doinghowardstern

Well, it's not really the end...

2005-10-17T23:52:00.000-04:00

I have to find and then download the remaining 8k words...the story doesn't end, but they do get to Baltimore, so hey!

Nevermind that I've never been to Baltimore... I bet I can find someone who has...hmm...who do I know that's familiar with Maryland...hmmmm.....

Chapter Nine- The Howard Stern Show

2005-10-17T23:49:00.000-04:00

The next morning, Karen and I readied ourselves to go on the show. It was early. Very early. About three thirty in the morning, in fact. No one should have to try and blow dry and style their hair that early in the morning. Karen was trying to make the best of it.
“La, la, la, it’s so fucking early…” Karen sand into the business end of the hair dyer as if it were a microphone, as she blew cool air onto her face, presumably to dry her moisturizer faster.
“Doesn’t that just defeat the purpose of moisturizer?” I asked. “I mean. You’re literally drying your skin.”
“Hey, look, it’s three thirty in the morning, not much is making total sense to me right now.”
“Amen to that sister,” I remarked. “I thought we had a coffee pot in here.”
“No sug, that would be a little too Homewood Suites for this joint. This is high class shit.”
“Well then, we need to call down to high class fucking room service and get some coffee up in here.”
“Excellent idea, my love.”
Karen reached for the bathroom phone. Yes, there was a phone in the bathroom.
“Good morning! What? You can’t what? “ Karen yelled over the hair dryer. “Oh, sorry,” she yelled as she turned off the hair dryer. “Is that better? Great. Yes, coffee, please, it’s urgent. Room 325. Ooh, and croissants, por favor, if that’s possible. You’re the best. Gracias.” Karen hung up the phone. “Nice to know my high school Spanish comes in handy every now and then”
“You’re practically fluent.”
“Hey, (insert Spanish phrase for screw you here.)”
“Lociento, para no habla Espanol.”
“I said, Fuck you, bitch.”
“Lociento, para no habla Espanol.”
“You are such a dummy sometimes.”
“Que?” I teased.
“Anyway…” Karen put up her hand. Just then, the doorbell rang. We practically started salivating. “I’ll get that,” Karen said as she bounced towards the door.
“Oh, thank you,” Karen drawled as she opened the door. “Thank you…very much,” she said haltingly. I poked my head around the corner. The guy was young, Hispanic, and hot. Like Enrique Iglesias, but in a hotel uniform. I ducked back around the corner.
Karen was in her robe, the cushy thick hotel kind. She let it slip down a little off one shoulder as the waiter rolled the breakfast cart in. It was replete with croissants, berries and assorted fruit, an urn full of coffee and a tiny pitcher of cream. I wish someone would deliver that to my door every day, along with Enrique.
“I’m so sorry, I don’t have my purse out,” she cooed as she walked him to the door. I listened intently. I knew what was coming. “But maybe this can be your tip,” she whispered as she leaned in an planted a passionate kiss on his lips. She quickly ducked back in the room. “Bye, bye,” she gurgled as she closed the door.
Back in the bathroom, I erupted in serious laughter. “You shameless hussy! You pulled the same thing with the bellhop last night! We’ll have a line of hotel employees lined up outside out door tonight!”
Karen protested, “But it’s such fun! It’s not my fault that this hotel happens to hire the most incredibly hot male service employees with little pouty mouths that call out to be kissed!”
“Look, save that bullshit for the show, okay?”
“I can’t believe I get to be on the show! You and Howard really worked up an incredible idea.”
“Mist of it was his, I have to admit.”
“But he didn’t know about me- you had to tell him.”
“Actually, I just showed him your picture. As usual, that’s all it took.”
“Well, I will owe my incredible fame and fortune to you. I love you, Julie,” Karen declared. She came after me with pursed lips and I ducked, pointing the hair dryer at her like a gun.
“Stay back or I’ll shoot, lady,” I warned.
“Okay, don’t shoot, don’t shoot! I’ll give you all my money!”
“Not necessary. Just help me blow out my hair.” My hair had turned into a wild curly mess, sticking out all over my head in fits and starts. Some of it curled nicely, some of it stuck out from my head at all angles, and some of it just hung down straight as a stick. Karen wrested th ebrush and blow dryer from my hands. In five minutes, with a dab of pomade and her expert brushing and pulling, she had my hair changed from untamed to unbelievably soft and silky, laying perfectly flat, straight and shiny against my cheeks.
“You whipped my hair’s ass! How did you do that?”
“No one challenges the domination of Mistress Karen, not even the wildest hair,” Karen uttered with gravity.
“Speaking of domination, what are you wearing today, Mistress Karen?”
“Give me a second and I’ll show you.” Karen slid out of the bathroom and puttered around in the bedroom.
“Ta da!” she announced with a flourish of hands. She was resplendent in a form fitting black spandex dress and knee high black boots, with heels that were four inches high. She was sizzling. Howard was going to love her, that was for sure.
“Wow. That’s something else, that’s for sure.”
“What about your outfit?” Karen ducked back in the bedroom and brought out my uniform for the day, which beared a striking resemblance to the stereotypical Catholic school uniform- a navy cardigan sweater, a white button up shirt, a little pleated plaid skirt, white ankle socks, and black patent Mary Janes.
“You are such a naughty schoolgirl! I love it!” Karen exclaimed after I put on the get up.
I felt a little naughty, too. It was exciting to be in costume, as it were. There’s something very liberating about wearing a different set of clothes than you’re used to. It gives you the license to be someone else, and not have to be as inhibited as you usually are.
Of course, for Karen, the get up was not a costume. Rather, it was a way of life. She owned that outfit, she strutted, she preened and she scorched everything in her path. I was glad I didn’t have to live up to that. My outfit was designed to make me sexy by default.
We were ready a little early, amazingly enough, so we settled down to enjoy our breakfast. The coffee was strong and delicious, the berries were perfectly ripe, and the croissants just melted in your mouth.
“I can’t believe this, Julie-Poo,” Karen said. “Here we are in the lap of luxury, having the time of our lives, about to become semi-famous, and you didn’t even have to fuck anyone. How amazingly wonderful is that?”
“That is more wonderful than I could have imagined.”
“This is so great!” Karen squealed. She sounded like a little girl.
Just then, the phone rang. Karen ran to pick it up. “Yes, this is her room. We’ll be right down.”
Karen turned to me with a grin. “Miss Snyder, you car is ready,’ she intoned in a pseudo-British accent.
I gathered up my purse and smacked my lips. “How do I look?”
“Ravishingly virginal. How do I look?”
“Sexy and slightly slutty.”
“Excellent. Let’s go sister.”
We got to the studio in plenty of time. Traffic was nonexistent, even in New York, at this hour. We got to the studio and we greeted by the show’s director.
“Good morning, ladies. Let me show you to the green room.”
“Thanks, doll,” Karen purred. The director’s eyes followed her every move, or rather her ass’ every move, as she walked into the green room. She grabbed a bottle of Perrier and put it to her chest. “A little hot in here, isn’t it?” She was playing this up for all it was worth, and the guy was practically drooling on the carpet.
“Yes, Ma’am, it certainly is warm in here. I’ll see if I can correct the thermostat for you,” he said, bowing and scraping out the door.
I turned to Karen and stared. “Now that guy sees a lot of babes every week, porn stars, movie stars, general hot chicks, and while you are hot, he had probably seen hotter. What gives? What did you do to him?”
“It’s all in the carriage. It’s all in the confidence. It’s all in the eyes.’
“It’s all in you, is what it is.”
“Well, thank you, darling.” Karen pursed her lips at me. The director came back in and his eyes got wild.
“Now Howard loves hot girl-on-girl action, I can tell you that,” the director said, happy to give us pointers.
“Well, I’m sure we’ll keep that in mind,” Karen murmured.
The dire*tor gave Karen the eye again. Then he turned and looked at both of us together.
“So what’s your shti*k again?” He looked at the day’s s*hedule.
“We’re the Virgin and the Slut,” I piped up *heerily.
“Indeed you are,” he said with a smile.
In a few minutes, he was ba*k. “Ladies, your fifteen minutes awaits.” He threw open the door with a flourish and led us down the hall to the studio, where Howard waited to introdu*e us to the world.

After the show was over, Karen and I aught a ab bak to the hotel to hange into more suitable street lothes, although it was New York, and we didn’t stik out of the rowd that badly. The show had gone beautifully. Howard was his usual raun*hy self on air, and in a**ordane with that image, he whislted low when Karen walked into the room.
“Damn, Honey, you are one hot Amazon woman,” Howard de*lared. “Looka that ass,” he growled. “I’d like to spank that.”
Karen gave him a stern look. “I’m the one who does the spanking, Howard.”
Robin laughed. “You hear that, Howard? She’s going to bend you over her knee.”
“She an do anything she wants to me. I’ve been a very bad boy,” he growled. “Why don’t you punish me?”
Karen gave him an evil grin. “That *ould be arranged.”
Howard turned his attention toward me. “And who’s this, your little sister?” I was busy getting my mike and headphones on, so I *ouldn’t respond.”
“Artie, is she old enough to be in here? She looks like she’s underage.”
“I’m legal,” I *hirped perkily.
“Barely,” Howard said in a sleazy tone. “That get up is hot. For thos eo fyou in our radio audien*e, she’s got on a little *atholi* s*hoolgirl outfit, really short skirt, and great legs. Stand up and turn around, sweetheart.”
I stood up and twirled around, *ausing my skirt to flare out.
“*ute!” Robin de*lared. “I’d do her!”
“Me, too,” Artie piped up.
“Now, sweetheart, what’s your name?” Howard asked me.
“Mary Margaret,” I replied sweetly.
“Perfe*t,” Howard de*lared. “You must be *atholi*.”
“Not really,” I said demurely.
“That’s okay, we’ll pretend you are,” Howard said.
“Okay!” I *hirped.
“Now today we have with us the fabulous team of the Virgin and the Slut. Now, Mary Margaret, we know whi*h one you are. Who’s your sexy friend over here?”
“Mistress Tatiana,” Karen intoned seriously.
“Hel-lo Mistress,” Howard said, li*king his lips. “Now you’re the slut half of this team, right?”
“I prefer to think of myself as very sexually experien*ed.”
“So you’re an experien*ed slut.”
“Very experien*ed in the sexual arts.”
“I bet you are, sweetheart.” Howard looked over at me and winked. “Are you sure that Mary Margaret should be hearing all this? It might debau*h her. She looks awfully inno*ent. I don’t want to go to hell for *orrupting a sweet young thing like that.”
I giggled. “It’s fine- I know all about sex, I just have never had it.”
“Now how old are you, honey?”
“Twenty-six.”
“And no one has gotten a pie*e of that yet?”
“Nope.”
“Why the hell not?”
I sighed breathily. “I just haven’t met the right man yet, I guess. No one has swept me off my feet.”
“I *ould sweep you off your feet, honey. What do you weigh, about 125?”
“120, at*ually.”
“Oh, yeah, I *ould definitely sweep you off your feet. Now Mistress Tatiana over here, our resident slut, she looks like she ould sweep me off my feet.”
“I ould sweep you right down on to your ass with my a bit*h slap, that’s for sure,” Karen growled meanly.
“Ooh, I like it rough,” Howard quipped.
“Why don’t you let me display a few of my triks of the trade on you?” Karen questioned.
“I don’t know, honey, I’m a little afraid of you. But I bet Artie would let you woirk him over.”
“I don’t know Howard, she looks mean,” Artie protested.
“What about the Angry Bla*k? He’s a tough guy, he can take it. Bring him in here.”
The producer went out and came back with the Angry Black, another semi-regular character on the show.
“Angry Black, this is Mistress Tatiana. We were wondering if you’d let her spank you. Artie’s too chicken to do it.”
“Y’all white folks is always wanting the brother to take the hit for you. Why don’t you get your scrawny white ass over here and let her whack you? I ain’t that stupid.”
“Mistress, why don’t you stand up so that the Angry Black can see you.”
Karen stood up and took her headphones off. She strutted her way over to the Angry Black. His eyes got big as hell and he looked her up and down, then up again.
“Whoa, baby. Now that’s a woman, not like those tiny little things with the huge fake titties that you usually have on here, Howard. Hey baby, I’d like some of that.”
Karen gave him a severe look. “Any man that wishes to get lose to me has to prove their manhood first. If you can’t even take a little spanking, then you’re not man enough for me.”
“Hey baby, I’m plenty of man for you. You want to see? Here, let me show you. Now, keep in mind, it’s flaccid, okay? It’s a lot bigger eret.”
Karen snorted. “I’m sure.”
The Angry Black whipped out his manhood, which even flaccid, was larger than usual.
“See, now that’s a man. You can’t beat black dick, can you Robin?”
Robin laughed. “No, Angry Black, I guess you can’t.”
Angry Black turned to Karen. “Now, you gonna turn that down?”
“Absolutely. I’m actually a bit disappointed. I have found black men to be much more open, definitely much more warrior-like than your average white guy. But I guess that doesn’t apply to you. I mean, if you’re afraid of little old me and my little old paddle, then…”
This affront to his manhood was just too much to the Angry Black. “Look, baby, I am THE warrior. I ain’t afraid of your spanking. I an be just as kinky as the next guy. Look, if I let you spank me, then what you gonna do for me?”
“If you are man enough to take ten licks with my love paddle, then I may allow you to touch my ample, lovely, and may I add, totally natural, breasts.”
Angry Black looked at Karen’s breasts, which were spilling out of her V-necked spandex dress. He licked his lips. “Only ten licks? Shit, that ain’t nothin’. Go at it.” With that comment, he dropped his pants and bent over.
“We might need something for him the brace himself against,” Karen cautioned.
“Aw, shit, I don’t need nothin’ to hold onto.”
“Yes, you do, trust me,” Karen said.
“Whatever!” Angry Black retorted.
“Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Karen cautioned.
She pushed the Angry Black lower down. “Grab your ankles,” she commanded. He did and tried to look up at Karen to taunt her.
“Go on, I’m ready for you,” he scoffed. “You can’t hurt me.”
He had barely gotten the words out of his mouth when she whacked him hard with the paddle. The paddle was about a foot long, and covered with black electrical tape. Karen wielded it expertly, bringing it down in one fluid motion that ended with loud smack on the Angry Black’s butt. It hurt me to hear it.
In spite of himself, the Angry Black let out a yelp.
“Damn, that sounded painful, Angry Black. How ya feelin’?”
catching his breath, the Angry Black started to reply, “come on, that won’t noth-“ but before he could finish, Karen began with a barrage of blows.
‘Two, three, four, five,” she counted in a booming tone. It was all the Angry Black could do to stay upright. He ended up with is hands planted in front of him on the floor, his body in a V. His ass was hopping, trying to escape the blows. After number five, he fell to his knees and rolled over, his hands in front of his face.
“Hold on! Cut that out! I see what’s going on here! You’re trying to kill a brother! I see what’s going on!” He scrambled to his feet and almost tripped over his pants, which were still around his ankles. “Y’all white folks are devious! Trying to tempt me with some big white boobies. Y’all can get fucked. I’m outta here.” He gathered his pants up, but didn’t bother to fasten them. He just ran out the door.
Howard, Robin, and the whole team were laughing so hard they couldn’t talk Karen picked up the slack in the conversation.
“I guess he wasn’t a real warrior, after all. What a shame.”
That just killed Howard. “Altight, he said between guffaws. “Who’s next? Artie?”
“Screw that!” Artie said. “That looked painful.”
“Anyone else?” Karen cooed, stroking her paddle suggestively.
“Baby, you are hot, but I’m not a warrior, either,” Howard replied. He looked over at me. “Now, y’all are good friends?”
“Very,” I murmured.
“How good?” Howard said, raising an eyebrow. “Are you just a virgin with the guys?”
“Oh, no! It’s not like that!” I giggled. “We’re just very close.”
Howard’s eyes got big. “I think we’d all like to see you get close. Maybe some hot girl-on-girl action between the Virgin and the Slut.”
Karen came back over to the couch where I was sitting and out her headphones back on. She gave me a chaste little kiss on the cheeks, which in the current situation, was very seductive.
“No, really, we don’t do that,’ I protested in my little virginal voice.
“We’re just very…good… friends,” Karen said as she stroked her paddle some more. “I watch out for Mary Margaret, keep the wolves at bay, so to speak.”
“Oh, so now we know how she’s still a virgin- you’re scaring off all the potential guys! They’re afraid you’ll whip them- literally!”
“I only break out the riding crop when they’re really bad,” Karen jested.
“Oh, baby, you are just evil. I like that in a woman.”
“Why, thank you, Howard. That’s the sweetest thing anyone has said to me today.”
“I bet. I could whisper more sweet nothings in your ear if you come over here and sit on my lap.”
“No, but you could come over here and sit on my lap and let me pinch your nipples.”
“Baby, you are a real sadist, aren’t you?”
“Pain can be pleasurable, you know,” Karen gurgled.
“Just looking at the two of you is pleasurable,” Howard stated. “I’m sporting a full-on woody- you want to come feel it?”
I giggled, and Karen rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you’re very good at touching yourself, so I’ll just leave that to you,” she said.
“So what is it that you’re doing in New York, anyway?” Howard questioned.
“We’re on a nationwide tour to find Mary a man, one that is worthy of her bounteous glory. I am along as her tour guide, spiritual adviser, and bodyguard. Only those that I deem worthy will get to taste her juicy goodness.”
“And where is your next stop?”
“Baltimore, Maryland.” Howard had already set up a date with a fellow shock jock who had an afternoon program in Baltimore.
“Those lucky devils in Baltimore, I swear. And how many cities will you hit after that?”
“Eight more, for a total of ten. We’re on a mission.”
“And what do you think about this, Mary Magadalene?”
“I’m ready to meet my Prince Charming, or at least fuck his brains out.”
“Wow, you’re a little nasty for a virgin, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m just a little horny,” I said with a giggle.
“Well, I wish you both lots of luck. We’re going to have you back on the program in a month or so to report on your progress and see if you’re still a virgin. If you are, maybe I can give you some help in that department.
“Ooh, neat!” I squealed.
“You are so damn cute,” Howard commented. “Hey, Mistress, next time you come, bring your riding crop and we’ll have the Angry Black back again for you to abuse.”
“It will be my pleasure,” Karen purred.
“There they go, that fabulous duo, the Virgin and the Slut. What a pair, ladies and gentlemen. I think everyone needs at least one Virgin and Slut in their lives. You know what would be hot? A three way with those two…” Howard’s voice trailed off as the door shut behind us.
The producer showed us back to the green room so that we could get our things. “You were really great,” he said. “We’re already starting to get calls. You’ll probably be asked back sometime soon.” We knew that already, or at least, that’s what Howard had told me, but it was nice to hear it from someone else.
“You ladies have a good trip to Baltimore,” he called as we walked out of the green room. “See you next time.”
Karen and I managed to maintain our composure until we got into the elevator.
“Horny little virgin!”
“Mean, sadistic little slut!”
We laughed so hard that our sides hurt and we were bent over in pain, holding on to each other. We tried to contain ourselves as the elevator came to a halt a few floors down. As luck would have it, the Angry Black got on. He looked at Karen and rubbed his ass, giving her a wide smile.
“Well, Mistress Tatiana, you have quite an arm on you! You play tennis?”
“Not anymore,” Karen said. “I used to when I was younger. Now I play racquetball when I have the time. And it’s Karen, by the way.”
“Oh, I just adore racquetball! What an excellent way to get your aggression out. Especially when the boyfriend is being a pill, you know,” he said with a wink. “Oh, and it’s Andre, by the way.”
“Pleased to meet you, Andre. This is Julie.”
I extended my hand. “You were a riot this morning. How’d you get that gig?”
“Oh, you know, my agent knows Howard’s agent and we all met at a Christmas party, that kind of thing. People were chitty chatting about stereotypes, you know, the swishy fag, the ultra-smart Asian, the angry, dangerous black man. Well, darling, I’m originally from the projects, so I know all about the angry black man. And Howard caught my little impression and thought it was a scream, and here I am, every few weeks. It’s great for my acting career, and I just love Howard, besides. He’s such a doll, don’t you think?”
I smiled widely. “Yes, he is definitely not what I expected.”
“And neither are you two. So what’s your story? Are you actresses, strippers, what?”
Karen spoke up. “Actually, Julie works in Collections and I’m an Insurance Adjuster.”
“Wow, that is definitely not what I expected. How did you end up on Howard’s show?”
I looked at Karen and we burst out laughing. “It’s a really long story. I owe it all to my burgeoning virginity.” We laughed even harder on that one.
“You’re not really a twenty-six year old virgin, are you?” Andre looked at me incredulously.
“Almost. I’ve only had sex twice, ever.”
“Oh my God, darling. You might as well be a virgin,”
“That’s exactly what I told her,” Karen said in agreement.
The elevator bell dinged and the doors opened out onto the lobby. “Well, I wish you luck in your nationwide quest. May you find a gorgeous and enchanting young man with a beautiful lond\g dong, darling. But not too long for your first time. One word, darling, one word- Astroglide.” With that advice, he administered a sweet little kiss on my forehead.
He turned to Karen. “And you , Miss Thang, you need to keep that dangerous weapon away from this brother’s ass,” he said with a snap. “You are hazardous to my booty health.” He pointed a long, thin finger at Karen’s breasts. “And next time you’re going to be in the city, you call me and let me know. We’ll go play a round of racquetball. Okay, darling?” They exchanged cheek kisses. Then Andre was off.
“Ta ta, my darlings,” he called as he swished off.
We looked at each other and burst into giggles. Our appearance on the Howard Stern show certainly seemed to be leading us into interesting adventures, if not into fame and fortune.

