Bulletin Board of Bad Behavior

I went to the Bohemian Beer Garden with one of my editors. He likes to drink- he likes to drink in beer gardens, and had never been to Astoria. It was the ideal place to spend one of the last evenings of September. As we approached I whispered to him, “The trick is to casually find a table with good looking girls at it.â€￾ But when we walked into the beer garden the place was mostly deserted. It was a weeknight, and also early. We sat at a table by ourselves.

We ate sausage and sauerkraut and drank pints and pints of fine golden Pilsner. People slowly shuffled in. The editor and I talked about Burnt Roof of Mouth, my upcoming novel, which I'm self-editing by posting on NYC Scribbles in serial form. Posting Burnt Roof onto my website helps fight the over familiarity I have with the work.

But I had questions for my editor. I wished there were no dumb questions. I wasn't sure if champagne was capitalized or not. My Strunk and White Elements of Style book didn't help much. See, when I went into the text, and clicked on 'Edit', and then, 'Search' for champagne it appears 77 times. I thought a novel that has the word champagne in it 77 times can't be all that bad. But I had better get it right. My editor, of course, is a language wiz. He said, “If it is the region, it is capitalized, dumb ass, and if it is just the drink, than it isn't.â€￾

My editor and I decided to have one for the road, even though we were way over our limit. Sometimes ya just gotta love the N train. As we drained the last pint a group of girls sat down. And even though the place had filled up, there were many other places to sit, there were even whole tables free. Were they thinking what I was thinking? Did we share the same strategy? Then I saw her. She was a vision. She was funny, she told stories of going to Paris for two weeks and being so drunk she doesn't remember it. She shared her jacket when I got cold. Of course we stayed. I fell in love with her right there and than. It reminded me a of cartoon I had read in the New Yorker- a dumpy guy is sitting at the bar next to a blonde haired, blue eyed babe and as he slumps over his beer says- “If I'd known I was going to meet you I would have lost weight and made more money.â€￾

Her name is Brynn and she lives in Brooklyn. Her name would never be plain or ugly, would it? All the beautiful women in New York have J.D. Salinger names. Cheers to literature. And here's to hoping I see her again.

I've just gotten word that Martino will be in New York from Saturday October 14 to Friday October 20.

I feel that pain. Lucky for me I have the two Technics that have lasted me through the good times and bad. It is a sick feeling when the music playing machines break down.

Sucking Satan's cock.

Bike riding. Tennis. Beers outside. Listening to Beat Happening's Indian Summer. Listening to Luna's Indian Summer. Listening to Spectrum's Indian Summer. Wishing Johnny Cash covered Indian Summer when working with Rick Rubin. Kisses. Late nights and it is still warm. Soccer. European Champions Leag...

25!

The next morning I feel refreshed from the quiet night in. When I'm run down from a hangover I feel self-pitying, like it's all a waste. Then when I rejuvenate I'm ready for anything. Mike is getting up beside me. Most of the time when I wake up Mike is already gone. He must have been exhausted as well.

“What are you doing tonight?â€￾ Mike asks. “You work?â€￾

“No. I got a few days off. I told Ricardo I needed to study for finals.â€￾

“You seeing Janis?â€￾

“Probably. I don't know.â€￾

“You want to go into the city?â€￾

“The city, really?â€￾ Mike has been staying away from the city lately.

“Yeah.â€￾

“Why?â€￾

“A party at Next. I'm going to start modeling again. The agency is having the Christmas party. I should go and make an appearance.â€￾

“Really?â€￾ I know how much he hates modeling.

“Yes. We need the fucking money. That love therapist was bullshit. I have to get out of here. I figure a few jobs and we can take off.â€￾

“Really?â€￾

I thought it would be a year before we went. Suddenly there is much to consider. I worry about grandpa left alone, and I just met Janis. I'm used to thinking solely about me. For the last two years all that kept me going was the anticipation that I would escape this life and move into another one. It was all about the trip. Now, I'm not positive I want to leave. I would like to stay with Janis.

Later in the day I call Janis.

“Janis?â€￾ I say into the phone.

“Yeah?â€￾

“Were we going to get together tonight?â€￾

“I don't know.â€￾

“I'm going to go into the city with Mike.â€￾

“Okay.â€￾

She doesn't tell me not to go. I don't ask her if she cares.

26!

Mike and I take a car into New York. Mike has been up to his old tricks again because neither of us actually owns a car. At the agency party most of the faces are different but of course the girls all look the same.

As soon as we enter Mike is swished away. There is an open bar. I start drinking and stand in a corner. After a few doubles I walk around. The girls are gorgeous. But it is cookie cutter physical perfection. I can't tell anyone apart. I think about Janis and her lovely curves.

There is an older woman, looking very upset, standing alone with a bottle of Vodka in her hand. She is tall and weathered and out of place. I walk up to her because she looks like the most interesting person here.

“Hi.â€￾ I say.

“I'm too old for you boy,â€￾ She says in a thick Eastern European accent.

“So you don't want me than?â€￾

“No.â€￾

“It was a joke.â€￾ I say.

“My daughter is the hot little thing. Go talk to her.â€￾

I look over to where she is pointing. I see her daughter surrounded by press agents and a few paparazzi. To her credit the model looks more bored than bewildered. This hot new thing for the moment is not caught up in the glamour being offered her. It is always brief. Better to take the money when you can.

“Where are you from?â€￾ I ask.

“Poland.â€￾

“Poland?â€￾

“Yes, Swinoujscie it's a small island in the north, in the Baltic Sea near Germany. The part that used to be the East.â€￾

“Oh, I've never been there.â€￾

“Of course you haven't. You look like a boy who hasn't been anywhere.â€￾

Her words sting me. I want to tell her about my plans to travel, how I am going to see the world, spend time in Europe with Mike. I might even get to this fucking Swinoujscie place. The thing about plans is, they are waiting in the future. You can never stick up for yourself with only plans to do something, plans to travel. Plans are like dreams. They are often not realized. It's not until you actually pull it off that you can reap the respect of the accomplishment. If I had been to that fucking island than I could get her.

