14. Gainesville
14
GAINESVILLE
ARCHER
I was bored. That was my excuse.
We’d found a cheap roadside motel that didn’t care if we had a horse-sized dog. Mal had wanted to go for a run, so he took Charlotte, and Ian was sitting in the parking lot in the back seat of my truck so he could have one of his hour-long conversations with Nicky. If he was jerking off in the BFT, I didn’t want to know about it.
So I was lying on the dingy bedspread, bored and thinking about O’Connor.
And before I could talk myself out of it, I texted her.
What are you doing?
Archer. What do you want?
Are you busy? Making another video?
Preparing a brilliant podcast?
Shredding a greedy manufacturer?
Moisturizing?
I don’t mean to disturb any of that
Deep breathing exercises
Seriously?
I have high blood pressure. My doctor says I need to chill out
So you suddenly have to breathe huh? That must be distressing for a vampire
Vampire…because of the pale skin?
I was thinking more about how you feed on the tears of the innocent
Innocent. Point me to an innocent person. I’d like to meet one
I’ll admit it would be hard to find one in LA
Ever been to Gainesville?
My phone rang. Look at that. Opinionated O’Connor.
“Hey.”
“You’re in Florida?”
“We are. In a cheap motel many miles from the coast.”
“Wow. You’re really living the rock ’n’ roll lifestyle, aren’t you?”
“It’s all sniffing cocaine from the breasts of porn stars, I’m telling you.”
“I bet. What can I do for you, Archer?”
“Nothing. I’m just bored.” I spoke stupidly before realizing that this might seem a little insulting to her .
“And I’m supposed to entertain you?” I got lucky. She didn’t sound annoyed.
“Actually, I did have a question.”
“This should be good. Hit me with it.”
“Sounds like you just sat down. Where are you?”
Her voice was smiling. “Back deck. And I just stood up, from the Lotus position that’s supposed to relax me.”
“With the pretzel legs? Isn’t that uncomfortable?”
“Well, honestly, yes. But that’s what I’m supposed to do.”
I thought about it for a minute. “How’s your blood pressure supposed to go down if your body is so twisted that your heart has to pump harder to get to your tiny, pale little toes?”
“What’s your question, Archer?”
“Yeah. What did you mean about interested versus interesting ?”
“The personality lesson? Shit. Should I be recording this?”
“Can if you want to. I’m just interested.” I heard the sound of a sliding door opening and then closing. “Don’t tell me. You’re going inside to get a . . . kombucha. Something nasty tasting that a yogi would approve of. I’m thinking . . . wheatgrass?”
“Diet Coke. If you have some noteworthy reaction to the discussion, I get to call you back and you recreate it, ’kay?”
“Promise. So, interested versus interesting. Tell me more about that.”
“You sound like a therapist.”
“I just play one on TV. You have nothing to say?”
“Okay. Here’s the deal. For a good conversation, both people have to be interesting, but they also have to be interested.”
“You’re saying be a good talker but also a good listener.”
“Well, I’d say that’s the elementary-school version, but let’s see if we can get you up to the high-school level.”
“Ouch. I thought we were at least at the grad-school level.”
“You wish. Let’s say we’re talking about something. ”
“Oh, use my imagination? I can’t imagine what that would be like.”
“Don’t be snarky. Say we’re talking about?—”
“High school versus elementary school.”
“Christ, do we have to?” She sighed. “Okay, I say that I think middle school is kind of an emotional cesspool. And you say?—”
“—that I think high school is worse.”
“Ah, you just gave me a great example. I spoke and you listened, then you commented. According to the speak/listen school of conversation, you’re doing fine. But if you want to advance to interesting versus interested , then you don’t respond with something you think. Instead, you show me that you’re interested in what I’m saying. You follow up. You ask me what I mean. You want me to expand on what I’m saying because you find me interesting. See?”
“I do think you’re interesting.”
“How would I know that? From my side of the conversation, it looks like you’re politely waiting for me to finish so you can tell me what you think. You see?”
“Aren’t you supposed to think I’m interesting?”
“Sure. But we have to take turns.”
I thought about it. “You’re telling me that all my life, I’ve been doing conversations wrong? Your way seems really complicated. My way is easier.”
“I’m sure it is. But how would you like it if someone did it to you?”
“I don’t think I’d care. Go on, try it.”
“Wish granted. You think right now about something you’d like to talk about. Something that is interesting—something you think I’d like to hear about.”
“Um . . . this hotel room is really cheap?”
