This is my longest full length short story I've ever written. It was a final assignment for a prose class, and I believe it came out pretty well. Check out Colten's turmoiled love life, jumping through crazed, and weird hoops for the woman who he loves.
It was a calm night out on the coast. I
sat there on the sofa taking a few hits every once and a while from an old
roach, listening to the coming and going rhythms of the ocean with some
Coltrane washing through. The writing wasn’t coming, I had been working on this
damned screenplay for far too long, but hell, it was a beautiful California
night, I’m not worried. I thought I heard the screen door being opened and
there she was.
“. . .Colten?”
“Oh hell Penelope”
She was just like I had remembered. That
dark black hair, all messed up and wind blown. That tanned skin. Just standing
there slowly swaying back and forth, I knew, and she knew that the only reason
she was here was because I had to do something for her, and the worst part
about it was that she wasn’t even going to plead. This woman had me every damn
time she came around. I couldn’t fight it, no matter what she had done, seen,
or experienced. See me and the Californian ocean babe have gone way back. We knew
each other growing up in LA, dated and nearly got married, then she ran away up
to Seattle, then Montana, New Orleans, then back to LaLa land, and I migrated
only about an hour out towards the coast. Never could take that valley heat.
“. . .Colten”
I reached over to the coffee table and
grabbed the roach from the ashtray.
“I think I’m really in it this time. . .I
need you”
“You need me?”
“I need you C, I really do”
“Yeah, I’ve heard this one before”
“I’ve missed you”
“And I’ve missed you P, come here, sit
down, chill out”
She walked from the doorway she had been
standing in and came over slowly all beaten and torn like she had seen too
much, and done too little. She was wearing a white t-shirt with those short
jean shorts she always wore, some Chuck Taylors, and some big sunglasses that
were shoved up into that beautiful dark hair. She sat down on the sofa and put
her head in my lap and looked up at me. I reached into my shirt pocket and
grabbed two cigarettes, lit both in my mouth, and put one in hers.
“How was New Orleans?”
“Hot . . .sticky . . .lots of crime”
“Good food though?”
“Oh jees, my god, it’s heaven down there
for food”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, but shit, that crime”
“Oh sure, yeah”
I looked up at the ceiling; Penelope
turned her head in my lap and looked at the opposite wall. I wondered if she
felt guilty at all coming in here with her issues after not phoning me in
months, only with the occasional post card. I loved this woman more than I ever
loved anything, and yet I wish I didn’t. I wish I could just pick her up and
throw her out my door, saying you’ve hurt me too many times, you used me, all
that shit, but I wouldn’t, and I couldn’t. She was just something that innately
drove me nuts, and I kept thinking that after one of her escapades, she’d come
back to Malibu with me and we’d write poetry, and eat pizza, smoke grass, and
not think about tomorrow all the while listening to the rhythm of the sea. And
yet, here we were.
“We used to be good P, we used to be a
one two punch, the fuck happened mah?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why’d you have to ruin it?”
“Ruin it?”
“Yeah . . .why do you have to keep
running away?”
“How about the time I caught you?” she
said now sitting up on the couch
“Oh shit, that’s your excuse for being
gone, running around this country, sleeping around with those vagabonds”
“MAYBE” she said standing up now throwing
those arms and hands around. She always used her hands when she was trying to say something important. I just kept sitting there and taking it all. “Well
I understand that I hurt you, but you hurt me 10 over”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah . . . you fucked with my soul
woman”
“Put some gray hairs up there?”
“Shut the hell up! I keep staying around
and you keep running”
“Well maybe I’m done running Colt, maybe
I’m here to stay”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah”
“No I mean it”
“Yeah, and yeah I heard this shit before,
as much as I want to believe I can’t”
“Shit Colt, I swear, I really do”
“Then what’s stopping you?”
“It’s this guy”
“A man?”
She put out her
smoke in the ashtray, and looked at me even harder in the eyes.
“Yeah, this guy I met in New Orleans, he
won’t stay away. . .I’m afraid Colt”
“He want money?”
“I don’t think so, he wants me, but I’ve
told him I’m through”
“Ahhh, another man that has been put
under the Penelope spell – how’d he take it?”
