This Monkey's Gone to Heaven

Chapter 15, This Monkey's Gone to Heaven

Chapter Fifteen



The movie set was an abandoned farm about two miles down the road from the Chicken Coop, which had been owned or was still owned, according to several unpaid bills we’d found in a drawer, by a man named Mr. Todd Berkwell, a poor bachelor by the looks of the shabby wardrobe that had been left behind. The date on the last electric bill was August, 1991. Mr. Berkwell had been gone eight years, leaving the place with a few furnishings, which was to our benefit I guess since it was what we needed for our set design, which we designed according to his taste, leaving things exactly as he did, not moving a thing. The place had been locked, but my dad and I two weeks previously had found an unlocked window. The only thing we had to clean up were the desiccated dead mice and all their droppings, sweep and dust the place and it looked continuously lived in by the impoverished loner who was either dead or living in a nursing home as far as we could guess. We found self-portraits, where the old man held out the camera and took pictures of himself. Really, it was a sad thing to see.
That first day, after learning that Nicole had left, I tried to keep focused shooting our first scenes, but I knew it was hopeless. I was distracted. No one listened to what I had to say. They were acting childish. It was impossible. So, in order to avoid wasting expensive videotape, I shot those first scenes without recording them, planning to redo them when Howser took over. It was hot in that old farmhouse and even though Tori did her scenes in bra and underwear she glistened with sweat. She looked pretty I have to admit.
But as the day progressed I just grew weary; I felt faint.
I called it quits and we all piled into the van and drove back to the Chicken Coop for lunch. We found Brittany in the wheelchair, sun tanning topless. She didn’t bother to cover up as we parked and got out of the van. She jerked the wheelchair around, her perky boobs moving to and fro before settling a-rhythmically after the sharp turn, and she faced us with a smile, asking how things went in her deep voice. I heard Tori groan in exasperation and she threw Brittany a towel. Eyes flashing, Johnny grunted disapproval.
“Something’s wrong with that cowbird,” Brittany said. “It’s behaving very…uncharacteristically.”
That night I couldn’t sleep despite not having slept a wink the night before thanks to the bird now sitting here before me on the table, dressed in his new tee shirt with his name engraved on it, so I stayed up while the others went to bed early around nine O’clock--Tori and Stanley, I didn’t know if they’d made up but they were staying together in the Chicken Coop while Brittany, Johnny, and Moonshine decided to try a night at the abandoned farmhouse since old man Berkwell’s bedroom was wheelchair accessible.
I sat there at the table, staring at Take One until he himself started to doze off. About time, I thought. We had put some rags to make a nest for him in a plastic milk crate and I placed Take One into that, ever so cautiously, hoping he wouldn’t wake up and start shrieking like he did all last night.
I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Put yourself in my shoes. I kept thinking, How could she do this to me? How could she climb into my car after all we’d been through, all that hitchhiking, all that pain, and drive away with the same asshole who took her money, left her with nothing, the same dickjob that stole my car? It just didn’t make sense. She was too sweet. I half-expected her any minute now to show up with the car, ALONE, smiling, gesturing with an open hand as she stepped out like one of the girls on The Price is Right. I mean, she told me more than once that she’d never be able to forgive the guy, for what he’d done to us. Then it occurred to me and I sat forward rigidly, absolutely horrified. Maybe Fuckems had come to the door and pulled a gun on her; he forced her to go with him. A wave of panic swept over me. Oh, my God… It was the only thing that made sense. It simply had to be. And here I’d been just sitting, feeling sorry for myself. Why didn’t it occur to me? I felt ashamed. What kind of hero was I? And my damn mother, giving that asshole directions to Howser’s? I started blaming her. I was furious.
I was in the van, driving away, destination unknown. I just had to do something; I couldn’t sit still, I had to be moving.
A car was approaching on the frontage road. I could see its lights. You must know what I was thinking. I could feel myself starting to smile. I was getting excited. Could it be Nicole bringing my car back? No, it couldn’t, of course not. That’s why, realizing it was a squad car, I leapt forward, condensing the next several hours (my car had been left at the airport it turns out—-Nicole had called my mom and told her. In the car was a long note explaining her actions.) and I decided to be a man about it, take the bull by the balls, and imagine her back in my life, choosing this moment to bring her back. It was an automatic response from the deepest and darkest part of my soul. I was not going to be without her for another second.
