Billie Girl

Chapter Twenty Six

I was never much good at keeping secrets. They burned inside me, like cigarette butts being put out in the palms of my hands. I guess there is no such thing as a secret, because one person always knows, and that is you. I had read that many criminals that were never caught by the law sooner or later felt compelled to confess to their significant other or sometimes drunkenly brag about their crimes in bars, late at night, after far too many drinks. Such was the nature of secrets.

And I guessed I was not exempt from that rule. Because right off the bat, I spilled the beans to Tova. But that was only after she let it all hang out about her experiences with that elderly painter, Von. Hell, he was over forty, and that was pretty darn ancient, as far as I was concerned.

Tova said they went all the way and that she didn't do it as a pity fuck. She said it was a thrill for her to catch him by surprise, that Von seemed like the kind of guy who had relegated himself to never again getting laid. He was like a Zen monk, the type that lives in the Tibetan mountains and is not allowed to say a single word for months for fear he will be kicked out of the monastery. She said that when they made love he was totally silent. She could barely even hear him breathe. It was like making love to a mute, or plastic dummy or a fucking mime for that matter. She encouraged him to go ahead and make some sounds, anything really, so that she knew he was enjoying it, and he didn't even answer her. She could tell that he lived in the world of his art and that he was like a hermit whose only sexual release was to paint naked women in his hype-realistic style.

His silence scared her; it was far too intense. Afterwards, Von became super giddy, silly, and self- satisfied, and that scared her the most. Tova had always liked her men to be nervous, tentative and awkward. She liked to lead them to ecstasy but when they got all happy and content, she dumped them like a hot potato.

She was the first to admit that this was a pattern with her.

"I just can't take the pressure of making somebody happy. I am always afraid that at any moment they will slip back into disappointment again and then I will have to go through all that physical effort to make them happy all over again...it's just too much of a hassle for me," she added.

I didn't totally understand Tova, and she didn't totally understand herself. But I did find her fascinating, and for this reason I chose to tell her the secret.

"Do you really want to make yourself a Guinea pig?" She asked.

We were downstairs in her brother's pool room. The walls were bare plaster board, and light bulbs were hanging from the ceiling. It was definitely a playroom in progress. Her parents never seemed to want to go through the trouble of fixing it or making it safe, for that matter. I was always afraid somebody might accidentally put their hands into wires or sockets of the hanging electrical outlets and get themselves electrocuted.

"Nobody has ever asked me to do a single important thing in all my life," I answered in a whisper. It was imperative that her parents, who were upstairs preparing dinner, didn't hear us.

"Do it if it is something that you must do," Tova said in a hushed voice, "But you know if anything were to happen to you, I would just die. You are my absolute best friend in the world; you are more than a sister to me. If anything happened to you, I am not sure I could go on. Billie, you have taught me what is important; you taught me to love life. You love everything. Before you, I thought my life was a big drag. But you point the good things out to me; you show me that every second counts. You always say, every second is one second less. And I love that phrase; I live by that phrase."

I had forgotten about that catch phrase of mine. I had not said it for awhile. If I were a songwriter, I would have written that as the hook to a song. I think I had made that one up when I was like twelve. I just wrote it on the back of an American history textbook. Now, the two of us repeated it in unison: "Every second is one second less."