American Outlaw - Jesse James [74]
We always seemed to run away just before the cops came, protected by the magic of youth, stupidity, and success. Long Beach was an industrial wasteland, but we ruled it. The Reno Room knew us well. Strip clubs let us sit in the corner, form our own little men’s club. I was never there to hit on the chicks. I just liked to get nice and drunk there. Felt right. I needed some time to be stupid, to be irresponsible. To not worry about shit.
“Jesse, dammit, if you’re going to come in at three in the morning, at least be quiet about it!” Karla hissed, as I stumbled into our bedroom late one night.
“Sorry, sorry,” I mumbled drunkenly. “Go back to sleep.”
“I can’t go back to sleep!” she said, pissed. “It’s not that easy. I’ll be up for at least an hour now.”
“Try harder,” I responded, collapsing into my pillow heavily.
“You smell like a goddamn pack of cigarettes,” Karla said, sitting up angrily. “Where were you? Gold Club? The Rio? The Fritz?”
“Leave me alone,” I mumbled. “Just let me do my thing.”
“I don’t see you!” Karla said, crying. “Chandler’s learning how to walk. Did you know that? You’ve hardly even been here for it!”
“I’ll do better,” I said. My head was throbbing painfully. “I swear, okay? So do me a favor. Lighten up.”
“Jesse,” Karla said, “we gotta talk.”
Slowly, I lifted my head from the pillow and looked at her.
“I’m pregnant again.”
“Oh, boy,” I groaned. “Listen, let’s talk about this in the morning . . .”
“I want to get married.”
“But why?” I protested. “I mean, I just don’t see . . .”
“No more, Jesse, okay?” Karla said, cutting me off. “I mean, seriously. We gotta get married. If you can’t do that for me, then, I’m gonna leave you.” She stared down at me seriously.
Both of us stared at each other, and after a second, I just broke out laughing. Karla shook her head.
“I mean, what the fuck?” she said. “We’re gonna have another child, honey. I think we need to do a little better than this!”
“I’m kind of a mess, huh?” I admitted.
“Oh, just kinda,” she said.
“So you wanna get married, huh?” I groaned softly, pulling the pillow over my head, hiding under it.
“Yes.” She pulled the pillow off me. “It doesn’t have to be any big ceremony. But I want a ring on my finger, Jesse.”
“Well,” I said, “let’s talk more in the morning. It doesn’t sound completely out of the question.”
Karla stared at me. She folded her arms.
“All right, all right!” I cried. “Damn, no one ever won an argument with you in your whole life, did they?”
“Nope,” said Karla, smiling proudly. “No one ever did.”
——
We were married in a very small ceremony in Long Beach, and some six months later, our second child was born—a boy. We named him Jesse Jr.
“Look at this punk,” I said, holding him to my chest, marveling at his small fingers and tiny nose. “This one’s gonna be trouble, I can tell.”
“No, he will not,” Karla said. “I want my son to be a sweetheart.”
“He’s another Jesse James, hon,” I said to her. “You don’t have much chance, I’m afraid to tell you.”
It was thrilling for me to have another child around. I loved Chandler and Jesse Jr. so deeply, and so totally without effort. I received a deep kind of satisfaction from spending time with them, a glow that I couldn’t put into words. It was a bit like when I’d gone up to Seattle, and entered the shipyards for the first time; this sense that I had been born to do this. Experiencing fatherhood was like sinking neatly into a hole that had been bored out especially for me. I felt so incredibly thankful for the fact that by coming into this world, my kids had changed my life.
Yet at the same time, I remained totally driven. It’s a paradox that all successful men who have families must deal with: they love their kids completely, but at the same time, they are addicted to an idea of “making it” that forces them to go out into the world and do battle. In my bones, I knew that West Coast Choppers was on the cusp of becoming something huge. And that notion excited me greatly. It got me out of bed in the morning with a frenzied sort of nervousness that