Chapter Eight- Coffee and Dessert

2005-10-17T23:48:00.000-04:00

So here we were, finally. The Big Apple. The city that never sleeps. The home of the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty, and the Howard Stern show. I was awed and intimidated.
It was my understanding that Howard usually met guests the day of the show, as they walked into the studio. But in my case, he had requested to meet me the day before, at a nearby restaurant. His people told me we’d have a drink and maybe dessert. I didn’t know what to expect, and I was a little thrown off kilter when they called with this news the Friday before we left for New York.
“What do you think that means?” I asked Karen in the cab on the way to meet Howard.
“I think he just wants to check you out before he has to do you,” she relied calmly. “For all he knows, you could be really skanky. For all he knows, you could really be a guy. I think Howard is a little more savvy than our Congressman friend.”
“What if he decides that he doesn’t want to go through with it? What if he doesn’t think I’m cute enough? What if he doesn’t like me?”
“I can guarantee you that he’ll want to fuck you. Trust me, he’s a red-blooded male. He wants to fuck a virgin. And you are plenty cute. C’mon. You’ve seen some of those girls he has on there. Skanky skanky. You are actually nice looking and you have a nice body. There’s no need for a bag over your head, if you know what I mean.”
“ I just don’t know.”
“You don’t know if he’ll want you, or you don’t know if you’ll want him?”
I thought about this for a minute. “Both.”
“You know that you don’t have to do this. You can back out at any time.”
“Not now that I’m all the way here.”
“Yes, now. You can stop this before you even start.”
“No. I started this and I’m going to finish it.”
“You know there’s no guarantee this is going to change your life or make you famous for more than 30 seconds on the Howard Stern show.”
“I know that, but I have a feeling it’s going to be bigger than that. I have a feeling this really is going to change my life.”
“Fucking Howard Stern is not going to change your life.”
“No, but getting the money to go back to grad school and finish my novel might>’
“You could get a second job.”
“Where, at McDonald’s? That’s a sure way to fame.”
“Fame might not make you happy either.”
“It can’t make me anymore unhappy than I am in my life right now.”
“Change does not come from without, it comes from within.”
“Thank you sensei. Now are we done with the lecture?”
“Yes, I’m done. Now, do you remember what I told you?”
“Don’t let him talk me into bed withouy getting to be on the air first?”
“Absolutely. If he’s going to pop your almost cherry, then he needs to pay up first.”
“Got it.”
"If he gives you any shit, you just leave. You’re in charge. You hold the cards. He’ll follow you. You’re a hot, 26 year old virgin. Where’s he going to find another one of those?”
“I’m a hot, 26 year old virgin. I hold the cards. I’m in charge.”
“Now say it like you mean it.” Karen narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips in a exaggerated vixen pose.
“I’m hot, 26 year old virgin. I hold the cards. I’m in charge,” I said in a steely, determined voice.
“Once more- with feeling!”
“I’m a hot, 26 year old virgin! I hold the cards! I’m in charge!” I yelled like I was a superhero, the Incredible Almost Virgin, perhaps.
The taxi driver never even flinched. I guess he’d already seen and heard it all.
“You look so hot. Very virginal.”
“I have to give all the credit to my amazing stylist, Karen E-kinky-lista. Thanks to you, I am on the cutting edge of Barely Legal, Pseudo-Virgin fashion.” Karen had picked out my outfit, a starched white button shirt, unbuttoned one button above the breasts with a lacy bra underneath, one that would support my breasts put not pad my nipples, which were quite prominent. (‘You don’t want to look too obvious- you are supposed to be a virgin. This way, you look sexy as if it were by accident.’) I had on a black pleated skirt with sheer black hose and a pair of flat black loafers. (‘It shows some good leg but looks demure.’) Her final instructions were to leave on my glasses. (‘It’s that whole sexy librarian thing. You can take them off while you’re talking and lightly suck on the end of the ear pieces…now that’s hot.’)
“Why thank you, darling. It’s my pleasure to make you look good. And you do. You look h-o-t.”
The taxi pulled to a stop in front of the restaurant, which was right outside of Times Square. It looked very expensive.
Karen gave me a kiss on the cheek. “Go get ‘em, you sexy thing.”
“I’m a hot 26 Year old virgin? I’m in charge? I hold the cards?” I asked ina weak voice.
“Yes, you are! You are! You do!” Karen boomed. She opened up her door, which was closest to the curb and stepped out on to the sidewalk. She reached in the cab and pulled me out. “Now, go make him drool. Do it.”
“Okay. I will.” I looked Karen in the eye, and she stuck out her tongue at me and without warning, she reached in and licked me right on the nose. It was so absurd, it made me laugh uproariously.
“Oh, yeah baby! That’s what I like to see! Laughter is sexy!”
I was still giggling when I walked into the restaurant, partly from Karen’s foolishness, partly from my nervousness. I stood at the door and stared around the restaurant, trying to catch a glimpse of Howard. He was no where in sight.
“Can I help you, Miss?” the maitre ‘d questioned. His tone was completely natural, not friendly or unfriendly. That was more disturbing than any disapproving emotional reaction could have been.
“I…I’m meeting someone here.”
“Yes…” the maitre ‘d’s voice intoned. His figure became more imposing to me. He looked down his nose through his tiny little spectacles at me and I swear I heard him ‘tsk, tsk’ under his breath. In my mind, his glasses became a monocle, his blad head became covered with slicked back hair, and his prefect pressed black suit morphed into a Nazi uniform. I got ready for him to click his heels together and say, “Seig Heil!”
“I’m meeting…um…How-Howard Stern.”
I expected the maitre ‘d to look down his nose and say, “Of course you are,” and look down his nose and turn me away, but instead, his countenance softened and he smiled slightly.
“Ah, you must be Miss Snyder. Mr. Stern is expecting you. Right this way, my dear.” He offered his arm and led me through the restaurant like I was a great lady he was escorting to a ball. It was a surreal experience. Howard’s table was in the back corner of the restaurant, away from any other table and partially enclosed by its high boothbacks. It was very private and cozy. As he saw us approach the opening, Howard turned and stood, offering his hand.
“Good evening, Mr. Stern.”
“Good evening, Francois.” His voice was much more mellifluous in person thatn the harsh tone it had on the radio. He could have been an announcer on NPR with that voice.
“Mr. Stern, may I present Miss Snyder.”
“What a pleasure.” Howard extended his hand, which I took, and he led me into the booth. “Please let our waiter know we’d like our dessert now. That will be all, Francois. “ The whole exchange was very old-fashioned and formal, which was not what I expected out of the Shock Jock of morning radio.
Francois bowed slightly and left quietly.
“So, Miss Snyder, may I call you Julie?”
“Sure,” I stammered.
“Of course, you’ll call me Howard,” he assured me.
“Yes, of course,” I stumbled. I was really becoming a stunning conversationalist.
“You don’t have to be so nervous. I’m not going to throw you on top of the table and make hot bunny love to you right here in the restaurant.”
That comment made me smile, just a little. He gave me a moment to think of a comeback. “Oh, really? How disappointing.” Okay, so it was weak, but it was a start.
“I see you’re a comedian, in addition to being beautiful.”
I covered my face with my hands, as I could feel a blush creeping up my neck. “Oh, stop it, you’re making me blush.” I usually said this in jest when someone paid me an overblown compliment, but this time, I could actually feel the blush spreading out over my face and neck.
“Now, there’s a smile, and a pretty blush. And here comes dessert.”
The waiter was at the side of the booth with a loaded tray. There was an immense slice of rich chocolate cake with a chocolate mousse icing, a bowl of assorted berries with a heavy whipping cream and chocolate shavings for garnish, and a dish of perfectly caramelized crème brulee. A steaming cup of coffee, glass of Bailey’s, and snifter of brandy was put before each of us. A split of champagne and two glasses was added to the bounty.
“This is all for us?” I asked in astonishment.
“Well, I happen to be quite a fan of dessert. I hope you are, too.”
“Oh, absolutely. In fact, I think you’ve got all of my very favorite things right her on this table. You must be psychic.”
“Well, I do pride myslef on knowing the minds of women better than they know themselves,” he said seriously. Then he started to break up in quiet laughter. “Or, I could be full of shit, and I just guessed pretty well. What do you think?”
“I think you’re a genuis, of course,” I said somberly. Then I started to giggle.
“I do love a woman with a good sense of humor.” Howard smiled at me. “Well, we better get started, or we’ll be here all night long.”
He pulled the dish of berries in front of us and poured two glasses of champagne. ‘To new friends.”
“To new friends,” I said, beaming.
We started in on the berries, which were perfectly delicious. We drowned them in cream, and after a glass and a half of champagne, I popped one in Howard’s mouth, catching him off-guard. He laughed and started feeding me berries, purposefully dropping a dollop of cream on my nose. We laughed and sat back in our seats, staring at each other. He was much more friendly and reposed than I imagined, in contrast to his slightly combative and spastic radio persona.
We made it through half of the berries when Howard suggested that we switch to the chocolate cake. Of course, this meant we finished off the champagne and started in on the Bailey’s and coffee. Howard put his Bailey’s in his coffee, but I preferred to drink mine straight and chase it with the rich, robust French roast coffee. The combination of Irish cream, coffee, and chocolate cake was divine. I closed my eyes and savored a combo of cake, then Irish cream, then coffee.
“Tasty?” Howard inquired.
My eyes flew open. He was watching me intently, clearly enjoying my enjoyment of the delectable goodies.
“Heavenly. Absolutely divine.”
“I love to see a woman really enjoy food. So many girls I know are almost afraid to eat. And certainly don’t look like you need to watch what you eat.”
“I watch it come onto my plate and into my mouth, “ I quipped. The alcohol may have made me a little bit braver, but it hadn’t made my dumb jokes any better. I ate my last mouthful of cake and sat back with a sigh.
“Don’t give up now- we still have the crème brulee.”
“Oh, that is my unequivocal favorite dessert of all time,” I moaned.
“Well, then you get the first bite.” Howard moved the cake plate out of our way and slid the crème brulee dish between us. I poised my spoon over the lovely creamy brown surface and ceremoniously cracked the surface of the caramel. The crème underneath was a light yellow color, flecked with specks of real vanilla. You could even smell a very faint vanilla scent wafting from the dish.
“You get the first bite…” Howard remeinded me. My spoon was still resting on the surface of the crème, as it had been since I cracked the surface. I slowly scooped up a bit of caramel and a spoonful of crème nd brought it deliberately to my mouth. The bite was so luscious that I was rendered speechless.
“That good, huh?” Howard mildly teased.
I scooped up another spoonful. I brought it to Howard’s mouth and placed it inside. He wrapped is lips around the spoon and pulled back, all the while looking at me. I felt a lump coming up in my throat and a familiar tingle in my loins. It had been along while, but I knew what that tingle was all about. I couldn’t believe that I was finally getting back that loving feeling, coincidentally, with the person I was going to be loving on the very next day. I don’t know if it was the alcohol, or the ambience, or just the company of the amazingly charming Howard, and I really didn’t care. All I knew was that I was getting good and horny again, and I liked it.
We finished the last of the crème brulee in intense silence. I was getting more scared and excited by the minute. As I carefully scraped the last of the crème brulee out of the dish, Howard cleared his throat and looked at me seriously.
“I have to talk to you about something, Julie,” He intoned solemnly.
I swigged the last of my brandy, trying to gather up the rest of my courage.
“Yes?” I asked tremulously.
“Are you serious about doing this?”
“What?”
“Well, this stunt. Me, I guess,” he said with a little smile.
“Yes, I am.” I tried to sound resolute.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, absolutely, I am.”
Howard looked at me intensely. “Why?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why?”
“Well…I don’t…I mean…lots of reasons, I guess.”
“Like?” he pressed. For someone who supposedly wanted to get laid, he was raising a lot of objections.
“Well, like being on your show. And getting the money to go back to school. And…and…” I couldn’t say the other thing I was thinking. I was too embarrassed, and it really hadn’t even occurred to me until that moment. “And you’re cute. And nice. And I like you,” I blurted out. And that much was true. I did like him. We’d had a nice time. Certainly a nicer time than I had on my sparse college dates. He was nice and sweet. He fed me dessert. He was gentle with me. What else was there?
“Julie, I like you too. But what you have is so precious. And you are such a precious, lovely young woman. I can’t be the one that takes this. And I shouldn’t be. You should be in love. You should be in love with a wonderful young man who loves you back. This would be wrong.”
I was in total shock. I might have expected Howard not to want to have sex with me for a number of reasons- because he didn’t think I was cute enough, or my tits weren’t big enough, or I didn’t look virginal enough, but not because he wasn’t sleazy enough! Not because he was too nice! That had never occurred to me.
Part of me wanted to cry out, ‘But I’m not really a virgin! Really, it’s alright! You can fuck me all night long if you want! Please fuck me! I’m begging you!” He had gotten me all worked up just by being so nice and delightful, and now I would be going home alone.
But I didn’t say any of those things, partly because I knew they wouldn’t make any difference, and partly because I knew he was right. I just sat with my mouth hanging open. Finally, I recovered enough to ask him, “ What did I do wrong?”
“Nothing, sweetheart. You did everything right. I wanted to meet you because your email was so funny, and your picture was so cute. I didn’t think you were really for real. But you are. And you’re lovely. And I want this to be lovely for you.” He looked at me seriously. “I want you to go home, go back to campus, and meet a lovely young man. Or woman. Whatever floats your boat.” He grinned mischieviously.
“I won’t be going back to school anytime soon. I can’t afford that.”
“Oh, that’s right. You were going to do me for the tuition money. I think if you call the university cashier’s office, you’ll be pleasantly surprised to find that you have the next eight semesters prepaid. And you probably have a good size credit in the bookstore, too.”
I sat dumbfounded once again.
“Hey, never let it be said that I didn’t do a good deed. Four years should be long enough so that you figure out what you really want to do with your life. And get a PhD in the meantime, if that’s what you want.”
I was speechless. I couldn’t believe that someone who didn’t even know me would do something so nice for no apparent reason. I started to cry.
“Oh, Julie, no crying allowed,” Howard joked. “You’ll make me cry, and it’s all downhill from there. I sound like a sick camel when I’m crying, and I don’t look too much better, either.”
“O-kay,” I boohooed.
“And what about this novel you want to write?”
“Ye-ah,” I sniffled.
“What’s it going to be about?” Howard asked, trying to change the subject to a less emotional note.
“Well, I was thinking about a road trip kinda story, maybe…a coming of age tale, you know,” I offered, still trying to control my bawling.
‘That’s a great idea. Do you have it started yet?”
“Yeah, I have an outline,” I said softly.
“Well, have you looked for an agent yet?”
A great snort escaped my nose. “Yeah, like an agent’s going to want me, an untested writer who’s only been published in her college literary magazine.
“Well, that may be true, unless you know someone who had connections…” Howard trailed off.
I stared at Howard in wide wonder once again.
“I have an idea or two- see, it goes something like this…” And with those words, Howard changed my life.

