Chapter 2

October 18th, 1983, 10.33 am
Rodney Boulevard
Bleary-eyed over a newspaper, Conan sipped his steaming cup of bitter coffee. Holy shit, what was this stuff made of, tar? Cream and sugar didn’t save it, or make it remotely appealing, yet still he sipped. Better to have something in your stomach.

Another fairly sleep-free night. This time he was thinking about Marie. How could you scare off your own fantasy girl when you’re the one in control of the fantasy? What the hell.

Today he scanned for dealers. He was in the shady side of town, hoping against hope that someone would stand out to him as a person who had drugs. Drugs he could buy, and use, and regret.

He lit up, eyes shakily finding their way back to the paper. The Classifieds. Free kittens, good mousers. Industrial painter, wanted. Elderly gentleman looking for a companion who enjoys camping, gardening, and chit-chat.

Bull shit.

Conan looked up. Someone had spoken to him. He raised an eyebrow in question, sarcastically.

‘I said, do you need anything?’ The weaselly looking man in front of him said. Conan looked him up and down--a dealer for sure.

It was on his lips to say yes, and then he remembered a voice. “‘Give me that, Conan.’ Somehow he found the strength to say no.

‘Maybe later,’ he said. ‘I’ll need it later.’

The man nodded, his lip curling. He fished around in his pocket and came up with a greasy looking card.

‘Ask for Carl,’ he instructed, and melted into the crowd without another backwards glance.

Conan flicked the end of his cigarette onto the pavement, crushing it beneath his heel, and started back to his motel.

He fell into a restless sleep on his bed, unshaven and dressed. Everywhere, men like Carl taunted him.

‘It’s the best you can find,’ they hissed in his ear. ‘You won’t regret it. Try it.’

He shielded himself against them, sitting in a corner, blocking them all out, head in his hands.

Then, as suddenly as they’d appeared, the voices were gone. Conan looked up.

She was sitting beside him, and looked unblinkingly back into his eyes, not smiling. Yet, she saw him, and she knew him, the darkest parts of him.

Marie, he said.

She put a finger to his lips. Shh. Don’t say anything, Conan.

Then there was a couch. He was lying on it on his back, and she was lying on top of him, both fully clothed. She was stroking his hair, looking off into the distance.

Her weight on his chest was a comfort, and he put his arms around her and closed his eyes.

And then he slept deeply, undreaming, a sleep which restored his body.

Same day, 7.58 pm The Laughing Cow

The crowd murmured quietly as Conan tuned his guitar. It was nearly time to start and he was regretting not hitting up earlier. He sat down on his stool on the small stage.

But what song to start with? He changed it every night. The order, the songs, they were always different. Whatever he felt like at the time.

Damn it, John Denver was haunting him again! It’d have to be that one, an uncharacteristic choice for him.

Softly, Conan strummed his guitar and started in on ‘Annie’s Song.’

‘You fill up my senses like a night in the forest, like a mountain in springtime, like a walk in the rain, like a storm in the desert--like a sleepy blue ocean. You fill up my senses, come fill me again.’

He looked up. Before, he’d been focussed on his guitar. He saw Debby there in the crowd; she seemed rapt. There weren’t too many people tonight; the first concert had seen a much bigger turn out.

He felt something change in the audience, but couldn’t see what the stir was about.

The song finished, and he moved onto the next--one of his own, this time.

9.00 pm The crowd had dispersed.

‘A double shot of brandy,’ Conan told the bartender, and hunkered down by the counter, leaning slightly over it. ‘And some bar mix.’

The food came first, and Conan dug his hand into the bowl of flavoured nuts and pretzels, scooping a handful into his mouth. When the hell was the last time he ate?

A woman sidled up to him, pulling the next bar stool out. He didn’t even look over.

‘Thanks but no thanks,’ He told her. ‘I’m heading back alone tonight.’ The woman said nothing and made no move to leave her seat.

‘Mimosa,’ she told the bartender softly. ‘Please.’

Conan jerked around, eyes widening.

It was the girl from the rental store. She was wearing dungarees and a green blouse and her hair was pulled back.

‘I didn’t think I’d like your music,’ she said without looking at him. ‘I typically don’t. Your attitude, like so many other min-stars, usually turns me off the music.’

‘Thanks,’ he said, and ate some more.

She tipped back the glass of orange liquid. ‘Nice opening song. I love John Denver.’

They were quiet. He munched, and when his alcohol came, he put back half of it, wanting to savour to some degree.

‘You don’t sleep, do you?’

She was looking at him, assessing his physical condition.

‘Nope.’

‘Why not?’

‘Can’t. Usually need a hit to really knock myself out.’

The girl didn’t seem surprised.

‘You shouldn’t use,’ was all she said.

He shrugged. ‘Too late now. Why stop?’ When he turned, his eyes met the same knowing gaze as Marie always looked at him with.

‘Jesus,’ he said, rubbing his eyes. He turned away, pushed back from the bar, and took back the last of his drink. ‘I’m going fucking crazy,’ he muttered.

The look in her eyes followed him back to the hotel. Who was he kidding? He hadn’t gone back alone. He’d gone back to the hotel for Marie.

His bed was not empty for long. Wordlessly, she lay back in the bed and spread her legs wide. I need you, she told him softly, and he pushed the covers off to climb onto her. I need you inside me.

He kissed her mouth softly and slid into her, burying his face in her shoulder. Kiss me, she breathed, and he lifted himself enough to reach her lips with his own.

She cried out beneath him at his slow thrusts, taking him deep inside her body, wrapping her limbs around him. He touched her depths, warm and tight and perfectly wonderful around him.

She knew him so well. She knew when he was nearly cumming and whispered, ‘Fill me with your seed.’

Conan jerked, doing just that. He lay almost on her, breathing heavily, and then leant up on one arm, looking at her.

‘Are you real?’ He whispered, touching her face. ‘Is this a dream?’

Marie didn’t run away this time, didn’t even try to struggle away from underneath him.

Yes, she said. Yes, I’m real.

She sighed heavily. Do I know you? The way I touch you, the way I think of you ... it’s like I’ve known you already. My body knows yours so well, and I know your mannerisms, and it’s like ... I love you.

It’s like that, Conan confirmed. It’s as if we know eacb other.