did on tour is gone. I left them in the limo.

I look at my phone to try to call the driver, and it shakes and rings:

Unknown #
.

Perfect timing; that’s probably the driver. I pick up and it’s Enzo’s beautiful voice swarming around me. I will not let our feelings drag me away from the kids. He says he’s got the puppets by accident and he’s here. Fuck. Why the fuck is he here?
Enzo is in my backyard
.

I don’t know how the fuck he got there. I can’t fuck up the only stable thing I have. Enzo sends me to outer space. Carter makes me function here on earth. I step outside. He’s smiling. My heart is beating hard – the way he fucked me this morning – never mind.
Focus.

Enzo hands me a shopping bag and our hands brush; I want to run into him, but I can’t. He leans in and whispers, “I missed you already,” and I melt like chocolate in the hot August sun spilling everywhere against a mouth. I melt. I melt. I want to melt into him. I want to say, “Me too; me too.” I want to kiss him, but fuck. I have to be a mom – and not like my mom. I look back at the house. Alright. Sound tough. Sound boss. Sound like I’m totally over it. I can do this. “Enzo. I gotta go.” And as I turn away like a knife turning in my heart, the kids run out to us… right now. Fate stops my escape.

Enzo bends over and starts doing a ridiculous voice, and the kids are entranced. He’s shaking his fingers around: “Can you make your fingers do the Elvis?” The boys are laughing and making their fingers dance like Elvis. Why does he have to go and make me like him more? If that was even possible. Camila has come out now. He bends down like a prince, kissing her hand: “Pleased to meet you.” Uh, his voice. Just hearing it is making me all crazy for him again. Why did he have to come?

The kids grab the bag out of my hands and take out the puppets. I try to push them inside and avoid the utter catastrophe that could happen if… but the damn puppets are complicated and my X’d out brain can’t figure out their recording devices.

I give in to all this haywire and just let him come in. Camila makes us all tea, and Enzo helps them record their voices. The electronic version of Cody says, “I’m GONNA EAT you UP!” They’re all having so much fun. Enzo is way too fucking good with kids. I want him alone again. No Hayley. Be good. Be fucking good, kid. I’ve got to get him out of here. Alright, the perfect excuse is… bedtime. I try to get everybody to say goodnight so I can usher my beautiful mistake out the door.

This is hard. I can’t have him which makes me only want him more. Goodnight. Enzo leans in to me – oh no, I want to touch his soft face and fall off another cliff. I try not to stare into his eyes. Benjy sticky hand grabs Enzo’s fingers and bites down. Enzo pulls away his hand hard and yells and looks all crazy just like the deer all over again:
“FUCK, BENJY!”

I pull Benjy away in a hug, the way I would want to be pulled away from all the badness in the world, and I hold him so close. I slit-eye-glare at Enzo. Nobody talks to my kid like that. He apologizes to Benjy, and Benjy is totally in love with Enzo anyway – I mean how could you not be – and Enzo picks Benjy up in his arms and sways and spins him like a comet and lands him safely back to the ground. Benjy apologizes too. Enzo explains it’s his guitar hand, his living, his everything. We get it. Everybody fucks up, especially me.

“Hey Camila. Thanks so for all of your help… I’ll put the kids to bed. “ She nods, her hands crossed over her lap. She’s the definition of elegance, like how’d you imagine women would be in the 19
^th
century. “Oh, and come back tomorrow. Until we hear about Mrs. R… Thanks again and have a great night.” Enzo walks Camila outside. Hand-in-hand. Through the dark. I wish it was me leaving with him. No – wait. No, I don’t. Maybe. How can one person be filled with so many contradictions? I don’t know. I just am.

I tuck the kids in bed and hold them so close. Tears start to come. I hate this, these two different lives I lead. I wish they could meet somewhere in the middle. Benjy looks up at me all big-eyed soft and this tough little boy says, “Mom, please don’t ever abandon us again.” Abandon? Where did he even learn that word? This breaks me like I haven’t been broken before, because that’s what my mom did to me. She abandoned me to the wolves of growing up. “Did your daddy teach you that word?” Cody kisses my ear. “Grrrrrraaaah,” he says.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

“Mama, I missed your backscratches.”

“Didn’t Daddy scratch your back?”

“Not like you.”

I scratch their backs, one with each hand, like they’re little kitty cats, and they purr and growl and twitch until they grow calm. Their skin is softer than clouds. Oh boy. I turn off the light. My mind is going a million miles an hour. I need to wind down. My heart is on a seesaw being thrown on either side of the Hayley-life equation. I think I’d be OK if Enzo hadn’t just hijacked my heart again. I want to be a good mom. But I want to stay with him, fuck, and make music.

