Gigi is a girl men never forget. She never allows it. And I fell for her hard. Really hard. I'd been hanging out at the bar she worked at for about a year. Ever since I got back from Austin. Of course I thought she was beautiful. Everyone did. But at first - I wasn't really attracted to her. She was fun to talk to and flirt with, but I never thought about actually pursuing her. She had become a good friend. I talked her into giving me her number one night - and started calling her after leaving the bar. She was my drunken late night phone buddy. We talked about her guys - and my girls. She was dating another bartender, and I was still hanging onto someone distant in Austin. I used to love talking and laughing with her before crashing. But then everything changed. One night I had gathered a bunch of my poems together to give to some girl I liked in the bar. My latest crush. Gigi agreed to give them to her. After I handed them over she turned to me and said 'there isn't a poem in here about a girl with a spot on her head - is there Flanigan?' I jokingly replied - 'not yet.'
Yes - Gigi has a spot on her head. A birthmark. It's on her right forehead just below the hairline. It makes her even more beautiful. And my reply to her was not a joke at all - just about the biggest understatement of my life. So I asked her to meet me for lunch. I was so nervous. I met her at a small coffee shop downtown - Cafe Kopi. I got there early and waited for her. She walked in just a few minutes late. Wearing a light beige raincoat - with a skirt underneath. Upon seeing her, I realized I had never seen her during the day. She looked great. Her skin was perfect - and her long silky hair flowed over her shoulders. 'What are you staring at Flanigan. Ever seen a girl before?' I loved it when she called me Flanigan. It reminded me of Ali MacGraw in Love Story. Flirty irreverence. She sat down and we had some coffee and warm breakfast rolls. Lunch had become breakfast. We were both hung over. But it didn't matter. It was a magic day for me. Pure magic.
A couple weeks later - I decided to throw a party. I'd just bought this big beautiful sectional couch. It was periwinkle blue. Very very blue. With a zebra pattered rug, lots of plants and a huge carnival tarp on the wall with a beautiful woman's face and and the classic freakshow bark - 'Alive!' Quite the circus room. I loved it. And I wanted Gigi to see it. So I announced a party - I invited all my band friends as well as some of her coworkers from Jupiters. Popular people. Just to make sure she would come. And she did. I was so excited. There she sat on my blue couch. All curled up in the corner with her legs crossed and tucked under. Hugging a pillow she smiled - 'quite the blue couch Flanigan. Did you buy this just for me?' She was always one step ahead. The day was Thursday, September 20th 2001. Just a week after 9-11. I had even called her after hearing about the attack on the radio. I wanted to see if she was okay. And now she was here at my place. It was great having her there - but it didn't last. At about midnight - I wanted us all to hit the bars for last call. But Gigi was tired - and wanted to go home. Fair enough. So she hugged and thanked me. Then she left.
That should have been enough. It was actually a fun party. And it was great having her there. But I had become drunk as hell - and angry. Shit. Very bad timing. My expectations were so high and I was burning inside. And I couldn't pull myself out of it. My friend Kevin went out to a bar with me and tried to calm me down. But it didn't work. I went back home and called Gigi right away. I told her that I loved her and wanted to be with her. I was so pissed that she had left early - and I demanded to know why. I mean - wasn't she in love with me too? I just didn't understand. Why would she flirt with me so much? I was clearly wasted beyond repair and I needed answers. Right now! And I kept yelling. A madman. I held her completely accountable for all my feelings and loneliness. Fuck her! Who was she to put me inside this hell? She just kept answering coldly - 'We're just friends Flanigan. You are just a customer to me. That's all.' Damn. For all I knew - I was pleading for my life with my executioner. And she was forcing the bag over my head. No cigarette. Nothing.
And the next day - everyone in town hated me. I got phone calls from guys telling me how they were going to kick my ass the next time thay saw me. I called a good friend of mine and left him an hour voicemail ranting about all the bullshit coming down on me. He was pissed. Gigi was best friends with his guitar player's wife. Why had I put him in such a bad position? I was clearly the biggest asshole in Champaign. And it just kept getting bigger and bigger. The more I tried to wriggle free - the tighter it became. There was no escape. That weekend I went next door to Jupiters - High Dive. And they wouldn't let me in there either. It was Carlos' other bar and Gigi was working that night - down the street! Ridiculous. So I ended up at a bar called City of New Orleans. Jake was bartending. I loved Jake. He would understand. He was a 'ladies man.' Of course - he could explain it to me. But he just kept laughing. Very entertaining. Sean was sitting there next to me. He hadn't heard anything yet - so I sent him over to Jupiters to get me some cigarettes. Told him to tell them - 'put it on Flanigan's tab. They love me over there.' He came back ten minutes later rattled and sweating. 'What did you say to her anyway? If you had ripped her heart out in front of her and forced her to eat it - it wouldn't have been this bad.'
Over the years it became eight bars. Carlos had become quite successful. Pretty much owned the entire downtown. And he had informed me that I was banned from any property he owned - forever. And he was serious. Very serious. Gigi had Carlos wrapped up. My punishment was clear. But my struggles continued. For years. Champaign is a small town. And I had become way 'too big to fail.' In my own mind. One night I found myself back in 'The City' sitting next to some stranger - sobbing into my beer and recounting my story. He seemed like a good guy. And apparently this had also happened to him. Many times before. So we hit it off. And before long he invited me out to his truck to smoke a joint. How could I refuse? I had just met my new best friend. So we went outside and got into his pickup truck. It was old and dirty. Looked like he'd been four-wheeling. He must have come in from out in the country. But he seemed like a good guy. He pulled a joint out of his breast pocket and lit up. After we passed it back and forth a few times - he asked me if I really wanted to solve this situation with Gigi. Of course I said 'yes - definitely! 'Well - I have the solution.' Then he reached across me and opened his glove compartment. He reached inside, pulled out a gun and set it in my lap. 'Now let's go over to Jupiters and settle this right now.' Then it all became clear - Satan drives a truck.