“Terrible. That’s not something either of us wants to talk about. Tell me about . . . Charlotte.”
I brightened. “I have this excellent dog,” I started .
She cut me off. “I was never allowed to have a dog when I was growing up.”
“Then you’d really like mine. She’s so smart?—”
“My stepbrother is really allergic. I wanted a dog, but it wasn’t going to happen. That was frustrating, you know?”
“That’s part of why I think you’d like?—”
“I had a turtle, though. It lived in a little plastic pond on my desk with a ramp into the water and a green plastic palm tree.”
“A turtle is no substitute for a dog like Charlotte. She’s huge. Her paws are the size of your turtle?—”
“I named her Greenie. But she wasn’t very affectionate.”
“Do you want to hear about Charlotte or not?” Her silence had a touch of smugness about it. “Shit,” I said. “Do I do that to other people?”
“You certainly did it to me.”
“I did? I didn’t even realize it. I was filling the silence, you know? I guess I was a little nervous.”
“Nervousness is charming sometimes. I was a little uneasy myself. But I forced myself to listen when you spoke and tried to be interested . . . until it went on for two and a half hours. All you wanted me to do was agree with you.”
I wrinkled my nose in distaste. “Well, that doesn’t sound like much fun.” Her smugness had vanished. She let me think about it. It felt awkward. “Did you really have a turtle named Greenie?”
She let me get away with it. “I did. He crawled under the radiator in my room and never came back.”
“You had a radiator in your room? Like a car radiator?”
“Like the hot-water system that brought heat to the bedrooms. The highest possible technology in a Victorian-era house.”
I could be interested as well as interesting. “You grew up in an old house?”
“Very good.” She was smiling. “In Wilmington. ”
“Did Greenie fry?”
“Well, he left during the summer, so probably not.”
“But you never saw him again. You just had a loose turtle crawling around your childhood bedroom.”
“I used to put notes under the radiator for him.”
I was charmed. “What did the notes say?”
“Mostly Greenie, come home . But he never did.”
“A tragedy.”
“Scarred my childhood.”
“You poor dear.”
“You’re doing very well. Now I could ask you about Charlotte—who I love, by the way. That’s a champion dog.”
“The best thing about her is that she wouldn’t even fit under a radiator.”
“Ha! Excellent callback. Well done. That was a much better conversation!”
Mal and Charlotte burst through the door like they’d been shot from a cannon. Charlotte landed on the bed, planting one huge paw on my belly and making me oof . She collapsed beside me and rested her head on my chest. Mal ripped his T-shirt off and headed for the bathroom.
“I’m gonna grab a shower. Who you talking to?” He didn’t wait to hear and slammed the door.
“You’ve got company in your crappy hotel room, I’m guessing,” O’Connor said in my ear.
“One sexy beast is now laying her head on my chest,” I agreed. “And there’s a big old stud naked in my shower.”
“Mal? Or Ian?”
“You think Ian qualifies as a sexy stud?”
“You forget I’ve seen him in a towel. He definitely qualifies.”
“Mal will be so disappointed. Do you regret not recording this call?”
“I don’t know. Do you feel like it was a useful lesson?”
“I feel like it was a surprisingly hard lesson. ”
“Then your assignment is to practice being interested and interesting at least twice before I see you again.”
“Yes, Teacher. You’re coming to Atlanta?”
“Six days from now. I’ll be there.”
“On a Monday. I hate Monday gigs. They feel like failure.”
“Why?”
“Hot acts book on Fridays and Saturdays. Losers get the weekdays, when it doesn’t matter if you sell out or not. Weekdays are days of low expectations.”
“What happens if you sell out?”
“We won’t. Nobody sells out on a Monday. But when you book a tour as late as we did, you have to get what’s available. Our manager is putting together a better tour for January and February.”
“All Fridays and Saturdays?”
“And the week in between set aside for driving Queen Charlotte around her kingdom in her royal coach.” I stroked the dog’s head, and she looked up at me with adoration in her enormous, dark eyes.
“She’s very regal.”
“Only the best for my girl.” Ian arrived—more slowly than Mal but with just as much satisfaction. Jerked off in my truck, didn’t you, you horny bastard? “The band seems to be gathering, O’Connor. We’ll see you next week.”
“I’ll be there. Thanks for calling, Archer.”
“You called me.”
“You texted me. Let’s say thanks for reaching out.”
“Good luck with that blood pressure.”
“Good luck with that sexy, naked hunk.”
I ended the call on a burst of laughter. O’Connor, huh?
Hmm.