Jesus Is Just Alright With Me...

I was at my friend’s house.  A musician was talking on the telly, I was watching him.  He was telling me how a famous bluesman had given him his break.

‘... an’ he just comes up to me and says in this voice, ‘You won’t make much money son, but you’ll get more pussy than Frank Sinatra.’’

I laughed.  We all laughed.  I was tired from the night before and my cheeks were tingling hot, but it was a Saturday night so we were having a few drinks.  Then we were going out.  To a club.  A good club.  Where the DJs preferred music that was three decades old, and the girls preferred boys who preferred not to shave.  I poured myself another one.  We were looking forward to it. 

Time came to leave.  We stepped out the door.  We talked fast, our breath bunched in the damp night.  The street lights made yellow halos in the black branches, cars passed anonymously, their tyres hissing against the wet roads.  I was holding half a can of cider and the cold air was biting my hand.  

Those words rang in my mind.  

Every now and then, if I drink when I’m tired, a phrase’ll get stuck in my head.  I can’t shake it.  It vibrates inside my brain relentlessly, getting louder and quieter, faster and slower, more urgent and calmer... until I can’t ignore it anymore.  Then there’s no escape, I’m infected.  I’m screwed.  And I’ve heard the sentence so many times I start to believe what the words are telling me, I start to think in their terms.  Gives everything this weird significance, that second-before-the-starting-gun feeling, y’know?  After a while I can’t fight it anymore, it overcomes me, and when that happens even the way I walk rings with the vibrancy of the repetition.  By the time we got to the club I was channelling the musician, feeling good.

We paid the doorman and walked in.  Me and my friends got drinks.  We talked, shouting directly into each others ears.  I’d smoked too many cigarettes.  When it came to dancing I thought I’d probably drunk too many drinks as well.  But it was OK, I was alright, I was having fun and when you’re having fun it doesn’t matter how much you’ve had to drink.  

It had been some time since I’d had any success with a girl.  Close to nine months.  That doesn’t sound like a lot but it is.  Think of nine months with nothing more than a kind word from a colleague.  Then it’s a long time, I don’t care who you are.  Got so bad I even decided I was off women.  

Then I noticed a girl about three or four metres away.  She was blonde, she was looking at me, and she was smiling while she danced.  I smiled back and continued to show off.  She came to dance near me.  I went to dance near her.  A new song came on and we danced together.  She was a good dancer.  She was also a good dresser, I liked her style, old-fashioned and sparkly, perfectly chosen.  I pulled a face to show how enthusiastic I was about the song and she laughed.  I like seeing girls laugh, makes me feel I’m winning.  When the song came to an end I made a move to speak to her.

‘What’s your name?’ I said.

‘Somerset,’ she said.

‘Somerset?’ I said.  ‘That’s a funny name... What would you have been called if you were a boy?’  

‘Robert,’ she said.

‘Oh,’ I said.

We both liked the next song so we danced to that too.  Then it ended.  I felt awkward all of a sudden.  I spoke to her.  Why do you always speak to people when you feel awkward?  Doesn’t make any sense.  You’re worried about looking stupid so you do the one thing that’ll increase your chances of slipping up.  

‘Would you like a drink?’ I said.

‘Sure,’ she said.

At the bar I realised that if she wanted a glass of wine I wouldn’t have enough money to last the rest of the night.  What if she wanted a double?  She might buy me one back?  Might.  It’s hard to tell... and you never find out ‘til it’s too late.

‘What d’you fancy?’ I asked.

‘Red wine, please.’ 

‘OK,’ I said.  Then I paused.  ‘Large or small?’  

‘Oh, large please.’ 

I had a quick look on the floor for stray fivers but couldn’t see any.  

I bought the drinks.

‘Shall we go and grab a seat?’ I said.

‘Sure,’ she said.

There was plenty of choice.  By midnight most people are drunk and dancing.  We sat where it was quieter and were able to talk.  

‘I love it in here,’ I said.

‘Yeah, I’ve been coming here for years,’ she said.

‘Me too,’ I lied.

I took a sip of my drink and rolled a cigarette.  I couldn’t think of anything to say so I wanted to look busy.  

‘It’s cool here because everyone likes the same music,’ I said.