Chapter Seven- So A Nun, A Drag Queen, and A Congressman

2005-10-17T23:43:00.000-04:00

I think I forgot to mention that these chapters are not edited for those little touches like spelling, for instance, and that when I wrote them I was two-fisting the coke and whiskey late at night after having worked a full day in the salt mines. Just so you know.

One day, I might get around to proofreading. But not until this year's novel is done.
_________________________________________________________________

By two o’clock, we had already gotten stuck in two traffic jams and weren’t even through New Jersey yet. I was getting discouraged, and Karen was getting carpal tunnel syndrome from the repetitive bird flicking she was giving to all the other drivers around us.
“These are some rude motherfuckers up here. Remind me again why we came to this godforsaken place. Oh, that’s right- because I love you. I hope you’re buying me a really good Christmas present this year, Miss Thang.”
“Hey, I already told you I’d list you as a ‘turn-on’ when I do my big Playboy spread.”
“Yeah, but I think for this much pain and suffering, I ought to get to be in Playboy with you.”
“I’ll talk to Hef about it, but we’re not exactly the Barbie Twins, you know.”
“No, we actually keep our food down.”
“Oh, that’s cold. You shouldn’t make fun of people with eating disorders.” We were both True Hollywood Story junkies, and we knew all the dirt on any celeb big enough to have their life story on E. The THS on Jenna Jameson was our favorite, though. That girl was a big success, and she made it all happen herself. We were big admirers of personal pluck and ambition.
“I make fun of everyone. I am equal opportunity, sister. You should know that by now.”
“You would even make fun of handicapped people?”
“What do you call a man with no arms and no legs hanging on the wall? Art.”
“What about handicapped children?”
“What do you call a boy with no arms and no legs hanging on a wall?”
“Oh, you are cruel. Evil, horrible, and cruel.”
“And you love it. Admit it. You wouldn’t mind if I spanked you like I spanked Jackie yesterday.”
“Well, since you brought it up…”
“Alright, Little Miss Nosy, ask away.”
Karen had been asleep for most of the trip since we left Isabella’s, and I had been dying to ask her what had happened last night between her and Jackie.
“So, what happened?”
“Nothing, really. We just talked.”
“I heard you moaning as I was falling asleep last night.”
“Yeah, he gives the most wonderful foot rubs. Almost orgasmic.”
“And that’s it?”
“No, I let him suck on them, too. That really felt good. Erotic, if you ask me.”
“But he didn’t suck on anything else?”
“My God, aren’t we the little voyeur?” Karen teased. “If you’re wondering if I let him worship at the shrine of my womanliness, then the answer is no. And that’s the first time in a while. But it just didn’t come to that. We talked a lot.”
“And that’s all?”
“Yep. Although I know a lot more about him than I did about the last guy I fucked. Not that it’s a good thing or a bad thing. It’s just a thing.”
“So, do you like him?”
She thought about this for a moment. ‘Yes, I think I do. At the least, he’d make a great slave.” She grinned wickedly.
“I thought you already had a slave.” The last relationship that I knew about that Karen had was with a local lawyer, your basic yuppie businessman. That’s all I knew of him. That, and that the really, really liked to be spanked.
“Well, yes, there is Charles, but he doesn’t have the potential, shall we say, that Jackie does. He’s kind of flat.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that the boy likes to be punished, but he doesn’t really want to work for it. He’s more into pain, not so much into service. He’ll crawl across the floor and pick up things with his teeth if he had to, but he ultimately will fuck it up because he wants you to beat him, and beat him bad. Which is okay, if you’re just a garden-variety sadist, but I’ve been looking for a slave with a little more depth. One who might be looking for a deeper connection.”
“You don’t mean you might want to- you know- get involved with someone?” Karen was a big fan of casual sex that didn’t involve getting to know the other person beyond their first name and if they had any STDs. And since she was fastidious about protection, that was good enough for her. She didn’t want messy entanglements, she wanted to get off. She had lost her heart once, and now she didn’t want to get involved enough to lose anything to anybody again. And it worked for her, so who was I to judge. I hadn’t gotten laid in eons.
“I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t really want to talk about it.”
“Ooh, that does sound serious.”
“Hey, there’s truck stop on the next exit. Aren’t you hungry?”
It was a lame way to change the subject, admittedly, but I was hungry. I left Karen alone about Jackie, figuring she’d work it out in her head and then open up to me, or vice-versa. It was clearenough that she liked him, that she found him different, and it wasn’t just because he would scrape and bow, either, although I’m sure that didn’t hurt. I got off at the next exit, cursing the drivers that tried to cut me off as Karen gave them the requisite finger out of the passenger side window.
The truck stop was hopping for a Sunday afternoon. In a stroke of luck, we slid into a parking spot neat the door just as its former inhabitant was easing out. The aroma wafting from the restaurant smelled pleasant enough, like hamburgers with the faint scent of apple pie.
The restaurant was packed, but there were two empty tables up front at the counter. Karen and I took our seats and were quick to order. Hamburgers, shakes and fries for both of us- she wanted a plain hamburger, as rare as they could cook it, which was medium (gross) and a chocolate shake; I wanted my hamburger very well done (near about burnt, to tell the truth) and a vanilla shake. The food was back inside of ten minutes, and we were happily gorging ourselves when we noticed the commotion behind us.
A TV crew was coming in to set up shop. Karen and I looked at each other like, What the hell? The other patrons were noticing, too, and we all started to talk to the customers next to us in excitement.
Karen and I had been so into our food that we hadn’t really noticed the two people sitting next to me, which happened to be a nun in her full habit and a pretty young woman. How we had missed the nun, I can’t tell you. That would be like missing a penguin sitting next to you in the theatre. But with the excitement all in the air, she turned to me and started a conversation.
“I wonder what those TV people are doing in here, do you know, dear?” the nun questioned me.
“I have no idea myself. We’re just traveling through and stopped in for lunch.”
“Oh, really? Where are you going?”
“New York City.”
“Oh, my! What an exciting town. They call it Sin City, you know.” I half expected to get a lecture on the evils of the Big Apple from the nun, but she started to laugh and then the girl next to her started to laugh and then Karen and I joined in and we were all laughing. I was glad to know the nun apparently had a good sense of humor. Nuns aren’t known for their jocularity.
“So what are you doing in New York City?” the girl next to the nun asked.
“Oh, well, you know…just seeing the sights, I guess,” I demurred, definitely not wanting to detail our trip itinerary to the present company.
“New York is such a fascinating town,” the girl sighed. She looked to be about my age, maybe a little bit younger.
“Yes, you’re right about that,” the nun sighed. They looked at each other with fondness. “Remember that trip we took when you were just a little one,” the nun said.
“Oh, do I! I went home fantasizing about being a Rockette. I still want to be a dancer,” the girl said wistfully.
The nun startled. “Oh, my goodness. I have been rude, haven’t I? My name is Sister Mary Magdalene, and this is my…daughter, Roxie.”
“Well, nice to meet you,” Karen replied. We extended our hands and got a warm grasp from the nun and her daughter.
We must have looked a little perplexed, because the nun hastened to say,” Well, I haven’t always been a nun, you know. I joined the convent after Roxie was all grown.” Okay, this helped explain things a little bit better. Not being that familiar with Catholicism, it hadn’t dawned on me that nuns could join up after they’d already had sex and babies and the like. This was interesting.
The nun and her daughter proceeded to chat with Karen about the mini-ruckus taking place due to all the cameras and lights being set up. I gnawed away at my burger, while other patrons turned around in their seats and began a serious debate about what might be taking place.
“Maybe they’re getting ready to lose their sanitation license again,” one customer said in a hushed voice.
“No, they cleared up all those problems months ago,” said anothter. I haven’t seen a roach in here since last March. This comment made me almost choke on my food.
“Maybe the President is coming to visit.”
“The President, coming to visit the Screech and Eat in East Pascataway, New Jersey? Whatever you’re smoking, I want some of it.”
The girl piped up. “Maybe it’s American Idol, looking for new participants!”
The nun-mother touched her arm. “You’d be a sure winner! Why don’t you go ask the nice man setting up the camera over there.”
The girl bounced off her bar stool and over to the nearest camera man. She twisted her hair around her finger and lowered her head as she talked to him, and even from the back, I could tell she was flirting hard core. Her mother just looked after her in pride.
“Such a pretty girl, ain’t she,” the nun asked me.
“Yes, ma’am. Very pretty,” I replied. And she was, ecept that something kept eating at me. There was something off with her appearance. I couldn’t place it. She had a pretty, innocent face, smooth and unlined, fine strawberry blonde hair, and a thin, lithe body. She had a relatively flat chest, but in the cute little sundress she was wearing, that didn’t matter so much. She had very shapely legs, and was wearing the most darling little white kitten heels. She came back to the table in a state of excitement.
‘Well, it’s not American Idol, but Congressman Smuthers is coming to film a commercial here!”
The nun got very excited. “Oh, he is such a wonderful man! So generous- he came to the convent last year to present a contribution. He’s Catholic, you know,” she said conspiratorially. “And he’s so handsome, too.” With that comment, the nun and her daughter giggled like schoolgirls.
The daughter put her fingers up to her mouth to cover her giggle. “Oh, Mother, you can be so silly sometimes,” she cooed.
It was then I noticed it. The girl’s hands were awfully large. The fingers were long, with delicately lacquered fingernails, but the knuckles were big and bony. The areas between the knuckles carried noticeable black hair, and the wrists were thicker than the average female’s. Then I looked at her breasts. Nonexistent. Her face- smooth and tastefully made up, but you could see just a very hint of five o’clock shadow peeking through.
I started to choke on my food in earnest, and Karen helpfully slapped me on the back. “You alright, Julie-Poo?”
“Ye-ah,” I managed to stammer out. “Something must’ve gone down the wrong way.”
I couldn’t believe it. The nun-mother really threw me off. She was acting like nothing was amiss, like her precious little girl was just that, when in reality, sweet little Roxie was probably born Robert. What in the hell kind of town was this?
I was dying to tell Karen, but I couldn’t very well just blurt it our right in front of them. That would’ve been rude. I couldn’t be rude to a nun or a drag queen. That would be wrong.
Karen continued an animated conversation with Roxie about her heels, which Karen has highly admired. Karen usually preferred much taller heels for herself, but she was a shoe fan in general and was quick to compliment other women on their footwear and pump them for info on where they got them. Since they were on either end of the nun and I, Karen decided to move down to talk to Roxie, which left me alone with the nun. I was at a loss for conversation starters. I had never been very good at making small talk, and I was afraid if I opened my mouth, I would blurt out, “How long has your child been a drag queen?” Obviously, she was taking this whole thing very well.
“So, dear, where are you from?”
“North Carolina. Raleigh.”
“Oh, my, that’s a long way away, isn’t it?”
“Yes ma’am. We drove.” No shit, Sherlock, I thought to myself. What did I think she though- that we walked? I was struggling.
“So where is your convent?” What a lame question to ask, but what else do you say to a nun? You can’t very well ask one what she does for a living, as that’s patently obvious.
“So where is your convent?” What a lame question to ask, but what else do you say to a nun? You can’t very well ask one what she does for a living, as that’s patently obvious.
