THREE WOMEN
a Californication fan fiction.
by Cappuccino Girl
written for the Bordello's 48 hour challenge.
~* I'm fixed on ruin.
A rooftop party in the hills
That nameless girl in her crochet bikini is here again.
I watch her dance, wallflower, dance some more while I
Smoke pot behind the palm trees and
Take pictures up girls' skirts with my phone.
I take one of her toes.
By the railings, looking out to sea
That nameless girl takes a swig of my third beer.
I talk to her about nothing, eye-fucking her while she
Draws a fountain pen tattoo of Bob Marley on my
Palm while humming 'Mockingbird'.
When I join in she puts her
Index finger on my lips and says,
"I'll be Carly if you won't be James."
One in the morning, head spinning
Karen calls. I fall out of bed to answer.
"What the fuck, woman? It's one in LA."
And I can hear her sighing, and I swear she knows about
The records and the beer and the weed and
That nameless girl without her crochet bikini
Wearing roller-skates in my bed.
Again.
~* You're fixed on me.
There is something very wrong with this
And she just doesn't see it.
Never sees anything but herself and her
Teenage dreams of all night parties at
Rock stars' mansions and
Home pornos featuring
Her and me.
She wants me to write a dust-jacket review
For my her book, and I say
YES
Because I am incapable of saying
NO
Right now, ever, whatever.
I start typing.
She bounds over like a
Homeless Great Dane and keeps looking over my shoulder
and smoking the cigarette that's been sitting in the ash-tray.
She flicks through seventies Playboy while I
Stare into space and pray that she doesn't notice
My type-written novella in a heap on the floor.
~* I saw you in a different light. You saw me just the same.
Our lives crossed and intertwined. We stole each other's paths and now you are in the east and I am in the west, like some reverse Annie Hall cliche. I call you as I drive down Mullholland and tell you that the traffic is shit, just because I know you miss the sunsets and they are totally wasted on me.
You are my plus one for everything. I'm the third 'in case of emergency' number on your phone. I can't even blame you for your choice. To you I am always an after-thought, a lottery ticket purchased entirely in loose change. You packed your bags and headed for my city, plans lined up neatly in a row. I looked at you and wondered, "don't you ever just wait and see?" You never did, though. That was my aimless little scene.
I write you an e-mail. Begin it, "dear Karen", then delete it quickly, scrawling a note on a beer coaster instead.
~* fin.