“Oh shush! He took it terribly, he
started sobbing and getting on his knees, but he’s an artist, he feels
everything”
“Jesus”
“Yeah, I’d just feel better if you went
up there”
“Okay, so you want me to deal with him?”
“I guess”
“Annnd how do you reckon I do this?”
“Just tell him off. . .not a threat, like
you do, or did. . . man to man. . you know. . Oh! also say that I won’t be
around anymore. . no more. . never”
“Alright”
“By the way. . .can you help me bring my
stuff in?”
“How you know I don’t have a lady coming
over, or something. .huh?”
“I know. . . because. . I’m here”
--
I woke up around 10 or so, the breeze and
the sun were coming through. Mornings were the best out here on the coast. The
sun showing itself for the first moments of the day fully vulnerable, open, and
unscathed. There are no fanny-packing tourists on the beach at this time, just
the rhythm of the waves, and the caws of seagulls. I rolled over and there was
a note on the pillow, “gone surfing, some Joe in the kitchen –Love u C”
I rolled out of bed, and went and poured
myself a cup. Penelope came in from the beach a few minutes later.
“Morning handsome”
“Morning P”
“I love you”
“And I love you too”
“So. . .”
“Yah yah, I’ll go do this, I saw the
directions to his place on the table, should I bring my steel?”
“No. . .NO, he’s not like that”
“Alright alright just wondering, and who
is HE?”
“Felipe”
“Felipe?”
“Felipe”
“OK”
“Oh and there’s something I didn’t say
last night, there’s something you need to get from Felipe”
“What”
“You need to steal his cat”
“A cat? I can’t steal a cat Penelope!”
“It’s not even his, its this other guys
cat, see, Felipe has a lot of girls come through that house and well one of
girls left this cat, I know it’s odd, but the cat is apparently worth a lot or
something and there’s this guy who was the husband of this girl that left the
cat at Felipe’s, and well somehow I was the one who was told to get it back,
it’s fucked but it’s gotta happen, and, hey! I’d go get it but Felipe, he’s so
goddamn weird around me I’m just so creeped out, PLEASE Colten, babe, please”
“Yeah, okay, I mean it’s just a fuckin
cat I guess”
“Yeah its gray and white with a smooshed
face, and blue eyes”
“All right”
“It’ll all be over after”
“Till the wheels come off?”
“Till the fuckin wheels come off”
I got dressed and hopped in the Volv.
Rolled the windows down and headed into Los Angeles. From the directions it
seemed like this guy had some money. He lived up in the hills. Those rich
lonely fucks are the worst, they fantasize things their entire lives that they
can have when they get money, and then when they do get the money and things
don’t actually happen the way they thought they would they lose their shit.
Like not being able to have the girl, when their money doesn’t cover their false
personality. Poor rich lonely fucks. I pulled up to his place, stepped out,
took another drag, then stomped out the butt, fixed my sunglasses, and rang the
doorbell. Nobody came. I tried the doorknob and it was unlocked. I walked in
slowly. The place was out of sight, like out of fucking sight. All Goddy and
shit, tiger rugs, lion rugs, bear rugs, huge candles, a pool. It had
everything. I yelled out, “HELLO?”, and it echoed through the castle. Nobody
was home; at least I hoped so at this point. I kept walking through the long living
room, towards the big windows, to take a look at the pool. There he was. It
seemed as if love had got the best of Felipe, it seemed as if he let it beat him.
There he was face down wearing a silk robe dead in his own pool, with a floating
bottle of Vodka not too far from his body either. I walked the length of the
pool looking at him floating there for 15 minutes or so. Just fucking sad I
thought, a man who couldn’t control himself, a man with everything, and yet
nothing, he wasn’t salt of the earth, but royalty yet no substance to keep on,
no reason to fight the good fight. I walked back into the house, grabbed the
nicest bottle of Whiskey from the booze cabinet, and started looking for the
damn cat. I walked up to the second floor and went into what looked like the
master bedroom, but all the rooms could’ve been master bedrooms. There that
little shit was, sitting right in the middle of a huge bed. “Hey buddy” I said
to the cat. I walked over, and hopped on the bed, grabbed the cat, and headed
down the hills.