I want to rebuff her statement. Prove that it is only a matter of time until I too start having experiences worth remembering. In my anger I get an insight. I have seen her before. Though it's impossible that I have. The woman looks at me. She takes a swig of vodka. Then it hits me. She is Janis's mom. Having never been anywhere I have a limited scope of people. But I see that this Polish mom of a model is the spitting image of Janis's mom. Only a few cultural differences separate them. Drinking vodka is not one of them.

“What? Did I hurt your feelings?â€￾

“No, you just remind me of someone I met recently.â€￾

“Is this a good thing?â€￾

“I wanted it to be.â€￾

“It's a girl then. All problems for boys your age start and end with girls.â€￾

I wish that were true. I don't feel like explaining myself but I do anyway.

“It's a woman. The mother of this girl I like. That is true. The rest of it I don't know. I mean I'm mad, and I don't want to hold a grudge but I do. And then I think her actions might be from the way she was brought up.â€￾

“So the woman is a bad woman?â€￾

“I don't know. She isn't the perfect mom.â€￾

“What is a perfect mom? We do our best.â€￾

“I know, and I know life is hard. I just get upset with adults who let life beat them before it's over.â€￾

“How do you know she has given up, this mother?â€￾

“She sits home and drinks all day.â€￾

“That is a bad thing? She is at the home, but at least she doesn't hurt anyone. There is worse than a solitary drinker. She isn't violent is she?â€￾

“No, I don't think so. But she doesn't participate.â€￾

“What is this participate? You Americans think life is like that fat black woman's television show. Life is not scripted.â€￾

“You mean Oprah?â€￾

“Yes, Oprah.â€￾

The mom walks away.

The doubles have caught up to me. I've lost all inhibition. I can approach anyone I want with the buzz of the majestic. A group of models stand erect and preening to my left. I overhear their conversation. They are talking pop culture politics.

“Oh my god! Yesterday I met Sean Lennon. He was so cute,â€￾ says a redhead.

“Did you tell him you didn't like Asians?â€￾ asks the tall-waif blonde. All the girls are tall-waifish, of course. From her accent I hear she is the polish girl. She sounds like her mom.

“What?â€￾ she asks horrified, looking around to make sure no Asians heard, either embarrassed by the conversation or confirming that she really doesn't like them.

“Well, when you got back from Japan you told me you hated the Japanese, you said they were all little and spoiled. That you were never going back to Asia.â€￾

“Sean isn't Asian. He's British; his father was in the Rolling Stones. So there.â€￾ Says the Redhead defiantly.

“Yes, he is, his mother is Ono Yoko. His father was John Lennon, The Beatles.â€￾

“Really?â€￾ Redhead asks.

“Yes?â€￾

“Yes, but he is famous so it doesn't count.â€￾

The Polish tall-waif agrees with a mock smile and turns to me.

“You.â€￾

“Yes?â€￾ I ask.

“Why were you talking to my mama?â€￾

“We were just talking.â€￾

“Whispering sweet seductions?â€￾

“No.â€￾

“What are you doing here? You don't look like a model to me.â€￾

“I'm not a model, I deliver pizza.â€￾

“What is that?â€￾

“People call up to have a pizza delivered to them and I drive it to them and then they tip me a hundred bucks every time.â€￾

“Really? You are not Mexican are you?â€￾

“No.â€￾

“I thought only Mexicans delivered pizzas.â€￾

“No. I'm American.â€￾

“A non-model boy. I will talk to you. Let's go.â€￾

“Go?â€￾

“Yes, I say go, we go.â€￾

“Where?â€￾

She grabs my arm, leads me across the banquet to where the drinks are on display, grabs a bottle of Champagne and leads me out of the crowded room. I'm escorted down the hallway and through a corridor. There is an open window. The model climbs out.

The rickety fire escape is rusted iron. It isn't too sturdy. When I step on the landing it gives under my weight. Icicles hang from ladder rungs. My hands are bitter cold. The rest of my body is warm, flushed with the alcohol. I look over the city, at the lights and steam that spin and float everywhere.

New York is glowing in the cold night with all the glory and significance of the most important city in the world. This is where it all happens. This is it, the city of dreams. It's where a pizza guy can sit on a fire escape with some international model and drink champagne. I'm aware of the moment. I might not have traveled yet, but at least I have New York City. It's not like I'm stuck in bum fuck North Dakota or one of those barren states that doesn't even have professional sports teams.

The model pops the cork and the Champagne spills down her wrist. She puts her perfectly pouted lips to the top of the bottle and sips the sparkling bubbles. Then she hands me the bottle and lights a cigarette.

“So,â€￾ she says, “My mom is too old for you. Besides, she is taken. My father is still alive.â€￾

“I was not trying to pick up your mom.â€￾

“What were you talking about?â€￾

“I was talking about a girl and her mother. Your mother reminded me of this girl's mother.â€￾

“Do I remind you of the mother's daughter?â€￾

“Uh, no.â€￾ I didn't think of that before.

“Is this girl your girlfriend? The number one in your life?â€￾

“No, well, maybe she is number one in my life but she isn't my girlfriend.â€￾

“That is sad.â€￾

“Yeah, maybe.â€￾ I take another sip. “We just met really.â€￾

“Time is nothing.â€￾

“I always thought time was everything. I even have a theory.â€￾

“You are wrong.â€￾ She puts up her hand in the stop motion. She won't let me explain.

“But.â€￾

“Shhh. So pizza boy, what are you doing here with your heartbreak?â€￾

It's a good question as far as questions go. She means it in the sort of rhetorical, 'how did I crash this party way', instead of the 'what am I doing here, what is she doing here, what are we all doing here, philosophical Greek way'.

“I came with my friend Mike.â€￾

“I know Mike, he is funny and strange. Not around very much.â€￾

“He doesn't really model anymore. I guess he has been lately, coming into the city. I didn't know about it.â€￾

“Why should you know about it?â€￾

“We live together.â€￾

“I'm sure he comes and goes as he pleases. You are not his lion tamer.â€￾

“Um, we live in the same room so I usually know where he goes.â€￾

“You sleep together? Are you lovers?â€￾

“No. He sleeps on the floor.â€￾

She looks at me like she doesn't believe it.

“Lots of the boys are gay,â€￾ she says in an understanding compassionate tone.

“Mike is not gay. I'm not gay.â€￾

She goes in for a quick kiss. She presses her lips firmly against mine. I'm taken aback by her rash action. Then she opens her mouth and I do the same. Despite her exquisite lips she isn't a very good kisser. She bares her teeth and fumbles with too much tongue. She pulls back.