But I waited and waited and nothing happened. I tried to picture her sitting next to me, looking with great concern as the cop pulled the squad car over to the side of the road and parked. I just couldn’t see her. It felt ridiculous. It was absurd. But I took this as proof positive that hadn’t lost my mind yet and that, I thought, was not a bad thing.
The cop, who was actually incredibly skinny, got out of the squad car, hitching up his trousers like Barney Fife, and I rolled down the window as he approached shaking out his little legs.
“You Emmett Monk?”
“Is there a problem, Officer?”
“Your mother’s Eunice Monk?”
“Yeah?”
“She’s been arrested for domestic violence.”
“Domestic violence? My dad doesn’t even live there anymore. He went to Canada.”
“There was a disturbance between your mother and a Ms. Dorothy Kowalski. She claims…she’s your fiancé?” The man wanted to laugh, he was holding it back, I could tell.
“That Dorothy. She’s my mom’s friend. She has a bit of an imagination I’m afraid.”
“Well, she claims your mother tried to kill her.”
“My mom? That’s crazy. My mom wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“They’d been drinking.”
The second time in one day I found myself having to drive back to town.
As I followed the squad car out to the interstate I tried to have another conversation with the imaginary Nicole, but it just felt wrong. I still couldn’t see her sitting next to me as I drove the van back to town.
I pulled out the polka-dot undies from my pocket and put them to my nose and I thought about it. She was much sweeter in real life. I had to remember that.

At my mom’s Dorothy was blubbering in the living room by the time I pulled in, standing in front of the window, keeping it naturally dramatic. It was almost impossible to sympathize with her. She had a scratch on her face.
“Look what your mom did to me?” Dorothy sobbed.
“Did you press charges?”
“Look what she did?”
“You have a scratch on your face, Dorothy. For that you call the cops.”
“She threatened to kill me.”
“Well, just calm down. Call the cops and tell them you’re not going to press charges.”
It took some doing, but finally, after hugging her and thumping her on the back, she called the cops and I went to the police station to go pick up my mom. For whatever reason I avoided going by Howser’s, driving out of my way not to see his house.
On the way back from the police station my mom kept calm, reeking like stale booze. Finally, she said something. Mom said, “I’m sorry, Emmett.”
“You’re sorry? Well, that’s new.”
“It’s all messed up. It’s crazy. We’re not going to do this wedding. It’s insane.”
“I thought you wanted this.”
“You marrying that fat old hag? Yeah, right. You’re not marrying her. She’s a fat cunt.”
I grimaced. “Geez Louise, Ma.”
“She’s nothing but a fat bitch. And if she’s in that house by the time we get home, I’m gonna call the cops on her. Her calling the cops on me like we live in a trailer. Your dad would never even think of doing such a thing.”
I felt bad for her. More than Dorothy and beer, she needed a diversion.
Out of the blue, I said, “Why don’t you help me with the movie, Ma? It’ll be fun.”
She said, “I’m not acting in your dumb movie, how many times do I have to tell you?”
“No, not act. You can help doing other things.”
“Like what?”
“Well, you can cook for us if you want.”
“Cook? I’m not cooking for you, that’s crazy.”
“Alright. Well, something else then.”
“I’m fine.”
“You need to get out of the house.”
“Oh, stop.”
“I’m worried about you, Ma.”
“Worry about yourself. You’re the one without a job. You losing any weight yet?”
“I don’t think so, why, do I look it?”
“This movie’ll be good for you. I bet in two weeks you’ll be thin as a rail. You’ll look like one of those jockeys,” and she laughed.
When we got back to the house, I told Mom to wait in the car, so I could tell Dorothy to leave.
“Oh, she can stay.”
“I thought you said…”
“Said, said, said…I’m saying she can stay. Unlike you I can forgive.” She started getting out of the van. “Oh, and we had your car towed. You can thank us later. We pushed it in the garage where it’ll be safe. Maybe next time you won’t leave your keys in the car.”
“I didn’t leave them in the car, the guy hotwired it.”
“She left a note or something for you.”
“Who did?”
“Who do you think? The French whore you were so in love with that left you for your best friend and who left your best friend for a complete stranger that happened to return your car. She went back to France and she took him with her.” She started laughing like it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard.
Before driving back to the Chicken Coop I went into the garage to examine my old car. It was good to see it again. I found the note and started reading it only to find a stream of apologies, punctuated with dismal reasons along the lines that Howser and I were too nice and she needed someone with more of an edge. Too nice, I thought. Jesus, didn’t I try to choke her to death? How is that nice?
