This Monkey's Gone to Heaven

Chapter 6, This Monkey's Gone to Heaven

Chapter Six





Her name was Nicole. I've forgotten what her boyfriend’s name was. You'd think I'd remember considering what he'd eventually do to me. As we continued west, through the Rocky Mountains, I started falling for the girl. She was so pretty, the most beautiful smile on a woman I've ever seen. She looked half-Asian. Actually, she reminded me of the half-breeds up in Alaska. She was really gorgeous and I couldn't keep my eyes off her. As her boyfriend slept in the backseat, I moved my script out of the way and she climbed up front and told me her story with a happy lilt in that thick French accent. She explained that despite her French accent she was actually an American, that her dad originally hailed from Fort Collins, Colorado. She didn't know anything about her biological mother. When she was just four years old, her dad took her on a trip to Paris, France. While in Paris her dad fell in love with a local Parisian, a woman who worked as a barmaid and eventually they moved in to the barmaid's flat. They stayed there for several months. She remembered those days as some of the happiest until the night her dad failed to show up back at the flat. The following morning his body was found along the banks of the Seine. He'd been drinking, fallen into the river, and drowned. The barmaid became her surrogate mother and raised her in Paris and the city of Poitier until the barmaid succumbed to breast cancer in 1992. Nicole was seventeen years old and left on her own. An American exchange student suggested she come back to America with her and she finished high school in upstate New York, then moved to Manhattan where she worked as a waitress for a few years until deciding to hitch around the states with her boyfriend to see the rest of America.
"I wanted to go to Fort Collins to zee if there was any family," she said in her cute accent. "But I chickened out."
There was an awkward pause. Finally, I said, "I've never been to Fort Collins, but I've heard it's nice."
"Will you go as far as Laz Vegaz? We'd like to get jobs there. We're running out of money."
God, I came so close to spilling my beans. I could feel myself straightening, ready to start rambling about my big plans, the exaggerations, the reckless lies to make myself seem important. I was ready to say stupid things like, "If Las Vegas is on the way to L.A., you bet I'll take you there. Shit, I'll take you all the way to L.A. if you want. That's where I'm heading. L.A. Well, Hollywood to be specific. But I have friends in the restaurant business. I could get you set up, if you wanted. In fact, you done any acting?" But I kept my mouth shut. I couldn't believe it. Was this the first step to becoming the dark mysterious type? God, please, say yes.
Finally, I said, "Sure, I'll take you to Las Vegas. I'm heading there myself."

"Oh, yeah!" she was so happy. "I knew we'd get good luck today. I told ‘im that," she indicated her boyfriend still sleeping in the backseat. He was so quiet I sometimes forgot all about him. I started imagining things, you know, about me and her, alone, and in love, learning French with the aid of body parts.
She asked what I was going to do in Vegas. I looked at her, then I turned to look away. After a pause, I said, "Can't say that I know," and left it at that, pleased with myself.
One thing I did know at that point: I was starting to have a queasy feeling about L.A. I don't know. It must've been that Tim guy, that first hitchhiker son of a bitch. He gave me a bad feeling about everything.
As we climbed through the mountains with her head out the window smelling the fresh mountain air, the car starting having some serious trouble keeping the speed up. The other traffic was passing us by like we were parked in the middle of the road. The car was real sluggish, making strange sounds, and I grew more and more pensive. Maybe I was fooling myself. Maybe this trip was happening too soon. I mean, think about it. No one but me had even read the script, if you don't count the typist. I tried to get feedback from her, but all she said was that she was paid to type, not give her opinion. Suddenly, the more I thought about it, the more foolish this trip seemed. Holy shit, what was I thinking? And why did it take so long to come to this conclusion? Four days of driving and now it dawns on me? I was growing more concerned about the state of the car as well. The piece of shit was starting to sound like shit and in fact I was wishing it just might break down altogether, providing me with a good excuse to stop and call it quits.
When we pulled into Grand Junction for the night and started looking for a cheap motel, I decided that if the car could do it I'd take them to Las Vegas, spend a couple days there, then turn around and try to make it back to Minnesota. I'd make up a story, tell everybody I made good contacts in Hollywood, and spare the details. I felt much better. I was relieved, so much so that I could feel my tongue loosen.
"I'm making a movie," I blurted out of the blue.
She looked at me and studied me long and hard. Then she turned her head and looked down into her lap. She seemed sad.
"Is there something wrong?" I certainly didn't expect this kind of reaction. "It's not a porn, if that's what you're thinking."
She turned and stared out the side window.
"You think it's a porn, is that it?" I really wanted to know.
"Why would I think that?" she said.
"Because everyone thinks that when I tell them."
"Well, I don't."
"Then what is it?"
"I don't know. Maybe it's because I'm ztill in Colorado."
I thought about it.
"Oh, your dad."
There was a long pause. She kept staring out the side window.
Then she said, "You remind me of ‘im."
I felt flattered. She reached into her money pouch and handed me a faded picture of her dad. My heart sank. He was a fat fuck. Just like me.
