Chapter Eight: Watching Stars Without You
He was there waiting for her the next morning when she unlocked the door to her studio. His eyes, like hers, were red and he looked unkempt. "Good morning, Chris." She said, disguising her tone and making herself sound cheerful.
"Hi."
"I'm sorry, Chris." Di said.
"Don't lie."
"But I really am! Chris…Richard…" Right as Di opened her mouth to speak Richard and Harold entered the room. Richard's observant eyes noticed right away the redness in both Di and Chris's eyes, as did Harold. Harold's heart sank. Di had done it. Good. Chris was safe.
"Now, Di," Richard said, putting an arm about her waist. Di just smiled and turned to him, pretending she enjoyed his touch when inside she was feeling sick. "I came to tell you that I…well, Harold, booked you for Tuesday night on Leno."
"Oh, okay." Nonchalantly Di flipped through a magazine.
"And on Thursday," Harold added. "You're scheduled with Vogue."
"Yes, I knew that."
"Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?" Duke asked, smiling his reptilian smile and trying his best "bedroom eyes."
"Mmm hmm."
"Seven?"
"Sure."
Chris's heart was breaking even more as each word was said. Watching Duke's arm snake about Di's waist, watching him make those bug-eyes her way…shattered him. "Excuse me," he said softly, rising and leaving the room.
If his heart could have come up his throat, it would have. Chris didn't know how long he vomited, but when he could heave no more, he stood weakly, splashed chilly water on his face, and went back to her.
Di was alone, fiddling around on her laptop computer. "Oh, Chris…hi."
"Let's get to work." Chris sat down at the piano and began to play a Gershwin song. Di's heart ached even more. "They can't take that away…" she whispered.
"Our romance won't end on a sorrowful note," She sang along, forgetting that the song was recording.
"Though by tomorrow you're gone." Chris sang back mournfully. "The song is ended, but as the songwriter wrote, the melody lingers on. They may take you from me; I'll miss your fond caress. But though he takes you from me, I'll still possess…" He didn't look her way.
"The way you wear your hat, the way you sip your tea. The mem'ry of all that…No! They can't take that away from me!" Di listened to him, smiling dreamily. If she couldn't have Chris, she could still have memories.
"The way your smile just beams, the way you sing off key," Di teased as she sang. "The way you haunt my dreams…No, no, he can't take that away from me!"
"We may never, never meet again on the bumpy road to love," both sang in unison. "Still, I'll always, always keep the mem'ry of the way you hold your knife, the way we danced till three. The way you've changed my life…No, no! He can't take that away from me!"
Chris turned his head away from Di's watery eyes, whispered, "Goodbye, Di" and walked out of her life.
Di stood in a daze, watching him in the doorway until her legs gave out and she collapsed on the floor in a sobbing heap.
Chris was barely moving from his bed of self-pity. He watched endless episodes of Maury and Sally, half-entertained by the screaming teen mothers and their babies' slacker fathers. He had thrown Di's pillow away; the pillow that smelled like her and still had the imprint of her head in it. In a rage, Chris had tossed it out the window.
And now he hated himself for it. He wanted to die with that pillow clutched to him, the only thing in his apartment that had been hers. "I miss you," he whispered to the pigeon on the windowsill. "Not you, stupid bird."
"Amelia Aarons, come on down!" Bob Barker proclaimed on the TV. A fat woman with heaving breasts that jiggled as she ran wheezed with delight.
"Chris? Can I come in?" Theo's voice called through the doorway.
"Yeah," he answered absentmindedly.
Theo found his friend wearing a dirty Black Crowes shirt and a pair of boxers, staring blankly at the TV screen. He sat down, looking at the depressed young songwriter, and handed him a bottle of apple juice. "I know you don't like orange, so I brought this to cheer you up with."
"She's gone."
"I know she's gone, Chris. But she still loves you. Have you ever read the book 'Camille'?"
Chris shook his head.
"Well, in it, the woman leaves her lover to save him. Maybe Di did that."
"No." Chris spat. "She did it for Richard Duke. She cares of his money, not for my safety."
"She loves you, Chris. I know she loves you."
"Shut up, Theo."
"Why don't we go out for a drink?"
"No."
"C'mon."
"No."
"Get up. Turn off Bob and take a shower. You smell. We're going out for a drink. It's six thirty. Let's have a little fun."
Chris sighed heavily and rolled off the bed, trudging (with a glare at Theo) to the shower.