The next day I was at one of the local
diners there in Malibu having some breakfast with my good buddy Zach. I had
gone home to see Penelope, but she hadn’t been there. There was another note
stuck on the fridge, “deliver cat here:” with an address out in the desert. The
note also said that she had left to go grocery shopping, I’m not sure if I
exactly believed that. “So where does Penelope want you to deliver this cat at?
He sure is a pretty boy, oh yes he is sitting there all nice oh yes he is”
“Jesus Zach give the cat some air”, I
said. The cat had come with Zach and I for breakfast as well, and he sat with
us there in the booth, but he didn’t do much, but just sit there and sleep, we
had ordered him some milk in a dish. I couldn’t let him out of our sights,
being that he was apparently so goddamn important to this guy. “What’s the
cat’s name anyway?”, Zach asked.
“You know I didn’t even check”, I leaned
over and looked at the cat’s collar. It read: “Scott”. “The fucking cat’s name
is SCOTT!”
“Ahahaaaha, no way, no fucking way – I’m
coming with you to deliver this cat, I want to meet the person who would name a
goddamn cat Scott” Zach said
“All right, that seems fine to me, the
note didn’t say anything about only me delivering it, yeah, okay, we’ll go now”
“Lemme see that address again”
I handed him the paper, he took a long
look at it, and flipped it over. “It says here, apparently, that this guys name
is Butch. We’re delivering a cat named Scott, to a guy named Butch, what the
hell Penelope”, Zach said
“Uh yeah, I don’t know any more than you
do”, I replied
“Well you found that Felipe guy dead. .
.right?”
“Yeah, he committed suicide though”
“Or did he?”
“Zach, it was fucking suicide, you really
think this Butch guy killed Felipe over a fucking cat? The thing was sleeping
on Felipe’s bed for Christ’s sake!”
“Hey, hey man, crazier shit has happened
– maybe Butch couldn’t find Scott, so he killed that Felipe motherfucker
because he thought he was hiding Scott”, proposed Zach
“Yeah, that’s it man, that’s it! Jesus
how’d you think of that? GENIUS!”
“Thanks man, thanks”
“No stupid, that didn’t happen! Felipe
died because Felipe was a bitch and couldn’t take love, he couldn’t handle it,
and Butch wants Scott, his cat, because he just fucking wants his cat!”
“Then why we doin this Butch guy’s dirty
work?”
“I don’t know! Because it’s important to
Penelope!”
“Fuck it, I’m bringing my steel. . .man”
“No you’re not”, I replied.
“Man, I’m not going unless I bring my
gun, I don’t feel safe around this Butch guy, I already know”
“All right, all right, let’s go”. We
headed out of the diner, and went back into Los Angeles again, jumped on the
405 through Beverly Hills, and down towards Palm Springs. I honestly was a bit
jumpy myself, seeing Felipe dead in that pool was still floating in my mind, it
was all just so cinematic, the entire event, and now Zach and I are going to
deliver a cat, a fucking cat. I’m not quite sure how I got here, to this exact
situation, but I know what for, I have to keep the end result in mind, who I’m
doing this for, and why I’m doing it. I fucked up last time Penelope came
around. She had come home like she always does, and this last time was to be
the last time. But then she had left unexpectedly for a few days, and then came
back real early in the morning and found me in bed with another woman. She
stormed out, and hadn’t come back till just now. I don’t know if it was
completely my fault, or Penelope’s fault for being gone all the time on me,
although I do know that I’d do just about anything for the damn woman, even if
that means driving into the desert to deliver a goddamn cat named Scott, to a
man named Butch. “We’re here” I nudged Zach awake, he had been slumped over
asleep in the passenger seat, with Scott asleep as well purring on his lap.
Zach let out a low moan and stretched his arms above his head, scratched his
head, then opened the glove box, took out his 9 millimeter, cocked it to put a
round in the chamber, and looked over at me. “All right Dirty Hairy, all right”
I said.
“Better fuckin believe it . . man”, Zach replied.
“Better fuckin believe it . . man”, Zach replied.
I pointed a finger at him, “not unless we
absolutely have to”
“I get it man, I get it, okay?”
“All right, I swear if you pull that shit
out”
“I won’t!”