“Oh, the convent’s not twenty miles from here. Once my kids were grown, I knew I wanted to serve, but I was hoping I wouldn’t have to go far away from home. You don’t always get to pick, you know. But luckily, I was able to get a place near home. And since Roxie’s right down the road from me and she doesn’t have to work on Sundays, we get to have lunch every Sunday after church. I am so lucky to have such a sweet daughter.”
“So what does Roxie do?” As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I knew I would regret them. I was supposed tp be steering the conversation away from the she-male, not towards him/her.
“She’s the most talented child you ever did see- she sings, dances, acts- you name it, she can do it. She’s been a showman ever since she was little. Right now, she’s dancing at Vic’s, this little theatre off the interstate, but she’s going to audition in a real show in Atlantic City at Bally’s next year, after she has a few more formal classes. After that, you never know- she really might get to be a Rockette someday. We don’t know what God has planned for her amazing talent.”
I sat listening to the nun in awe. There is nothing like a mother’s love to make a fairly reasonable woman totally oblivious to the facts (Like that you have to be an actual woman to be a Rockette) and optimistic beyond all logic (like her ‘daughter’ could even be a showgirl without being a girl first).
“Wow, that’s really exciting.” What else could I say? ‘You’re delusional, lady? They don’t let shims become Broadway dancers?’ Of course, I couldn’t day that. All I could do was smile and nod my head.
“I am just so proud of my little Roxie. She’s gone through so much. People don’t always understand her. But I do. And God does. I tell her, don’t listen the all that negativity. God gave you many gifts, and your job is to use them, even if other people don’t understand how blessed you are.”
Her devotion was unwavering and touching. But the whole conversation was a bit surreal. The nun very clearly knew that her daughter was a him, but she didn’t care. She was proud of her anyway. She loved her and supported her anyway. How much different would the world be if we all had parents like that?
I glanced over at Karen and Roxie, who were having a spirited discussion about which type of foot spa was the best for soaking your tired feet after a long day of stutting in three inch heels. Karen was loyal to the Homedics spa, while Roxie favored he Conair version. Both of them stopped cold when the Congressman came into the room, however.
The nun had been right- he was handsome. I fact, he was not just handsome, he was breathtakingly gorgeous. I immediately wondered why he was in Congress and not on a movie set somewhere. That’s how good-looking this guy was.
And he was suave, too. You could tell that from the way he shook hands. If you were a man, he would grip your hand strongly, so that you would know he was manly, but not so strongly as to make you feel uncomfortable that he was trying to hurt you or impress you with how strong he was. If you were a lady, he would press his right hand firmly but gently into your hand, then cover it with his left hand in a kind of hand hug, so that you could feel the heat of your small hand between his two manly, strong, warm hands. He would look you straight in the eye with his huge brown eyes and purr, “Thank you so much for your support, ma’am. I really appreciate it,” all the while slightly increasing the pressure on your hand. It was almost enough to make the average woman swoon.
I thought the nun and Roxie would swoon. They had watched the Congressman with this look of admiration and desire from the moment he walked in the door. They sat on their adjacent barstools, shoulders pressed together, hands clasped, whispering and giggling like two schoolgirls. It was amusing, and just a little disturbing. After all, this was a woman of God and a drag queen, lusting after a public servant. It was a strange moment.
The Congressman made his way over to the bar area, pressing the flesh all the way around the room while the cameras rolled. When he got to the nun and her daughter, his eyes lit up like tiny little Christmas trees. You could almost see the light bulb form over his head and the thought bubble come out of his mouth, saying, “Ooh, a nun and a cute virginal young woman, side by side. What a photo op this will be!”
Immediately, he began to chat the women up. “Sister, so lovely to see you! You must be from Our Lady of Perpetual Help, right down the road here in Pascatuket County.” Now, this was a safe guess, as I was sure this was the closest convent around, but of course, the nun took it as a sign.
“Oh, yes sir, Congressman! It’s so nice to see you again. You visited us last year. Do you remember? I was the one who made the Bundt cake. Sister Mary Magdalene.”
“Of course! Sister Mary Magdalene! How could I forget that Bundt cake? It was spectacular!”
“Oh, do you really think so?” she asked feverishly, still holding on to his hand. “It’s my grandmother’s recipe. My husband and kids used to love it- before I was a nun, you know. After Joe died- Joe’s my husband- and the kids were all grown, that’s when I became a nun. Anyway, this is my daughter, Roxie. Isn’t she pretty?”
Th moment became more absurd as the nun presented Roxie to the Congressman. He looked her all over, giving her legs a little extra stare. They were attractive- long, lean, and shining from a recent wax job, as far as I could guess. He shook her hand and looked down at them, a little quizzical.
“Yes, am’am, what a pretty young woman she is. It’s so nice to meet you. Roxie.”
Roxie blushed and turned her head to the side coyly. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Congressman.” She looked every bit the flushed ingenue, until you really started to look closely. The Congressman turned her hands over in his.
“You have such long fingers- I bet you play the piano, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes sir, Mother says that’s why they’re so long- all those years of stretching to reach the hard notes.”
The Congressman laughted. “Well, they sure are pretty hands, yes sir,” he said, giving them an extra squeeze. He seemed genuinely taken with Roxie, in a just barely sleazy way.
“I tell you what, you too are such a pretty pair. I’m filming a campaign video here, and I would just love to have y’all in it. Would you be willung to do that for me? It sure would be a big help to my campaign.”
Both Roxie and the nun grasped their hands together and began to clap eagerly.
“Oh, of course, we’d love, too, wouldn’t we, Mother?” Roxie asked.
“Oh, yes, how wonderful,” the nun sighed.
“That’s terrific, Ladies, now what about I you stand on either side of me and say, “Vote for Robert Smuthers for Senator.”
The nun looked a little worried. “I don’t know if we’re allowed to endorse candidates or not. That might not be such a good idea for me. But Roxie can still do it.”
“Okay, well, what If you say, “We want Robert Smuthers as our next Senator from this great state.”
“Same think. I think it’s forbidden.”
The Congressman looked a little disappointed. “Well, why don’t you just sit here and we’ll film you shaking my hand and we’ll use your daughter for the slogan.”
“Okay,” the nun piped up cheerfully.
The cameramen set up the shot while the production assistants shooed us out of the way. I grabbed up my shake before one of the assistants threw it out. I thought it was awfully rude of them to come in and disturb our dinner, but obviously, the owner of the diner didn’t mind. I saw a heavyset cook talkeing to the Congressman and shaking his hand. I wondered if her was the owner that had allowed this interruption. I had a mind to complain, btu I fugured I at least was enjoying the view of the Conreessman;s butt, which was as nice looking as the rest of him.
It took about ten minutes to get the shot with the nun and the cook, who got thrown in at the last minute, set up and filmed properly. Then it was Roxie’s turn.
“Now Rosie,” the Congressman began.
“Roxie,” she corrected with a smile, touching his lapel with a long, pink lacquered finger.
“Roxie,” he said, smiling back, “You look at that camera there, and with your prettiest smile, you say, ‘I want my next Senator to be Robert Smuthers.’ Do you think you can do that for me?”
“Yes, I can do that for you,” she purred, and I couldn’t help thinking that there was probably a lot more that she would like to do for him.
“That’s wonderful,” he purred back. They were so obviously flirting with each other. It would have been a bit disgusting if it weren’t so humorous, especially under the circumstances. If he only knew he was mackin’ on a dude. Whoa.
They set up the shot in front of the window, so you could see the “Screetch and Eat” sign and the gas pumps in the backgroud. It gave it a real homey, ‘real world’ feel. Roxie smiled for the camera and enthusiastically declared, “ I want my next Senator to be Robert Smuthers.” She did such a good job they only did two takes.
After the commercial was shot and the cameras and lights came down, the Congressman came back over to where Roxie was standing, surrounded by other patrons, her doting mother at her elbow. She was becoming quite a celebrity within the ‘Screetch and Eat.’
“Rosie,” he began.
“Roxie,” she gently corrected him.
“That’s right- Roxie,” he murmured quietly. “I’m having a campaign dinner tonight here in town, and I would just love it if you could join me. And your mother, of course, if she’s like.”
“Oh, dear, I’d love to, but I have to back tot he convent by five o’clock for vespers.”
“Oh, do you?” the Congressman asked inncoently. I had a feeling that he probably knew that already.
“But I’d love to come,” Roxie said exuberantly.
“Wonderful,” the Congressman drawled. “Here’s a ticket. Let them know at the door that you’re my special guest.”
“I sure will, “ Roxie said with a wink.
The Congressman gave her a little wave as he left. Roxie sighed like a smitten schoolgirl.
‘I can’t wait to see him again tonight,” Roxie breathed.
I wish I could be a fly on the wall when he sees you- all of you- I thought. I looked over a Karen, who had struck up a conversation with the nun about where you could buy a good authentic habit for secular use.
“Karen, I think we better hit the road if we want to get into the city on time,” I prompted.
“Alright,” Karen agreed. “Well, it was nice to meet both of you. Thanks for the shoe tips,” she said as she waved a little piece of paper at Roxie. “I can always use some new sources.”
We shook hands all around and wished them a good day. As soon as we were out of earshot, I said,” Well, that sure was interesting, don’t you think?”
Karen looked at me and smiled. “Yep, it’s not every day that you get to meet a Congressman.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“And it’s not every day that you get to see history in the making, either. I have a feeling that in a few months, we may be seeing Roxie on Howard Stern and in a few tabloids to boot: “The Drag Queen that Stole the Heart of New Jersey’s Freshman Senator.”
Karen grinned at me and I started jumping up and down excitedly. “ I knew it! I knew it! She was a he!”
Karen nodded her head enthusicastically. “You aren’t quite as naïve as you look, anyway. I would say pre-op, just started hormones. The voice is getting there, and she speaks in a pretty good falsetto, but she needs to gain some tits and lose some facial hair. All in all, though, she’s pretty passable right now. Obviously, she was pleasing to our dear friend, the Congressman.”
“I can’t believe he couldn’t tell!”
“Honey, the way she was batting those eyes at him, I don’t think he would’ve guessed if her dick fell right out of her dress. Men get kind of blinded by the least little bit of attention. Especially that type- the arrogant, good-looking lady killer. She’s ego candy for him. It’ll be a good trip back to planet Earth for him when he finds out the real truth. I just hate that we can’t see it first hand.”
“Like you said, I’m sure we’ll hear about it one way or the other.”
“We’ll have to keep an eye on the local news when we roll back through here. Unless we’re on our way to Hollywood already, of course.”
“Of course.”
We reached the car and Karen got out her lipstick and started to write on the back window.
“What the hell are you doing?” I questioned.
“I sense that you’re getting nervous and perhaps a little reticent. I think you need a little boost.” In big red letters, she wrote “Howard Stern or Bust” and drew a big pair of lips in the lower left corner.
“That’s going to take me forever to clean of,” I said, trying not to start laughing. Behind me, I heard a young male voice yell, “Woo hoo! We love Howard, baby!”
I turned around to see two college aged guys pumping their fists in the air. Karen beamed at her handiwork and waved at the boys.
“So do we, fellas,” she shouted suggestively. I did even know you could shout that loud that suggestively, but Karen was very gifted.
They hooted back at Karen, who gave them a little wave and hopped in the Honda. As we drove past, she tooted the horn and blew them kisses out the driver’s isde window, to their great satisfaction.
“Howard or bust, baby!” Karen shouted. Her enthusiasm was infectious.
“Watch out Howard, here I come!” I shouted out the window as we merged back onto the freeway, accelerating towards my destiny.