Di dressed mechanically in a dress of gray. Gray to show how she was feeling. She hated gray. Everything was gray; the sky was clouded with the depressing storm clouds hanging miserably over Los Angeles. The pavement was gray. Buildings were gray.
Di was feeling very gray today.
"Baz Lurhmann's Romeo + Juliet" flickered on her TV screen and Di watched out of the corner of her eye. Maybe she should take a potion and pretend she was dead.
It started to rain. "How fitting," she mused. "I lost my best friend and the love of my life, I'm stuck having dinner with a rabbity idiot, and even if I am a celebrity, I hate myself."
"Miss Casablanca," someone said from the other side of the door. "Your limousine is here."
"Great."
The clinking of the silverware and the annoyingly jazzy Muzak filled Di's ears as she stepped inside the ritzy restaurant. "Mr. Duke is waiting for you, Miss Casablanca. Right this way."
Di followed the waiter to the table where Duke sat, that slimy smile on his face. She sat down in the offered chair, let him take her hand, and ordered a glass of white wine. And thought of Chris.
Who, at this very moment, was in the bar of said restaurant, drinking Bacardi and watching Theo dance to Amiel's "Addicted to Bass." Drink after drink burned his innards, making him woozy and
lightheaded. He could sense Di's presence. He knew she was here.
On feet like a cat's, he went up the stairs to the main restaurant. There she sat with Duke, wearing a dress of gray that was as fragile as a butterfly's wing. Drunkenly he staggered to their table and tapped Di's shoulder. She spun around, a look of complete horror on her face. "Chris!" She hissed. "What are you doing here? Get out!"
"Is that any way to treat your partner?" He slurred.
"Excuse me, Chris, we are having a private dinner." Richard snarled.
"Let's make it for three."
"How many drinks have you had tonight?" Di asked.
"Oh…fen."
"Waiter!" Duke called. "Please have this man removed."
Before Chris could move or protest, he found himself outside in the street. With the rain coming down in torrents and slushy mud covering the streets, he collapsed on his knees and cried, screaming her name to the homeless man in the corner and to the reflection of Di in the window. "Di!"
Inside, nauseated by Duke, Di could almost feel the anguish.
A/N: Something went wrong there with chapter eight so I re-did the ending…hmm…
He was there waiting for her the next morning when she unlocked the door to her studio. His eyes, like hers, were red and he looked unkempt. "Good morning, Chris." She said, disguising her tone and making herself sound cheerful.
"Hi."
"I'm sorry, Chris." Di said.
"Don't lie."
"But I really am! Chris…Richard…" Right as Di opened her mouth to speak Richard and Harold entered the room. Richard's observant eyes noticed right away the redness in both Di and Chris's eyes, as did Harold. Harold's heart sank. Di had done it. Good. Chris was safe.
"Now, Di," Richard said, putting an arm about her waist. Di just smiled and turned to him, pretending she enjoyed his touch when inside she was feeling sick. "I came to tell you that I…well, Harold, booked you for Tuesday night on Leno."
"Oh, okay." Nonchalantly Di flipped through a magazine.
"And on Thursday," Harold added. "You're scheduled with Vogue."
"Yes, I knew that."
"Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?" Duke asked, smiling his reptilian smile and trying his best "bedroom eyes."
"Mmm hmm."
"Seven?"
"Sure."
Chris's heart was breaking even more as each word was said. Watching Duke's arm snake about Di's waist, watching him make those bug-eyes her way…shattered him. "Excuse me," he said softly, rising and leaving the room.
If his heart could have come up his throat, it would have. Chris didn't know how long he vomited, but when he could heave no more, he stood weakly, splashed chilly water on his face, and went back to her.
Di was alone, fiddling around on her laptop computer. "Oh, Chris…hi."
"Let's get to work." Chris sat down at the piano and began to play a Gershwin song. Di's heart ached even more. "They can't take that away…" she whispered.
"Our romance won't end on a sorrowful note," She sang along, forgetting that the song was recording.
"Though by tomorrow you're gone." Chris sang back mournfully. "The song is ended, but as the songwriter wrote, the melody lingers on. They may take you from me; I'll miss your fond caress. But though he takes you from me, I'll still possess…" He didn't look her way.
"The way you wear your hat, the way you sip your tea. The mem'ry of all that…No! They can't take that away from me!" Di listened to him, smiling dreamily. If she couldn't have Chris, she could still have memories.
