A rainy Florida day.

Are there any other kinds?

The humidity slowly dissipating from the air outside struggles with its last gasps, grabbing ahold of the windows with dewy hands, fogging every pane. The air pumping through the mobile home’s vents begins to take on the scent of fresh rain and a younger looking “Loverboy” Vinnie Lane walks barefoot across a cheap, green carpeted floor to a thermostat, turning the dial down until the sound of the air conditioner ceases.

“Thank you,” the girl on the wraparound couch says – rare moment of sincere gratitude. The pretty, raven haired girl adjusts her shapely, tattooed legs, getting more of them under a threadbare blanket, leaving only a pair of feet with black nail polished toes sticking out. The girls half smiles and adjusts the glasses on her face – a vintage pinup girl in a trailer park. Is that irony?

“Is that better Nikki?” Loverboy shuffles over to her with a glass of water, but she waves it off.

“You know I don’t drink water. Will you buy me a Monster?” The gratitude is gone. Nikki isn’t even paying attention to him now as she plays with the phone in her hands.

“I’m pretty broke, Nikki. You took the last of my cash for the pills. I don’t get paid again for three more days.”

“You don’t have to guilt trip me. If you can’t afford it it’s fine, I’ll just have Danny pick me up one.”

“No! We’re supposed to spend time together today, remember? That was the deal if I got you the oxys?”

“Yeah, well, I’m fucking thirsty. And it’s freezing in here. Jesus.”

Loverboy walks to the thermostat again and adjusts it further, looking closely at the digital display.

“Nikki it’s 85 degrees. Are you sick? I thought you were just detoxing earlier.”

“I’m fine, I just…”

Nikki starts to shake. Not a convulsion, not exactly, but severe shivers. It’s as if she’s freezing to death in an arctic tundra, not sitting in a warm Florida living room in the middle of August. Loverboy hurries over, grabbing a second blanket.

“Nikki this isn’t normal.” He wraps the blanket around her, noticing the sweat on her forehead, gluing the black hair to her skin. She bites the skin of her lower lip bloody, but shakes her head emphatically.

“I’m fine. Please, can you buy me the drink?” She looks like she might cry. Just like when she asked him for the money earlier. Or like when she begged him for the ride to some ramshackle apartment complex in the middle of the night for a fix. The sound of her sobbing voice over the phone was overtaking his memories of what she normally spoke like.

Loverboy: I didn’t forget her voice.

But you did. You forgot a lot of the things you loved about her, didn’t you? As every pretty thing about her fell away and was replaced by something ugly? When the kisses disappeared? When the lies started? The stealing? When the amazing sex went from unbelievable to boring to nonexistent? Didn’t the love start to waver?

Loverboy: I didn’t forget her voice. Ever.

Hey! Hey, Vinnie, shit, wake up!

((Loverboy’s eyes snap open. He’s in the hotel, and the sun is down. Lying on the floor, Loverboy is still wearing just a pair of white boxers adorned with silly, oversized red hearts. Straddling him and shaking him by the shoulders is the always beautiful Roxy Cotton, her hair a perfect mess, wearing nothing at all but the higher than necessary high heels. Loverboy’s eyes eventually focus on the girl sitting on top of him, and he starts to smile before he finally notices the darkness of the room. The sort of panic that only missing a deadline can create hits him like a right cross.))

Loverboy: What? What time is it? What’s going on?

Roxy: Who were you talking to?

Loverboy: What?

Roxy: You were talking to someone. You said you didn’t forget her voice when I tried to wake you up. What were you talking about? Who were you talking to?

Loverboy: Narrator.

Roxy: Narrator? What the fuck are you talking about, Vinnie? There’s nobody here but me and you. Who’s a narrator?

Loverboy: He was describing my thoughts, talking to me, saying what was happening.

Roxy: You’re still high. There’s no narrator. And if there was a narrator, you couldn’t talk to him. What kind of narrator gets talked to? It’s not like they’re really there. That would be the shittiest movie ever.

Loverboy: Who gives a shit, Roxy, what fucking time is it?

Roxy: It’s… it’s after nine.

Loverboy: What?? Are you fucking kidding me? The flight was over an hour ago! I have to be in Denver Monday night or I’m going to forfeit against Luca fuckin Arzegotti! This is the bullshit I was talking about, Nikki!

((Loverboy stops moving, his jeans pulled halfway up his legs. He knows what he said, but he hopes that Roxy didn’t catch it. He knows better, of course.))

Roxy: Vinnie… I’m not Nikki.

((Loverboy, angry, yanks his pants the rest of the way up and fastens them. He swats at clothing around the room gathering a shirt and other items, throwing them onto his body haphazardly. The shirt is inside out, but he doesn’t notice. Things are thrown into suitcases.))

Loverboy: Pack your shit. PACK YOUR SHIT. We have to fucking get to the fucking airport. You and your fucking pills. I didn’t even want that shit, why didn’t you wake me up?