“Okay, you are not gay,â€￾ she says, swigging more of the champagne.

“Thanks.â€￾ I say. I wipe her saliva off my mouth.

“What is your name?â€￾

“Trevor.â€￾

“My name is Bi, not spelled B-Y-E, just B-I. You want to hear a Paris story, Trevor?â€￾

“Sure. I'd like to go to Paris someday.â€￾

“My mother was also a model. In the 80's she was allowed to leave the Iron Curtain to model in Paris. She was followed around the city by secret agents and spies from Russia. My mother had to occasionally sleep with these men so she would be allowed to stay in Paris. Ironically when one of the bastards got her pregnant she was forced to go back to Poland. I never met my father.â€￾

“You said your father is still alive.â€￾

“He is.â€￾

But?â€￾

“I lied.â€￾

“So you were conceived in Paris, that's cool.â€￾ I wonder if that is the truth.

“Is that the right way to use ironic? I don't want to be stupid like that Alanis Morrissette song.â€￾

“I think that is right.â€￾

“Good. I hate stupid people. You aren't stupid are you?â€￾

“Sometimes.â€￾

“Sometimes is good. To think you are stupid and question what you do makes you not stupid. Its people who think they are clever that are stupid. Let's leave here.â€￾

Bi doesn't make much sense. She has the strong arrogance of a young lady caught up in her own beliefs because no one has ever put her in her place. No one has ever told her she is wrong. That's what beauty and celebrity gets you.

I stand up to go back to the party but Bi starts to climb down the fire escape.

“What are you doing?â€￾ I ask.

“I want to leave,â€￾ she says still descending. “I want to be out on the streets away from these people.â€￾

“What about your mom?â€￾

“She is able to take care of herself. She can drink her weight in vodka.â€￾

I believe it. I start to climb down the ladder. When we get to the first floor the ladder ends fifteen feet from the sidewalk. I am thinking we will have to climb back up when Bi swings herself from the bottom rung and launches forward into an open dumpster.

“Come on, jump!â€￾ she yells. “It's clean garbage.â€￾

I swing myself for momentum and let go. I land right on top of Bi. I hope she isn't crushed.

“Are you okay?â€￾ I ask.

“Yeah, I'm fine. You could have landed over there.â€￾ She points to the corner of the Dumpster where rotting food is seeping through a bag.

I help Bi up and she climbs over the edge. I follow her.

“I want to get out of Soho.â€￾

“Where do you want to go?â€￾

“I want to go uptown.â€￾

“We can get a cab a block over there.â€￾

“I want to walk.â€￾

“It's a long way.â€￾

“So?â€￾

27!

We walk two blocks.

“I want to take a cab,â€￾ Bi says.

“Ok.â€￾ I lift my arm and hail a cab.

“Uptown, West Side.â€￾ Says Bi.

We get out at Central Park West and West 72nd. I pay.

“That is where John Lennon was killed,â€￾ Bi informs me.

“I know.â€￾

We walk back toward Broadway to a bar called the Broadway Tavern. We enter into the smoky dankness. Not even the smoking ban can air this place out. It's a run down joint without a hint of white trash irony. It should be hard to find a bar like this in Manhattan, but here it is settled into one of the most famous streets in the world. I'm sure it's the first time a model has ever been in here.

This isn't the Lower East Side where the hip drink cans of PBR even though they have the rent. Here, what you see is what you get. A few barflies sip bottles of Budweiser.

“What do you want?â€￾ I ask.

“Champagne,â€￾ says Bi.

We sit at the bar. There is plenty of room. The bartender leans our way.

“Yeah?â€￾

“Do you have champagne?â€￾

“We got Miller High Life, the champagne of beers.â€￾

I look at Bi. I don't want to push the issue with this guy.

“That sounds good,â€￾ says Bi. “It must be a very good beer.â€￾

“No, it's crap,â€￾ I whisper in her ear.

“How can they call it the champagne of beers if it is crap? I bet it is from Belgiumâ€￾

“No, it's from Milwaukee.â€￾

“Milwaukee? Where is that? Is it a Bavarian city?â€￾

“No, Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Above Chicago.â€￾

“I know Chicago. It's cold there like in Poland. They don't even make champagne in The States. How can they make the best beer?â€￾

“Let's have vodka.â€￾

“Okay.â€￾

“We will have vodka,â€￾ I tell the bartender.

“Straight vodka. No juice, no ice,â€￾ Bi states. “I can drink my weight in vodka.â€￾

The bartender doesn't say a word. He brings over two glasses and a quart of vodka in a plastic bottle. He pours the vodka into the glasses.

“What kind of vodka comes in a big plastic bottle?â€￾ asks Bi.

“I don't know, it's the low end, it's not a brand name.â€￾

“Yes. This is bohemian. I love itâ€￾

Bi is slumming it after all, or is too drunk to know better. She likes the atmosphere. I don't know if it's bohemian. It's like a lot of the bars we go to in Jersey when we aren't at the Blue Rose, where we get funny looks for asking for imported beer. Why drink PBR if you don't have to.

We drink the vodka. When the drinks are finished we order two more. Bi wants to play the jukebox. It's an old-fashioned jukebox with records that actually skip as they play and buttons that stick with years of spilled alcohol and drunken serenades. The selections are country songs that predate the crap that made Garth Brooks a millionaire. These tunes are from the days when the good old boys had soul. I pick Johnny Cash and Hank Williams Sr. Bi chooses the blues with three Blind Willie Johnson selections.

An old lady stumbles into the bar. I think she is having trouble walking because she is old. Until she shouts, “Gimme a gin and fucking tonic.â€￾ She is stumbling because she is wasted. She sits down at the bar next to Bi. The bartender makes her drink using gin from another huge plastic bottle. The woman takes a sip of her drink and then throws it against the wall. She starts swearing at the bartender. He grabs her and escorts her out.

“Some people just shouldn't drink,â€￾ says one of the barflies.

Bi and I drink the vodka and talk. Five minutes later the old lady comes back into the bar.

“Gimme a gin and fucking tonic,â€￾ she shouts and then suddenly passes out on the floor. The bartender leaves the old lady on the floor. I turn back to Bi.

There are always New York stories, aren't there?â€￾ I say.

