Plush (28 page)

Aw, fuck! It’s an eerily realistic drawing of a black-haired baby with
“Enzo and Hayley 4ever”
tattooed on its ass.

FUCK YOU!

I rip it up, feeling the little shreds cut into my hands, throw it in the waste basket, and move old trash on top of it. I dial Enzo; even the phone feels heavy. You better pick up, Enzo. You better fucking pick up this time. THIS HAS REALLY, REALLY GONE too FAR! No hellos, no nothing.

“WHAT THE FUCK, ENZO?! HOW THE HELL DID YOU KNOW I WAS PREGNANT? AND THAT UGLY-ASS CRIB YOU SENT… YOU USED PROTECTION, SO TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?”

Breathe, breathe.

Enzo whispers in that pale, erotic voice, but I won’t fall for his spell. “Hayley, my love, my all, my muse. You know sometimes shit happens. Condoms break. They don’t work 100% of the time, just like 1 in 2000 vasectomies…”

Rage, rage, and more rage
.

“WHAT?! AM I BUGGED? HOW DO YOU KNOW WHAT’S GOING ON, AND WHAT I SAY, and what’s being said to me?” But he’s oblivious to my rage. He just starts spewing off about the next music video and superimposing stars on us falling through space as we morph into different iconic couples like Anthony and Cleopatra, Sid and Nancy, and Bonnie and Clyde. The world would swarm below us as we fly through the tides of time galactic. He’s brilliant. He’s so good, but I can’t keep letting him lure me into his beautiful, fucked-up mind and heart. OH, OUR BEAUTIFUL, FUCKED-UP WORLD together. It’s magical, terrible, and I’m broken. After that music video, after he threw me into that realm, I feel different about myself . It’s far too dark. I want to be free as an artist, but I don’t want to live in the darkness like him. I look out the window and see Carter and the twins playing; he’s chasing them like he’s the wind, lifting them above his head.

“Enzo. You need to stop. Please. Don’t text. Don’t call. Don’t send any gifts or anything at all to the house. We need to just – ah… I don’t know… Just stop.” Fucking boundaries.
BOUNDARIES!
I scratch into my own hand. Some skin comes off in my nails.

Enzo’s voice drop really low. Low. “Hayley, people like us aren’t meant for the normal world. You need to leave Carter. He doesn’t understand you. He doesn’t feel you at your core. Hayley…” I’m so filled with rage and love, both fighting each other the other out…

He continues, “…you know the truth. We were born for each other. We hold the map to each other’s soul. Without ‘us’ we’re just free-falling in the void… We HAVE to be together, or we will cease to exist… You understand, Hayley? The consequences?” I can’t breathe; I can’t breathe; I can’t breath. Mouse Hayley, don’t be a mouse. I open my mouth, but only scratches come out. I can’t speak. I don’t know what’s become of me. The mouse is now a monster. I click off the phone. I lock the door. I lock the windows. I check the security monitors. How secure are we here? How did he get into the gate that time? How does he know what I’m saying when he’s not around?

I dial Annie. She sounds all sweaty, and I can totally hear Donnie moaning in the background over a mattress rocking. Gross. “Annie, I need you now. I fucked up beyond big this time, and I don’t know if there’s any way out.” I’m biting my hand. I can hear the mattress squeaking stop.

65

Annie is in my studio, stroking my hair with one hand, Crackberry in the other. I’m drinking tea with twenty packets of sugar in it. My headache won’t quit. I’m trying to figure how to explain myself. How could I willingly throw my life away? I hear Enzo’s voice still whispering :
“You’re nothing without me Hayley. Nothing”

“Annie, I just lost all my gusto. I mean, Jack’s death, and the assassination of my ego by the critics – I thought I needed somebody else to be complete.” Words are falling out of me, trying to justify my insanity. Annie’s phone vibrates and she smiles, “HOLY CRAP! YES! They’re pitching you to Saturday Night Live… I have to take this.” She pulls my head off her lap and walks outside.

I pop open my Xanax bottle: only one pill left. One more won’t kill the baby. I pop it and throw the bottle in the trash. Annie walks all high and proud back into the studio.

“Sorry… that video’s a game-changer for us… You were saying?”

I sit back down on the couch. I want to tell her everything if she’d just get off that fucking phone. I tell her that I love her. I only let a little of the war of my heart out. I tell her that I thought I might be like Mary Shelly writing “Frankenstein” or Harper Lee with “To Kill a Mockingbird.” I do one great thing and then nothing else ever again. She smirks and brushes away a stray hair from her face. Her nails are long and red. She’s always so put together.