I bunched up the note and shoved it in my pocket. I happened to look inside the glove compartment and was horrified to see my script jammed in there along with a nest of crammed candy wrappers. What a nightmare that was. It even looked like it had been walked on.
Back in my dad’s van I was extremely upset sitting there in the driveway, thinking about life. I knew it was hopeless--I couldn’t force her back. This was how it had to be. I could accept it. I’d find someone else. I could do it. I felt better actually. Well, not really.
Just as I was about to back out of the driveway my mom opened the front door and held out the phone.
“Phone!” she screamed.
I left the van running, opened the door and got out, went up to the house, and, taking the phone, asked, “Who is it?”
My mom just made a face.
“Hello?”
“Emmett?”
Pause.
“Nicole?”
Holy shit. I looked up to heaven. Was God pulling my leg, pulling the wool over my eyes? But it was her, it was Nicole. I didn’t have to pinch myself. It was her all right and she was crying.
I started walking back to the van where I could talk in peace. Funny, but I wanted to go hide, so the moment couldn’t be stolen or something. I was speechless.
“I’m zorry. Did I call too late?”
“Nicole? What are you doing? Where are you?”
“Were you zleeping?”
“Where are you? I thought you left.”
I climbed into the van and sat there with the phone up to my ear. I still couldn’t believe it. It just seemed so out of the blue.
Dorothy came out of the house with a forced smile. Obviously, my mom had told her who was on the phone. She was approaching the van.
“Well, where are you?” I asked her.
“I’m ztill at the airport. I got off the plane. ‘e went on it. ‘e’s gone. I’m zo zorry.”
“I’ll come get you.”
“Are you zure?” she sniffled.
“Be outside.”
“OK."
Dorothy started reaching for the door handle and her expression was changing fast.
“I’ll see you later, Dorothy.”
“You leave, the wedding’s off…” she shouted.
I turned off the phone and tossed it into the yard behind her.
I raced out of the driveway and burned rubber on the street jerking it into gear. I looked in the rearview mirror and Dorothy was trying to run after me, her weight heaving. She stopped and actually shook her fist, which made me giggle. That Dorothy, I thought with a smile.
As far as Nicole was concerned, I don’t know. You’d think I’d be happy. I didn’t know how to react to be honest. It just felt like more thin ice to cross. I was suspicious. Was I going to set myself up for more of the same? Why didn’t she call Howser? In a way I felt bad that she’d called. I preferred her in my dreams or the way it was the time before Howser when we were on the road hitchhiking, when it was just me and her, all alone. It was a mistake to bring her to Minnesota. I should’ve taken her to Alaska and gone back to flying airplanes.
At the airport Nicole was standing out on the curb, looking more beautiful than I ever remembered. I was nervous. I didn’t know what to do. I tried to play it cool and having swallowed two pills on the way seemed to help. I got out of the van and looked at her. She was wearing a light blue tee shirt and her favorite Guess jeans and her dime store flip-flops. I wanted her to run up to me and throw her arms around my neck. I wanted her to make the first move. My heart was stuck in my throat. It was one of those moments. But I was prepared for her to say something like, “Well, can you take me to ‘owser’s? I called ‘im first but ‘e didn’t answer.”
I waited for her to say something, but she kept staring down at her feet.
“Where’s your backpack?” That’s the first thing I said to her.
“It’s on the plane.”
“Is the plane gone?”
“Yeah,” she said, and when she finally looked up, she did one of those double-takes. “Wow, you’re skinny. You’ve lost a lot of weight.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Wow, Emmett. It’s amazing. Are you zick or something?”
“I’m glad you stayed, Nicole. It’s nice to see you again. It’ll make Howser happy anyway.”
“You didn’t tell ‘im, did you?”
“Who, Howser? No, why?”
She walked towards the van and said, “Can we go?”
I got in and looked at her now sitting in the passenger seat. “Well, where do you want to go?”
“It izn’t what you think,” she said.
“What?”
“You think it waz planned, Dirk coming back to get me.”
“His name’s Dirk?” my voice cracked.
“Your mom told ‘im where I was, you know. I didn’t know anything.”
“Why’d you go with him? You should see Howser, the guy’s heartbroken. He’s really messed up.”
“I left a note.”
“You mean, that’s true? You left cuz we’re too nice?”
“Well, ‘e is. I lof ‘im, but ‘e makes me feel uncomfortable, ‘e’s zo nice.”
“Yeah, but not me, right?”