“Have you seen the new Interview?â€￾ she asks.

“No.â€￾

“I'm on the cover.â€￾

“That must be nice for you.â€￾

“It was started by Andy Warhol.â€￾

“I know.â€￾

“Do you like Andy Warhol?â€￾

“Yes, I like the stuff he did with the Velvet Underground.â€￾

“All white boys your age like the Velvet Underground.â€￾

I'm about to protest when suddenly Bi falls off her stool and passes out in a heap on the grimy floor only a foot away from the old drunk woman. Bi never slurred her words even though she must have been wasted. I look down at one of the most beautiful women in the world, a girl who is on the cover of Interview, lying next to the geriatric alcoholic no one cares about. Two women on the opposite ends of the human scale, still at the moment closer together, literally, than anyone would ever think. Unlike her mom, I guess Bi can't drink her weight in vodka.

I cup Bi's radiant head in my arms and place the back of my hand on her right cheek.

“Bi? Are you okay?â€￾

She remains slumped.

I tap the old lady on her shoulder.

“You okay ma'am?â€￾

No response. I turn back to Bi.

“Bi, hey baby, wake up,â€￾ I say gently.

“Try giving the little bitch a slap.â€￾

I look up. One of the barflies has come over to give me his advice. From the look of him it's his last two cents.

“I'm sure she will be okay.â€￾

I pay the tab and pick Bi up. Of course she is easy to move around. She can't weigh an ounce over a hundred. I support her lithe form against my sturdier frame. We wobble out of the bar.

Outside the air is crisp and cold. Smoke exhaust and smog swirl together in a late night slow dance. I hope the cold temperature will wake Bi up.

“Bi, wake up. Are you okay? Hey Bi?â€￾

“Hmm?â€￾ She mutters, but her eyes don't open.

I try to hail a taxicab. No one stops. Then I put my hand down. I don't have money left for a cab. At least not enough to go all the way back downtown. I check Bi's coat pockets for cash, but she only has cigarettes and three credit cards.

Two doors down from the bar is an open video/DVD store. I rest Bi against the building and enter. A robust woman with a mound of black curly hair is smacking her chewing gum, talking to a thin, painfully pale employee. The clerk looks like a chemotherapy patient with emaciated frame and translucent skin. He needs to stop the smack and take some vitamin C. I think about my situation. We all need to change our habits.

“I want an Audrey Hepburn-y black and white, classic-y, type of movie, only in color and maybe with Julia Roberts,â€￾ says the woman with the massive black curls.

“We have Sabrina, that one with Harrison Ford and Julia Ormond,â€￾ the clerk tries to help.

“What is that?â€￾

“It's a remake of Sabrina, the original had Humphry Bogart and Audery Hepurn.â€￾

“Really? When did it come out?â€￾

“Nineteen ninety-five.â€￾

“That's not modern enough. Anything else?â€￾

“Excuse me,â€￾ they both look up at me sort of startled.

“Yeah?â€￾ The clerk asks.

“Can I use your phone?â€￾

“The phone is for customers only.â€￾

“Come on man, I need to help this girl.â€￾ I point to the sidewalk where Bi's limp arm is partially visible.

“What's wrong?â€￾ The woman asks.

“She drank too much. I need to get her home.â€￾

“I'll rent Devil Wears Prada,â€￾ the woman says. “I can use the phone, right?â€￾

“Sure,â€￾ says the clerk. He shuffles behind the counter to check out the movie. Then he hands over the phone.

I usually use Netflix,â€￾ she says. “What's the number?â€￾

I dig through my wallet and find the piece of paper the number. Mike always has a different cell phone and I never memorize the numbers. I lost my cell phone and haven't replaced it.

She takes it and dials.

“Mike, is this Mike? This is Babs, I have someone who wants to talk to you.â€￾

Babs hands me the phone.

“Mike, I'm with one of those Next models. She's passed out. I need to get picked up.â€￾

I explain to Mike where I am. He is still in the city and says he will come and get me. I hang up the phone. Babs gets her movie from the clerk. We walk out of the store together. Bi is no longer slumped on the sidewalk. I look both ways down the street and don't see her.

“Thanks.â€￾ I tell Babs.

“No problem babe,â€￾ she says as she walks away.

I hurry back to the bar. A few remaining drunks look at me. I step over the old woman who is still passed out and hasn't moved an inch.

“Hey, have you seen that girl? That girl I came in with a little while ago?â€￾

“No,â€￾ says the bartender. “Last time I saw her was with you.â€￾

“Yeah, well if she comes in tell her I'll be outside on the corner waiting for a ride.â€￾

“Sure,â€￾ says the bartender.

“I'll give that skinny little bitch a ride,â€￾ says the barfly. He probably hasn't had a hard-on in years. His Budweiser gives him false bravado.

“Whatever.â€￾ I say turning around to leave.

I walk out of the Broadway Tavern. The night is cold. I keep bundled up. Mike pulls the stolen car to the curb. I get in the car with one last look around for Bi. I don't see her.

“Where's the model?â€￾ asks Mike.

“I don't know. Lost her.â€￾

“Lost her?â€￾

“Yeah.â€￾

“Good job smooth man. She was not your average girl.â€￾

“I know.â€￾

“Well, that's the end of that.â€￾ Mike says.

“End of what?â€￾

“The end of your whirlwind.â€￾

My mood sinks even lower. I don't want my whirlwind to be over. Mike peels away from the curb and we are soon on the beltway heading back home, away from the city, away from where everything is possible. We are headed where nothing ever happens. We leave the city where I was born but no longer belong.

Mike's Galaxie 500/Luna CD plays in the stereo. Dean Wareham sings, “The Twin Towers are talking to each other.â€￾

Not any more they are not I think.

28!

I wake earlier than usual. For a brief moment everything is forgotten: The Slaughter Gang, Janis, Rachael, the Next party, losing Bi. I have no recollection of who I am. I'm lost in peaceful amnesia. Then I get my bearings. Mike is in the corner, lightly snoring. And he tells me that I snore.

I decide to contact Rachael and see if her twin sister can get me a job. If she is really as loaded as Rachael says than I should be able to make some real money. Having the days off from delivering pizza I'm finding it harder and harder to go back to that life. I don't ever want to see Ricardo Jr. again.