“Hayley. Chill out. He helped get you out of the pity and into the writing.. Who cares that you fucked Enzo?”

I spit out my tea. That was blunt. So she knew all along.

“Hayley. Look. Mick Jagger’s songwriting sucks without Keith and vice versa. It’s normal to have a muse that you fuck to make you a better person. Think about all the beauty in the travesties of affairs of all the writers, artists, musicians, heroes that you love…”

But do I have to be that person? Do I have to destroy the lives of Carter and the kids to just to be the woman the audience needs me to be? Why doesn’t Annie hold me accountable for all the shit I do wrong? There must be another way to get to the top without destroying myself and the only good that I’ve got left. Now or never Hayley:

“I’m pregnant.”

Annie takes a breath: “We can fix this. I got a plan. First, you don’t have to have the baby. Second, keep the Enzo thing on the D.L.”

The stampeding elephants of rage pour out and I run out of the studio, away, away, away. She chases me through the woods. Brush scratches my legs like fury-red disaster nails hammering graves and digging out the sun. “ON THE DL?” I’m so loud, but so far. “How the fuck can I do that when he’s sneaking into my house, sending me fucking cribs, texting my husband… … I NEVER EVEN TOLD ENZO I WAS PREG- NANT… HOW DID HE KNOW?… WHAT THE FUCK?”

Annie yells after me, her high-heeled Louboutins in her hands. “Does he have your phone tapped ?”

AHHHHHHHH!
“I didn’t say anything on the phone… I don’t know how he knows. But something is really off. I mean… we didn’t even do a background check on him, did we?… He was just so damn good. So fucking perfect for the music – “ I halt in front of a tree, and my fists speed back and into the trunk. I bleed and feel all the hatred – hatred that I never knew could grow so big, hatred that I can’t explain. Annie tries to grab my hands, but I push her off..

Annie: “Hayley you have to stop. You’re hurting yourself.” I’m fisting the tree and bleed, bleed, bleed. My hands drop. I am shocked at myself. I have never been so violent. I am shocked that Enzo’s crazy violence is seeping into me…
AHHHHHH!
I NEED OUT! My fists burn in pain. But wait! Of course he knew all our songs. He’s obsessed. Is he really a full-blown crazy man, or am I just paranoid? Do I not understand geniuses and the way they work? Was he just exploring the dark side emotionally? Something is wrong. But Marilyn Manson and Trent Reznor are super creepy. But it’s not real. At least, I don’t think so. I mean, was that video killing his sister real?
AHHH!
I don’t know
.

I sink my head back and stare at the clouds. I always wondered when I would hit rock bottom. Annie walks me back to the studio. I wish I had five million Xanax right now. Annie shakes her head: “This is such a shame because I believe in Enzo’s art.” “Me too. Me too, Annie.” My mouth has a medicine taste to it. I feel all my dreams slipping away. Annie is pouring vodka over my cuts. My hands burn. My back burns.

“Annie… I thought he was gonna give me everything I want. Artistic success and credibility, any idea explored. I thought he was my king and I was his queen. Artistic destiny. Going to change the world with our vision.” Annie kisses my cheek: “Little Haze… We’re gonna make all of your dreams come true and even more. “ She’s as close to a guardian angel as they come. She checks her silver Rolex watch. Time to roll. I start to feel better as we open the studio door. “I’m gonna get Enzo a great deal with a producer I know in Australia. We’ll get him shipped off ASAP.”

I wish it was that easy. She smiles so big, and she’s so calm. I will do what she wants. She’s got a red, top-down Beamer. She likes her cars like her men. Fast. She opens her door: “Don’t worry. The Aussie owes me. And Enzo will click with him, become obsessed with his own album, and forget all about you. I mean, what guitar player doesn’t secretly want to be the star?”

“Okay,” I say, but I know nothing in this life is easy, especially when it comes to crazy boys. Annie puts her arms like a bear around me and holds me close. The Xanax is kicking in. “I’m here for you.” She swings into the driver’s seat and waves to Carter, who I see is watching us from the porch above. Then Annie gets an expression like a truck hit her gut. “Shit. When I rolled in, Carter was digging in the garden and he thanked me for the gift, and I told him I didn’t send it, and he stared at me all weird.”

Ugh. There’s a word I learned in Tokyo which literally means ‘boiling in your own karma.’ I bend over and whisper, “Naraka!” I look up at Carter. Fuck, fuck, fuck. BOILING IN MY KARMA! What am I supposed to do now? Annie shuts the door and drives away, leaving me alone in my mess. I walk up the hill, passing Camila. How does she keep her dresses so perfect and classic and tight when chasing kids? Inside, I try to move the basinette when Carter steps out angry: “LEAVE it there.” His voice is so strong; I think this is the final straw.