Chapter Six- The Ax Murderer

2005-10-17T23:41:00.000-04:00

The smell of a strong, rich roast wafted through the air and lured my nostrils awake. Slowly, the rest of my body followed suit. I raised up out of the bed, still in my clothes from the night before. I had been so tired it hadn’t occurred to me to change into pajamas. I stretched with a big yawn and pulled myself to a standing position. I stumbled out into the hallway and towards the wonderful coffee aroma.
Isabella was puttering about in the kitchen, sliding something into the oven. I heard laughter coming from outside, followed buy high-pitched shouts of “Higher, higher!” Isabella giggled to herself, then looked up when she heard my footsteps.
“Good morning, Julie! How did you sleep?”
“I slept like a rock,” I said, rubbing my eyes. “Your sheets smell wonderful.” As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I thought about how stupid they sounded.
But Isabella seemed to know exactly what I was talking about. She drew her arms around her torso in a little hug and smiled, eyes wide. “I just love good smelling linens. I try and dry my laundry outside whenever possible. One good thing about living in the country is that no one cares if you have a clothesline. Here, my neighbors can’t even see my clothes line. That never would have been possible in the city.”
“You used to live in the city?”
“Oh yes, I went to school there- college, I mean- and stayed for eight years afterwards. So much to do and to see, at all hours of the night. You were never at a loss for something to do. Out here, you have to have a little more imagination and make your own fun. Which is just as good, if not better. But very different.”
Isabella pressed a mug of steaming coffee into my hands. “Have a seat at the table. There’s cream and sugar out, and I think Jackie and Karen might have left a cinnamon roll or two.”
I fixed my coffee, still just a little groggy, and gnawed on a tiny cinnamon roll while Isabella kneaded a wad of dough. I watched her press it out and cut it into biscuits. I hadn’t seen anyone make biscuits in years and years, since my grandmother used to do it.
“I didn’t know anyone still made biscuits from scratch.” “I think they’re a bit more tasty than the can variety. They really aren’t that hard to make, either.”
“Did you make these rolls? They’re delicious.” They were just big enough that a couple of them would whet your appetite, but not fill you up. And by the looks of it, we were going to have a full breakfast as well.
“Yes, they’re made from biscuit dough, too. Biscuit dough is a very versatile thing.”
“Speaking of versatile, you never really told us how you got out here. I mean, no offense, but you seem at home and out of place at the same time. At home in here, even in the diner, but out of place in this backwoods area.”
“Well, the way I look at it is that people are like diamonds- multi-faceted and different from every angle, but still sparkling.”
“That’s deep.”
“I’m a regular philosopher. All I’m saying is that people, interesting ones anyway, have many and often seemingly contradictory interests. As long as you embrace all your aspects and don’t try to pigeonhole yourself, you can be happy. Or at least a lot happier.”
“So I like the philosophy, but it doesn’t tell me how you got here.”
“You want the dirt, huh?”
“Yeah, if you don’t mind. Is it juicy?”
“A little. It’s definitely funny.”
“Okay, lay it on me.”
“Let’s see…where to start…” Isabella’s voice trailed off and she got a far away look. “Maybe I should just show you.”
She went in the living room and rummaged around in a cabinet. She came back in the kitchen and thrust into my hands a small framed photo. It was a slightly younger Isabella with a man, somewhat older than she, but probably not old enough to be her father. He didn’t look like her, anyway. But man, they made an attractive couple. They were embracing each other in front of the Eiffel Tower. They were the picture of romance. She had long, wavy blonde hair that was spilling over both of their shoulders. He had dark, thick hair and huge blue eyes. I could almost feel the heat between them fairly radiating out of the picture and traveling up my hands. It was a little embarrassing, in a way, like I was witnessing some very intimate act between them.
“Were you always like this, the two of you?”
“Yes. It was heaven.”
“Who was he?”
“The one. That’s who he still is to me. Not the first man I loved, or the only man I loved, but the first man and the only man to date that I have loved completely and fully, as a friend, as a lover, as a love- and they are all very different things- but most of all, as a woman. And he loved me completely, too. I can say that with absolute confidence. That’s such a wonderful thing. I was so fortunate…” Her voice trailed off again, and she stared out into space. I didn’t think she was looking at anything in particular until she spoke up again.
“She looks just like him.”
“That’s your daughter’s dad?” I swung around in my seat to look outside. Chloe, Isabella’s daughter, was playing on her swing set with Karen and Jackie. She had her head thrown back and her long blond hair would almost drag the ground when she swung down. She was laughing loudly at whatever Jackie was hollering in a sing-song voice.
“Yes,” she said, with just the slightest hint of sorrow in her voice.
“So what happened? Where is he?”
“He’s still in the city.” “Why didn’t it work out? Why did you break up?”
“I wouldn’t say we broke up as much as I moved out of his local calling area. We just see a lot less of each other these days.”
“What about Chloe?”
“What about her?”
“Doesn’t he want to be part of her life?”
“He is, in a way that she understands. She loves him. Uncle Geoffy, she calls him. He brings fabulous presents and spoils her rotten. She doesn’t know that he’s her dad. I just told her that mommy wanted a baby very bad and that God said okay, and that’s how she got here. That’s a good enough explanation for now. When she gets older, I’ll explain that I had sperm donation. Which, in its most literal sense, is true for everyone, isn't it?”
“But why didn’t you guys get married or move in with each other or something like that if you were so much in love?”
Isabella smiled that Mona Lisa smile again. “Because sometimes love just ain’t enough, darling. I said I wanted a child. I didn’t say he wanted one full-time. Plus, he had other concerns.”
“Like what?” I was really getting nosy, but Isabella didn’t seem to mind.
“Like his wife.”
I sat dumbfounded. I knew people had affairs and things, but I had never met anyone who was rather frank about it. If Karen had ever had an affair with a married man, she kept it to herself. But Isabella was very straightforward.
“I knew from the beginning that he was married and I knew that he was going to stay that way. He was very candid about all this. It was my bad judgment to fall in love with him anyway. He warned me not to, and I knew better. But I couldn’t help myslef. He was as lovely on the inside as he was on the outside.”
“He looks like he likes you pretty well, too.”
“Oh, yes, I feel sure that he did. And still does. It’s a rather lovely feeling.”
“So why did you move all the way out here, so far away from him?”
“It seemed like the best thing to do for everyone involved, especially Chloe, who wasn’t even born yet. She’s lived her whole life out here in the country. She loves it. She gets to roam all over the place. There’s lots of kids around here, too. She goes to Sunday School and preschool and gets on great with the other kids. I’m afraid she might have been a little stuck up if she’d ended up in one of those city ‘learning academies’ or some crap like that. She’s being a real kid. And in case you were wondering, she’s not the only one with a single parent. At least she has me and her grandmother. There’s a lot of kids in this area that are being raised totally by their grandparents or other relatives and can’t hardly remember their own parents. Chloe’s lucky. And she never has to know that her own father didn’t really want a child. All she has to know is that we love her very much.”
I sat taking all this in, when suddenly, Isabella perked up a little. “But you want me to get to the funny part, don’t you?”
“There’s a funny part?”
“Oh, yes. Well, I find it funny, anyway. My sense of humor is admittedly a little twisted, though. So Geoffrey-that’s his name- and I had been having a relationship for some time, four years, in fact, when I found out I was pregnant. I was thrilled, but he was not. He wasn’t upset, just a little nonplussed. He had never wanted to raise children of his own, and as much as he loved me, my being pregnant did not change his mind. But he was concerned about my safety, and that of our daughter. So I decided to head for the hills, so to speak. We had good reason to be concerned. This is the funny part of the story.”
I waited for the punch line, but Isabella was just getting started.
“When Geoffrey and I met, I had just finished graduate school. I was working at a large publishing firm as an assistant editor. My office was downtown, and office politics being what they were, I often found myself doing lunch at swanky eateries with my boss and her very hip friends, eating very hip food. Now, don’t get me wrong, I like sashimi and wilted leeks in a cranberry-apricot relish as much as the next neo-yuppie, but secretly, I sometimes felt that we were going overboard, trying to each prove that we were more cosmopolitan than the other. I felt like I had to fit in with my boss’ circle, though, so I kept going. And I kept running into this guy at least a couple of times a week. He ran in the same circle as my boss, and those folks naturally eat at the same restaurants. Initially, I noticed him as one of the men my boss would coyly wave to and nod at when she saw them, but this was a large group, so that’s not what made him special. What made him special were his eyes. They were a piercing blue, and huge. And he noticed me, too, because they started to follow me whenever we would meet. I blushed in spite of myself when I saw him, or thought about him. He was one of the most attractive men I had ever seen in person, and there was this aura about him, of goodness and light. I know that sounds stupid. I was young and in love. Now I’m older and still in love, and I still feel that way.”
“One day, I was stuck drowning in manuscripts, getting ready to go on vacation. I decided to beg out of the usual lunch and try and get some work done. About two o’clock, my stomach started to protest very loudly. Still determined to waste as little time as possible, I ran down to the hot dog cart in front of my building. My boss and her friends were eating gourmet, I was eating a big fat chili dog with mustard and onions, and I think I got the better end of the deal. Anyway, here I am, so hungry that I start eating my dog right there on the street, not bothering to try and make it back to my desk. Chili is dribbling down my chin, mustard is all over my hands, and I’m loving every minute of it. I shove the last bite in my mouth and go back up to the cart to grab a handful of napkins. There's a guy waiting on his dog, and I don’t even pay any attention to him. Until he turns around and catches me wiping my chin, still chewing away. Of course, it’s Geoffrey, although I didn’t know his name then. But I knew those eyes. I had only seen them across a trendy restaurant, not up close, and they were incredible. I was entranced. I also had a glob of chili stuck on my cheek. He reached out and wiped it off with his handkerchief. I had never known a man that used a handkerchief. He introduced himself, bought me another hot dog, and we stood there and ate hot dogs and talked for an hour. So much for getting work done, huh?
“I went on vacation as planned, but instead of going home to see my family, I went with him on a business trip. We went on lots of business trips together. That’s part of the pleasure and pain of being a mistress. You go on lots of business trips and can spend lots of weekday time together, but you never get a true vacation or holiday together. It’s bittersweet.
“In fact, that picture there was taken on a business trip of his to Paris. It was lovely. He didn’t do any real business, save for the business of showing me Paris. But as far as we knew, his wife knew he was on a business trip and that was good enough for him. They had been married for over twenty years and lived very separate lives, according to Geoffrey. And of course, this is what I wanted to believe, so I didn’t ask too many questions. I was in love. The sex was incredible. I’m still in love, and the sex might be few and far between, but it’s still incredible. And that was and is good enough for me.
“But when we got back from Paris, he could tell something had changed. His wife became a little suspicious. She started to question him about his breakfast meetings and late dinners, some of which were legitimate, but most of which were spent with me. He started to get just slightly nervous. We had never worried about being sighted together before, since I lived on the opposite side of the city from him. Now he wanted to order in a lot more. That was okay with me, but I thought he might be making a little much of all this. He told me he knew his wife, and he had reason to be nervous. Well, that made me a little nervous, but he never said more than that, so I tried to let it go. One night, as we were eating take out Chinese for the third time that week, I asked him point blank what he was so afraid of.
“Have you ever seen Fatal Attraction?”
“Sure, I said, but you don’t have a bunny, “ I joked.
“No, but you have a cat that we’re both pretty fond of. And my wife is like Glenn Close.”
“Dumbfounded, I asked him to clarify.
“My wife is very…territorial. And she has no compunction about going after those she thinks are squatting on her turf.”
“Has she ever been violent?” I questioned.
“Not yet,” he said. “And I’d like to keep it that way.”
I still thought he was overreacting. Maybe his wife was the jealous type, but she couldn’t really be psychotic.
A few days later, Geoffrey came up with the idea that he would tell his wife he was going to start taking piano lessons again, twice a week. They had a lovely baby grand in their apartment. He had studied seriously when he was younger, but had given it up in college and always regretted it. He decided it would be a perfect excuse to make more time to see me, time in which he had a perfect alibi. I could be his music teacher, if it came to that. We thought it was a great plan.
After the first ‘lesson,’ Geoffrey came home to find his piano in shards on the living room floor, an ax sticking out of the middle of it. His wife never admitted to it, and they never discussed it. Later that week, I found out I was pregnant, and we decided it would be best if I moved a little farther away, for my own safety. So I used Geoff’s real estate agent and a generous down payment, found this great house, with the trailer already on the land, moved myself out here, my mother up here, and we’ve been here ever since.”
Now I sat dumbfounded. “What’s the funny part?”
“Well, can’t you imagine, you think you’ve come up with a brilliant scheme to dupe your wife, you come home, not just a little self-satisfied and relieved that she can’t give you the third degree about where you’ve been, and you walk into your living room and there’s a piece of your furniture, in pieces. Your wife is sipping a martini in her sitting room, like nothing unusual has happened. Now that’s fucking hilarious.”
I wasn’t laughing.
“Well, it wasn’t funny at the time, when I was a but worried about getting hacked to bits, but it’s very amusing to think about now that we’re out of shooting distance.”
I still wasn’t laughing. I was horrified at the thought of a psycho insinuating that she might hack Isabella to bits.
“Just imagine it like a movie- and the camera focuses in on the ax sticking out of the top of the piano, then cuts to the wife sitting calmly, sipping a martini and reading a magazine.”
I thought about this for a moment and began to slowly see the humor in it. After a few minutes of ruminating, I started to smile and almost giggle. I looked at Isabella, who looked like she might burst into laughter at any moment. So we did.
We were still laughing when Jackie came bursting in the door.
“What are y’all laughing about? I’m almost afraid to ask.”
“I told her the ax murderer story.”
“Oh, shit, that’s a great story. Funny as hell.”
“Two R-rated words, Uncle Jackie! Two bucks! Pay up!” a little voice piped in from the front door.
“Your daughter is turning into quite a little extortionist, Isabella,” Jackie commented as he pulled out his wallet and deposited two dollars into the cookie jar on top of the fridge.
I turned in the direction of the little voice and one of the cutest children I have ever seen walked through the front door. She had long blond braided pigtails that were swinging in time with her bobbing head. She wore overalls and a pink tee shirt with pink and white sneakers. She looked like the picture of a little girl, except that she had a big smear of dirt across her cheeks and over her nose. Dirt also marred the knees of her overalls, and from the looks of the worn spots there, it wasn’t the first time.
She stopped in the middle of the living room when she saw me. She turned her head to the side, looked at Karen and said, “That’s Julie-Poo, right?”
Karen grinned. “Yep, that’s Julie-Poo.”
Now normally, I really prefer not be called Poo in any form or fashion, but everything sounds cuter when a cute little kid says it, so I decided not to argue. “Yep, I’m Julie-Poo,” I answered.
“You slept long,” Chloe observed.
“I was tired. Karen wore me out yesterday.”
“That’s okay. My grandma wears me out sometimes.”
Isabella laughed to herself at this observation. “Chloe, I’m sure Julie would like to get cleaned up before they have to leave. Why don’t you show her where the bathroom is and get her a towel?”
“Okay. C’mon Julie, I’ll show you.”
I grinned at Isabella and followed her down the hall. The bathroom was neat and clean, all done in blue and white, except for a large pink fluffy towel hanging from the towel rack.
“You can have any of the towels you want, except that pink one, ‘cause I just used that one yesterday. But any of the rest of ‘em are okay.” She looked up at me expectantly. “Anything else you need, Julie-Poo?”
I had this overwhelming urge to reach down and tousle her hair, but I managed to restrain myself. “Nope, thanks, though.”
“Okay, bye-bye.” She closed the door behind her as she went out. I wasn’t generally that fond of kids, but this one was mighty cute and polite. And apparently a little spoiled, too, if the enormous amount of bath toys lining the tub was any indication. I couldn’t help myself- I had to play with a couple of the ducks during my shower.
I emerged from my shower refreshed and in clean clothes, the bath and the coffee working to energize me. Then I noticed the time and my blood really got going.
I ran out into the kitchem. “Karen, it’s ten o’clock already! We have to be in New York in eight hours to check into our hotel!”
Karen looked at me with resigned exasperation. “Julie-Poo, I was just waiting on you. I couldn’t very well go on without you.”
“We’ve got to hit the road. We’re already so far behind-“
“Relax, why don’t you? Look- Isabella already has breakfast and snacks packed and ready to go.” She pointed to a styrofoam cooler on the kitchen table. Isabella added a thermos to the assortment of things that she had gathered for us to take- the cooler, a loaf of foccacia (where she got that in Bumfuck, I’ll never know), and a bottle of Evian.
“Wow, you’re such a mom. But much cooler.”
Isabella hesitated. “I’ll decide to take that as a compliment.”
“Oh, it is, really. I’ll thank you again when I get on the show.”
“So, when is the fateful day of your deflowering?” Isabella asked.
“What?” Jackie countered.
“Hush, I’ll explain it to you later. Unless you want us both to have to empty out our wallets into the cookie jar,” Isabella warned Jackie.
“Tomorrow night, supposedly.”
“Are you ready?”
“No. But I just have to close my eyes and think of my thesis on England, right?”
Isabella smiled. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”
“But I do. Opportunity is not just knocking, she is kicking the door open, and all I have to do is walk through it and knock boots with Howard. That’s a lot less distasteful than my current job. It can’t be worse than harassing people for money.” “Well, if you change your mind…”
“I won’t.”
“Well, good luck anyway.” She gave me a big hug. “And if the two of you aren’t too busy on the way home, you’re welcome to stop here.”
Jackie and Karen gave each other the eye. Karen declared, ”I think I know someone who my be in need of some correction by then, don’t you?”
Jackie grinned mischievously. “Yes, ma’am.”
They would have stood there all day making googly eyes at each other if Isabella hadn’t started to gather up out booty from the table and head purposefully towards the door.
“Let’s help Julie and Karen pack up and get going. They’ve got a lot of driving to do.”
Even Chloe got in the act, grabbing the bottle of Evian. “When you come back, Julie-Poo, maybe we can play. Me and Karen got to play and she sure is fun. Kinda loud, but fun.”
“Sure thing,” I said amiably. I really wanted to tousle her hair now. It was an almost uncontrollable urge.
She caught me staring at her head. “Go ahead, s’okay.”
“What?”
“You want to pat me on the head like a puppy ‘cause I’m cute.”
“Well, um..”
“It’s alright. I don’t mind.”
I looked up at Isabella and Jackie, who were both stifling giggles.
“She doesn’t miss anything, that one there,” Jackie said with a grin. He walked over and tousled Chloe’s hair, as much as was possible, anyway, with her hair in pigtails. I got in a tousle, too, while Chloe stood silently, stoically bearing the petting.
Grownups are so weird,” she said as she walked away, escaping the mauling.
“Amen to that, sister,” Karen said, coming around to the side of the car. She had been packing the trunk and had missed the whole petting exchange.
With everything packed, all there was to do was to leave. It was hard, though. As much as I was ready, or at least resigned to, meet my destiny, I didn’t want to leave this strange crew of new friends. I tried to remind myself that we hadn’t even known these people the day before, but that didn’t seem possible.
“Now, like I said, girls, if you have time on your way back, come visit. You don’t even have to call first- just come by the diner. If I’m not there, they’ll call me, okay?”
“Definitely. If I’m not on a plane to Hollywood by Tuesday, we’ll stop back by here. I have to get another pimento cheese sandwich, anyway.”
“Speaking of, there’s some pimento cheese in the cooler. It’s not the same as grilled, I know, but you ought to try it on those wheat crackers I put in your bag. It’s delicious.”
I was in awe. What a woman. “You are the best. I love you. Will you be my mom?”
“I hope I’m not quite old enough to be your mother, darling, but I will certainly feed you well, how’s that?”
I giggled like a schoolgirl as I hugged her goodbye. “Wish me luck!”
“Good luck- to all of you!” She giggled, too. “We’ll be listening for you. I can’t wait for the report on Howard’s…finer points.” With that, she and Jackie dissolved into laughter. It was nice to know that she was not above baser humor. Clearly, she was a Renaissance woman.
Karen and I climbed into my trust little Honda and took off, horn blaring, down the driveway. As we passed the big house, an elegant looking woman in a white sundress, huge straw hat and big Hollywood sunglasses regally waved from the porch swing. She had a drink in her hand, and I bet it wasn’t just Coke. It was ten am. That must be Patsy, I thought. What a strange little bunch.

