Phil stood along the Golden Gate Bridge, looking down into the bay. His Honda was parked at the vista point, and he had walked all the way to the middle of the span, tourists and locals passing by. Phil stared into the water; he could slip over the railing, landing with a heavy splash, before anyone could stop him.
Suicide had never been contemplated, until Sunshine left the first time. Then Phil possessed an understanding of what his mother had suffered, but not what had driven his father to shoot himself. Phil’s dad had set a gun to his right temple, then pulled the trigger. Phil wasn’t sure if Stan had died before reaching the floor, no one knew that.
The accepted details were that at noon on Wednesday, the sixteenth of December, 1959, Stan Gideon had argued with his manager. The men were overheard discussing the rights to Stan’s songs, which Larry Jerrold wanted to buy from Stan, but that Stan wouldn’t sell. The quarrel was vociferous, a dispute long in coming from an older man toward a young but wary musician. Stan Gideon was only twenty-one, but like his contemporary Buddy Holly, Gideon was savvy. Since Holly’s death earlier that year, Stan had felt even more circumspect, wishing to safeguard his music for his wife and their tiny son, named for an artist Stan worshipped. The baby was mentioned several times, witnesses recalled. Phil’s birthright was what a father longed to protect, and Stan wouldn’t dream of offering his music for money up front.
His suicide later that evening, in the back of a club far away from Jo-Jo and baby Phil, stunned the recording world, still reeling from the plane crash in which Buddy Holly had been killed. After a stirring performance in Cincinnati, Stan stepped into the back of the club, called his wife, telling Jo-Jo that he loved her. Bystanders heard his side of the conversation, a young man sounding tired but looking forward to the upcoming Christmas break. Stan was taking two weeks off, and would spend that time with his wife’s family in Columbus. He wanted to get to know his infant son, a child unplanned but deeply cherished, as was the boy’s mother. What witnesses remembered from Stan Gideon’s last call was his earnest, gentle voice. Those soft murmurs wafted as others waited to use the pay phone, then only moments later, a gunshot exploded from Gideon’s dressing room. Then his silent form was found on floor.
If Phil jumped, his body might not be recovered. What would that do to his grandmother, to Julia… Fuck Julia, Phil grunted. He hadn’t spoken to her since she left, had been glad to see her go. All that crap about Sunshine was just a bunch of shit, and as inexplicable as Stan’s suicide. Phil still didn’t understand his father’s death. What he had learned, via Sunshine, was his mother’s despair.
How had Jo-Jo held on as long as she did? The cool Pacific breeze chilled Phil, who then turned, facing west. He didn’t want someone to approach him, didn’t want to be talked out of it. He could just tumble over the side… Why had Sunshine felt so, so, so, but then why had Stan? Jo-Jo was the only one Phil felt any connection to, his late mother’s already shaky mental state so rocked by her husband’s suicide that any other small blow would have sent her over the edge. She was living with Daniel and Helen when Stan died, better for her to reside with her parents than in some lonely apartment while Stan toured to promote the next hit. Jo-Jo never lived alone with her husband, had never moved from her parents’ house. Phil had been conceived in that spare bedroom, spending his life sleeping on the sofa once he was four and too old to share his mother’s room. That spare room had been Jo-Jo’s until Phil was twelve and a half years old. Then it was his, a strange room, a place for ghosts. But Phil was an able, intelligent young man with a penchant for music, the only part of Stan he shared, besides those green eyes. Phil’s green eyes took in the western edge of the Pacific, large and looming, like his loathing of Sunshine Galveston and the massive hole in Phil’s heart.
He turned back to the railing, looking down again. The water was a long ways away; if he jumped, there would be no more anger, no more loneliness. No more Phil, and no more phone messages. He would never again hear Julia’s voice, or his grandmother’s, or Lee, Liz, Diane or even Chuck. But Chuck never called anyone, and Phil smiled. Chuck sat on the sofa, watching TV, collecting his policeman’s pension, all the while repelling the great waves of venom sent from faraway Florida. How Chuck did that, Phil never pondered.