Mike stirs from his sleep. He almost always wakes up before me.

“What's up?â€￾ He asks wiping sleet from his eye sockets.

“Nothing.â€￾

“Then why are you staring at me when I sleep? It gives me the fucking creeps, man. What are you doing up anyway?â€￾

“I was just looking to see if you were awake.â€￾

“Well, I'm awake now.â€￾

“You snore.â€￾

“Fuck off.â€￾

“Mike?â€￾

“Yeah?â€￾

“About our trip?â€￾

“Yeah?â€￾

“I know you are making money but I don't have enough.â€￾

“I'll pay for you. That's why I'm doing the Next gig.â€￾

“That's not fair. I want my own money.â€￾

“Don't worry about it,â€￾ he says smiling.

“Listen, I met this woman Rachael, you know the one I fucked up the ass, she used to by my neighbor when I was living in Manhattan, when my parents were still alive. I think she can help me get a job.â€￾

“That's a fucking coincidence. That woman you fucked up the ass used to be your neighbor in the city?â€￾

“Yeah, I know, listen, if I get some money together fast can you go right away?â€￾

“I should be able to. I could leave in a week.â€￾

We walk upstairs and Grandpa is sitting at the window. I make him some oatmeal. Mike sits with him and I can hear them talking while I prepare breakfast. Having mad the plans I get sentimental for these mornings with grandpa. And we haven't even left yet. I wish I wasn't so soft.

I hear Mike telling Grandpa how I managed to lose a top class model last night. He isn't holding anything back. I appear pretty dimwitted in his little story. Grandpa laughs at my misadventures. Mike can bullshit a good tale. He never lets the truth get in the way of a good story.

I finish the oatmeal and put it on a tray with three large glasses of orange juice. I carry the tray into the living room. Grandpa and Mike both look at me with smiles. I smile back.

Grandpa grabs his oatmeal. He takes small spoonfuls, slowly and with great deliberation, masticating delicately. When we go out naturally, it isn't too much different than the way we came in. Grandpa eats like a baby.

“What are you boys doing today?â€￾ Grandpa asks.

“I have to work. But first I'm going to talk to someone about a new job.â€￾

“Really?â€￾ Grandpa looks hurt. Maybe he thinks he won't be needed to cut out coupons anymore.

“It's not a full time job. I'll still keep the pizza job,â€￾ I say hoping that I won't have to.

“What is it?â€￾

“I don't know yet. I met this woman who used to be one of our neighbors in the city. She has a twin sister who is rich and always looking for people to do her odd jobs.â€￾

“Like cleaning her pipes?â€￾ Grandpa chuckles and then chokes on his oatmeal. His jokes are crude as usual and painfully dated from his factory working days.

“I'm sure it won't be anything as exciting as that,â€￾ says Mike encouragingly. “He will probably just do some chimney sweeping.â€￾

They both laugh. I finish my juice and take the glass into the kitchen. I wash the few dishes that are sitting in the sink, dry them and put them in the cupboards. Then I go downstairs and get dressed. I find a clean pair of black Levi jeans, a button down light blue oxford shirt and my Pumas.

29!

I walk to Rachael's house. The neighborhood is quiet. Most of the men are at work. A few kids play in their front lawns building snowmen and forts. It's a perfect winter day. The sun shines bright through clear skies. I have my scarf on and I wear an expensive pair of Lou Reed criteria Velvet Underground sunglasses to fight the glare. I got the glasses from Tommy, who I'm sure never paid for them.

When I get to Rachael's house her kids and a few children from the birthday party are storming out the front door in a huff of giddiness. They are bundled up and ready for the backyard snow. I remember how exiting it was to be off from school as a kid.

“Hiya!â€￾ says little Laura.

“Hi,â€￾ I answer.

“My aunt's inside.â€￾

“Thanks.â€￾ Her aunt, so Rachael's sister is here. Perfect timing.

I knock on the door. Rachael answers it. She looks a little run down. Watching the kids has left her haggard. She needs another weekend in the city. I wouldn't mind joining her for a long lunch.

“Trevor?â€￾ She says.

“Hi, Rachael.â€￾

Rachael looks around quick, then ushers me in.

“Rachael what's wrong?â€￾

“Oh God. I shouldn't do this.â€￾

She thinks I came over to fuck her. I'm ready to tell her I came for the job, to have her hook me up with her sister.

“Listen,â€￾ I say.

“No, you listen,â€￾ She says. “I'm not Rachael, I'm Raquel.â€￾

“What?â€￾

“I'm Rachael's twin sister. She is still in the city. Rachael couldn't bring herself back, wanted some more alone time. She is thinking of leaving Ralph.â€￾

“Oh.â€￾

“But don't tell anyone.â€￾

“Um,â€￾ I mutter. Why would anyone care if Raquel were babysitting the kids? Actually, it makes it easier on me. Now I can directly ask for a job.

“No one knows,â€￾ she says.

“What do you mean?â€￾

“I mean, that Rachael and I switch roles and no one knows we do it. We've been doing it for years.â€￾

“Years? And no one knows? You mean you switch roles and pretend that each is the other and no one can tell?â€￾

“That's right darling, we've been doing it for years and no one seems to notice. Rachael thinks that Laura might suspect, but as for our husbands they stopped noticing us years ago.â€￾

“Laura does know.â€￾

Wow,â€￾ Raquel says. “Listen darling, you are the first one to be told this and I don't want you blowing our cover.â€￾

“Mum's the word,â€￾ I say.

“Nice pun.â€￾

“What?â€￾

Raquel looks at me like I'm making a joke.

“What?â€￾ I repeat.

“Nothing, You aren't too bright darling, are you?â€￾

“Well, I'm in school, I'm trying to better myself as a person through education,â€￾ I might have blown my job possibilities, so I add, “and I do all right on the streets.â€￾

“Well, yes darling, that always helps.â€￾

“So, I was wondering if, well Rachael told me, that you might have a job for me.â€￾

Raquel rushes toward me. She wraps her arms around my neck and presses me to the door. Her hands start grabbing. Her right hand locks the front door to the house while her left hand starts undoing buttons and zippers. I'm getting stripped down before I can even protest. This isn't the job I was looking for. I don't want to do this. But I have to do this to get a job.