Chapter Five- The Tale of the Two Thousand Dollar $1000 Car

2005-10-17T23:37:00.000-04:00

Here it is, Roof! Quite possibly the funniest thing I have ever written, and I couldn't have done it without you (and Penny, of course, for having gone through the trauma in the first place.) To the rest of you- if you think THIS is funny, then you've never heard Roof tell it. She's much more funny than I am. Hard to believe, but true.
________________________________________________________________

The evening progressed at a regrettably swift pace, as it always does when you’re having the time of your life. Karen and Jackie continued their S and M schtick, by which Isabella and I were much entertained. After a while, and a few drinks, there was one of those lulls in the conversation where everyone pondered their drinks for a few minutes, closed their eyes and thought of England.
“Slave!” Karen commanded.
Jackie’s eyes flew open. “Yes, Mistress?”
“Slave, I think you should entertain us tonight.”
“What would you have me do, Mistress? Strip down to my skivvies and perform an Irish Jig?”
“I said entertain us, slave, not scare the shit out of us.”
“Well, then, what, Mistress? Should I tell you a bedtime story?”
“Oh, yes, slave- tell us a story! Make it terribly funny and amusing, or else I shall have to confine your cock and balls in a restraint and spank you until you have pretty little red welts all over your hairy ass.”
“Oh, Mistress, please, pretty please, don’t throw me in the briar patch.”
“Shut up, slave, and tell us a story. And make it good. Or else.”
‘Yes, Mistress. Let’s see…hmmm…”
“Tell them about the two thousand dollar thousand dollar car, Jackie. That’s an excellent story.”
“Alright…well, it started like this…” And with that introduction, Jackie proceeded to tell this sad, sad tale…
“See, it all started when Sharon left me. I though we really had something. She was the most gorgeous thing I had ever laid eyes on, and I couldn’t believe she fell in love with me. I still can’t believe it. In fact, I don’t think she really did. I think she was lying. She just wanted me for my….well, I don’t know what, since I don’t have shit, but I’m sure there was soemthing. Anyway, I had a great life, and a great car and a great woman, and then one day, I come home a little early and she greets me at the front door looking all flustered.
“Hey, baby, aren’t you glad I’m home early?” I kidded her.
“What are you doing home?” she asked. “I though tyou weren’t getting off until five.
“I hope by five I’ve already goten off,” I told her.
“gee, what a romantic,” Isabella commented.
“Lok, she liked it whenm I talked a little explict, you know,” Jackie said. “At least I thought so. Anyway, I was so stupid, I didn’t even catch on.
“Let’s go get some dinner, “she says. “I’m starved.”
“Naw, baby,” I say. “I’m hungry for some good lovin’ I want me some of you to nibble on.” And I try to pull her into the bedroom, but she keeps pulling me back. I’m getting confused, and I keep trying to kiss on her and shit, pulling her towards the bedroom, and she keeps pulling back.
‘You can’t go in there!” she exclaims just when I’m getting ready to out my hand on the doorknob.
“Oh, come on, sweetie, it won’t take but a little bit. I’ll make it worth your while,” I told her.
Isabella snorted. “No wonder she left your ass. You’re such a wordsmith. A veritable poet, I’d say.”
“Well, no one asked you, now did they?” Jackie retorted.
“Slave, you apolofize to the nice lady,” karen instructed with a smack to his head.
“I’m sorry, Ma’am, “ Jackie said with mock deference to Isabella. “Anyway, as I was saying before I was interrupted, I was clueless.”
“And not much has changed,” isabella threw in.
“Anyway, “Jackie said loudly, “I pulled her in the bedroom anyway and there he was, buck naked on my bed. I was in shock at first, and I kept thinking, isn’t that weird, there’s a naked stranger in my bed. I wonder why? And now it makes me mad, I mean, the mother fucker could hear uys getting closer and closer and he didn’t even have the courtesy to hide or get dressed or try and jump out the window. For God’s sake, we were on the first floor! The gall of some people.”
“You’d think he would have had better manners. If he was going to fuck your girlfriend, he could have at least been polite and thried to act embarrassed or sorry.”
“exactly! Insteasd, he just laid on my bed and stared at me, still naked! What an asshole! It’s like he wanted to rub in the fact that he was fucking my girl in my bed while I was at work. I’m surprised he wasn’t wearing my goddamn robe. Anyway, I stood there and stared at him and her amd then back at him and I just left. I wanhted to puke all over them, but instead I left. When I came back a few hours later, she has packed all her shit and moved out. She left me with the furniture, the dishes, and the mortgage. I couldn’t ahdle any of it. I lost the furniture, the house, and my mind. Oh, and my car, too. Once she left, I got real laisse-faire, shall we say, about going to work and I got canned. No job, no money, no girl. I just lost everything, and I couldn’t even muster up enough emotion to even care anymore. It was a pretty black time period. When I finally realized I couldn’t live in my car anymore- this was as it was being repossessed, mind you- I decided I should get another job and try to get on with things. But I needed a car to get to work, and since I couldn’t get to work and couldn’t get money to get a car, either.
I saw an ad in the paper for a car for a thousand bucks. I thought it sounded like a good deal- a nine year old Ford Escort with a new engine. It went to check it out- it needed a paint job, but otherwise seemed okay. I didn’t know shit about cars, but it seemed okay to me. So I begged a thousand bucks off a friend of mine, even though I’m a proud guy, and even though it pained me to do it.”
“I think it probably pained her as well. And what did your friend tell you about this thousand dollar car, I wonder?” Isabella asked pointedly.
“I remember distinctly that she quoted the prophetic words of the Bottle Rockets: A thousand dollar car, it ain’t worth shit.”
Isabella looked mildly pleased that Jackie remembered her words so well.
“And she was right, but we haven’t go to that part of the story yet, so don’t ruin it, okay, Missy?” Jackie said in exasperation.
Karen whacked him upside the head again. “No disrespect! Do you hear me, you silly liitle slave boy?”
“Yes, Mistress. Sorry, Mistress. I think I may need another spanking, I have been so very naughty.”
“Just hush and get on with the story, slave,” Karen said.
“So anyway, I bought the car and left the car lot, and wouldn’t you know it, ten miles down the road, it totally breaks down. It just stops going. It coughs and dies.
I don’t have the money for a tow, so I just leave it there and hitch home, trying to come up with a plan. Meanwhile, I go on an interview at a local Storage facility that rents U-Hauls and I get the job. I get this wild idea to ‘borrow’ a U-Haul and a U-Haul trailer and go get the car myslef. But I can’t handle it alone, so I have to recruit a fiend to help me.
“And some of your friends are dumb, but there aren’t many of us that are that dumb,” said Isabella.
“So I can’t get any of my so-called friends to commit. I end up bribing an old drunk that panhandles downtown to come and help me in exchange for a case of Wild Irish Rose. We go and drive over to where the car is, but we can’t budge the damn thing. It’s been there a few days on the shoulder, and it’s kinda buried down in the soft mud. We push and huff and puff. The old drunk isn’t much help. Just when we were about to give up, a really crusty looking crack whore comes up and starts talking to us.
“There you are! I knew you’d come back. I kept telling the cops that. See, this mall just reopened again after the SARS scare.”
“Well, I don’t know who the hell she was, or where she came from, or what the hell she was talking about the mall and the SARS scare. But that wasn’t stopping her.
“Them cops, they kept trying to put the orange sticker on your car so’s that someone would come and tow it, but I knowed you would come back ‘cause you wouldn’t just leave it. I told ‘em so.”
“Well, thank you very much,” I said, still kinda confused.
“You’re welcome. Now can we talk about compendsation?”
“What?”
“Compendsation. I think I deserve compendsation for keeping your car from getting towed. I think that’s only fair. Are you going to be a cheapo bastartd?” “Look, I appreciate your help, but if I had extra money., I wouldn’t be in here with a U-Haul and trailer trying to tow my car.”
“You don’t even have hour dollars?”
“Now, I don’t know how she decided on the sum of four dollars as a fair and equitable trade off for her considerable services, but as luck would have ti, I didn’t even have four dollars in cash on me. All my money had gone to buying the case of Wild Irish Rose for the wino, who by thi stime was slumped over on the ground next to the U-Haul, snoozing.
“No, I’m sorry. I told you I don’t have any money, not even four bucks.”
“You’rea shithead. My boyfriend is going to chew you up and spit you out, you know?”
“Okay, whatever.”
The crack whore stomped off, mumbling to herself. “Yeah, okay, whatever my ass, wait until Jerome gets back then we’ll see who’s whateverin then, stupid cracker asshole. Jermoe’ll rip him a new shit hole, that I will, yes sir, then I’ll leave him outside in the rain for the dogs and I won’t keep no cops from putting the oirange sticker on that piece of carap no more, no siree, you won’t catrch me doing that…”
She mumbled all the way back into what I figured was her abode, a small, decrepit trailer very much unlike this one, save for the fact they were both delivered on flatbed trucks at one time or anohter. She tried to slam the door, but when it’s made of cardboard, it doesn’t make much sound when you yank it shut. In fact, she had a hard time getting her door to stay closed. She’s try to bang it shut and it would popo back open with a start. I watched highly entertaining scene with not even a thought regarding her Jerome, who was going to rip me a new asshole. I was so busy trying not to laugh at her to her face that I kind of forgot about the big boyfriend part.
A rumbling sounfd broke my reverie. A very old EL Camino zoomed up the street and pullrf up directly in from of the crack whore’s trailer. A huge man unfolded himself from the cinfines of the EL Camino and surveryed the scene. His eyes fell on mine, and I had a brilliant idea.
“Excuse me, sir?” I called out, “ Do you have a moment? Do you think you might be able to help us with this real quick?”
Amazingly enough, the guy was very willing to help. “Sure,” he replied as he approached me and rolled up his shirt sleeves. He glanced over at the drunk snoring on the groud. Iot had been a real mistake to buy the booze beofre the job went down. Two bottles of Wild Irsih Rose had already been sucked down, and the drunk has his fingers clenched arounf a third bottle in his sleep. “Doesn’t look like you’re getting much help here.”
“No, that’s for sure. I think he’s tired. Aren’t you tired ,Sid?” I called out to the drunk. As if on cue, Sid farted in his sleep quite loudly. Both the very large man and me laughed our asses off at that one. Ou could npot have timed that fart more perfectly if you had planned it out.
“Anyway, me and the big dude managed to get the front tires on the trailer in about five minutes. He was a strong motherfucker. We were working on getting the rest of the car up when his pager went off. He looked down at the number, glanced towards the crack whore’s trailer and dropped what he was doing, which happened to be the back of the car, and walked over and into her house. I was cursing underneath my breath since my best chance and getting this car home seemed to have just up and walked away. As soon as he got in the door, I heard him holler,”Where’s my four dollars, bitch?” Well, that explained one mystery.”
“I tried to get the drunk up again, but there was no hope. He was snoring louder than a fucking freight train. Meanwhile, I’m standing there staring at this car, halfway up on the trailer, cussing up a storm underneath my breath, totally pissed off. Just then, a pickup truck comes putting down the street, loud as hell ‘cause it’s missing a muffler, and it slows down to idling as it comes up on me and the U-Haul and the trailer and the car. A guy in a Red Man bill cap, you know, the kind you get free in the box of chew, sticks his head out the driver’s side window, spits out a wad of tobacco and jiuce and looks at me and then the car and tehn me and then the car again, rubbing his chin like he’s real deep in thought.
“You need some help thar?” he asks me, his head all cocked to one side, like he’s truly wondering if I need help or if I can handle getting the car up the rest of the way by myself.
“Um, yeah, I guess I do,” I replied. I was trying not to sound snotty, since I was glad they stopped to help me, but at the same time I couldn’t help thinking, “Well, what do ou think, motherfucker? Does it look like I migfht need some help? I can’t exactly levitate this fucking car right on to the trailer, can I?” But for once, I was able to keep my big mouth shut and just keep nodding.
“I am in shock- you, able to keep your mouth shut? I don’t believe it,” Isabella commented. They seemed to enjoy throwing jibes back and forth as much as Karen and I did. Just to spite her, Jackie sat with this lips pursed in a tight line and cut his eyes at her. That is, until Karen smacked him on the head with a loud whap! Jackie’s head bobbed about.
“Did I tell you to be quiet, slave?” Karen boomed.
“No, Mistress, sorry Mistress,” Jackie apologized profusely while Isabella and I giggled like schoolgirls watching a classmate get reprimanded for something we’d done wrong.
“Then keep talking!”
“Yes, Ma’am! Right, now where was I…”
“The rednecks had pulled up and offered to help you out,” I piped up. I was thoroughly enjoying this silly story. I was not convinced of its verity, because it just sounded too funny, but you never can tell- the truth is often stranger than fiction.
“Oh yes! Anyway, the redneck driving spit tobacco juice all over my shoes, but who am I to look at gift horse in the mouth, even if he is drooling? They had to be better help than Sid, who was still splayed out on the ground, sawing logs.
“So they put the truck in park, there in the middle of the street, and got out to help. The guys were nice and all, but they were kinda busted, if you know what I mean. There wasn’t much gas left in their engines. We did manage to get the car almost up, but couldn’t get it all the way there. Just then, the huge dude comes storming out of the crack whore’s trailer, and man, does he look pissed. He had slammed the door open and stomped down the stairs. We all stopped what we were doing and just watched in awe. He was headed right for us. It was that deer in the headlights feeling- you know, you see danger coming, but you just can’t stop yourself from watching it unfold, even though you know you ought to get out of the way. We just stood there as he got closer and closer and bigger and bigger. He walked right up to me, I swear, he was this close-“ and with that he hugged Karen’s leg tight, and if he were a dog, we might have thought he was going to start humping it right there. She shooed him off like a little bug.
“-he was that close to my face and he goes, “Man, you need at little push?” And I coughed out,”Yeah,” And we all fell back from the car and he lifted up the back bumper and boom, up the car went and then down the car went right perfectly onto the trailer. We just watched with our mouths hanging open. He was amazing.
“Dude, you ought to be a football player or something. You are tough!” I almost yelled. I felt like hugging him. He had saved my ass. He was kinda like a superhero, but instead of Superman, he would have been SuperMackDaddy! He brushed his hands on his pants and crossed his arms over his chest, looking satisfied, and as if to say,”Well, my work here is done,” he nodded at each of us and walked back to his car, and drove off into the sunset. He was my hero.
So I finally had the car up on the trailer and strapped down, and was ready to get the hell out of there. There was just one problem. The street was a dead-end and I was pointed in the wrong direction. The street was too narrow to turn around in, as there was woods bordered by a big deep muddy ditch on one side and trailers lined up right on the curb on the other. I stood staring at the road with my hands together under my chin like I was praying or something, hoping an answer would just walk up and find me, just like the big dude and the two rednecks had come to my rescue. And after a minute, one of the rednecks, who hadn’t said a word the whole time that we were pushing the car, comes up to me and tugs on my sleeve.
“Thars adruvewy atend darod.”
“Huh?” I said. I know that’s rude, but it was the first thing that came to my mind.
“Absolutely brilliant comeback,” Isabella drawled.
“Hey, it was what came out when I opened my mouth, give a guy a break! You know me, I don’t hold back- I go at life full throttle, wide open. That’s what you love about me.”
“I would love it if you laid off the gas a little from time to time. You might want to investigate getting a governor for your mouth, Speedy.”
“Anyway, I was trying to decipher what this guy had said, ‘cause it sounded like a foreign language and I was not fluent in West Virginian. So again, he goes, “Downthar atend daroad, thars abug druveway tha choo cun turnrundin.” “Well, I still had no fucking clue what this guy was trying to say, or saying, but that I couldn’t translate.
