2
BY THE TIME SIMON woke up, it was already noon. His head was throbbing and there was the weight of Stella against him. She was lying in his arms, her skin cool to the touch. Jesus, what happened last night? He felt dark with shame. He only occasionally did drugs with the band, when practice stalled, or they needed to just kick back, and it was always something minor and mild. But he shouldn’t have done anything last night, not after their argument. Not with all that wine. Even worse, he’d told Stella the pill was Darvon when in fact he wasn’t certain. He had to tell her something and that was the first name that popped into his head. Gently, he slid from under her, lowering her head against the pillow. Her hair fell across her neck. Her lashes cast shadows on her face. God, she is so beautiful, he thought.
He stood up, realizing he was totally hung over. His whole body throbbed. His mouth was sandpaper, his vision was blurred. A thick haze encased his thoughts.
Stella had been right there with him last night, but even so, he still felt as though he was missing some part of her. It used to be so different between them, and he wanted that back so badly that all he could do was keep drinking. Finding the pills had been a surprise, and all he could remember about them was that he’d taken them from Kevin and tucked them into his pocket. During his argument with Stella, Simon had felt so desperate that when he dug into his pockets for a match and felt those pills, he thought it might be a lifesaver, a way to knock them back to where they used to be. He would have done anything in that moment to make things right.
But it hadn’t helped. If anything, it had made things much worse. Now, looking at Stella again, he was drained and confused. He felt like a zombie. If he could just stop the thrashing in his head, the roil in his stomach, maybe he could think straight.
He wanted her to go to Los Angeles, but he didn’t want to revisit the argument, pack it along with his luggage, and continue it in California. Every time they were about to leave for someplace, she would bring up the apartment and kids, making everything he thought they had together seem smaller and smaller.
His own father, a partner of a law firm, had been a terrible parent. He was rarely home, and when he was, he wanted to sit silently reading the paper, wordlessly eating dinner, and being left the hell alone. Simon’s father barely noticed Simon’s mother, and he certainly didn’t notice Simon. “My son’s in third grade,” he had said once to company, which deeply wounded Simon, who was in fifth. The one time Simon’s father had come to one of Simon’s school talent shows, Simon looked out into the audience to see his father asleep. And then he wanted Simon to join him at the law firm when he was older.
“I don’t know,” Simon had said at the time, to which his father responded, “There’s nothing to know.”
Why in God’s name would I risk repeating anything like that kind of parenting, Simon thought.
Now he stared out the window. He didn’t want to put down roots here. He was tired of Manhattan. It was too loud, too cold or too hot, too dirty, too expensive. All the cool, funky little shops and mom-and-pop places were gone now, replaced by stores so pricey that no one in the neighborhood could afford them. All that rough, dangerous excitement had vanished. Where were the surprises? The creativity? Manhattan was too familiar. He felt as if he knew every street, every club and concert hall that never paid the band enough. He probably would have left a long time ago if it hadn’t been for Stella, who even after all these years still looked at everything in the city with wonder.
But he was stunned and hurt that she didn’t want to go to LA with him. Did that mean she didn’t want to be with him anymore? Why couldn’t it all be easier?
Maybe he could make it right. Maybe he could wake Stella, bring her coffee and make her some breakfast, and then he might convince her to come with him.
Simon rubbed at the window, trying to see beyond the falling snow. LA, he thought, and his heart zoomed. A whole new world. He swallowed. He still felt like shit, like he hated everything, and all he wanted was not to feel this way.
Maybe we have different dreams now, he had told her.
Maybe he wanted out.
She had told him she wasn’t coming with him to LA, and he had frozen, shocked. She couldn’t mean that, he had thought, but he knew she did.
What would it be like to be in California, just him and the band? What if things were so spectacularly great that they got an LA manager and the band decided to move out there? Would it be so bad? All those sunny days, that hot blaze of weather he loved, just bathing him in gold, the women in their little sleeveless dresses, their legs long and gleaming with tan. It made his stomach tighten just to think about it. He could rent a bungalow in Venice, right by the beach. He could go rollerblading every morning, play his guitar under the stars. Maybe he could get a big, rangy dog to run with him, a conversation starter that would draw people to him.
That might draw other women.
The thought shocked him. Though he’d had opportunity through the years with the band, he never cheated on Stella, never even thought about it.
He glanced back at her. Pale as parchment, she never tanned. She was a city girl, born and bred in a Brooklyn apartment, she always said with pride. She hated the beach and said it was like frying on a skillet. The water was always too cold for her. She knew everything about ocean danger, including box jellyfish stings and shark bites. “The best protection is not to go near them,” she said.
There was so much more in the world than this moment. So many new and different people. He was still young, wasn’t he? He was young enough to grab opportunity, to run with it. But Stella wanted to settle down, to stay put, to be anchored with a child.
He sat down next to Stella, his head in his hands. He loved her, but what if he didn’t love her enough? What if she didn’t love him enough? What if they needed to be apart, even for a little while, to give them a break that might bind them closer together? His thoughts skidded in his head. Slow down, he told himself. Slow down. He didn’t know what he wanted.
He bent over and lifted up a curly ribbon of hair. “Wake up,” he said. “Honey,” he added, his tone sweet. They’d go have breakfast. Things would be clearer. He gently shook her, but she didn’t stir. Her skin felt clammy to him and he lifted up her hand and felt her pulse twittering. “Stella,” he said, lifting her shoulders, shaking her a little harder, his voice rising. She fell back on the couch, one arm flopping against the floor. “Stella!” he cried. He looked at her chest, but it was barely moving with breath, and then he grabbed her up in his arms.
HE CALLED AN ambulance, and when it didn’t show up right away, he wrapped Stella in a blanket and cradled her in his arms and ran outside. NYU Medical Center was a half-hour walk on a good day, maybe twenty minutes by car depending on traffic, but his car was parked blocks away and it would have to be shoveled out. He stood for a moment, confused, knowing he had to do something now. He began to run toward the hospital with Stella in his arms, dodging snowdrifts and the icy slush soaking his sneakers. In this heavy snow, every block seemed like miles. The street hadn’t been plowed yet. Cabs weren’t running, and there were no buses or even a car he might flag down.
“Wake up!” he shouted at her, but she stayed limp in his arms. He ran faster and almost fell. Everything looked so dizzying white.