We found a cheap motel, The Corral, and got adjoining rooms. Her boyfriend dragged himself from the backseat of the car straight to their motel room and closed the door behind him. The guy still hadn't said one word to me. Nicole looked at me all embarrassed and shrugged her shoulders in apology.
I went to my room, tossed my duffel onto the bed, washed my sweaty hands and face, and then walked back out to go get something to eat. There was a diner right next to the motel.
I walked into the diner with my head down, thinking about my next plan. It was daunting and I didn't want to think about it. It really scared me. This whole time I was certain that some studio in Hollywood would pick up the tab and finance the movie. Now that that was out of the question, I'd have to find the money myself. We'd need to rent a camera. That was going to be expensive. Film was expensive. Lighting, sound, all that stuff. I'd read a book about it. We'd need to hire people to run all the equipment. Professionals, which meant more money. Then, actors. They were expensive, too. We needed...Wait a minute. We? There was no we. It was just me, for Christ's sake. I was all alone. There was no one else to help me. That was the scariest thing. I wasn't a man who paid much attention to detail, if you haven't noticed. I'd fuck this thing up in a heartbeat. I needed help. But where was I going to find the money to hire the help? I didn't know anyone with money. Then it came to me. My in-laws! Of course! Maybe they'd help me. They never really cared for me much, but now that I was out of their daughter's life, the pressure was off and maybe they could see me in a new light. I was sure they'd invest in the movie. They still hadn't even met the damn Mexican and they were offering to help with his stupid restaurant. In a way, they owed me. All those horrible holidays together where they made fun of me in sign language--Beth Ann's brother Johnny was deaf--that all must have been for something.
I was sitting at the table, staring blankly at the greasy menus still deep in thought when someone touched my arm. I looked up. It was Nicole, standing there with that beautiful smile on her face!
"Mind if I join you?"
I was speechless. The light was so bright I started to get nervous. I could feel the sweat starting to form on my forehead. I was caught completely off guard. I felt close to panic.
"Have a seat," I offered. "I'll be right back." I ran to the bathroom and locked the door behind me. I stared at myself in the mirror. Was she able to see the beads of sweat on my face? Actually, probably not. I had to lean in real close to see it. I rinsed my face with water. Just keep it cool, I kept telling myself. Just treat her like a friend. Don't push it. Don't harbor any fantasies. If you start sweating again in front of her, just wipe your brow casually. Should she ask, lie about the trip to the jungle. I went back to the table and sat down.
"Where's your boyfriend?" I asked.
"Oh, ‘e's still zleeping."
"Seems like a real exciting guy," I laughed.
"Oh, ‘e's juzt depressed."
"About what?"
"Oh, ‘is brother juzt went to jail."
"His brother? For what?"
"Oh, I guezz ‘e tried to zteal zomeone's car and ‘e got caught."
"Sounds like your boyfriend comes from a real nice family."
"’is mom and dad, they're both doctors."
"Black sheep then."
"Who's the black sheep?"
"Black sheep's when someone in the family's real different."
"No, I know what black sheep means. I mean, which one do you think iz the black sheep? The broder?"
"From what I gather."
"My boyfriend's juzt as bad. Probably worze. ‘e juzt never getz caught."
Now this is verbatim. That's exactly what she said, word for word. Looking back on it I'm surprised I didn't get suspicious, given my paranoid nature. I remember thinking as I walked to the diner, Did I leave the car keys in the ignition? and then dismissing it with, Oh, what could happen in Bum-fuck Egypt?
After we had dinner, laughing and giggling like preteens, we walked back to the motel. She kept pushing at my shoulder playfully. I was happy to see that we both shared this trait. I was so taken by the moment I didn't even notice. I was falling in love. I was fancying our future together. We were approaching our rooms when, suddenly, she screamed.
"Mon Dieu!"
"My God, what?!"
"Your car! It's gone!"
I looked around. It took a second to sink in. Holy shit, my car was gone! It had been the only car parked there and now the entire parking lot was empty. She ran to her room and flung open the door. She started hollering in French. Then in English. "That crazy man! I knew it!"
Oh, shit, I thought. My script!
He had stolen my car. The man who had never said one word to me stole my car. And my script was with him, prominently on display, riding shotgun. What was I thinking? Why didn't I bring the script into the motel room with me like I'd done every night before? I'd kept it on close wraps until tonight. I was stunned. My mind froze. A vacuum swept my insides out. All I kept thinking was, there it goes, everything, it's all gone. That rat bastard will pull over one night after a long day's drive and with nothing else to read..."Forty Winks to Heartache and Misfortune, hmm, let's see now." He'll even like the title. (Who wouldn't?) The following morning, not having slept a wink after reading the script, knowing he'd plundered into a gold mine, his mind racing with the possibilities, his keen future in Hollywood, he starts driving, heading towards Hollywood, driving faster and faster, soon with reckless abandon for fear I'll somehow get there before him, say on a plane or by act of sheer will. The guy's got brass balls, he steals for a living. He's fearless. Hollywood will love this guy, they'll make him king. All based on my work, my talent, my strange story. That motherfucker, he was stealing my life.