“You know I’ll always lof you.”
“Well, what do you want to do?”
“I don’t know. I’m zo confused.”
“Well, I suppose we should go to Wallmart and get some clothes for you now that your backpack’s gone.”
“I ‘ave some money. ‘e paid me back.”
“Well, that sure was nice of him. But don’t worry about it, let me buy you things. I want to.”
God, I wanted her to lean over and hug me. I wanted her to touch me. I ached for it. My groin was baking. I wanted to have kids with her. (Right now, right this instant!) I wanted to live with her--somewhere, anywhere-—why, we could go to France. We could live abroad like Ernest Hemmingway. We could leave right now. I could do the movie in France, have the whole thing subsidized by the government. We had the money in the escrow account; when the money ran out, we’d feed our chitlens pigeons shot in the park. We’d become best friends with Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas. I could stay up till the wee-wee hours sipping absinthe while sitting at Gertrude’s feet as she elaborated in great detail what should be changed in my life. Gertrude could impart her great wisdom as I helped wrap her legs in varicose stockings while Alice on the footstool watched dubbed reality shows from America, that silly slut slapping her knee, thinking everything was so goddamn funny.
I was in a jam. Nicole wanted to stay with me, that’s what she said. She missed me. That’s why she got off the plane. Dirk wouldn’t find out until the plane landed in New York since the plane was full and they had seats apart, he in the last row and Nicole in First Class, since some horn dog assuming she was alone offered his seat, while he took hers back behind the bulkhead in Coach, close enough to lean forward and chat. I can imagine the look on his face when he saw her get up to leave. Better still would be seeing Dirk’s reaction when he landed in New York.
We drove away in silence. I was on eggshells.
After getting a few things from Wallmart, we headed back to the Chicken Coop. Like always Nicole fell asleep with her feet propped up on the dash, tan lines from the flip-flops. I brushed her face with the back of my hand and smiled.
How was I going to manage all this? I kept thinking about Howser. How was I going to tell him? I considered stopping the production. The movie was dead weight to me, it was an albatross around my neck. Look what was happening to Stanley. Now he was messing around on Nastasia because of me. His marriage was in peril. I had to do something. I’d tell them tonight. The movie was off. The producers called from the studio and wanted the production stopped. I’d throw my hat down and curse, “Goddamn producers, anyway,” shaking my head and looking out into the distance for added drama. But you know, I’d say; look at it this way, I’d tell them. We could start fresh next year. We’d have something to look forward to. We’d have time to grow more mature. But thinking about it like that didn’t sit well with me either. OK, we’d finish the movie, but we’d just have fun doing it and by that I mean we’d plan on failing. That way all pressure was off. I’d call Howser and tell him he was no longer needed. “I got it under control,” I’d say. “Don’t worry about it. We want to fail and with you here we won’t.” I’d shoot the whole movie without recording it, we’d just go through the motions, or I’d purposely forget to take the lens cap off. Besides, it’d be a funny thing to tell the goofy reporter. “You mean to tell me…Ha ha ha…”
That night when Nicole and I got back to the Chicken Coop it was late, around two-thirty in the morning. I carried her into the tent. I laid her down on the sleeping bag and without opening her eyes she said, “I lof you.” I wondered who she meant, me, Howser, or Dirk?
When I finally fell asleep, I had a nightmare. Dorothy kills Nicole. She plants her big ass on Nicole’s pretty face and smothers her. It was horrible. I woke up, gasping for air. Suddenly, I felt like I had to keep her hidden, both from Dorothy and Howser. There was tremendous pressure.
In the morning I woke up, brushed her hair with my hand, smiling, and I looked at her and said, “Maybe we should go to France.”
“You mean, after the movie?”
“I don’t need to do the movie. We can go as soon as you want.”
“That zounds like fun. Let’z do it. We can stay at my friend’s ‘ouse in Poitier. ‘er family owns a chateau out in the country. There’z lotz of room.”
I thought about it. “Do you think I should do the movie?”
“Don’t you want to?”
“I don’t know.”
“Emmett, don’t juzt run away.”
I looked at her.
“Yeah.”
“Is it because of ‘owser? Are you afraid of what might ‘appen?”
I raised my eyebrows and made a face.
She said, “Maybe I should’ve stayed on the plane.”
“No, no way. I’m glad you’re here. God, Nicole, I really missed you.”
“I missed you, too.”
But something was definitely wrong. I was uneasy; I couldn’t put my finger on it.