So many crazy incidents had happened between us - that I started imagining all the possibilities. I just couldn't let go. Conflict between us was better than nothing at all. I just couldn't face reality - Gigi just didn't want me. But I had to keep flowering her with my theatrics. Only that made it bearable. So this was my fantasy. Gigi worked every Wednesday night at Jupiters. On the first Wednesday - a state trooper in full uniform walks in the bar at midnight. He walks up to the bar and asks Gigi if she knows anything about the whereabouts of Patrick Flanigan. He's wanted by the police. A week later - two moblike thugs from Chicago enter the bar and ask about me again. The third Wednesday - three bikers pull up front, go in and ask angrily - 'have you seen Patrick Flanigan?' Week four. Four latino gang bangers. Week five - five black gang bangers. Then six frat guys. And by now - people would be gathering week after week just to see who would come in next. And it would have been driving Gigi insane. Pure performance art. And finally - week seven. Seven ninjas slip in slicing and kicking - and looking for me. 'Who is this Patrick Flanigan anyway?' Perfect.
January of 2002. It had been a little over a year since the disastrous phone call. It was a Wednesday night and I was hanging out with my friends Jon and Rob. We were at a place called The Office over in Urbana. We were doing shots - and then started joking about going over to Jupiters for last call. Rob decided to disguise his voice and call over there to see if Gigi was working. She answered the phone - and he forgot to disguise his voice. Well - she was there and she probably sensed something was up. And it was. I really didn't want to go. I had bought her a vintage movie poster of 'Gigi' for Christmas. Secretly of course. A girl friend of my handed it to her without revealing it was from me. I heard from other people that she loved it. And that made me very happy. And satisfied somehow. Even though she didn't know it was from me - she actually liked something I did for her. And with that - I should have left her alone. But we did another shot. And they coaxed me into going. It had been over a year. Jon assured me as we left - 'nothin's gonna happen.'
' Yeah - 'nothin's gonna happen.'
So we drove over to Jupiters with fifteen minutes left till close. We walked in. She didn't seem to be there. What a lucky break. Jon and Rob went directly to the bathroom. I sat at the end of the bar and ordered three beers from the bartender. Some young guy I didn't know. Someone next to me turned and said 'Patrick? I haven't seen you here in a while? About a year now?' 'Yep. That's about right.' You had some problem with Gigi - didn't you? Is that over now?' 'I don't know. We'll see.' Then Gigi came out of the back carrying a case of beer for restocking. She bent down on her knees. Then she looked up and saw me. 'Oops.' 'Flanigan - if you don't leave right now I'm calling the cops.' 'Come on Gigi - don't call the cops. It's been over a year now.' 'I'm serious. Leave right now.' So I didn't. I grabbed my beer and started chugging it before the bartender could grab it away from me. Gigi was on the phone calling the cops. Shit. Jon and Rob came back and grabbed their beers. I told them that Gigi was calling the cops. Rob pleaded for her to stop. But she was pissed off. And determined. Suddenly I noticed the reflection of flashing blues all around me. I turned around and saw about three or four squad cars jack-knifed at the front door. I got up and headed that way. But before I reached the door I turned and asked Gigi if she enjoyed her Christmas present. No answer. The three of us opened the door and walked out. I raised me hands to surrender. One cop came up to me with his pistol drawn. I turned to Jon.
'Yeah - 'nothin's gonna happen.'
Les' Lounge was right out of Twin Peaks. The furniture - bar stools and booths all covered in red vinyl. And the carpet was a horrible red scotch plaid. Trippy. But it was on the outskirts of town. So I had started hanging out there. Carlos didn't own it. Les did. Les wore a lucky gold horseshoe around his neck. He was one of those townie guys who seemed connected somehow. He had apparently made a lot of money gambling. And he had a bed in back for hooking up with drunk chicks. Too drunk to know they were in the back with Les. Creepy. And Troy was his bartender. Ladies man. All the guys really dug him. He was bald and cooler than cool. He always had a bar rag hanging out of his back pocket - and a toothpick in his mouth. It was kind of a sad place. But I could drink there in peace. Gigi would never come way out here. Well - one summer night of 2003 - I was standing at the urinal taking a piss. And then I heard her laughing. It was unmistakable. No fucking way. Gigi was actually here.
I walked out and saw her sitting at the bar with a friend of hers I called Brady Bunch. He looked like a cross between Greg and Peter. And he was also a bartender at Jupiters. But I don't think he hated me like the others. He seemed like a decent guy. Her best friend. I had seen them together a lot. I walked around to the opposite side of the oval bar - and motioned to Troy that I had their drinks. Troy walked over to me, smiled and said 'So you're going to break my balls over this?' 'Ah - forget it.' His toothpick cocked upward with his grin. Damn. Troy was cool. I got up and walked over to the jukebox. After flipping through CD's - I found it. 'Can't You See?' by Marshall Tucker. Play. I sat back down and tried to catch her eyes. But I felt like a ghost. After the song was over - she walked over to the jukebox. She put in 'Linger' by the Cranberries. Perfect. I got up to leave - then walked out brushing up against her back as I went by. It was a beautiful, clear summer night. I pulled out a cigarette and lit up. Her car was sitting right out front. I looked over at the railroad tracks about twenty feet away. And got an idea. Luckily her car was in neutral - not that hard to push. I walked over, got into my car and drove off into the night. As I left - I heard an approaching train blast three times. I looked into the rearview mirror and smiled.