‘Yeah,’ she said.  ‘Though sometimes I wish they’d play something different.’  

She laughed.  I laughed too.

‘Fancy a cigarette?’ I asked tentatively.

‘Don’t smoke,’ she answered triumphantly.   

Oh dear.  But I wouldn’t have enjoyed it anyway, the nicotine was making me dizzy.  

‘I’ll leave it for now,’ I said.  And sipped at my cider.

Then my friends came over to tell me they were leaving.  I didn’t really want to go so I said I was staying.  That left me alone with my new friend, a bold statement to make.  There was a pause.

‘I used to come here all the time,’ Somerset said.  ‘But I haven’t been for ages... I’ve been in China.’

‘Really,’ I said.  ‘That’s pretty cool.  What were you doing?’

‘Taking pictures - I’m a photographer.  I was taking pictures of the progress they’re making with the Olympic Games.’

‘No way.’

‘Yep,’ she said.  ‘It’s an interesting country.’  She was an authority.

‘I bet.  Do you work for a magazine?’

‘No.  I’m trying to sell my photos to an agency.’  

Then Somerset’s friend came over to say she was leaving too.  They whispered into each others ears and I was introduced.  They were grinning in that conspiratorial way.  Then she was alone too.  We were both alone, and I think we both realised we were alone at the same time.  We kind of froze.  I’d heard a joke a couple of days ago and I thought it might free things up a little.  I liked the joke, but I wasn’t sure how appropriate it was.  You never know with a joke like that.

‘What’s got two thumbs, speaks French, and likes blowjobs?’ I said.

‘Don’t know,’ she said.

I pointed both my thumbs at my chest.  ‘Moi,’ I said. 

She laughed, it was a good a belly laugh.  I was happy and relieved at the same time.  Coulda gone either way... it went the right way.  

‘C’mon,’ I said.  ‘You dancing?’ 

‘Yeah!’ she said.

She seemed like she was pleased to be dancing with me.  That made me relax.  I felt comfortable.  Felt good.  I didn’t have any inhibitions, that in itself was special because normally I have lots of inhibitions.  We were smiling and touching each other at every opportunity.  The whole night was going well, I was finding it easy to not be so negative.  I almost felt positive for the first time in ages.  Made it easier to be myself, made me like this girl.  Turned out we lived on the same bus route.   

I stepped into the toilet.  In the cubicle I talked to myself like I was Mohammed Ali, a pep talk about whether or not we should get the bus home together.  A dangerous road my friend, treacherous, but one that holds many pleasures.  A tough choice.  A good personal conversation.  I came out the toilet and looked for Somerset.  I couldn’t see her.  I looked and looked but she was nowhere to be seen.  I stood on the edge of the dancefloor and did what I always do when I’m on my own in a club - imagined all the people were skeletons.  But not evil skeletons, Mexican skeletons.  With bright red hearts thumping in their jiggling ribcages, skulls nodding in perpetual motion.  Teeth chattering.   

Then there she was, smiling and moving on the dancefloor, looking different to the rest, fully-fleshed and better than the bony people.  I walked up to her and told her I’d had enough.  

‘I’ve had enough,’ I said.

‘Me too,’ she said.

‘Shall we get the bus?’ 

‘Cool.’

I was very drunk on the bus.  I thought we should get some wine and go back to hers.

‘OK,’ she said.

‘I don’t mean anything by that though,’ I said.  ‘I mean... you haven’t got anything to worry about, not with me.  I’m not coming on to you.  Snot that I wouldn’t.  I would.  What I mean is... I’m off women.’

‘That’s good,’ she said, ‘I’m off men.’

‘Oh,’  I said.

There was an off-licence by her house and there was a selection of bottles below five pounds - we picked out a red.  I wasn’t sure how much more I could drink, it was three o’clock in the morning and I was past my best. 

‘How many bottles shall we get?’ I said.

‘One,’ she said.  Then, ‘two!’

It was good inside her house - complete.  There was a lot to look at.  Everywhere I turned was something to ask questions about.  My house wasn’t like that.  I move house every six months and my tastes change rapidly.  I don’t keep anything except my CDs and my CD player.  I don’t really have many clothes.  This was a home and it felt good to be inside it.

I looked through her CD collection and picked out a few albums.  They were all albums I owned.