We slide down in a heap all tangled up in clothes and limbs embracing each other, losing our balance. We end up on the floor, me pinned below Raquel. When I try to push Raquel off me she thinks it's a playful gesture and plays along, biting my ear.

I'm trying to catch my breath as Raquel puts her tongue deep into my mouth. She is more forceful than Rachael is, and even though Rachael was more into the kinky side of things, Raquel is in for the straight fuck. She wiggles her panties off, pulls my Levi's down around my ankles and mounts me. Despite myself I'm hard. Here comes more of the whirlwind.

Raquel rides me without a condom. I question what woman would do this. Her tiny body thumps and her little buttocks thwack against my balls. The agony in my testicles adds distraction, keeping me going. It's pain and pleasure mixed together.

I lay stiff until I can't fight it any longer. I come inside of Raquel and she doesn't stop. Soon the sensation is too much. I start losing my erection.

“Come on motherfucker, I'm almost there!â€￾ Raquel shouts. “Keep it up.â€￾

I grit my teeth, willing all the blood to rush into my cock. It doesn't work. I go soft and Raquel only stops after I slide out of her with a flop. She remains on top of me, sliding her pelvis over my soft cock.

“You're not much of a gigolo, are you darling?â€￾ She says. “I'm not paying you for that.â€￾

“I'm not a gigolo,â€￾ I say. I feel ridiculous. I wish Raquel would get off of me.

“Yeah, darling, that's what Rachael said, but I thought I would give it a try.â€￾

“Oh.â€￾ I'm relived. I had felt betrayed by Rachael. Like she sold me out. And I was the one bragging to Mike. Being used is all about perception. I don't like Raquel.

“So you want a job? One you might be good at.â€￾

“Yes.â€￾

“Do you have a passport?â€￾

“Yes, I do.â€￾

“Well here is the thing darling, I have these parties and my husband is always inviting French fucking snobs, it infuriates me to no end hearing of how we don't have quality munchies. I mean its New York fucking City after all, isn't? We have everything.â€￾

“Yeah…â€￾

“So, I'm going to beat the foreign twerps at their own game. You know much about cheese darling?â€￾

“I like chevre, comes from the Loire Valley, goes good with Sancerre wine.â€￾

“Uh-huh,â€￾ says Raquel, “Listen darling, the way they process the cheese in France is with all kinds of mold, it gives it the flavor and odor and all that, but it doesn't meet with FDA approval, you can't bring it into the States. Now, I don't give a hoot and a holler about cheese, I'm lactose intolerant, but I want to show these French weenies we can have great smelly cheese in New Your just like in Paris. So your job will be to go to fabulous fucking France, buy the best god awful ripe cheese that you can and smuggle it into the country for my husband's parties. You will be well paid handsomely.â€￾

“I get to go to France?â€￾

“Yes, you know for a day or two and then you come back.â€￾

“You want me to be a cheese smuggler?â€￾

“Yes.â€￾

“Won't it be hard to smuggle cheese into the country with all the stepped up security at airports.â€￾

“You are getting an education, use your street smarts darling,â€￾ she says condescendingly. “I mean if you get caught it's only cheese.â€￾

“Can you get off me now?â€￾

“Sure darling.â€￾

Raquel reverses her squat and composes herself. She stands over me. Then she walks into the kitchen. I pull up my pants and stand up.

“So, um when do I start?â€￾

Raquel walks back into the foyer.

“Call me tomorrow.â€￾

“Here?â€￾

“No, not here darling.â€￾

Raquel hands me a card.

“I'll be back home.â€￾

“Okay.â€￾

Raquel looks at me like she doesn't believe I can do the job.

“And thanks,â€￾ I add.

“No problem darling,â€￾ she says.

Best line I've heard regarding the Dallas Police report being false about T.O.'s suicide attempt:

“We are talking about the Dallas Police Dept. They still don't know who killed JFK.â€￾

22!

I wake up with a headache. We didn't drink that much, only a few bottles. It must have been rotgut because I feel like shit. I have to meet the boys at the Blue Rose. Janis is still sleeping. She looks peaceful bundled up in the fetal position. Her breathing is soft and gentle. Tom Waits- Innocent when you dream.

I don't wake Janis. I kiss her on the cheek, grab my scarf and coat and tiptoe out of her house. As I pass through the kitchen I can hear the television, the sound of the TV doesn't cover up her mom, snoring loudly.

Outside it's one of those sunshiny bright winter days where the skies are clear, cold and brilliant. A glare is coming off the snow and ice making it hard to see. It intensifies my hangover. Most of the sidewalks have been cleared off and it's an easy walk through the neighborhood. I feel peaceful and serene despite my pounding head. I think the sex helps. I've read that intercourse can cure the common cold. Screwing your brains out cures all aliments. Halfway to the Blue Rose I remember I left my painting supplies at Janis' house. I'll get them later.

When I get to the bar the gang is there. Our occasional morning bullshit sessions are kind of a ritual. While most people are at work, we work off the excess of the weekend, mixing the toxins in our systems with more poison. Misery loves company.

As I walk in, Kenny, Mike's construction Buddha buddy, is explaining the meaning of life. Listening to him babble on are Tommy and Timmy, also Pete the Stripper- who always takes his clothes off when he gets really drunk, and Purdy, who listens with disinterest. Purdy once told me that as a bar owner, he has heard it all before, twice.

Mike is missing. He must be in the john. After my first Bloody Mary he still hasn't shown. Talk turns to the previous night. I become the center of attention. I knew I wouldn't get away with my bad behavior.

“Hey Trevor, some girls stopped in looking for you right after you left in such a state the other night,â€￾ says Purdy. He turns toward Tommy, “And you! No more selling that shit in here.â€￾

“What?â€￾ Tommy shrieks with his non-innocent hands in the air.

“Yeah?â€￾ says Timmy, though no one addressed him.

“That's not all. I heard you finally got yourself a 'Mrs. Behavin,'â€￾ says Kenny lifting his fingers in the air, making the quotation sign.

“Huh?â€￾ I ask.

“Ya know, a 'Mrs.' As in a married gal. Misbehaving, like married gal stepping out on her husband.â€￾

“Jesus, how do you know that?â€￾

“People talk,â€￾ says Purdy. “Someone saw you on the train.â€￾

“Oh.â€￾ If they think it was just a train ride into the city I'll let it drop. I'm not going to tell anyone I fucked Rachael up the ass. I might tell Mike. “Yeah, so what?â€￾

“You dog,â€￾ say Tommy. “You are like a hound dog. The sex DMX.â€￾

“Yeah,â€￾ says Timmy.

