Jun
26
“Fat Daddy said you might have something special for me.”
“What – Oh, probably just this oxy that we just got in.” Reg reached into his pocket and pulled out a prescription drug bottle and rattled it. “Here take a couple on the house, one for each of you.”
“Thanks man.”
“I’ll grab a couple of beers to wash those down. I’ll be right back.”
“See I told you this was a good idea. Here.”
“I don’t want an oxy. I want to go to The Cave.”
“Fine more for me.” Paul popped both pills in his mouth and took a long draw from the beer that Reg handed him.
“Can we go now?”
“Reg just brought us some beer. Let’s drink these and we’ll go.”
Reg chased a couple of guys from one of the couches so that they could sit down. Claire looked down at the filthy couch and resigned herself to sitting on it. She sat on the edge in order minimize the area of her skirt that came into contact with the couch. Paul had engaged Reg in a conversation about baseball. Claire looked around the room wishing that she was anywhere else. The apartment was filthy and the heat and the stench were making her ill. There were two women on the couch across from them doing lines of coke off of a compact mirror. Both were barely clothed one was wearing knee high blue boots and the other stilettos that appeared to have been salvaged from a dumpster. There was a shabby skinny man unconscious in the corner. The couple in the recliner was now fully engaged in sexual intercourse. Claire diverted her eyes and stared at the floor. She gritted her teeth. It was too much.
“Reg. I’m sorry, but we have to go. Paul.” Claire stood up to leave. Paul grabbed her wrist and attempted to pull her back down.
“Come on let’s stay for a while. The fuckin’ chair is free.” Paul was slurring his speech.
Jun
23
Reg was a good natured kid from the street that had fallen under Fat Daddy’s control and become his right hand man. Reg grew up just outside the city proper in an old farmhouse that had lost its farm. Reg was the youngest of four and doted on by his mother and father, but picked on by the kids in the neighborhood for being a little slow. Reg wasn’t mentally retarded, but he would never go to college. Even he if he applied himself higher learning was out of his reach. If his house hadn’t lost its farm, if it was an earlier time , then Reg would have been a competent field hand. He could have planted and farmed a plot large enough to sustain his family and have enough left over to take to market and put some money away for the future. If his focus was narrow his amiable nature and outstanding work ethic allowed him to accomplish more than those who were born with considerably more intelligence. But he wasn’t born into an earlier time and there was no farm. Reg had fallen in with Fat Daddy when Reg was a freshman in high school. Fat Daddy was recruiting, looking for mules and dealers, in order to build his network, to increase his power, and to insulate himself from the legal hazards of working the street. He found Reg one day sitting on the curb with streaks on his face where his tears had washed away the dust from the ball field. There had been a pick up game and Reg as usual had been picked first. Reg was athletic and had been playing ball since he was old enough to walk, but Reg’s talent wasn’t universally admired and when he had tagged out a runner at home to win the game the other team, embarrassed by being beat by the slow kid, proceeded to taunt Reg calling him retard, asking him when the short bus was going to pick him, all the cruel, contrived age old things kids say to hurt one another. Reg’s team not wanting to be seen taking up for a retard joined in the taunting until punches were thrown. Reg was more than able to handle himself and the fight didn’t last long, but when it was over all the other kids went away laughing while Reg sat on the curb and cried.
Fat Daddy found him that way and took him under his wing. He didn’t send directly out on the streets and he didn’t have him deliver drugs. He took Reg out to lunch, had him meet people and talk to them. Reg was good at this he, he was a natural conversationalist. He laughed easy and was genuinely interested in what others had to say. He would talk to the receptionist at a hotel while fat Daddy snuck in a couple of prostitutes or he would talk to the driver of a truck while Fat Daddy off loaded a shipment of drugs. Reg didn’t know what Fat Daddy did at first he just knew that he got to talk to people then Fat Daddy would take him out to eat or buy him some new clothes. Now Reg was loyal to Fat Daddy. He had given Reg a life, made him important when others had cast him off. Reg was Fat Daddy’s right hand man and no one crossed fat Daddy. Reg made sure of that.
Paul and Reg greeted each other like brothers and Reg embraced Claire warmly. Claire liked Reg, even if he always made her a little sad.
Jun
22
“Fat Daddy.” Paul addressed a corpulent immaculately dressed man.