"The way your smile just beams, the way you sing off key," Di teased as she sang. "The way you haunt my dreams…No, no, he can't take that away from me!"
"We may never, never meet again on the bumpy road to love," both sang in unison. "Still, I'll always, always keep the mem'ry of the way you hold your knife, the way we danced till three. The way you've changed my life…No, no! He can't take that away from me!"
Chris turned his head away from Di's watery eyes, whispered, "Goodbye, Di" and walked out of her life.
Di stood in a daze, watching him in the doorway until her legs gave out and she collapsed on the floor in a sobbing heap.
Chris was barely moving from his bed of self-pity. He watched endless episodes of Maury and Sally, half-entertained by the screaming teen mothers and their babies' slacker fathers. He had thrown Di's pillow away; the pillow that smelled like her and still had the imprint of her head in it. In a rage, Chris had tossed it out the window.
And now he hated himself for it. He wanted to die with that pillow clutched to him, the only thing in his apartment that had been hers. "I miss you," he whispered to the pigeon on the windowsill. "Not you, stupid bird."
"Amelia Aarons, come on down!" Bob Barker proclaimed on the TV. A fat woman with heaving breasts that jiggled as she ran wheezed with delight.
"Chris? Can I come in?" Theo's voice called through the doorway.
"Yeah," he answered absentmindedly.
Theo found his friend wearing a dirty Black Crowes shirt and a pair of boxers, staring blankly at the TV screen. He sat down, looking at the depressed young songwriter, and handed him a bottle of apple juice. "I know you don't like orange, so I brought this to cheer you up with."
"She's gone."
"I know she's gone, Chris. But she still loves you. Have you ever read the book 'Camille'?"
Chris shook his head.
"Well, in it, the woman leaves her lover to save him. Maybe Di did that."
"No." Chris spat. "She did it for Richard Duke. She cares of his money, not for my safety."
"She loves you, Chris. I know she loves you."
"Shut up, Theo."
"Why don't we go out for a drink?"
"No."
"C'mon."
"No."
"Get up. Turn off Bob and take a shower. You smell. We're going out for a drink. It's six thirty. Let's have a little fun."
Chris sighed heavily and rolled off the bed, trudging (with a glare at Theo) to the shower.
Di dressed mechanically in a dress of gray. Gray to show how she was feeling. She hated gray. Everything was gray; the sky was clouded with the depressing storm clouds hanging miserably over Los Angeles. The pavement was gray. Buildings were gray.
Di was feeling very gray today.
"Baz Lurhmann's Romeo + Juliet" flickered on her TV screen and Di watched out of the corner of her eye. Maybe she should take a potion and pretend she was dead.
It started to rain. "How fitting," she mused. "I lost my best friend and the love of my life, I'm stuck having dinner with a rabbity idiot, and even if I am a celebrity, I hate myself."
"Miss Casablanca," someone said from the other side of the door. "Your limousine is here."
"Great."
The clinking of the silverware and the annoyingly jazzy Muzak filled Di's ears as she stepped inside the ritzy restaurant. "Mr. Duke is waiting for you, Miss Casablanca. Right this way."
Di followed the waiter to the table where Duke sat, that slimy smile on his face. She sat down in the offered chair, let him take her hand, and ordered a glass of white wine. And thought of Chris.
Who, at this very moment, was in the bar of said restaurant, drinking Bacardi and watching Theo dance to Amiel's "Addicted to Bass." Drink after drink burned his innards, making him woozy and
lightheaded. He could sense Di's presence. He knew she was here.
On feet like a cat's, he went up the stairs to the main restaurant. There she sat with Duke, wearing a dress of gray that was as fragile as a butterfly's wing. Drunkenly he staggered to their table and tapped Di's shoulder. She spun around, a look of complete horror on her face. "Chris!" She hissed. "What are you doing here? Get out!"
"Is that any way to treat your partner?" He slurred.
"Excuse me, Chris, we are having a private dinner." Richard snarled.
"Let's make it for three."
"How many drinks have you had tonight?" Di asked.
"Oh…fen."
"Waiter!" Duke called. "Please have this man removed."
Before Chris could move or protest, he found himself outside in the street. With the rain coming down in torrents and slushy mud covering the streets, he collapsed on his knees and cried, screaming her name to the homeless man in the corner and to the reflection of Di in the window. "Di!"
Inside, nauseated by Duke, Di could almost feel the anguish.
A/N: Something went wrong there with chapter eight so I re-did the ending…hmm…