If Phil jumped, would Chuck be sad, would he even notice? Phil had never gotten in Chuck’s way, but if Phil died, Chuck and Lee wouldn’t drive over to Phil’s house, giving Chuck something to do. Phil looked straight up at a blue sky. He turned around, noting the great height of the north tower, too orange and lofty to be real, which was how he felt about Sunshine, too much fury to be factual. Maybe she had never actually lived, maybe it was all a lie. Maybe Julia had made it up to piss Phil off, and he smiled. What about Julia?
If he jumped, she would be livid, livid! Ray might leave her, she’d be such a bitch, and Phil chuckled, kicking his foot along the cement. Would serve her right, that turd; Phil felt no angst, no sorrow, no pity. Women were cunts, all of them, well, except his mother and grandmother, but Jo-Jo was dead and Helen was old. Lee was… Lee was Julia’s mother, and Phil checked his resolve. Lee hadn’t done any more than fall in love with a married man and get pregnant by him. How great was her guilt when Laura died? Carrying Chuck’s child, Lee was caught in the middle of domestic turmoil, but was only a kid herself. Phil did the math; Lee was twenty-three or twenty-four when Laura was killed. Lee was younger than Sunshine, but pregnant like Sunshine, maybe the same gestation, four or five months along. More math, and Phil sighed. Both women were around five months, and both carried daughters. Liz had been born a few months before Sunshine, a few years after Julia. Laura ceased being Julia’s mother, and Lee had stepped in.
Phil ached, then thought about practicalities. His car would need to be towed away, but the keys were in his pocket. He could walk back, leave the keys in it, but then someone might steal it, which would be more for Lee and Chuck to deal with. It would have to be Lee and Chuck because Helen was too far away and too old. Not Julia, too… Phil couldn’t think about that. Liz and Diane were too young, so it would fall on Lee and Chuck, and neither of them needed any more crap. Which meant that Julia would end up taking care of it, because Julia wouldn’t let her mom or dad handle this mess. Not that Phil’s demise would leave a stain. Only what he left in his wake.
Sunshine had been strewn across the wall. She probably had looked like Phil’s father, but that was also speculation. Phil hadn’t seen Stan Gideon’s remains, but he had witnessed Sunshine’s, that small lump of a belly, the baby visible. He hadn’t stepped inside that room after calling Julia, had done just as she told him, giving the cops a statement. His flight had circled LAX, waiting to land. If he had reached her on time, if he had driven faster… Julia chided him for living so far from the airport; what if he had lived closer?
What if he had found her just before she pulled the trigger, what if he’d held her, easing her fears? What if he’d told her how much he loved her, wanted their baby, what if… Phil felt sick, then stuck a hand in his pocket. The keys were cool and sharp. He took them out. He could set them here, marking his place. Someone would see what he was doing, once he got as far as sitting on the railing. Then, after he jumped, they would run toward him, maybe they would see him hit the water. Then they would find his keys. They would dangle them in their hand, maybe grip them, or just study the last piece of Phil Gideon before he hit the water.
Cops would return the vehicle, spreading the news. Cops and the media would handle that, and Phil winced, another round of tabloid fodder: Son of dead singer jumps off Golden Gate Bridge. After the suicide of his father and pregnant, coke-addict girlfriend, one-hit wonder Phil Gideon destroyed the family of Julia Penn, a basket case herself. Penn, the daughter of late writer Laura Riley, hasn’t been able to finish her novel. Now that her best friend is dead, will she ever write as well as her late mother, who according to Riley’s parents, was murdered by Julia’s father, Charles ‘Chuck’ Penn.
