Sleeping in Flame

"Hello, Nicholas, you asshole."

A blond woman in her early forties, overdressed in ten different designers' best, strode up next to his chair. She broadcast a thousand-watt look of anger, hurt, you-owe-me. Nicholas looked at her and smiled wanly. "Servus, Evelyn. How are you?"

"Not so good, Nicholas. Could we talk a minute?"

He got up and walked with her toward the front of the restaurant. I looked at Maris to see what she made of it. She watched them go, then spoke quietly.

"There must be a lot of women in this town furious at Nicholas. He has a bad habit of making women fall in love with him and then forgetting about them."

"Does that bother you?"

"When I loved him romantically it tore my heart out. Now it just makes me sad for him. He wants so much for people to love him."

"What's wrong with that? I want people to love me, too."

She reached across the table and touched my hand. "That's not the same, and you know it. We're always trying to fit some name to our lonely: Wi

"What do you mean, 'fit a name to our lonely'?"

"Everyone says 'I'm not as happy as I'd like because of this reason or that. If I can beat it, then I'll be content.' Nicholas doesn't think he's loved enough. So that's his goal: get interesting people to love him, and he believes he won't feel so scared or alone when he goes to bed at night and looks into the dark. Then he wins their love, but it's never enough. Not ever. It confuses him, but he still thinks it's the right way, so he keeps doing it.

"Don't you know the name of your lonely, Walker?"

I recoiled slightly. We had talked intimately all day, in bed and out. Yet this one question scratched long fingernails across some psychic blackboard inside, leaving me both jarred and strangely moved.

"I don't know how to answer that." I tried a smile but it died.

She touched my hand again and shook her head. "Don't take it the wrong way. I didn't mean it like that."

Fortunately, the waiter came for our order so I didn't have to say anything more. Instead, I watched Maris ask his opinion on several things, her small mouth a moving plum of color.

Why had her question so disturbed me? What was the name of my lonely? The confusion about my real parents? Wanting a life partner, but then betraying the one I had had for no valid reason? Had I fallen so quickly for Maris York because, deep down, too much of my life was empty, one big lonely that needed filling fast?

"Jesus, do you know who that was? Evelyn Heckler! I didn't recognize her. She changes hairdos as often as I change shoes." Wine glass in hand, Nicholas stood next to the table, apparently not interested in sitting yet.

"What did she want? She looked completely pissed off at you."

"She was! Her husband Pierre directed that awful film, Full House. Did you see it? The worst! I don't know which was more horrible, the direction or the script. I said that in a magazine interview a few weeks ago. Pierre doesn't talk to me anymore, but this is the first time I've seen Evelyn since it came out.

"I also made the big mistake of having an affair with her once. Every time we went to bed in her house, she had drawings her kids had done all over the walls of the bedroom. Do you know how depressing it is to do it when you're looking at Fred Flintstone?"

He leaned over Maris, kissed the top of her head, then finally sat down.

Di

I had gone to college in Lost Angles and been both happy and tan there. But four years of the city convinced me that was enough, despite its being the place for actors.

Everything both clever and shitty has already been said about that shiny part of the United States. But I'm sure they'll go on talking about the state until it cracks off and falls into the sea one fine day. Whether it is a beautiful woman with a hidden killer disease, or a genuinely wonderful place teeming with interesting, imaginative people and possibilities, I think it gets all this attention because no matter what's said, it never fulfills anyone's expectations – high or low – and thus remains the ultimate tricky enigma.

Di

"I have to go look at a cassette of an actor they want me to use in the new film. All I know about him is he has a big nose.

"Maris, I'll ask about an apartment for you tomorrow. Walker, call me, huh?"

We watched him work his car out of its parking place, and drive slowly down the narrow street.

I turned to Maris. "Would you like to go back to Uschi's now?"

"I think so. It's been a long day, you know?"

"But a good one! Two amazing days in a row. How often does that happen?"

Taking my arm, she put her head against my shoulder. "I want to see all the films you made. Do you have copies? Will you watch them with me? Can we fool around tomorrow, too? Can I have your telephone number? Will you be my friend?"

She turned and stood in front of me, nose to nose, still making requests. I gently put my hand over her mouth and nodded yes to everything.

The evening was nearly asleep by the time I left Uschi's apartment. Streets were empty, save for an occasional lone wolf taxi cruising slowly by. Vie

Walking that way, a figure suddenly loomed before me down the street. It took a moment to see that it was a man riding a bicycle. The bike was completely decked out in a mad, glittering jumble of streamers, mirrors, saddlebags, bumper stickers, ante

"Rednaxela! Welcome!" he shouted as he passed within inches of my feet, so close that I could smell his garlic, sweat, and craziness. He didn't look back once he'd gone past; just drove straight up to the corner, a sharp right there and . . . gone.

I looked at that corner awhile, then up toward Uschi's apartment, then at the corner again. It was time for Rednaxela to go home.