Roxy: I tried… I mean, it was too late, but… I tried.

Loverboy: Fuck you, you didn’t try. You never tried. I tried it all. I tried everything. I did everything for you. You didn’t fucking care.

((Loverboy’s eyes are wet, glistening moisture as his voice cracks with strained sobs. Roxy watches him as he wipes the tears away from his face violently, trying to physically assault the emotions welling up and spilling over his eyelids. More clothes fly into bags, and he throws the slinky snakeskin dress at the naked body of Roxy, who silently gets dressed. Eventually, the bags are full. Loverboy tries to zip a suitcase shut but it sticks, overfilled. With a primal scream the bag is thrown across the room, shattering the mirror above the vanity area. Clothes and title belts spill back onto the floor, and Loverboy slums defeated onto the bed, holding his face as his body convulses into uncontrollable bawling. Slowly, Roxy approaches him. She sits next to him and gently places his arm around his quivering shoulders, and he immediately falls into her. The emotion has won. The walls have come down. Loverboy is gone, leaving only Vinnie Lane, Bill Bailey, shaking with tears and spit and snot pouring out of him, wailing and screaming his hurt into the comforting embrace of Roxy Cotton.))




He came back from the store and he thought she was sleeping. Still bundled in the blanket on the couch although the temperature of the room had increased in the late afternoon Florida heat. He hadn’t been gone too long, half an hour at most. The traffic had been unusually bad between the trailer park and the closest general store.

Walking into the living room, he called to her.

“Nikki?”

But she didn’t move. The blanket didn’t shift or rise with breath. Her eyes didn’t open. With a shock, Loverboy saw her hand, tinted blue from a lack of blood flow. A cell phone cord wrapped tightly around her wrist. Needles and spoons and pills are on the green carpet.

Loverboy: I shouldn’t have left her alone like that. I knew something was wrong, the way she was shivering. I just didn’t want to deal with it anymore. I left her there alone.

You forgot her voice.

When you came home her voice was gone forever. No amount of chest compression brought the air back into her lungs or life back into her heart. You hadn’t even noticed that the drink she sent you away for was already in her purse, sitting next to her on the couch. She didn’t need you to bring her anything.

Loverboy: She wanted me to leave. She knew what she was going to do. She knew I’d stop her.

She was dead before she pushed the needle into her veins, “Loverboy.” She died before you ever met her. She died when she was born into a world where fathers touch their daughters, where little girls become women before they’re ready to, where the only thing they can find to stop hurting is the numbness at the end of a needle. She never had a chance other than you, Loverboy, but you weren’t there when she lost the fight.

Loverboy: I loved her.

But she’s dead.




((Midnight. The always busy LAX isn’t close to empty, but there are certainly fewer people than usual. The redeye zombies wander around hallways and amble on towards the airplanes that will take them wherever they call home. Everywhere Loverboy looks he sees the end result of another unfulfilled dream. Would-be actors and actresses going back to start over after finding out that the gold at the end of the rainbow was the real mirage all along, and that the Hollywood sign was a warning, not a welcome. Loverboy and Roxy walk down a hallway toward one of the many gates of the massive airport, Loverboy pulling his suitcase on wheels behind him and wearing sunglasses and a ball cap to help disguise his identity from any late night paparazzi or autograph seeking fans. As they approach the security gate, the pair stops and embraces, sharing a deep kiss.))

Loverboy: It really sucks that there was only one spot left on this flight… I feel like an asshole leaving you behind. The room is paid for though. And the car.

Roxy: Vinnie, it’s fine. You need to get to Denver, I don’t. Maybe I’ll come anyway, but I don’t know. This is where I belong.

Loverboy: I just… I don’t want anything to happen to you. I’ll feel terrible if…

((Roxy presses a manicured finger against Loverboy’s lips, and he goes quiet.))

Roxy: Shh. Vinnie. I told you. I’m not Nikki. Okay? You have to let go, move on. You have to forgive yourself for what happened. It wasn’t your fault. You did what you could, Vinnie, but people have to save themselves in the end, you know? Please, baby, let yourself heal. You’re a champion. You’re a fucking rock star. You’re a FUCKING god. Now go and win for me baby, but more importantly, win for yourself.

((She kisses him again, and then she turns and walks away, swinging her hips as only she can. Even in the middle of the night, dressed in less than five minutes and in a half empty airport, Roxy shines like the sun. Loverboy smiles and watches as she leaves, never looking back over her shoulder at him, as he knew she wouldn’t. She disappears into a throng of people waiting near a counter, every male head turning and watching her as she slowly vanishes. Loverboy eventually returns his attention to the ticket taker, checking his bags and receiving his boarding pass with a silent, knowing exchange of glances with the security officer. Loverboy gets on the plane. Loverboy is on his way to Denver.))