Finally, after standing there with a blank look on my face for what seemed like ten minutes, his buddy looks at me like I’m a total idiot-“
“Perceptive man,” Isabella interjected.
“And ANYWAY,” Jackie practically yelled dismissively, “His friend goes, ‘He said there a driveway at the end of the road that you can turn around in.”
“Oh,” I said, still not knowing how he got that sentence out of the garbled chain of consonants and vowels that came out of the other guy’s mouth. “How the hell did you know…”
The other guy looked at me like I had just asked him a supremely personal question, lke how many times he had whacked off that day.
“I just know, okay?” He tossed his head in disgust like a teenage girl and I kept waiting for him to say, ”Talk to the hand…”
By this time, I was ready to get the hell out of Dodge. The nieighborhood and its motley assortment of weirdos was not a place I wanted to spend the night. I kept waiting for another stereotypical character to leap right out of Saturday Night Live, like maybe a pimp in a bouncing Lincoln with cornrows and a fur coar was going to come driving down the street next and try to sell me one of his honeys. I didn’t want to wait around to find out, I’ll tell you that. So I hopped in the U-Haul and started out down the street. Sure enough, there was a driveway at the end of the road that was circular, so I could just drive the length of it and get myself turned around. The other houses, and I use that term loosely, that were in the neighborhood were either beat up trailers or floppy lookijng houses with saggy porches and brown lawns, but this lot was different. The trailer wasn’t brand new or anything, it was still up on cement blocks, but the yard was immaculately landscaped. The grass was a bright, almost neon green color and looked like somehting out of a magazine, if a little brick ranch house had been in the midle of the lot instead of a trailer. I was admiring the lot and not really paying attention to how I was driving, and so I didn’t notice until I had gotten a little ways down the road that it seemed like the trailer was dragging. I stopped the truck and got out and looked. What was making the trialer drag was this huge chumck of sod, about ten by five feet, that had goten tangled up in the undercarriage of the car. I had to kick it off with my feet, and I still only got about half of it out. About this time, I noticed that the rednecks, the crack whore, and some other guy were standing on the side of the road in front of the crack whore’s trailer, staring at me with their mouths wide open. I remember thinking distinctly, this cannot be good. I hurriedly made one more good kick at the sod, then I hustled back into the truck and peeled out of the neighborhood. Just as I drove past the group, it dawned on me who the other guy was- Sal. I had totally forgotten about Sal and driven off without him. Seeing as how he was asleep right next to the truck, it a wonder that I didn’t run right over his drunk ass. He kinda stared at me and the truck without any recognition, and then looked at the people around him with even less recognition. I felt a brief filcker of remorse, but not enough to make me stop the truck and pick him up.”
“So you just left him there with those people?” I aksed incredulously.
“Well, they had been pretty nice to me, and he didn’t have anything they could steal, so I fgured he’d be okay.”
“You’re a virtual Mother Teresa, I do say,” Isabella commented dryly.
“So what happened to him? Was he okay?” I questioned.
“You don’t even care if I make it out alive, but you’re terribly concerned about the no-good drunk?” Jackie asked in feigned hurt.
“Yes, he can’t help the fact that you bribed him out there by preying on his weaknesses and then you left him! That’s mean.”
“Well, I can tell you this- a saw him a week later, back on his corner tossing back a forty and harassing the passersbys for change. And he was fine.”
“What did you do?”
“I told him I didn’t have any cash. He called me a cheap asshole.”
“He didn’t ask you why you left him?”
“Honey, he didn’t even recognize me. He probably thought he dreamed the whole thing up. Anyway, I finally got out of that godforsaken neighborhood without incident. I started looking for the exit to get back on the interstate. I happened to glance down at the dash and that’s when I almost had a heart attack. I was near about out of fucking gas. I had to stop at the nearest gas station or run the risk of getting stuck out there again. Luckily, a gas station was right down the road from the neighborhood. I pulled in and was relieved that I was the only vehicle in the place. I ran inside, paid for five dollards worth of gas on my creidt card, hoping it had just a tiny bit more juice in it. Through the grace of God, it went through, and I literally ran back to the pump to pump my gas. I had just put the nozzle into my gas tank when another car pulled up. A tall, muscular older man with a buzz cut got out of his ’65 Mustang and looked me up and down. The car was nice looking, like he’d spent a lot of time on it, but he looked mean. He had that ugly, hard look about him that retired drill sergeants get when they retire. They get pissed that they don’t have anyone to yell at anymore, and they take it out on whoever is fool enough to cross their path. I quickly looked away. I didn’t need anymore trouble than I’d already been in. I stared down at my pump and tried to will the gas to pump faster so I could burn rubber. I feel someone staring at me, so I glance up real quick and the mean looking motherfucker is staring at the sod hanging off the end of the trailer, but he doesn’t say anything. It gave me a real bad feeling.”
“I was almost fucking done when who should pull up but the rednecks. The mean guy nods at them, and they waves out the windows and pull up next to him to shoot the shit. I yank the nozzle out of the tank as soon as I’m done and start to screw the gas cap back on. I drop it and it rolls under the fucking truck. I have to get onmy hands and knees to find the damn thing, and by this time, the rednecks are laughing and talking with the scary dude. The one I can’t fucking understand yells somehting in my general direction in a friendly tone, and smiles a half-toothless smile at me. I look past me, like, “Who’s he talking to?” And he waves at me again. The mean guy says something to him in a low, deep voice, and the guy rambles on for about thrity seconds, using animated hand gesture that tell me he’s telling the story about him helping get the car unstuck and onto the trailer. You can see the lightbulb starting to come on in the mean guy’s eyes, ‘cause he keeps looking back to me and the trailer and the sod, and the other guy keeps talking his scrambled talk, not aware that he’s fixing to get me in a dhitload of trouble, ‘casue just as I’m getting in the U-Haul, he apparently gets to the point about me turning around in the circular drive and cariving up a hunk of sod, ‘cause right then, at the exact moment that I turn on the trcuk, the mean dude just erupts like a ugly red volcano.
“Mother Fucker! My sod!”
I turn and see the mean dude lumbering toward me like Evil Incarnate. I can see the hatred in his eyes as he points at the trailer.
“My sod! My beautiful sod!” he keeps screaming, like I just ran over his dog or something.
Well, that’s all I had to hear to get me out of there. I slammed on the gas and flew out of there as fast as I could, which unfortunately, wasn’t very fast at all. The damn U-Haul could only go about 55 miles per hour, and it accelerated very, very slowly. I didn’t dare look back to see what was behind me, ‘cause I figured I really didn’t want to know. I ran a red light and swerved on to the exit ramp for the highway. I managed to merge with the traffic, which was going about 20 miles an hour faster than me. I got in the middle lane, figuring I might be safer with a lot of cars around me. At least he couldn’t run me off the road without hitting someone else, and he wasn’t that carzy, right? But I had a nagging feeling deep down that told me, yes, he probably was that crazy. And I was afraid he was also the sort of person that carried a loaded handgun on the front seat next to him. I tried to put some distance between us, but all I managed to do was surround myself with cars that kept beeping at me and giving me the finger as they drove past.
And within a few minutes, I heard someone laying on their horn and shouting pull up beside me. It was him. I wasn’t surprised, but I was scared shitless. I mean here we were, lumbering down the interstate at 55 miles an hour, and this dude was screaming loud enough that I could hear him through my closed window and over the diesel engine of the U-Haul. I almost shit in my fucking pants.
I tried to ignore him, but he was hard to miss. He hept moving a little past me, then dropping a little behind me, shaking his fist and screaming the whole time. When I didn’t respond or even look at him, he started throwing things at the window. First a cup full of some knd of red soda. It splashed against the window and ran down the glass with a smear, like really thin blood or something. It was not a good omen. Then he threw some kind of food. I couldn’t tell at the time, but it must have been a burger, ‘cause I found a lettuce leaf plastered to the passenger side door when I got home. Then somehting else, maybe his fries. He must have just stopped at Wendy’s on the way to the gas station. Then he pulled a little ways in front of me and tossed a fucking Frosty on my windshield. It got all over the place and I had to turn on my wipers to try and get it off. You know how it is when you’re in a strange car and you don’t know where anything is. I was trying to drive and not hit anythign and look down at the steering column and turn on the wipers. I turned on the headlights and moved the sterring wheel up and down and basically did everything except turn the damn wipers on. I finally got them on in time for me to get the windshield clean and see the crazy mean guy pull in front of me and tap his brakes. So of course, I had to tap my brakes, and the guy behind me started beeping at me. It was a nightmare, people all around me beeping at me and screaming at me and throwing things at me.
The crazy dude changed lanes so that now he was on the driver’s side of the U-Haul and I glanced furtively over at him. I could see inside his car, and there, on the front seat, was a fucking sawed off shotgun!
My stomach lurched like I had just fallen forty stories and I got all queasy and faint feeling. My chest tightened up and I started gasping for breath. I thought I was going to pass out, and then I’d run off the road and he would follow me and come and open my door and point his shotgun at me and shoot me dead. I saw the end of my life go by in a flash. I started to hear sirens and see blue lights flashing out of the corner of my eye. I thought I must be having a heart attack and that soon enough, I’d just slump over the wheel dead. Actually, what I was seeing and hearing was two Highway Patrol cruisers, pulled up in front of and behind the crazy dude, lights and sirens blaring. Apparently, one of them had been following the guy for a good while, but he was so busy harrassing me he didn’t even notice the cop behind him with his lights on. The cop had decided to call for backup after he saw his erratic driving and throwing of things, evidently. The crazy dude finally noticed that the cops were trying to pull him over and started banging on the steering wheel and cussing even harder, but what could he do? They forced him to pull over, and I kept right on rolling. Thank God. What a fucking disaster.”
By this point in the story, Karen and I were hunched forward, intently listening in awe. Isabella, who no doubt had heard the story many times, seemed to be enjoying our apparent interest in the tale. When Jackie paused to catch his breath, we looked at each other, mouths wide open, and started to laugh hysterically.
“That is the funniest motherfucking thing I have ever heard,” declared Karen, in between hoots.
I was too overcome to speak. Every time I tried to stop laughing and say something, I just started laughing all over again. The story was hilarious, but Jackie was a great story teller, building the story up, changing his tone of voice, and gesturing all over the place with his hands. We finally got a little calmed down when Isabella made a suggestion.
“Why don’t you tell them how the story ends, Jackie? What happened to the car?”
“Well, they don’t care about that…”
“Oh, yes we do! What happened?”
Jackie sighed. “After all that, I got the piece of crap car back to my friend’s house, where I was going to park it until I could afford to have it fixed. At least she did help me get it off the trailer, which was a hell of a lot easier than getting it on the trailer. After telling her the entire story and getting no sympathy, I might add,” and here he looked pointedly at Isabella, who was wearing a placid Mona Lisa smile, “and she asked if she could take a look under the hood. I told her okay, but not to touch anything and breeak it even worse, since she didn’t know shit about cars.”
“And then what, Jackie?” Isabella prompted.
“Then I went inside to get a Coke and when I came back, the car was gone. Poof. I knew it couldn’t run, and I knew she was a witch, so I figured she’d put a fucking spell on it. Well, two minutes later, here comes Isabella, flying down the driveway. She comes to a screetching halt and almost runs over me-“
“Did not!”
“Did too. Anyway, she gets out of the car with the most shit-eating grim on her face that you have ever seen, looking all full of herself. I asked her what kinda spell she put on the car to get it to run and she just smiled, wouldn’t tell me anything.”
“What did you do, Isabella?” I asked excitedly.
‘Well, as Jackie said, I don’t know shit about cars, but when I looked uinder the hood, soemthing idd seem to be amiss, a little out of place. I noticed that niether of the battery cables were attached to the battery anymore, so I just reattached them and what do you know, the car started right up.”
“Is that all that was wrong with it?” I asked. “Well, no, that’s not why it broke down or what was really wrong with it. It was a piece of shit. But, if Jackie hasdchecked and noticed that the battery cables had come loose, he could have gotten it to start and run long enough to get home. But then he wouldn’t have had his adventure!” Isabella grinned at us mischeviously.
“You are such a royal bitch sometimes, you know,” Jackie said in a pouty voice.
“You just hate it when I’m right.”
“That, too.”
“So what about the extra thousand?” Karen questioned.
“Huh?”
“Well, Isabella said it was a two thousand dollar thousand dollar car.”
“Oh. I am ashamed to have to tell you that I put another thousand into that piece of crap to try and get it to run right. After all that emotional investment, I just couldn’t let it go very easily. But it only drove semi-reliably for about a month when it left me on the side of the road for the last time. I forked over a hundred bucks to get it towed home, and I was going to get it fixed again, but somebody talked me out of that. It was hard to do it, but I had to give it up to a junkyard. They were the only ones that would tow it for free. They did give me a hundred bucks for the parts and scrap metal, which offset the cost of having it towed home, but I was still out two thousand bucks.”
“To quote the noble Brian Henneman, ‘A thousand dollar car, it ain’t worth shit,’” intoned Isabella solemnly.
“Amen, sister,” Jackie agreed.
“Well, slave, that was a very good story, I must say,” Karen said. “You have done so well, I might even let you worship at the temple of my womanliness one of these days. Maybe. But for right now, you can rub my feet some more.”
“With pleasure, my Mistress,” Jackie said as he kissed the tops of Karen’s feet. She was in heaven.
I was wore out. I rubbed my eyes. Isabella noticed.
“Why don’t you go in my room and lay down? You could use some rest.”
“Yeah, you’re driving in the morning,” Karen piped up.
“Thank God,” I joked. “You almost got us killed several times tonight.”
“Whatever. Hey, we wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for me. You didn’t want to go in the diner, remember?”
“Okay, so you do get credit for that.”
“Well, we’re just glad you ended up here, right, Jackie?” Isabella said.
Jackie looked up from his intense concentration on Karen’s feet. “Oh, yes, mighty glad indeed.”
“Well, julie, you sleep in my room, I’ll sleep in Chloe’s room, and these two can hang out in here until their ready to hit the sack. Karen, slave Jackiet here knows wherer the linens are and I’m sure he’d be thrilled to make up the couch for you.”
“Yes, Mistress, I will be happy to make your bed and even get it warm for you if you wish,” Jackie replied.
Karen ignored his last remark. “Thank you so much, Isabella. This is really wonderful. Much better than Motel 6.”
“I second that,” I joined in.
“I like having company. I don’t often meet nice new people I feel comfortable bringing home I=with me. Now don’t steal the silver once I go off to bed and prove me wrong, okay?” she said with a grin.
“Good night, Isabella!” I called as I walked in her room to crash.
“Good night, Julie. Sleep well,” she called after me as she closed the door to Chloe’s room. I rolled back the quilt on her bed and crawled under her white cotton sheets. They smelled heavenly, like fresh clean laundry should. I stretched out and fell asleep to the sounds of Karen’s very faint moaning. I wondered if she was still just getting her feet rubbed. I thought briefly about rubbing myself, but fell asleep before I could decide.