“DMX the rapper?â€￾ I ask. “I thought you guys only listened to heavy metal.â€￾

“Shit no. We are down. DMX is black heavy metal, like a motherfuckin' African American Ozzy Osbourne barking at the moon.â€￾

“Yeah,â€￾ says Timmy. “Woof! Woof!â€￾

“Whatever. So where is Mike?â€￾ I ask.

They all shake their heads in the negative.

“I forget names and faces but I never forget a pussy,â€￾ says Tommy for no reason at all.

“Yeah,â€￾ says Timmy.

“That's surprising,â€￾ says Pete the stripper, “since the only one yous ever seen is your mom's the day you was born.â€￾

“So no one knows where Mike is?â€￾ I demand.

I get blank stares. Then Tommy breaks the silence.

“Hey Trev, why are girls like credit cards?â€￾ He asks.

“Yeah?â€￾ Timmy adds.

“I don't know.â€￾

“Because when you use them you pay but the bill doesn't come till later. Wait…or because you can use them over and over?â€￾

“That's very cerebral of you,â€￾ I say. “I hope you didn't hurt yourself coming up with that.â€￾

“Naw man, it was easy…wait! You saying I a retard?â€￾

“Timmy doesn't say anything.

“Smart challenged.â€￾ I say.

Mike walks in and sits down. We all stare at him. He looks back at us.

“What?â€￾

“What? I guess the question is where have you been?â€￾

“Just around, you know?â€￾

“No, Mike, I don't,â€￾ says Kenny. “What where you doing, giving away all your possessions? Wait, you still have your looks. The only thing going for you these days.â€￾

“Funny, ya fucking fat laughing Buddha.â€￾

I stay silent. I wait for this to play out. Mike will tell me when he is ready. At least I hope he will. It's easy to forget about the outside world sitting here at the Blue Rose. Maybe it is too easy.

“Fuck that Teen Spirit bullshit,â€￾ says Tommy. “Nirvana ruined American rock n roll.â€￾

“Yeah,â€￾ says Timmy.

I'm not going to get into it with them. I grab Tommy by the arm and drag him out of earshot of the grunge discussion. Timmy follows.

“What's up with the ecstasy you always sold me?â€￾ I demand.

“What do you mean?â€￾ Tommy asks.

“Yeah?â€￾ repeats Timmy.

“I mean the stuff you sold me was bullshit. Whatever it was it sure in the hell wasn't ecstasy.â€￾

“Yeah, it was.â€￾

“Yeah.â€￾

“No, it wasn't. I'm finding a new fucking drug dealer.â€￾

“Who you calling a drug dealer?â€￾

“Yeah?â€￾

I walk away disgusted.

23!

After another hour Purdy has to open. The group goes their separate ways. My hangover is replaced with a dizzy buzz. I follow Mike. He is walking at a quick pace, ignoring me.

“Mike? Hey Mike, wait up.â€￾

“Huh?â€￾ He turns to face me.

“What are you doing Trevor?â€￾

“Walking with you.â€￾

“OK. I heard you got jumped.â€￾

“Yeah.â€￾

“You okay?â€￾

“Yeah.â€￾

“Are the Slaughter guys after you?â€￾

“Shit. I hope not. I don't know.â€￾

“It was Juniors' fault. Wasn't it?â€￾

“Yeah.â€￾

“That asshole.â€￾

I want to talk about more pleasant things.

“Hey, guess what?â€￾ I ask.

“What.â€￾

“Well, you know how I hadn't had sex in like over a year?â€￾

“Yeah?â€￾

“Well, I have.â€￾

“Have what?â€￾

“I've had sex.â€￾

“Good for you, Trevor. With Janis?â€￾

“Yeah. But listen. I also had sex with this woman. She is married and has two kids.â€￾

Mike gives me an unfavorable look. “Oh yeah?â€￾ he asks cautiously.

“Yeah in a hotel in Manhattan. It was so fucking great. I fucked her up the ass.â€￾ I brag.

Mike stops in his tracks.

“Life is like that,â€￾ Mike says. “Most times it is a lull, but sometimes it is a whirlwind.â€￾

“Yeah, yeah that's what it feels like. I'm in a whirlwind.â€￾

“So who do you like?â€￾ Mike asks.

“What do you mean?â€￾

“I mean who do you like? Does Janis know you had sex with this woman?â€￾

“No. But she had sex with this chick. I caught her.â€￾

“You have had a busy two days,â€￾ he says. “Who do you like?â€￾

“I don't know. I mean I might be falling in love with Janis. She is like the coolest girl I've ever met. But just having sex again feels so great. I don't want to choose.â€￾

“You always have to choose. If you don't choose, you loose.â€￾

“Yeah. I'll choose later.â€￾

Mike continues walking. I struggle to keep up.

“Where are we going?â€￾

“To Debbie's house.â€￾

“Mike?â€￾

“Yeah?â€￾

“Who is Debbie?â€￾

“She has a business. I saw her ad in the back of the Jersey Free Press.â€￾

“How far back?â€￾

“You know, the back.â€￾

He means the last few pages- the personal ads, the hookers and the Dan Savage column. You can't take that shit seriously. The only reason I read that lonely hearts desperation is for a laugh.

'Overweight alcoholic seeks Supermodel for conversations and buffet diners.'

It's all a joke and you are in trouble if you think otherwise.

“What kind of business?â€￾ I ask a little worried. Mike doesn't look well and I'm concerned. “Are we going to some strip joint?â€￾

“Listen Trevor, I'm not feeling conversational right now. I'm in pain, while you've been in your whirlwind I've been in a dull ache for the last few days so can we just walk in silence.â€￾

We walk in silence. The afternoon sun is already starting to set. Days don't last long in winter. It helps to hibernate. I want to go back down to my basement room and listen to records. But I need to support Mike. We stop at the corner of two desolate streets.

“I'm going there.â€￾ Mike points across the road.

“We are?â€￾

“Yeah, I guess we are.â€￾ He says.

The business is really just a house, run down like Janis' but even smaller. In the yard hangs a red sign 'Cupid's Arrow.'