All that was sp
eculation of course; who truly cared to seek the truth anymore? Phil gripped his keys; if he jumped, life, death, and pain were finished. If he didn’t jump… He sighed. Julia would still be pissed at him, but eventually one of them would call the other, leaving some pithy message. Would he break first or she? He could hear her, as if she stood beside him, a phone in her hand: Hey Phil, it’s me. I, uh, was wondering if you wanted to come over for dinner. Ray bought a peach pie and I’m making shit on a shingle. Is it gonna be two cans of tuna or one? Call me back, so I know how much to make.
One can, Phil thought to himself, gripping the railing. One can baby, just one.
“Hey, what’re you doing, hey, hey!”
“What?”
“Hey, are you gonna jump? Oh my God, help me, he’s gonna jump!”
Her voice was frantic, and immediately Phil jerked from where his shoes had been planted between the rails. He hadn’t made one single move and here was some wide-eyed young woman causing a scene.
Three men approached and Phil sighed. “No, I wasn’t gonna jump, Christ! I just wanted to look. Can’t people even fucking look out at the goddamn bay without being accosted?”
“Are you sure man?” the tallest one said. He had a moustache, and Phil tried not to smile, a lisp apparent in only those few words.
“Leave him alone Derek. If he wants to jump, it’s his business.”
“What? You assholes!” The woman shoved her way through them. She reached Phil, grasping his hand. “Listen, nothing’s that bad, I mean it. I love you. You hear that? I love you.”
“You don’t even know who I am,” Phil laughed.
“You’re Phil Gideon,” Derek said. “I have your first album.”
“Jesus Christ!” Now Phil wished he had jumped.
“It’s really great man, hey, wow, I can’t believe it, Phil Gideon!”
“Who’s Phil Gideon?”
“He is!” Derek pointed to Phil. “Shit, you’re so, oh my God. Excuse Ron here, he’s a moron.”
“Shut up you assholes. Listen, I have no idea who you are but you can’t jump. I love you, others do too.”
“Derek loves him.”
“Ron, I swear to Christ I’m gonna…”
“What’s your name?” Phil asked the woman.
“Crystal. I’m Crystal. And you’re…”
She stuck out her hand as Derek moved closer. “I told you he’s Phil Gideon. God, can I have your autograph?”
Derek’s friends groaned, then Derek did too as Crystal elbowed him hard in the gut. “You say one more word and I’ll kick you in the crotch.”
“Oh my God, oh my God!” Derek howled.
The proceedings had garnered a small crowd, even slowing traffic, making Phil wince. “Listen, I’m, uh, not Phil Gideon. I hear that all the time though.” Then he looked at Crystal. What sort of name was that? “And I wasn’t gonna kill myself, I promise.”
He had said that to Julia, right after finding Sunshine. Sunshine, Crystal, stupid hippie names! “I mean it,” he said to Derek and Crystal. “I’m not Phil Gideon and I’m not suicidal.”
“Are you sure?” both asked.
“Yes, I’m sure. Listen, you can walk with me back to my car. My car’s just at the vista point.” He motioned toward the north end of the bridge. “Now, if I was gonna kill myself, I wouldn’t have left my car here, what kind of idiot would leave their car in the parking lot? I would’ve called a cab or walked.”
Derek and Ron nodded, their friend Trent in agreement. Crystal tapped her foot, just like Julia did, making Phil shake.
“I don’t believe you,” Crystal said. “I think you were gonna jump off the bridge.”
“If I was Phil Gideon, I’d jump,” Ron said. “Crappy album, riding on the coattails of his dad. Jesus Derek, I don’t know how you listen to such bullshit music.”
“Plus I read his girlfriend killed herself, and his grandfather just died,” Trent added.
“Where do you read this shit?” Derek had recovered, but steered clear of Crystal. “Listen, you really look like Phil Gideon, but if you’re not him, no sweat.”
“I’m not him,” Phil announced, feeling somewhat offended, also relieved.
“Are you sure you’re not him?” Crystal said.
“Why? You don’t even know who he is,” Phil sighed.