“Okay . . let’s go meet Butch”
We walked up the long drive way up to the
house. I had parked the volv on the street in case shit hit the fan, which I really
hoped it wouldn’t. I had Scott in my arms. We got to the door, and knocked. A
minute later or so a man in a butler outfit opened the door. “Hi, are you
Butch?” I asked
“Oh mmm no, hmhm, I’m Francis, Mr.
Butch’s butler, come on in boys”, said Francis
“Got anything to drink. . man”
“Anything you’d like sir” said Francis
“I’ll take a Whiskey Collins”, I said
“Gin and Tonic for me”, Zach said
“No problem, not a problem at all” said
Francis
I took a seat on the couch, and Zach in a
chair to my right, and our drinks arrived a couple minutes later. “Butch will
be just another minute or so”
“Thanks Francis”, I said
Butch came down the stairs smoking a
cigar, and he was also wearing a silk robe, ironically. He looked like a tall
powerful man, a man who doesn’t take shit. He also had a crew-cut, so probably
was ex-military. He took a seat at the big chair across the coffee table from us. “Hey boys” Butch said.
“Hello Butch”, I said
“Hey . .man”, replied Zach
“You know . .I really fucking hate
hippies, boys. I see them every goddamn day when I go to LA, and you know I
didn’t see my fuckin buddies lay face down in the mud in Korea to see you sons
of bitches walk in here with your fuckin long hair, and stupid fucking
clothing, smelling like the devil’s lettuce!”
“Hey MAN, you’re wearing a fucking bath
robe”
“It’s a kimono, you uneducated, probably
stoned ass hippy!”
“Hey, Butch! Hey! We came here to give
you your cat, and be on our way . .that’s it”, I said. Scott had taken up
napping at a near by chair. “And the money, we want the money too. .man”, said
Zach. I looked over at my idiot friend, and shook my head. Zach looked over,
winked, and nodded. Fucking moron is going to get us killed, holding Butch’s
cat for ransom! Hell no! Butch stood up and yelled at Zach from across the
coffee table, “YOU want MY MONEY? The money I worked for after seeing my
friends face down in the fucking mud in Korea, getting shot by fucking
Chinamen, and now your dirty hippy ass wants my money?! MY fucking MONEY?”
“Yeah man. . the money, we want our
fucking money!”, yelled Zach.
“You sick sons of bitches, you know how
many gooks I fucking killed in those jungles and on those hills, you little
shits would be nothing”
“Fuck you” I suddenly said, I didn’t yell
it, and I didn’t know how it even came out of my mouth, it just did. “Yeah .
.FUCK YOU. .MAN!” Zach yelled. Butch turned around reached into his robe,
pulled out a gun, and shot one round at Zach, Zach probably fumbling for his own
piece tipped the chair over backwards, falling back though he was able to let
out a round, it caught Butch in the chest and he fell over into the glass
coffee table, dead. “FUCK” I yelled. I jumped up and ran over to Zach, I looked
over at him; he was still in the chair. “He fucking got me Colten, he got me,
call my mom, tell her how I did”.
“Shut the fuck up you big baby, he only
grazed your arm”
“I’m blacking out Colten, I’m seeing it
all”
“Get the fuck up, let’s go”
“Only if we take Scott, I’m not leaving
without Scott”, said Zach.
“All right, all right”. I went over and
grabbed Scott, and we headed out. I had Zach’s arm over my shoulder helping him
out, with Scott in the other arm. “Thanks for the drinks, Francis!”, I yelled.
I figured he was hiding under his master’s desk somewhere up in the big house.
As we rolled into the city towards the hospital I looked over at Zach, asleep
again with a half burnt joint still hanging in his mouth, and Scott sitting on
his lap asleep. The whole last 48 hours had been a blur, a crazed blur. But I
know who it was for, I know why I do the shit I do, I know why I wake up every
morning and get out of bed, and write these stories, and these poems. I know
why I don’t just sit at home and blow my brains out, because that would be
easier, I picked the hard route, for love, and for Penelope. I’d tell P that
we, “squared it off like real men, that Felipe understood our love, and that
Butch was great, real class act”. She would never venture anywhere even out of
curiosity, because she had come home, finally, to write poetry, forget about
tomorrow, and listen to the rhythm of the sea.