Fat Daddy dealt drugs, had since he was twelve and he found that the older kids on the block were willing to give him ten bucks a tab for the pain killers he found his mothers medicine cabinet. After that he stole a Physician’s Desk Reference from the Library his parents used to take him to to check out Dr.Seuss, and with the PDR he was able to harvest forgotten prescription drugs from the medicine cabinets of his friends. After he had exhausted these resources he moved on to selling marijuana, ecstasy, cocaine, heroin, and meth. There wasn’t an illicit substance that hadn’t passed through the meaty hands of Fat Daddy Jones at one time or another. Now Fat Daddy was more of an executive or perhaps a middle manager with aspirations beyond his abilities, but he played the part. He arranged shipments, collected payments from his men on the street, sent muscle to straighten out accounts that were in arrears, and occasionally enforced discipline himself. Paul usually dealt with Reg when he needed to score, but Fat Daddy saw Paul’s studies in pharmacology as a potential future resource and would occasionally deal directly with him in order to cultivate a relationship. Paul in his part felt that by dealing directly with Fat daddy he was important, that he was an insider.
“Paul my man – and his beautiful girl, what’s going on.”
“Just gettin’ square.” Paul passed the folded twenties cupped in his hand to Fat Daddy as they shook hands.
“You’re alright. Listen I have some business to conduct, but why don’t you go and talk to Reg. He might have something special for you.”
“We really have to be going.” Claire voice shook.
“I told you that I wanted to see Reg and say hello.” Paul gave her a withering look. “Thanks man.”
“Don’t mention it. And you take care of that little girl or I might eat her up.”
Paul and Fat Daddy laughed and exchanged another jovial handshake, but Claire didn’t see any humor in Fat Daddy’s comment. He said it in a benevolent voice and with a smile on his face, but she could see the sin in his eyes. The gluttony that had a hold on Fat Daddy’s soul was not limited to epicurean delights. And pleasure twisted by gluttony leads to perverse evil permutations of desire that resemble the original pleasure less the more the appetite is fed. Fat Daddy fed his appetite’s. The power and the drug’s gave him the avenue and no morality, no conscience existed to hold him back. Claire saw this in his eye’s, saw it everytime he looked at her. Every time his pink tongue flicked across his livid lips and he winked that glassy protuberant eye. She looked back and he was watching her go. He smiled and lifted his eyebrows.
Jun
21
“Jesus, can you stop dragging your feet.”
“Where are we going The Cave is this way.” Claire had turned to walk toward the club district.
“Nothing’s happening at The Cave yet. The band doesn’t go on until eleven. It’s only Nine.”
“They’re playing music. I can dance. And Sasha’s going to be there.”
“I just want to go to Fat Daddy’s for a few minutes.”
Claire made a sound of exasperation and stopped walking her hands firmly on her hips.
“What the hell. We smoked a bowl before we left the apartment. And I hate Fat Daddy’s. I hate Fat Daddy. He creeps me out.”
“Come on. Reginald’s going to be there and besides I owe Fat Daddy.”
“I told Sasha I’d meet her. I haven’t seen her since term ended. You go to Fat Daddy’s and I’ll meet you at The Cave.”
Paul looked at Claire and looked down the street and saw two guys walking down the street glance her way, and for the first time since they left the apartment he realized how beautiful she was.
“Hell no.” The look on Claire’s face stopped him from continuing. He stopped and reconsidered for a moment. “Listen it won’t take long. I’ll just drop in and say hello to Reg and pay Fat Daddy for that bag that I bought from him. The bag we’re both smoking.”
“Fine, but I want to get to The Cave before the band goes on.”
The rest of the way to Fat Daddy’s was uncomfortable, though the night was fine. There was a gentle breeze blowing that kept the sweet humid air from becoming oppressive and carried with it a hint of the ocean, marsh, and river. They reached Fat Daddy’s shortly and descended the five steps that led off the sidewalk and down to the basement apartment. They were greeted at the open front door by four unwashed and unkempt thugs smoking and shooting the shit. Paul greeted them all by name and shook hands as they eyed Claire hungrily. Inside the apartment the air was thick and hot. Smoke from drugs and cigarettes hung in the air. The music was loud and there were people lying on a couple of junkyard couches. A faceless partially clothed couple was progressing toward intercourse in a duct taped and lousy recliner. Claire kicked a beer can out of her way and put her arm around Paul’s waist.
Jun
17
“How was your first night at work?”
“It sucked. I got soaked to the bone; I cleaned the dirty, filthy grease trap, which nearly made me puke it smelled so bad, and my co-workers found it oh so funny.” Paul had slept until noon after drinking late at the Cup. “But it means that I don’t have to go home this summer and spend time with my parents and all the snobbish, fake little rich kids that pretend they’re my friends – You wanna get high? I got a new bag from Fat Daddy. It’s hydroponic, supposed to be really good.”
“I want to go out tonight. Let’s go dancing.”