“Well, if you are him, all the more reason to jump.”
“I was not gonna jump off the fucking bridge, okay?”
“Okay, okay!” She backed away, still staring at him. She wore a bright print skirt and a white peasant blouse. Large hoop earrings made her look every inch a Crystal. Her eyes caught Phil’s attention; blue, but not bright, not that she was stoned or drunk. They were the dull blue-gray of Julia’s eyes, as if only wanting half the story. But like Julia, who had told Phil everything from their first meeting, this woman seemed to know him, or at least didn’t believe him.
The men did, finally walking away. As the rest of the gawkers departed, Crystal remained. She still tapped her foot, but not in any apparent rhythm. Phil stared at her; she was small-chested, short, and waif-like. She probably sold beaded necklaces in Golden Gate Park when she wasn’t accusing would-be bridge jumpers.
Now he wouldn’t be able to do it, maybe he’d never again work up the guts. Instead he faced Hippie Girl, then started to laugh. “Listen, you need a lift somewhere? My car really is over there.” Again he pointed to the parking lot.
“Yeah actually. I walked here, wasn’t sure how I was gonna get back. You live in the City?”
“In Berkeley. But I can drive you home.”
“Okay, sure. I wanna make sure you don’t jump, not today.”
“Okay.” He started toward the parking lot, and she followed. Then she clutched his hand.
“Yeah?” he asked, feeling her warmth, a sensation not known since touching Sunshine’s dead toes.
“I’d been watching you. You were gonna jump.”
“Really?”
She nodded. “You’d been thinking about it for a while, maybe half an hour. I watch for people out here, sorta my job.”
“Uh-huh. Like the city of San Francisco pays people to come spy on would-be suicides.”
“I do it for free. Once a week.”
“Whether we need it or not.”
“See, you were gonna jump. I see it all the time.”
“You always make such a scene about it?”
“Sometimes,” she laughed, squeezing his hand. “But only with those I fall in love with.”
“Oh Jesus.” Phil stopped, then took his hand from hers. “Listen, I don’t need this right now. Yeah, okay, I was thinking about it, just thinking, but I don’t need some…”
“Creepy suicide watcher, I know, I’ve heard it before.”
“Listen, uh, Crystal…” He had a hard time saying her name without smiling. “Crystal, I, uh, okay. I really am Phil Gideon and…”
“I know who you are, jeez!”
“You do?”
“Well yeah, you were all over the tabloids for like what, a month? Your grandfather died in January, a year after your girlfriend. I’m really sorry about that you know.”
She spoke as if she knew all about him, which was comforting and somewhat eerie. “Uh, yeah, well, thanks, I mean…”
“Listen, I didn’t know you were Phil Gideon until that guy said something, what a putz! But then yeah, I knew you were really serious.”
“Why’d you play dumb then?”
“Why’d think? To get those jerks to leave! Man, sometimes you guys are dolts, you know?”
Did she mean B celebrities, despondent souls, or just men in general? “Uh, okay, I guess.”
“Listen, I want you to take me to your house. I’ll get a cab from there. I wanna make sure you get home safely. Then, before I leave, I want you to make a phone call. I don’t care to who, your best friend, your dealer, your priest, just somebody. You need to tell them what you did today, so I know you’re gonna be looked after.”
>
“This your line with every loony you accost?”
She smiled, gripping his hand. “Only the ones I love.”
As they crossed the Bay Bridge she repeated that she loved him. Her voice wasn’t fawning, but sincere, which Phil ignored. Once inside his house he did as he’d been directed. “Hey Julia, it’s, uh, yeah, okay, so you won, but only under duress. Here at my house right now is uh, Jesus, Crystal. Crystal, uh, what’s your last name?”
“Sullivan, Crystal Sullivan. Hi Julia!”
