266 DAYS
The first time he smoked pot was with Lilly. It was the day after Jake bought her a new car. She hated that car; a gray Mercedes M-Class SUV. Do I look like a soccer mom? I need a car that's as hot as I am. She wanted an MG convertible in metallic green; to match my eyes lover. If he'd had the money, he would've bought her one on the spot just because of the way she was looking at him in that moment. God she was…sexy. She was taking Driver's Ed, only had a learner's permit, and Jake bought her a Mercedes. Logan shook his head. We rich with our inherited wealth…maybe she had a point.
He rubbed the glass pipe. It was a spoon pipe. Not green like Lilly's eyes, but blue like hers; it even shimmered in the light like her eyes did when she was excited. We're here and now, will we ever be again…'cause I have found all that shimmers in this world is sure to fade away…I never really know a killer from a savoir 'til I break at the bend. Logan concentrated on packing the bowl. Plugging the carb hole with his thumb, he blew air through it. Never underestimate the value of good airflow. He broke two pieces off the nug and put the nugletts side by side in the bottom of the bowl. Continuing to break the nug into small pieces he placed them in one at a time and then tamped down the entire thing with his thumb.
They drove to Santa Monica. She wasn't supposed to drive without a licensed driver and she certainly shouldn't have been driving hours on the freeways toward Los Angeles, but that was Lilly. They went to the pier. She put on a front of worldly sophistication, but still squealed like a little girl on the roller coaster and demanded to ride the carousel. They made out at the top of the Ferris wheel, copped weed from some dude at Venice beach and walked back to smoke it under the pier before having sex in the sand. That was unpleasant. Movies lied. It was not a romantic, From Here to Eternity scene; sand got everywhere and it was…gritty.
Logan put the pipe in his mouth and placed his thumb over the carb. Holding the lighter upward at a ninety degree angle, he struck it and tilted it counter-clockwise so the flame would move away from his fingers. A slow inhale, release the carb for a fat hit and hold the smoke in his lungs to get super faded.
The drive home was vastly different from the drive there. Lilly was wasted and bitchy. It was his fault she got sunburned, had sand in her snatch…her word, not his…and was too fucked up to drive. All my fault. She was also extremely paranoid. Every car was an undercover cop, Jake was definitely going to find out what they did and Celeste was going to ground her until she was thirty. Logan vowed no more pot for me. He smirked. Promises and piecrusts: both made to be broken…like me.
He didn't do any coke after dropping Jane…Emily…off at the motel. It was there, sitting on the counter and calling to him; come and get me lovah. It was…accurate…for the coke to sound like Lilly. Doing blow and being with Lilly were the same experience; an exhilarating high when things were good between them, a bad comedown when they were separated, and an aching desire to do it all over again. Both were equally bad for him.
The pounding on the door penetrated his lethargy. Walking underwater is how he felt, the air had weight to it and his body was heavy. That's what I get for smoking grass all day. Logan plucked the baggie of coke off the counter and shoved it between the sofa cushions on his way to the door.
Dick, of course. "You weren't in class today."
"What, did she leave you some tracking devices, maybe some bugs?" It was supposed to be sarcastic and only came out sounding hopeful. Like she might be interested in what you're doing; grow a set Echolls. At Dick's blank expression, he rolled his eyes. "Ronnie." Logan flinched at his use of the name. I haven't called her that since…His mind shied away from that day. "Why are you here?"
"Your professor came looking for me; wanted to know where you were."
It was taking him a long time to process that sentence. The race was Saturday…Sunday? "Is it Monday?" Dick just stared at him. His only class on Monday was the three hours of Humanities hell, which meant it was Boring Brach who came looking for him. He'd decided to drop that class, but apparently she didn't get the memo. Dick pushed his way into the apartment. "By all means come right in; should I offer you a beverage?"
"This is a dump."
No arguments there. "Yes, but it's my dump." He sat on the couch next to his coke and watched Dick through hooded eyes. He seemed at a loss, flustered, and Logan found it funny. This was probably the shittiest home he'd ever been in and was out of his element. An analogy was there…a billionaire in a homeless shelter…a princess dining at a food bank…it wasn't worth the energy and Logan gave up on it. "Why are you here?"
"You're moving."