‘You’ve got great taste,’ I said. 

‘I know,’ she said.

‘Can I put this one on?’ I said, pointing to the The Doobie Brothers.

‘Sure,’ she said.

Track One poured from the speakers and rolled across the floor, licked at my boots and slid up my body, snuck into my ears and rattled my brain.  It sounded better than it sounded at my house.  Anyone else would have thought it was rubbish.

‘I love this one,’ I said.

‘Me too,’ she said.  ‘I love this one too.’

We sat back and listened to music we knew inside out, set free by compatible company, able to say all the things we had previously thought privately.  The songs took on a new significance.  It was a liberating experience.  

I thought about kissing her but something made it seem vulgar.  Taking a carnal reward now would have been seedy.  I felt like I was on a starting line, no need to rush, time it right, avoid the false starts I’d once been famous for.  I wanted to keep this night simple, keep the complications for another time.  

Nicotine binds to your haemoglobin, keeps your body from functioning at maximum efficiency.  Alcohol does a similar thing and I was tired anyway.  On top of all this, the excitement was too much for me.  I let the muscles in my neck relax while Somerset was in the bathroom... my head rolled to one side as my eyelids closed and my chest slumped.  The cigarette in my hand froze as my arm locked in a sleepy rigamortis.  I could’ve slept for a thousand years.

* * *

When I woke up the handmade cigarette in my hand had gone out, and the birds were singing under a blank sky.  It was very quiet.  I was so cold and no-one else was in the room.  I wasn’t sure what time it was.  I saw a drip fall from a drenched branch.  There were three doors in the hallway.  One was the bathroom and the other two were closed.  Were there two bedrooms?  Was there a housemate?  Where was Somerset?  I couldn’t remember.  Alcohol was coursing through my veins.  The sickness that comes from the slowdown of booze in your blood hadn’t arrived yet.  But the confusion was there... and a little bit of the fear.

I wanted to see her.  I couldn’t just walk out of her flat without saying good-bye or what’s-your-number?  I’d fallen asleep early, I’d been cheated out of a night.  I wanted it all to start again.  I fancied another drink.  I thought she might be up for carrying on.  

I got a feeling for one of the doors, knocked on it and started to turn the handle.  It was a very naughty thing to do, to sneak into a girl’s bedroom like that.  She turned over in her bed and looked at me with a sleepy face as I poked my head round the doorframe.  

‘Mind if I come in?’ I asked.  I think I winced as the words left my rancid little mouth.

‘Not at all,’ she said.

‘I must have fallen asleep,’ I said.

‘You did.  While I was in the bathroom.  It happened so fast.  You looked like you were still awake, your cigarette was still in your hand, except your eyes were closed.’

‘Sorry,’ I said.

‘That’s OK, you looked sweet.’ 

‘It’s cold.  D’you mind if I get in next to you?’ 

‘Not at all.’ 

I climbed in next to her.  I had on all my clothes except my boots, which I’d left in the front room because I suspected they’d smell.  I didn’t want to face her when I spoke because I thought my breath’d smell too.  I talked to the ceiling.

‘What time is it?’ I said.

‘I don’t know,’ she said.  ‘I don’t have any clocks in here.  I hate clocks.’

‘My phone’s in the other room,’ I said.

‘Are you hungover?’ she asked.  ‘You were quite drunk.’

‘I feel OK actually.  I had a nice time last night.’

‘Me too,’ she said.

‘We should do something again soon.’

‘I’d like that.’

Then her phone went, a text message.  She looked at it.  

‘I have loads to do today,’ she said.  ‘It’s quarter past ten already!’

‘I better get off then.’

‘Do you know where you’re going?’

‘I think so,’ then I paused.  ‘Can I have your...?  Can I borrow your A - Z?’  

‘Of course.’

‘Umm, can I have you number as well?’

‘Of course!  Wait.’

She rummaged through her handbag and produced a business card, it was a fridge magnet as well.  

‘That’s cool,’ I said.

‘I know,’ she said.

I found my shoes and walked back into the bedroom, she was still under the sheets.  I thanked her for letting me stay and leant over to kiss her good-bye.  I think she wanted me to.  I think it was the right thing to do.  I think I wanted to do it.

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