I look for my toiletry bag. I need sleeping pills – like a truckload of them – to stop my heart from sinking. The sadness creeps in when I’m still. Laying still in bed is the worse. I feel like it will swallow me whole. I need at least four pills tonight in order to avoid wrecking with my karma. I search through it and see Enzo’s little vibrator massager. Fuck. He won’t let me forget. Do I want to forget? I shove it under some lingerie in a drawer. Bam. Sleeping pills. I down them and look in the mirror. Oh fuck, the hickeys. I apply makeup on my neck. Time to go sleep. I lay down. Blackness. Zzz’s.

I dream of elephants chasing wild cars through stairways up in the clouds. This sleep is so nice, I never want to come out
. Huh? Wake… I feel someone on me. I half open my eyes. Who is it? Carter? Enzo? He’s touching my neck just how I like. Sucking on my… Oh. I can’t see. Fuck. Carter? I guess he’s home. Don’t say anything. I’m kind of drugged sleepy and I like it because I can’t do anything. He thrusts off my PJ’s and climbs on top of me, covering my mouth. Oh. If it’s Carter, I don’t care; I’m thinking of Enzo. I’m lost in the cave of desires for you.

54

Ah, there’s too much light in the room. Where am I? I open a groggy eye and look around… Hotel room? Seattle? Tokyo? Where am I? Oh, that’s right… home. I’m naked, and I feel some warm body against my back. I turn around. Who is it? Ah, Carter. So beautiful and rugged. A real man’s man. Fuck, I fucked up. How could I be so bad? How can I let my desires control everything I do? I feel like all of those bad things the kids told me in school when I was growing up are true: that I’m a slut. I feel so sick. I hate myself for doing this. I want to cut the chord between me and Enzo, and the most fucked up part is that I have so many feelings for him. Can I really be in love with two men at once?

I slip out of bed, put a foot on the rug, and Carter grabs me and pulls me into him. He’s smiling so big: “I’m crazy four your body, Hayley. I missed it. I need it. My beautiful love.” He climbs on top of me. But wait, didn’t we fuck last night? I’m so confused. I’m forever blurred between dreams and living. And what is reality? I swear I can’t tell anymore.

In less than thirty seconds it’s all over with, and he rolls over and collapses into the bed. Our bed. His face is red. “I’m so sorry I finished so fast, honey… I just missed you. You want me to eat you out?” I close my eyes and try to swallow all this down… “Nah, I’m fine.” He pulls me into him again and kisses my forehead which makes me feel even fucking worse; he’s so tender and his goodness is breaking me. Carter hops up and throws on his old sweat pants–his Brad-Pitt-Fight-Club-hip-to-crotch muscles are sort of ridiculous. He’s showing off and I remember why I think he’s hot.

“Where were you last night anyway?” I say. He checks his face in the mirror: “Got paid a shit-load of money to interview some kinda contessa.” That’s weird. He walks out the door and I run to the bathroom to check my neck marks. The makeup is still on the hickey.

55

Downstairs, I pour the kids cereal and make up magical stories about thieving trolls that fly in the clouds and sleep under stones. I have a puppet on each hand, pretending to act out the story. It’s been so long since I’ve done this, and it feels good. It feels like we are back in the swing of things. They jump on me and crawl on me and we crawl around on the floor.

“Mama,” Cody says. “What, sugarbooger?” I ask.

He pulls on my arm: “We gotta go to our jobs.”

“Jobs?” I ask.

“With Willy.” Benjy.

“We’re digging a ditch!” Cody.

Ah. Willy the gardener. He’s enlisted my children for child labor.

Benjy: “I’m super fast at digging.” They run out the door. Great – no guilt about leaving them to go to the studio.

I’m wearing a hot pink leotard and have my three-pound weights in my hands. I’m going to get ridiculously fit for this music video that we are going to shoot next week. Run. Pump. Run. I run into the studio where my Jack shrine grows and grows. Fans keep sending him all this stuff -- random weird drawings, scrapbooks, potholders, love letters. I love my studio. My instruments, my words, it’s my real home. Annie is following behind me on her Blackberry; her bag is bulging with business shit. I’m feeling like, yeah, I fucking got it. LIFE WILL BE OK!

“Annie, Annie, Annie! This video is gonna help sales! It’s gonna help us unsink this sinking ship, and it’s gonna be like the most awesome comeback story ever! The journalists will flip out! ‘How did Hayley the Great do that? Loss of her brother and band-member and now stronger than ever!’” I’m jumping as I tell her. “What’s the address for the choreographer’s studio again?” Her smile freezes and her eyes get tight, and she gestures for me to sit.