“Alright. Hand me the pipe, we can go to the Cave there’s a band playing that’s supposed to be good.”
Claire handed Paul the pipe off of the coffee table, and she watched as Paul went through the daily – morning, noon, and nightly – ritual of breaking bud from stem, rolling the bud between his fingers and letting the loose pieces fall into the bowl of the pipe where he packed it firmly so that it would burn without going out. When he was finished he pressed the pipe to his lips, put the flame of the lighter to the bowl and inhaled. The hot pungent smoke filled his lungs and burnt his lips leaving a sticky acrid coating of resin. He held his breath until his body rebelled and forced the smoke from his mouth and nose in fit of coughing that lasted after he had passed the pipe to Claire and she had repeated his actions. They did this until the pipe was cashed. They laid back on the couch and laughed.
They spent the rest of their day this way, drifting on a warm hazy breeze listening to music and talking idly and enjoying the freedom that is afforded to college students in the summer. They ate frozen burritos heated in the microwave, and drenched in salsa to soften the chewy shells. They drank cheap berry flavored wine, and made love in the warm sunlight that flooded the studio apartment. The fading light roused them from their stupor and they headed out for the night. Claire had changed into a poodle skirt she had rescued from a consignment store and meticulously cleaned and mended. Her hair was up and she looked beautiful. As they walked down the street under the arching oaks, heads turned and the eyes of everyone she passed followed her. Paul was oblivious to the attention that she was attracting. He was anxious and walking fast. Every block or so he would stop, grab Claire’s arm and impatiently pull her forward.
Jun
17
I was in PA for a few days, but I’m back and will be posting again.
Jun
10
Tim trained Paul in the dish room while Francisco ran the kitchen. Tim was a fair teacher, his knowledge and exacting nature were hindered by his natural assumption that everyone was capable of learning as quickly as he did. Paul’s ability to learn was superior to Tim’s and soon the two of them joined Francisco in the kitchen and took advantage of an after diner lull to sit on the freezers and bullshit with each other and any passing wait staff.
“So is this what it’s like every night,” asked Paul.
“Sundays are usually pretty slow, but not like this. All the side work and prep are done and everything’s clean. That happens when my man here works before you.” Francisco slapped Jeff on the back.
“I didn’t feel like being social today so I just stayed back here and got things done.”
“I saw you were drinking hard last night at the party. My guess is today was a Blues recovery day.”
“It was.”
“What party? I hit two or three last night?”
“Tim, here, and his roommate Jimmy throw a little party at the end of every quarter to blow off steam and ready our minds for the next quarter.”
“Your roommate’s name is Jimmy.”
“Yeah.”
“Timmy and Jimmy.”
“Yeah Tim here was pretty lit up last night and seemed to be having a pretty good time with Kim.”
“Kim who? What were we doing.”
“Kim Matthews. I think you were playing hide and seek or freeze tag, I don’t know, but there was a lot of giggling and running and touching.”
“Shit.”
“You don’t remember anything?”
“That’s the least of the things I don’t remember, though it seems familiar now.”
The rest of the evening passed quickly. The addition of a new person and his initiation into the family at The Cup made for an interesting evening there were soakings with the dish hose and the soaping of a floor, and the subsequent clean up of a dozen broken glasses after the prank claimed Julie, the head waitress, as its unintended victim. At midnight the restaurant closed and Tim’s shift ended.
“Tim what kind of beer do you want? It’s George’s night to buy.” Julie was in better spirits after closing her till and counting her money.
“None for me tonight. I’m going to go home and study, try to get a jump on my reading for this quarter.”
“Why the hell are you taking classes over the summer? This is time to relax.”
“Double major. History and philosophy. This quarter I start my major philosophy classes.”
“Two Majors. You think you could have picked one that would get you a job.”
“I’ll get a Job. Don’t worry.”
“Tim I need to see a beer in your hand.” Francisco walked out of the kitchen wet, and stinking of cleaners and food.
“Not tonight – Paul you can have my beer.”
“Thanks I need it after cleaning the grease trap.”
“You made him clean the grease trap?”
“Yeah, and now you need to have a beer with us. He’s been through the initiation and now we get to the good part, the after party.” Francisco laughed.
“I woke up this afternoon naked in my front yard. I’m taking the night off.”
“You what?”
Jun
9
They spent the rest of the afternoon feasting on eggs, pancakes, and coffee at The China Cup Café. The China Cup had opened with aspiriations to be a European style bistro and bakery, but the only things left of those aspirations were the stale pretension of its name and some old dingy lace doilies that were stored behind the dishrags. The China Cup failed to achieve a refined atmosphere, but it found success serving breakfast to people who were not awake at breakfast time. Tim started work at The China Cup his freshman year as a waiter and soon found that he was not well suited for the job. He did, however, find a home in the dishroom and later in the kitchen. The China Cup had become home to him, a place to eat after a long night of drinking, and a place to drink after a long night at work. He also managed to do some studying at the bar when he needed coffee and when the silence at home was more distracting than the noise of the restaurant.