I was on the phone. I called the cops. I wanted an "all points bulletin!"
"I don't care so much for the car," I told the officer. "It's what's inside the car."
I could hear Nicole in the next room, crying, the poor thing.
I started pacing. I considered calling all the studios in Hollywood to let them know. If Forty Winks to Heartache and Misfortune was written by anyone other than Emmett Monk, he was an imposter and should be arrested. I was getting really worked up. I had to calm down. I sat on the edge of the bed and started trying to look for something positive that might come out of this. Damn! What an idiot I was! Leaving the keys in the ignition! What was I thinking?! But then, staring ahead, blankly, I understood after a moment that I was actually looking at the keys. The car keys were on the dresser right in front of me. I felt better. It was a relief to know I wasn't as stupid as that. But still, my car was gone and so was my life's work. I mean, a copy of my life's work. It wasn't my only copy. I had one back at my parent's house. I was no fool. Slowly, bit by bit, I started seeing the bright side in this. So the fucker hotwired my car? The car was shit. If it got him to Hollywood in one piece I'd give him the rights to the damn script I was that certain it wouldn't make it. Good luck, Mr. Fuckems, whatever your name was! I shook my head and smiled. Besides, he wouldn't want to read it in the first place since he was probably illiterate or dyslexic. They say the majority of those in prison suffer dyslexia and surely if he kept stealing cars that's where he'd end up despite what Nicole had to say about his good luck. And, another thing, the guy was depressed. He never said a word. He was probably suicidal. Suddenly, I saw the car flying over the edge of a cliff, landing upside down at the bottom of a gorge and exploding into flames, burning the script to indecipherable ashes. So, now he's dead, the script is safe, and look what he's left me with?
I went next door and leaned into the door. She was still crying.
"Nicole?"
She opened the door and let me into her room. Then she flung herself onto the bed, her face buried in the pillow. The whole bed was shaking with her grief. She was mumbling into the pillow. It sounded like English. I'd catch my name here and there. I didn't know what to do. I sat on the edge of the bed and started to rub her back to comfort her. That seemed to help and after a while she calmed down. She turned over onto her side. She heaved a sigh.
"I'm zo zorry, Emmett. It was all my fault."
"What do you mean? You didn't know he was going to steal my car." I thought about it. "My God, did you?"
"No, of course not. It'z just...If I ‘ad ztayed ‘ere in the room with ‘im, ‘e wouldn't ‘ave done it. Inztead I went to go eat. I was zo 'ungry."
"Listen, don't worry about it. Everything's gonna be OK."
"What am I gonna do now? ‘e took everything. ‘e haz all my money."
"He took your money? No way."
"Yeah, ‘e did. All of it." She turned over onto her stomach and started crying again.
Suddenly, I had this horrible feeling. Christ, was it another con job? I had to watch out. I couldn't trust anyone anymore. Ever since Brittany. It was a shame. I was going to try and keep my distance, but it was very difficult. I told her not to worry, I'd lend her money so she could take a Greyhound to Vegas.
She said, "I'm not going to Vegaz."
"Well, where do you want to go then?"
She raised herself on her elbow and thought about it. She looked at me, stared deep into my eyes. She sat up and smiled.
"My stepmother, she was an amateur photographer. I know about lighting. Maybe I could ‘elp you with your movie...if you wanted."
She smiled, half-embarrassed. I hung my head and pretended to give it some serious thought. I looked up and studied her. I thought, damn, just look at her. She's too sweet to know how to con. But it was all happening so fast. It seemed premature in a way. I looked at her, I looked into those big brown eyes.
"You helping with the movie?" I nodded for emphasis. "I think that'd be lovely."
We got a couple bottles of wine and a six-pack of beer and celebrated. We talked about the movie and I went on and on about the story line. She thought it was hilarious. She couldn't believe I could come up with something like that.
"People in France will love it. They'll make you a God."
We got drunk and started dancing. She had a Walkman and we set the headphones on the dresser and turned up Blondie as loud as it would go. She spun around and started grinding her ass into my crotch as she danced. Immediately, I got hard. Pressed up against her ass the way it was, she had to feel the thing. I was hoping she wouldn't get offended, but then she threw her hands up in the air and turned her head to the side to kiss me. I groped her, I put my hands on her little boobs, and started fondling her. She moaned with pleasure. She turned to face me. She looked into my eyes with those big brown beautiful eyes of hers and said, "Can I zuck you? Will you let me zuck you, pleaze?" She dropped to her knees and played with my zipper and pulled my cock free. "Oh, it'z zo big (sic)." Then she proceeded to stick the entire length down her throat. She buried it to the hilt, her lips pressed against my pelvis. I couldn't believe it. My jaw dropped open. No one had ever done this to me before. And just then it hit me like a fist: as I watched her moan and struggle to breathe, my only thought was: I’m never going to let her go. May God help me.