Hail-Mary-pass of words: “Carter… Annie didn’t acknowledge the gift ‘cause the store sent it early. They got confused when she didn’t give them a delivery date and – “ Carter doesn’t even look at me through my
cheap veil of lies;
he just says with a sharp, dragon tongue, “Don’t embarrass yourself,” like a dagger to the heart. He texts someone, grabs his keys, and leaves. He walks out on me, the way I walked out on us.

66

Carter came back wearing a mask of hidden darkness, but I feel his disdain pumping from every vein. We can’t even be alone with each other to talk; the kids or Camila are always around. But I don’t want to face the death-mob orchestra of my destruction anyway, so I guess I’m glad she’s here. I can put a pause on the pain of whatever discussion he and I will have when it’s just the two of us and… well… this thing growing inside.

We are all around the dinner table, pretending we’re OK. The meal’s wrapping up, like all my goodness with Carter. The bassinet is there. I see it sinking me deeper into despair and I suddenly understand how Jack could have left this world. This world will break you if you let it. But I broke my world. Me. Hayley.

Camila brings out a plate of cookies and puts down a coffee for Carter. She pours the whiskey into it, and he keeps signaling more. No booze for me. There’s nowhere to hide, no place to go. No drugs to save me from my self-dug hell-hole. The kids even feel that we aren’t right anymore. Cody stares at the bassinet: “Are we getting a baby?” I look down at my uneaten plate. It’s quieter than a morgue after hours. Dead silence. Carter looks at me. Fuck, what do I say? I pick my head up and force a smile to sweet, sweet Cody. I bite and lie: “Well… we’re thinking about it.” I send Camila home. I want to clean up the kitchen myself tonight

BRRRRRRRRRING!
The landline is obscenely loud. Nobody ever calls here. It’s just for emergencies. Carter dashes across the room and grabs it. He doesn’t trust me talking to anybody.

He looks white, sad. He hangs up the phone. His stone-cold hatred for me now looks more like my utter despair. I walk over to him. I look him in the eyes. He lets out a tear. “What’s wrong, Carter. What’s wrong?” I whisper so the kids don’t hear.

He doesn’t touch me, but puts a tenderness in his jaw. It unclenches for a moment and he whispers back, “Hayley… “ I feel everything is going wrong in every bone of my body. I see him swallow hard.

“Annie’s dead. She went over a cliff on her way home from here, off Mulholland somewhere.” NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO, NO, NO, NO! This can’t be true. She drives that way all the time. She’s a perfect driver. She’s never gotten a single, fucking ticket. This is bullshit. Fuck this. Carter doesn’t look at me and continues, “The cops suspect foul play.”

FOUL PLAY?! But who would want to kill Annie? She’s the coolest, funniest lady I’ve ever met! She loved me so much. I mean, she was the mom I never had… She was going to take care of EVERYTHING. I loved her. I loved her more than I told her. But, wait. She went over a cliff? Isn’t that how Enzo’s papa died? I can’t be thinking this… But does Enzo have something to do with this? I mean, I know they don’t really like each other and all, but would he really go that far? Foul play. What the fuck is foul play? Does that mean someone cut her brake lines? Did someone run her off the road? How could he even do that? No. No, I can’t be thinking like that about someone I love. Could it be that crazy fan? I mean, he said he was coming for me. I thought I was at rock bottom, but I guess I was wrong, I grab my hair. I can’t be quiet anymore, and I fall apart sobbing hard. The kids hear. I can’t keep clear of tragedy. A cliff. Carter is watching me. He knows I’m connected to this. Maybe he knows everything now.

I can see he is exploding fireworks-bombs-rage inside. He grabs his black hoodie and walks out the door. Benjy tries to follow. He wants to go running too, but Carter snaps at the kids: “I’m too fast for you – GO to BED!” He’s
NEVER
yelled at the kids.

He’s running and now I can’t run away. I’ve got the kids. My phone is blowing up with texts and emails and everything all about Annie. I CAN’T DO THIS! I need to hold on, just until the boys are asleep. Do something right for once, Hayley.

I bring the boys to bed and read to them. Their heads are on my lap – angelic, blonde waves. They’re so warm. The last page reads, “the
Z was zapped’.’
They are snoring little snores. I close the book. Tears, so many tears, come down. How could I be so selfish? How could I choose the caves of desire over these beautiful boys? I’m no better than my parents.