American Outlaw - Jesse James [110]
The kid just looked at me, a bit at a loss for words. “It’s . . . entertainment.”
“So’s a fucking cartoon.” I reached for my keys, walked off the set, and headed home.
For the first time in my life, I felt like I’d found myself in a relationship that was enlightening. It couldn’t help but illuminate the parts of my life where I’d been content to stagnate. I wasn’t a soap opera addict or anything like that, didn’t sit on the couch eating bonbons—far from it—but really, when was the last time that I’d tried to expand my horizons? Make myself into a well-rounded and, well, cultural dude?
“I want to confess something to you,” I said.
“Oh?”
“I’ve never been to a Broadway show.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” Sandy said. “Lots of people haven’t been.”
“No, it’s not okay,” I said. “I’m hanging out with one of the greatest actresses in the world. I’d like to go to the theater with you.”
“This could be arranged,” Sandy said, grandly. “Now, what play would you like to see, Mr. James?”
“Something with Slayer,” I said.
Sandy grinned. “Uh . . .”
“Come on,” I said. “I’m kidding. Anything. Just bring me to something that I might actually like.”
One week later, we flew to New York, where Sandy scored us front-row tickets to Spamalot, the Monty Python musical. It was totally hysterical. I loved it.
“Well?” Sandy asked, grinning happily. “What do you think?”
“Dude, I’ve done Broadway!” I exulted. “Hey, did you realize there’s a whole band down in that pit? For the whole first act, I thought all that music was piped in.”
I broadened her horizons, too. Before she met me, Sandy had never been in a car going a hundred miles an hour.
“Are you serious?” I yelled, as we gained velocity, the wind from the open windows whipping at our faces.
“Why would I kid?” Sandy screamed, her hair flying behind her.
“If I don’t go a hundred every single day,” I yelled, “there’s something wrong with my car!”
Sandy’s eyes widened as the scenery outside began to blur, and she gripped the sides of her seat with clenched hands. “Are you absolutely sure this is a good idea?”
“Come on,” I laughed. “You were in Speed, weren’t you?”
“THAT WAS A MOVIE!” she screamed.
We were coming together. Not out of weakness or need, but as two people who genuinely liked and respected the other.
“I like the way this feels,” I confessed, during another one of our weekend getaways together.
“Me, too. When I’m alone, I laugh sometimes, thinking about us,” Sandy said. “We’re kind of like Felix and Oscar.”
“I’m Felix, right?” I said.
“Oscar.”
I caught myself looking at her hopefully. An excessive sense of wonder and deep appreciation filled me as I observed her doing small tasks, like washing dishes or typing an e-mail. Clearly, I was falling in love.
“I don’t want to promise too much,” I cautioned. “I want to warn you, I don’t like shopping. And I don’t much care for chick flicks.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll probably never pop a wheelie. Is that going to be an issue?”
“For you?” I said. “I’ll make an exception.”
Obviously, my guard was still up; it had to be. I had been hurt so badly and so recently. But Sandy was everything she appeared to be on the outside. She was a sensitive listener and a good conversationalist who was also willing to engage at a deeper level. As we slowly got to know each other more authentically, I was gradually able to admit that there were some very old hurts that I was carrying around.
“It’s been a rocky couple of years,” I admitted, laughing, late one night when we were lounging around in my living room.
“I can only imagine.”
“Janine, that whole thing . . . it was just a tornado.” I squinted, embarrassed. “The truth is, I felt like I deserved it. Do you understand what I mean?”
Sandy nodded. “I do.”
“I . . . I grew up in a really hard situation,” I said. “I don’t tell people about it very often.”
Sandy looked at me deeply, with real sympathy in her eyes. “I promise you, if you want to confide in me, I will never judge you for it, Jesse.”
I took a deep breath. “Well, I used to