“Right. Okay, uh, Crystal Sullivan. So Julia, today I, uh…”
Crystal took the receiver. “Hi Julia. I’m Crystal. Today I found Phil trying to scale the Golden Gate Bridge, but not in a good way. He’s home now and I’m just gonna say that I think he needs some help.” Crystal handed the phone back to Phil, but instead of meeting his gaze, she stared at the floor.
“Uh, okay, well, yeah.” Phil cleared his throat. “So, that’s me. How are you and Ray doing?”
He said a few more words, then closed the call. Then Phil got himself some water, chugging the entire glass. He poured one for Crystal, who stood at the sliding glass door. “Here you go. She’s gonna think I’ve lost my goddamn mind.”
Phil held out the glass, but Crystal didn’t turn his way. Brown hair hung to her shoulders, looking dirty, or maybe only windblown. “Uh, Crystal, you want some water?”
She shook her head, then turned to him. Tears ran down her face. “You were the closest one, do you know that?”
“What?”
“The nearest to the end. I’d been watching you, wasn’t sure about it, but then some people got in my way. Then I noticed how you gripped the railing. You would’ve done it, and I only caught you by seconds. Seconds Phil, just seconds.”
She was right and he trembled. Julia would give him hell about this, but somehow her future tirade was muted by this young woman’s immediate sorrow. “It’s okay, uh, Crystal.” Her name continued to trip him, then Phil set the glass on the coffee table, taking her in his arms. “Really, I mean, you’re right. I would’ve. God, please, don’t cry. You saved my life today,” he laughed. Tipping her face his way, Phil kissed the middle of her forehead.
“I was nearly too late.”
“Well, you weren’t. How’s that for good timing?”
“I love you Phil. I love you, okay?”
“Sure, sure you do. And I love you too Crystal.”
She nodded, then reached for his face. She didn’t stroke his temples, only caressing the top of his cheek. Then she sighed. “Phil, whatever happens, please know I love you, okay?”
“Sure, you bet. Gotcha.”
She nodded, then moved away, drinking the water. Phil could still feel her fingers along his face.
“Well, okay. Good. Listen, can I use your phone?”
“Uh, sure. Or I can take you home.”
“No, you shouldn’t be driving any more today. Actually, I should’ve driven. You’re sorta…”
“What?”
“Erratic. I mean, it’s to be expected.”
“My driving was fine.”
“It wasn’t. You nearly hit a cat.”
“Where?”
“Coming up your street. You nearly hit two.”
Phil’s anger returned, making him wish he had jumped. He wished one of Derek’s friends had liked his record, then he laughed. Derek’s friends were the smart ones. “Okay, whatever. Look, thanks for saving my life today. Really, I mean it. Thanks and uh, tell you what. Leave me your address.” He handed her a pad of paper and a pencil. “Write it down and I’ll send you a…” A copy of a crappy record? His autograph? What was he thinking?
“Phil, I meant it when I said I love you.”
“Crystal…” His sigh was about more than her name. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know more than you think I do.”
“Yeah?”
She fingered the rim of her glass, then took another sip. She set it on the coaster, then stepped his way. “Today I watched you trying to decide if your life was worth living. You kept looking over the railing, then toward the Pacific. That’s what they usually do, like what would make it worth it, you know, worth getting up, going to work or whatever. I watched you trying to figure that out. You stood there for over half an hour, you were there when I showed up, goodness knows how long you’d been there before I arrived. No one waits that long. If they’re gonna jump, they do it. Otherwise they lose their nerve.”
“How’d you know I wasn’t gonna back out?”
“Because I saw you had to think about it, which is more than most people.” She sniffed, then wiped her face. “But then the way you gripped the railing, I knew you’d made up your mind. I wasn’t gonna interfere until I absolutely knew, it’s embarrassing, I mean, not to me, but to the person thinking about it. I never wanna embarrass them, they’re already feeling bad enough as it is.”
“Well, that’s very thoughtful of you, uh…”
She smiled. “Crystal. I know, it’s ridiculous. Crystal Karma, my parents were beatniks.”