The sun streamed through the windows of the restaurant, the angular rays visible in the dusty, smoky atmosphere, but the dark polished wood work and the dark tile floors absorbed the light before it could penetrate the depths of the restaurant. This baroque scene, the dramatic effect on such a mundane scene put Tim in an introspective mood that lasted after the sun had advanced past the window, and left the restaurant in a melancholy shade, the world outside still shining happily beyond the window. Sunday afternoons were slow and Jeff was alone between the kitchen and the dishroom. Robert Johnson wailed an incantation from a small tinny radio and drove the wait staff out of the kitchen in search of more hospitable company, and left Tim to work lazily and happily, his thoughts seldom interrupted. The dinner shift brought with it more business and an end to Tim’s solitary existence, in addition to the second person that was normally scheduled on a Sunday evening there was a new guy to train, Paul. Paul had also just finished his sophomore year, and was working toward a career in pharmacology, whether as a pharmacist or researcher he had not yet decided. What he had decided was that going home to his parent’s house for the summer wasn’t an option. So when he was forced to leave the dorms at the end of the quarter he got an apartment. His parents agreed to pay the rent, but all living expenses were his responsibility. So he got a job.
Jun
8
“Tim. Tim. Get up.”
Tim opened his eyes and immediately shut them against the blinding light of the sun. He shielded his face and tried to say “Go away”, but his words were unintelligible. His teeth were fuzzy and his saliva was the consistency of mucus, his head was throbbing and some asshole was shaking him.
“Tim you have to get up man. Come on,” Jimmy was pulling on Tim’s arm. “Andrew stop laughing this isn’t funny.”
“Oh come on, if this isn’t funny then what the hell is.”
“Go get a blanket or some pants or something.”
Andrew roared with laughter as he left to follow Jimmy’s instructions.
“Tim get up. Now”
“What the hell is going on. Just let me sleep.”
“Tim. You are naked in the front yard and its noon. The police are here. You have to get up and put on some clothes.”
“Shit.”
Tim was awake and on his feet immediately. Indignation turned to embarrassment and he passed Andrew moving as quickly as he could while still maintaining, what he believed, was left of his dignity. He was quickly relieved of his illusion when Andrew handed him a blanket and burst into another round of laughter. Tim made his way quickly inside to the kitchen and washed away the foulness in his mouth with a glass of water. He sat and tried to piece together what the hell had happened to him. He was definitely clothed when he had left Candice. Then he lay down in the grass. That was it; what the hell happened.
Tim sat like that for fifteen minutes staring blankly at the table filling the void in his memory with all sorts of fantastic things that might have happened. Andrew sat down across from him grinning from ear to ear. Tim looked up at him and couldn’t help but to laugh.
“What the hell happened to you last night that you ended up naked in the front yard?”
“I don’t know. I was going to ask you. The last thing I remember is going outside and lying down on the grass because I was hot.”
“I guess it was a hell of a night all around. I woke up with Suzy this morning.”
“Suzy Mitchell? I hope you remember more about your night than I do mine. Did you see me after we did that last shot?”
“Nope. You left with Candice and I went outside and hooked up with Suzy. We spent the night over at her house. I came over to see if you guys wanted to grab some lunch, I walked up, you were naked and Jimmy was trying to wake you up. Maybe Jimmy can shed some light on the situation.” Andrew motioned behind Tim with his eyes.
“Well, our neighbors aren’t going to press any charges and the police agreed not to arrest you.”
“Good.” Tim relaxed a little. “But what the hell happened last night. I did that last shot, I danced with Candice, and then I went outside to cool off.”
“You yelled at Rhonda that you wanted her to come outside and call you Poppy T.”
“Shit.”
“I’m sorry I missed that.” Andrew wiped the tears of laughter form his eyes.
“You almost broke Ronald’s nose with the door on your way out.”
“Is he alright.”
“Yeah, it was an accident. You just threw the door open on your way out. He walked around holding a cold beer to his nose the rest of the night.”
“I bet he looks like a baboon this morning with a big purple nose and his ass up on his back.” Andrew choked the words out between fits of laughter.
Jimmy and Tim laughed not at Andrew’s ribaldry, but because of his laughter.
“That doesn’t explain why the hell I was naked in the front yard.”