Mike knocks on the front door.

A voice calls from inside. “Please enter.â€￾

We walk into the house and I instantly get a creepy feeling. It smells of stale maraschino cherries, over sweet and sickly. Old Valentine's Day cards litter the coffee tables. Paint is peeling from the walls. The ceiling has water damage and looks like it could come crashing down on us at any moment.

Then we meet Debbie. She is the receptionist. She is sitting at a little card table that is set up as a desk. On the desk is a plaque with her name. Debbie has thick painted on make-up and big fat melon tits. Her flesh is starting to fade. She is older than she will ever admit. She smiles in defeated hope, like she can't even bring herself to falsely fake it, she has seen too much disappointment for a new dawn to ever bring a bright new day.

“Are you Mike?â€￾ Debbie asks me.

“No, I am,â€￾ says Mike.

“Hey Claire,â€￾ yells Debbie. “We got our client.â€￾

Claire waddles into view. She has a bovine face and bulking frame. She's as big as a boxcar. The floorboards creak. I look up at the ceiling to make sure Claire's rumble isn't going to bring down the roof. She is fucking huge, obese, and as wide as she is tall. I have no idea how someone can get like that. The long, slender, menthol cigarette that she holds daintily is in stark contrast to her obesity. What the fuck is this? If these ladies are prostitutes there is no way I can let Mike fuck one of them. Oh shit, what if Mike is going to become a male whore and these are the pimps. Is Mike doing this so we can get to Europe? This could be my fault. Oh double shit, what if they want me to become a boy toy?

“Sit down boys,â€￾ Claire says spreading herself out across a sofa. “It's a sad state of affairs when such cute young boys as yourselves need our services.â€￾

Mike and I look at our feet. I'm ready to run.

“Cinnamon bon-bon boys?â€￾ Claire offers a plastic dish of tiny stale red heart-shaped candy.

“No thanks.â€￾

“So what's your problem?â€￾ she asks me.

â€￾I don't have one,â€￾ I say. “He is the one.â€￾ I nudge Mike.

“Oh, sorry.â€￾

I look at Mike but he ignores me. He sits down in the chairs provided and I reluctantly do the same. I really want to get out of here.

“So you are the one who needs our help?â€￾ asks Claire. The smile never leaves her face. Like a laughing cow snorting away in green pastures. I find it repugnant.

“I do,â€￾ says Mike. “Yeah, I wanted to come here.â€￾

“You're lonely?â€￾ she asks.

“Yes,â€￾ he says.

“Crying all the time?â€￾ She nods her head in knowing sympathy. She has twinkles in her eyes that are accentuated by the gaudy glitter sprinkled on her puffy cheeks.

Mike hesitates and gives me a sideways glance. He doesn't roll his eyes the way I expect him to. He is buying into this. Mike is too smart for this bullshit. Lovesick is the worst sick of all.

“Yes,â€￾ he says.

“Can't get her out of your mind?â€￾

“Yes.â€￾

“You have a broken heart, my sweat dear. It's one of the saddest things in the world. But don't you fret. You have come to the right place. We mend broken hearts.â€￾

24!

Cupid's Arrow is the last place love exists. But this doesn't stop Mike from handing over four hundred dollars for fortune cookie advice. It's money we could have used for our trip. Finally we leave. On the way out Mike is handed a Xeroxed pamphlet.

We head back home in more silence. The sky goes from gray to black as we walk. We talk to Grandpa for a while and then head down to our room. I turn on the stereo. I put on Nirvana's Unplugged album. It was recorded in New York.

“Why do you always play old records?â€￾ Mike asks.

“I have a great record collection.â€￾

“Yeah you do, all your dad's old ones. But you don't stay up with the latest releases. I mean this is from the 90's.â€￾

“Yeah, but it is good. I thought it fit your mood.â€￾

“I don't want to listen to it.â€￾

“What? You don't like Nirvana now?â€￾

“Sure I do. I mean I think Kurt was great, at least the best of his time. But he was a one trick pony, man. He got caught up in his own fame. I mean Nirvana never got experimental. They never did a Beatles' Sergeant Pepper's, a Stones' Their Satanic Majesties Request or the Beach Boys' Pet Sounds. Besides, he killed himself and he had a baby daughter. That is fucked up. Just like Ian Curtis. All this talk about tortured genius, I know, I get it, but no one mentions how unfair that is to their kids.â€￾

“I like Out of Our Heads or Aftermath better than Their Satanic Majesties Request and Rubber Soul or Revolver better than Sargent Pepper's.â€￾ I say. “But Pet Sounds is the best thing the Beach Boys ever did besides their cover version of Louie, Louie.â€￾

Mike shakes his head. He pulls records out of his Adidas bag.

“Listen to these. They're pretty decent. And they are NYC groups still making music.â€￾

He hands me records from the Walkmen, the Kills, Yeah Yeah Yeahs and Clap Your Hands Say, Yeah. We listen to the records. I don't want to like them but do despite myself. I'll have to keep up with the latest music. Sometimes I feel like I have heard every great song already. It can get depressing but than finding new music is what it is all about. And Mike's right about another thing, a father should never kill himself.

Mike reads a magazine. We don't talk. I read a book on film noir. I have a final in that class. We stay downstairs the rest of the night listening to music and reading.

“Put on, On Fire.â€￾ Mike says.

“I thought tonight was dedicated to new music.â€￾

“There is nothing better than Galaxie 500.â€￾

“You are right,â€￾ I agree.

Mike smiles. And I smile. It is the first time all day that I feel life is back to the way it should be.

we win

Mav Man has asked me to be his best man. It only took me three shots before I said yes!


of course....


With the greatest pride I said YES!

I got it Marky. My heart swells!

Very funny. That's from his unpublished auto-bio.

Forever Changes is in the top 3 albums of all time. It only gets better and better the more you listen to it.

FINAL FANTASY, "He Poos Clouds" written by Joshua Klein With nothing but a brief break to record a second album accounting for the slightest wane in Arcade Fire mania, the time seems right for all the inevitable side-projects to take center stage. One, Bell Orchestre, wasn't quite ready fo...

Willie Nelson is on the bus!

The youngest guy busted was 50!

cool. I'm waiting.

I've head over 30 versions of H. Pick anyone you like.