He looked down at his body, "nope quite stationary…incapable of moving as a matter of fact." For the first time he noticed Dick was holding a box of garbage bags. The black, drawstring industrial strength bags; hefty, hefty, hefty, wimpy, wimpy, wimpy. He chuckled. That weed was strong and he wanted to…nap…and eat. His eyes moved to the refrigerator. There was nothing in there. Note to self; stock up on groceries before getting the munchies. "What are you doing?"
Dick was shoving all his clothes into a trash bag. "Dude, laundry it's a thing."
"Like you would know; have you ever even seen a washing machine?"
Ignoring him, he tied off the first bag and started filling a new one. Three bags took care of all the clothes that were lying around the living room, slash, bedroom, slash, entertainment room. Dick pulled open the closet and the first thing he took out was Logan's leather bound journal. "Is this a diary?"
"Do I look like a twelve year old girl? It's a journal." The grin on his face said, semantics. No, Dick wouldn't know that word, his expression would mean, same diff. "It was for class." Lie. His English professor did recommend keeping a daily journal, but it wasn't exactly an assignment. The suggestion made Logan think of his snide, I'd really have to consult my feelings journal to be sure, and he thought fuck it, why not? It was mostly…sex, drugs, and rock n' roll, baby…and aborted letters to her.
Veronica…Ronnie. That was his name for her, a long time ago when they used to be friends. It was always with a teasing lilt usually right before he pulled her ponytail or tossed her in the pool or tickled her until she begged for mercy. Sometimes it was soft and comforting like when her mom would be sick in the middle of the day and miss Veronica's soccer game, I'm sorry Ronnie. Then it became a weapon. He'd say it with just enough edge to get under her skin. It was a reminder that she used to mean something to him back before she betrayed her friends…betrayed him. With that one word, Ronnie, he could slice right through her. When he asked her to help him find his mom, he called her Veronica. It was a concentrated effort to never hurt her again…very successful Echolls.
"Where are your keys?"
"You're wrong you know; she would totally come for my funeral." It's what she was waiting for…I can't stay with you…someone's gonna get killed…I'm pretty sure there's a part of you that's having fun with all of this. It was always there, her belief that he would self-destruct. That he would commit suicide or do something…stupid…and get himself killed. She would never miss the chance to be so gloriously right. He could almost see her standing over his coffin, gloating, with that look of hers, the self-righteous and smug I-told-you-so.
"Where. Are. Your. Keys?"
Logan flicked his hand toward the kitchen. He could hear Dick opening and closing the cabinets and the drawers in search of his car keys. Good thing I didn't hide my coke in a drawer. The telltale jangle of metal told him Dick was successful in his search. He silently watched his friend carry all his possessions packed in trash bags…God, wasn't that apropos…out of the apartment. "Are you doing my laundry?" He felt just as perplexed as he sounded.
"How wasted are you? I told you, you're moving in with me."
No, absolutely not, there was no fucking way he was moving back to the Neptune Grand. Logan started shaking his head. Not only would he have to contend with the memories of her, but he would also have to see Tina, colitas, every damn day. "I like my shithole, it's…mine and I'm not gonna live at the Grand."
"Dude you can't even keep your car in this neighborhood." That was true. His Range Rover was stolen his second night here. Its silver replacement was stolen a week later and the insurance company dropped him. He was reduced to his shitty rust bucket; a car he didn't want to drive and no one else wanted to steal. He was keeping the Shelby in a private garage back in the 90909 zip code, but he still wasn't going to live at the Grand.
That's where I did coke for the first time, on the roof. It wasn't a conscious choice. He'd bought a teener from Sean and he wanted to be alone; to be somewhere out in the open where no one would come looking for him. If he was going to pick a place for symbolic effect…a place that brought him to that point…he had a plethora to choose from; the charred grounds of his former house, the swimming pool at the Kanes, the Coronado Bridge, his actual suite, but he found himself on the roof. It was the beginning of December, getting close to Christmas and he was leaving for Africa in four days. He thought about Beaver and he thought about jumping…I wish you would step back from that ledge my friend…the angry boy a bit too insane icing over a secret pain…you know you don't belong…but he chose to do the coke instead. "No. I'm not leaving."
"You are." Dick was an immutable force with an expression he'd never seen; steely determination. "I'm not at the Grand; I rented us a house. It's small, but dude, it's on the beach…surfing every morning before class, it'll be sweet." There was the old Dick, the familiar one, thinking about sand and surf and using the word dude. Logan felt himself relax. It might not be too bad.