“I see,” he chuckled.
“Yeah, but it helps with what I do. Gives people the sense of fate, someone stepping in, like an intervention. I wasn’t gonna bother you until I knew, and then, man, those guys, what assholes! But it helped. You were pissed and thrilled, both. And then you hoped they would just go away.”
“Yeah, I did.”
“And you hoped I’d go away too, at first. Because you still wanted to jump off the bridge.”
The way she said it sent chills down Phil’s back. He had wanted her to leave, all of them. Those fans, well, one fan, and this woman, Crystal Sullivan. “You’re right. I would’ve jumped today.”
“I didn’t know who you were, I mean, not all the details, until he said something. Then I really knew.”
“It’s, uh, been a bad few years.”
“I’m sorry.” She stood close, grasping his hand. Phil’s heart raced, but he wasn’t sure why.
“Well thanks Crystal. Really, it’s a pretty name.”
“Thanks Phil.” She kissed his cheek. “Okay, well, I should let you go now.”
But Phil didn’t let her go. “Why’d you say you loved me? Do you tell everyone that?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Then why’d you tell me?”
“Because I do. I mean,” she blushed, then looked at the floor. “I do love you.”
“Why?”
She met his gaze. “Why’d you wanna jump today?”
“I, I dunno.” He sighed. “It hurts. I was tired of it hurting.”
“Phil, sometimes I hurt too. Sometimes I go there, hoping no one’ll be waiting, because I just don’t have it in me that day. But I go anyways and sometimes I’m lucky, nobody’s lurking. Sometimes I’m not.”
“How were you today?”
“Achy. At least until I saw you.”
“Then what?”
“Then…” She giggled, drawing a deep breath. “Then I hoped, oh this sounds horrible. I hoped you’d be in the mood, because otherwise how was I gonna introduce myself?”
“Are you shitting me?”
“No,” she smiled. “I fell in love with you as soon as I saw you.”
“Do you fall in love with all the guys you meet like this?”
“Only the ones I’m meant to marry.”
He chuckled nervously. “Is that a proposition?”
“It’s just my way of telling you how I feel. Phil, I love you. I know I barely know you. But I also know what I watched today on that bridge. I didn’t fall in love with you hoping to save your life, I can tell you that. But sometimes life changes just when you least expect it to. Like today, the last thing I wanted was to go to the bridge and have to talk somebody out of jumping. Then guess what? I meet the man I’m gonna marry. Just how it works out sometimes.”
“You’re gonna marry me Crystal?”
“Yeah, but only after you ask me.”
“
And when’s that?” Phil smiled, standing very close to her.
“Well, probably not today. Today’s been pretty busy already.”
He reached for her face, setting his fingers along her temples. As when touching Julia there, nothing within Phil ached. “But what if I do ask you today Crystal? Would you say yes?”
He wanted to kiss her first; if he kissed her and it was better than kissing Julia, Phil just might pop the question. If it was like kissing Sunshine, Phil might drive back to the bridge.
“Phil, kiss me. Then we’ll both know.”
He stared at her, tears pouring down his face. “I, I…”
Crystal kissed him softly on the mouth. Then their lips parted; as she probed gently, Phil tenderly set his palms along the aged fabric of her peasant blouse. Her skin was warm along her back, also from within as Phil was absorbed by a very precious spot in the universe, maybe an alternate reality.
As they stood entwined, Phil wanted to caress her temples. Crystal eased his hands there, as if reading his mind. She pulled away from his mouth, but set her hands on his. Phil nuzzled her brow, then pulled both sets of their hands to their sides. Then he led her into his room, closing the door behind them.
“Phil, Phil? Phil, are you there? Hey asshole, pick up the goddamn phone! Phil, are you serious? Did you really go to the bridge? Who’s this Crystal chick? Sounds like a goddamned airhead. Phil, Phil? Answer me you prick! Phil!”
Chapter 9