“That, my friend, I don’t know.”
“And where are my clothes?”
“I don’t now that either.”
“My boots.”
“Nope.”
“Damn.”
“Get dressed and let’s grab some lunch. I’m buying. I feel generous this afternoon.” Andrew had stopped laughing, but his spirit had not changed.
“Are you going to see her again, or better yet is she going to see you.” Tim stood up and checked his blanket for coverage.
“Tonight.”
“Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. See who? What’d I miss?”
Jun
7
“Hey what’s goin’ on?”
“Shhh. Freddie’s in there with Rhonda.” Tim moved to the side to make room for Jimmy to listen at the door.
“With Rhonda?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m not Freddie. Call me Papa.”
“What..? I don’t…”
“Come on baby. Call me Papa.”
“But…”
“I said call me Papa.”
“Mmmm. Papa.”
“We don’t need to listen to that. Let’s go. There are drinks down stairs.” Jimmy pulled Tim and Andrew away from the door. “Tim. Let’s go.”
“Don’t call me Tim, call me Poppy T.”
The three friends stumbled to the kitchen. The table and counters were covered in bottles and smoke hung thick in the air. People, in varying degrees of sobriety, gathered together into groups and discussed politics, religion, sex, all with the confidence that comes from consuming too much alcohol. There was a couple in the corner awkwardly trying to come to the same point, verbally dancing when sure action was what was needed, a hand on a knee, a toss of the hair, then the diverting of the eyes, signals that were clear in retrospect yet so ambiguous in the present. There was a group of young men discussing religion in a friendly tone, one cocksure atheist and three faithful Christians. There was a mixed group of five arguing politics, not an unslurred word among them, and none of them with a coherent position, but there was much preaching and hammering of fists on the table. There were many others involved in conversations while watching the room, the people, for something of significance.
Tim and his merry band, and merry they were after having consumed no small amount of alcohol, made their way through the crowd and the distractions to find themselves at a length of counter that served as the bar and was crammed with bottles of alcohol and mixer being slowly drained until empty. Jimmy poured the drinks and they all laughed at the inane things the other drunks were doing around the room, believing themselves to be the only ones behaving appropriately. They slammed their shots and Jimmy poured another. Things began to blur and Tim smiled. What a fantastic beginning to what was going to be a great summer. Tim saw his friend Candice walk into the room and slammed another shot. Without any hesitation he bounded over the couch in front of Candice, picked her up and spun her around. Candice gave him a kiss and they walked together back to the bar. Jimmy poured another round. They slammed each other’s shot and Candice dragged Tim into the living room to dance.
The music was loud and people were dancing slow regardless of the tempo of the music. The room was hot. Tim took off his shirt and tied it around his waist. They danced fast causing the others to retreat to the edges of the room where they were safe from flying hands and feet. The room was unstable and Tim felt the result in his throat. Others were joining in the dance now. People were bouncing up and down. Tim made his way through the sweaty bodies to Candice.
“I’m going outside. It’s too hot in here.”
“I’m going to dance I’ll be out when this song is over.”
Tim saw the others, the guys anyway, watching Candice, smiling. God it was hot. Tim walked out of the front door and the cool night air wrapped around him chilling the sweat on his skin. He lay down. The grass was soft and cool. The stars and sky spun around over his head. Tim shut his eyes and felt himself softly spinning around.
Jun
7
I started writing Happy Monday/Black Friday shortly after I finished the Light of Day, and the story was writnig itself. Words were flying from the tip of my pencil, then they stopped. I won’t go into details, but suffice to say that my routine got interrupted. I’m a creature of habit, and laziness is my natural state. Well, maybe not laziness, because I’m always doing something. But chaos, entropy, and a general lack of focus rule my life, and drive my wife crazy. Once I revert back to my natural state it’s difficult to reestablish a routine. So, in an effort to force myself to write every day I am instituting some drastic measures. I will be posting what I write every day. Keep in mind that this will be raw unedited, unrevised, un-proofread prose. It will contain spelling, grammatical, and stylistic errors. In short it will probably suck, but that’s part of the process. Also, I don’t always write in order. If I ’m having trouble with a chapter I’m prone to skip forward to the next chapter, I currently have an unfinished chapter two and three. Sometimes I skip entire chapters. If, after reading these caveats you’re still interested, check SnookieLane daily and keep me honest. I have the better part of three chapter so for several days I will be posting old material. I will only be leaving the posts up for a week. If I miss a day let me hear about it.
Jun
6
I have reduced the price of the Kindle version of the Light of Day to $2.99. So any of you with a new Ipad, go download the Kindle app, and buy The Light of Day. It’s a steal.