Chapter Four- The Cutest Fucking Trailer in the World

2005-10-17T23:35:00.000-04:00

Isabella was right- she was only about a mile away. We turned down a dark country lane, which truly looked a little spooky. It gave me the willies, and immediately I became paranoid.
“Okay, what if she’s a psycho killer and she’s luring us out here in the woods to torture us to death by first cutting our tongues out and pureeing them and pouring them down our throats?” I asked Karen, with a slightly trembling voice.
“No way- that would take far too much time. I think she would have just shot us in the diner if that was her m.o.”
Just then, we rounded a bend into a clearing and the gravel drive abruptly ended. Sitting in front of us was a gorgeous white Victorian style house, which could have looked a little spooky, too, if it were not for the rows of calla lilies by the front porch and the sunflowers on the side of the house and the bicycle leaning on its side on the front porch. The house looked like a little girl’s dream house, bathed in moonlight and happiness. But Isabella kept driving. Just past the big pretty house was a smaller, exceedingly long house with a small little porch attached to the front, with ivy growing up the porch posts and more calla lilies almost hiding the house from view. Ferns hung from the front of the porch and a rocking chair rocked getnly in the heavy breeze. It was tiny and charming, but I couldn’t figure out why the house was so disproportionately long.
“That is the cutest fucking trailer I have every seen!” Karen exclaimed in delight.
“That’s a what?” I was aghast. I could not imagine our Isabella, or what I thought I knew of her, in a trailer. I had never known anyone who lived in a trailer and couldn’t recall seeing a trailer, or at least noticing one before.
“That’s the cutest fucking trailer I have ever seen!” Karen exclaimed again. “Wow. That’s all I have to say.”
Karen pulled up next to Isabella’s car and hopped out, running up to the front porch and plopping down in the rocking chair before Isabella could even get to the door. “This is the cutest fucking trailer I have ever seen! Love what you’ve done with the place!”
“Why thank you. I am quite proud of it myself,” Isabella said with satisfaction.
I approached the trailer’s porch in awe, taking it all in. It really was the cutest fucking trailer you ever could see. There must be some kind of story behind all this.
As if she was reading my mind, Karen turned to Isabella and grabbed her arm. “Hey, I spilled all our sordid little secrets- what about yours? You never explained what you’re doing in a place like this.”
“You are a nosy little thing, aren’t you? Well, I can assure you that I am not a virgin. Not even close.”
“Neither am I. Julie is pretty close, though, but you already knew that. So what’s your story?”
“If you’ll shut up and come inside, I might tell you,” Isabella said as she threw the door open wide. I could see a lovely little sitting room with a cosy looking club chair and a welcoming glow inside. I walked up the steps and into the house with Isabella and Karen, all thoughts of Isabella being a serial killer almost gone. Then, as if on cue, just as I hit the inside step, just in time to save us, a police car pulled up.
“What the fuck?” I spun around to look at Karen, who for once, was speechless.
The driver’s side door of the police car slammed open and out jumped a uniformed policeman. He quickly drew his gun and pointed it straight at our heads, to our deep consternation and horror.
“Turn around and put your hands in the air,” a deep voice boomed. We froze, unable to do anything but gasp and sweat.
Isabella stopped with her foot in mid-air, spun around and shook her fist at the policeman. “Jesus Fucking Christ, Jackie, if you don’t shut up, you’ll wake up everyone in the big house!”
The policeman’s shoulders slumped and he lowered his gun. “Aw, Izzy, you’re such a wet blanket sometimes. You never let me have any fun.” He slunk towards the house looking a bit dejected. Isabella stood with her hands on her hips in front of the door, waiting for him, looking very much like a stern mother.
“Jackie, you know better than to come making a huge fuss this late at night. I”ve got a sleeping child and crazy mother up there in the big house. You don’t want to have to rock Chloe or Patsy back to sleep now, do you? Because if you wake then up, you are putting them to bed. And you know that Patsy already has a thing for you and your manly chest hair.
“Aw,Iz, I’m sorry, really I am,” Jackie protested. I just thought I’d have a little fun with these girls, seeing as how they ain’t from round here.”
“You’re going to give Washington County a bad name, you know that, Jackie? And you’re a man of the law! You should be ashamed.”
“Oh, I am ashamed, so ashamed. That was very bad of me. I am a very naughty boy and I should be punished.” And with that pronouncement, Jackie dropped his trousers, holster still attached, and mooned us all. At the sight of a bare ass and a plea for a spanking, Karen snapped back to life. I was still awed at the surreal quality of the scene, and the sight of Karen swooping down on Jackie’s ass and smacking it hard enough to leave a bright red welt was just too much for me to bear. Apparently, it was too much for Isabella, too, because she slowly slumped to the floor, holding her side. At first I thought she was having a heart attack, then she started making these whimpering sounds and I thought she was crying, but when she started rocking back and forth, I rules out autism as the likely cause and realized she was laughing her ass off. The whole scene was rather amusing, I suppose, if you were in the frame of mind to enjoy it, and I was almost out of my mind at that point.
Karen kept methodically smacking Jackie’s ass and counting until she hit five, then she yanked him up by his hair, no small feat considering that he had a near about crew cut.
“Hi, I’m Karen,” she introduced herself.
“Whoa,” Jackie mustered. “I think that’s illegal in Washington County. But I like it.”
“If you ask me, you could use some more of that, Jackie.”
“Well, Iz, I don’t think I asked you.”
“Well, I’m telling you. And now I’m telling you to pull up your pants and come inside. After all of this, I bet these ladies could use a drink.”
Jackie pulled up his pants under Karen’s watchful eye. They filed in past Isabella and me while I watched, still dumbfounded. Isabella tugged at my sleeve and woke me from my confused state. I stumbled into her warm and gently lit living room. A burgundy and beige oriental rug covered the floor. The sofa was a sage brocade. The beige club chair that I sank into was covered in a soft nubbly fabric. A bronze torchiere lamp sat in the far corner and provided the room’s light, along with a brown beaded lamp that perched on an end table next to the club chair. The aura was one of subtle sophistication that would’ve seemed more at home in an English country cottage, not in a singlewide trailer in the woods of Maryland. But once you stpped inside Isabella’s house, you almost forgto you were in a trailer and quite believed you were in a cozy little Aspen cottage, once with exceedingly skinny rooms.
Isabella ducked into the tiny alcove that passed for a kitchen and threw open a cabinet. Inside, in neat rows, were fragile crystal goblets and heavy old fashioneds, tall thin Collins glasses and short thick shot glasses, brandy snifters and pilsner glasses, Imperial Pints and apertif tumblers. There was enough varied glassware to start a very small but very well-appointed bar.
“So, ladies, what can I get for you?” Isabella asked, ducking her head through the little cutout that separated the kitchen form the living room.
Karen cocked her head to the side. “I’d like a good single-malt, neat, but I’ll settle for some high test whiskey on the rocks.”
Isabella reached under her counter and pulled out two bottles. “Well, I have some Wild Turkey 101, but if you’d rather, I do have a nice Macallan eighteen year.
Karen’s mouth dropped open. “Damn, lady, what else do you have in there? A 1960 Moet Chandon, perhaps?”
“Nope, sorry, you’d have to settle for good liquor. All the nice wine is in the cellar at the big house.”
“The big house? Isn’t that where Jackie’s from?”
“The Washington County Big House is where Jackie is going to get his ass thrown one of these days, for sure, but my big house is the one we passed on the way in.”
“That’s your house?”
“Yes, it is. Do you like it?” Isabella asked in that polite way that let you know that ifyou did like it, that was fine and if you didn’t like it, that was fine, too, but she liked it and that’s all that mattered.
“Yes, I love it,” I piped up. It looks like a doll house, something out of a dream.
“Yeah, a ten year old girl’s wet dream,” Karen interjected, somewhat rudely I thought, but luckily, iSabella wasn’t the type to take offense.
“That’s exactly what I thought when I saw it for the first time. In fact, I had a dollhouse that bore a remarkable resemblance to it when I was young, except that this house is much more lovely. It’s so perfect and pretty and Victorian that it’s a little creepy, like something out of the past, a ghost house almost. But trust me, its inhabitants are very much alive, and they are much louder than your average ghost.”
“Okay, so pardon me if I am being rude, but if that’s your house, why don’t you live there? Why are you in the trailer? And who’s in your house?”
“Right now, my mother and my child are in there, asleep hopefully, although knowing my mother, they might be up eating half a roll of those slice and bake chocolate chips cookies and watching MTV.”
“So, you don’t live with them in the big house?”
“Well, Chloe, my daughter, actually lives here with me, but when I’m at work, she stays with my mother in the big house. Since I get off work so late, there’s no point in going to wake her up just to put her to bed here. Then on the days I’m off, she’s here all day with me and my mother gets her alone time. And so does Chloe. I think my mother wears her out sometimes, she’s so…energetic.”
“Your mom is hot!” Jackie threw in.
“Well, I’ll be glad and tell you think so, “ Isabella shot back. “Maybe you’d like to take her up on her offer to comb your chest hair and braid it into cornrows.”
“She didn’t really say that, did she?” Jackie asked, looking incredulous.
Isabella gave him a pointed look. “Well, you know my mother- what do you think?”
Jackie thought about it for a minute. “ Well, yeah, I guess I do believe it.”
“Man, you could not make up shit this funny,” Karen laughed. “Julie-Poo, I hope you’re getting this all down for your Great American Novel.”
“Julie-Poo?” Jackie asked.
Karen threw her arms around me suddenly. “That’s my little pet name for Miss Julie over here. I’m hoping to coax her into bed one of these days and over into the exciting realm ofShe’s such a doll, I just love her. I’m hopein got hs
hot girl-on-girl action, but to date, she has resisted my torrid come-ons.” She stroked my hair and made licking motions toward my face with her tongue.
I looked at Isabella. “I thank you again for saving me from a night alone with this insane creature. You have saved me from certain molestation.”
“But she can molest me if she wants!” Jackie yelled out. He threw himself at Karen’s feet. “Please, m’lady- have your way with me! Let me be your love slave! Let me suck your toes and wipe your nose!”
Isabella rolled her eyes in disgust. “You are an absolute freak of nature, Jackie.”
Karen looked down at Jackie writhing on the floor with not a small bit of interest. She loved having men grovel at her feet. And she was used to it. And she was good at making them like it. “I might consider letting you serve me…but first you’d have to prove yourslef worthy of worshipping at my glorious temple.”
“Jeez, it’s getting mighty deep in here, Isabella. I hope you have a shovel and some air freshener,” I commented.
“It doesn’t smell quite so bad in here, dear,” Isabella observed. “Perhaps you’d like to come help me make the drinks while these two lovebirds negotiate their service contract.”
“Gladly,” I agreed.
I joined Isabella, who had finally returned to pouring Karen’s scotch. “Slave boy, why don’t you come in here and retrieve this drink for your Mistress?”
Jackie leapt up and practically ran the two steps into the kitchen. “Yes, ma’am!” He grabbed the drink, saluted and clicked his heels, and ran back into the living room. He knelt in front of Karen, cupped the drink in his hands, kissed its edge passionately, and extended it to Karen like he was holding a precious bird. She was resting in the club chair as if she were sitting on a throne, looking placid, regal, and a little bit mean. She took the drink, sipped it, and nodded approvingly. “My thanks to you, Isabella. Good work, slave. Now attend to my feet.” With that command, Isabella extended her sandaled feet out to Jackie. They weren’t in four inch heels but they were prettily pedicured with fire-engine red polish. Karen took particular care with her feet, getting a professional pedicure every week. It was Karen’s contention that feet could be either your worst feature oir one of your best, and she was determined to make hers the latter. Plus, according to Karen, most men were borderline foot fetishists. They loved high heels and pretty shoes on a woman- it was one of the hallmarks of femininity- and were fascinated by pretty, smooth feet that were a pleasure to touch, as opposed to their own feet, which were at best, not attractive and at worst, corn-ridden and stinky. Men seemed to love Karen’s feet without exception, so she may have been on to something there.
Jackie sure seemed to think so. “You sure have some pretty feet, Ma’am,” he sighed as he carefully caressed them.
“That’s Mistress Karen to you, slave boy,” Karen commanded. She sank back into the chair and enjoyed every minute of this foot worship. I tried not to gag and turned back to Isabella.
“sometimes I wonder how I ever got hooked up with Karen. She’s so…”
“Vibrant?”
‘Yes, that’s one word I might use…”
“I think that sometimes we seek out qualities in others that we ourselves are lacking. You seem a bit more reserved, so perhaps you are living a bit vicariously through Karen’s wilder exploits,” Isabella observed.
“Thans for the analysis, Dr. Freud,” I quipped.
“Bitte schon,” she replied.
“Okay, so you speak German, you have incredible taste, a fabulous bar set up, a beautiful house in the country and yet you live in outer Bumfuck, work in a diner, and live in a trailer. No offense.”
“None taken. That’s just the facts. And I also speak an obscure dialect of Rural Redneck, love Wal-mart, have been known to throw back a PBR, have worked at Waffle House and love the trailer. Which is paid for, along with the big house. I feel that you have to embrace all facets of your personality, not just the ones that people might readily understand or associate with your outer appearance. Besides, in a house this small, the house work is negligible. It’s utterly delightful.”
Isabella seemed so self-assure, so poised, so at peace with her surroundings. “So, okay, were you always this Zen? I mean, I can’t make peace with my refirgerator, let alone the rest of my life.”
“Darling, when you hit thirty, it will all become more clear. Older is better. Experience is sexy. Over the hill is over the bullshit. I was a mess at your age. I am a work of art now.” She said all of this in a totally unassuming way, without even a touch of arrogance. She was amazing. If I liked women, I would have been totally in love with her. As it was, I was near about totally in love with her. Really.
“Now, enough about me. Let’s hear about you. Let’s hear about what you’d like to drink tonight, specifically.”
“I don’t know- you make a suggestion. I’m a boring old G&T drinker. Shake me up at bit.”
“Hmm, well, there’s nothing wrong with a good old G&T, especially with Bombay.”
“Oooh, my favorite!” I squealed.
”But you say you need some adventure. You like classic drinks, obviously…what about a martini? You like gin, do you like martinis?”
“I don’t know, I’ve never had one.”
“Well, I make an absolutely perfect martini, if I do say so myself. I hope you’ll like it.” She gathered her materials together, the Tanqueray, the vermouth, the olives on a sword (by her own almost apologetic admission, she was hopelessly amused by kitsch bar paraphenalia), the sparkling martini glass, and like a mad scientist, painstakingly assembled my drink.
“Behold, the best damn martini you may very well ever drink.”
And it was.
I have had many a martini since. It has become my personal quest, since I had discovered the perfect pimento cheese that night. And just as I have not ever found a more perfect pimento cheese, neither have I ever had a martini that was quite that delicious. It was a banner evening.

Chapter Three- Stranger than a Scooby Doo Dream Sequence

2005-10-17T23:33:00.000-04:00

So there we were, rolling down the road to the Big Apple so that I could lose my secondary virginity to a very famous and very crude radio man. How in the hell did I get into this? They say TV is bad for you, and perhaps I could lay this whole crazy idea at the feet at of the evil Satan of late night cable. If only E didn’t run Howard Stern every night at 11:30pm, then I wouldn’t have had the idea to offer to give up my virginity to him. Yes, the TV made me do him!
The half a fifth of Bombay Sapphire that I drank that night had absolutely nothing to do with it, either. If I hadn’t been watching TV, then I would have gotten some other stupid idea in my drunken state, like that I should go outside and howl at the moon while naked, or that I should stumble across the street to my neighborhood bar and try out Friday night karaoke. But no, I was so addicted to the evil TV that I lay transfixed on my oversized sofa, sucking down G&Ts while fantasizing about how being on Howard Stern could jumpstart my burgeoning career. My career in what, you ask? Well, I wasn’t sure, but I would have bet good money that I would get some offers after my Howard appearance.
But I had watched Howard Stern many time before the fateful day, and many times I was drunk, and never before had it occurred to me that I should try and get on the show. There was a definite catalyst on this particular night. The guest in the first part of the show was a young woman about 22, very thin and sweet looking, who wanted Howard to pay for her breast implants, as he was wont to do for particular girls. He asked what she would do for them, and she replied that she could do gymnastics. She proceeded to do some acrobatic stretching and turning and twisting. Howard was duly impressed, but not quite impressed enough for the implants, so she somewhat shyly kissed him and he got all excited. He said something about her great virginal qualities and how he would love to debauch her. Was she a virgin, he asked, basically foaming at the mouth. No, she replied shyly. Too bad, Howard said. He would give his left nut for a virgin of consenting age. But the gymnastics were good enough for a set of new breasts, so she got her implant promise.
His left nut for a virgin, huh? The idea stuck with me through the next segment, which was a ‘beauty’ pageant to find the guy with the world’s smallest dick. Who in the hell would enter that contest? That’s like being the face of erectile dysfunction. I don’t care what the payout was, if I were a guy, I would not want to be known as Mr. Droopy Dick. I know that erectile dysfunction is not anything to be ashamed of, but it’s not anything I would want advertised either. Imagine trying to pick up a woman and she recognizes you- “Hey, aren’t you the guy in the Viagra ads?” Who’s going to want to go home with a guy that obviously has issues with keeping it real- real hard, that is. Hmm. Not a good idea, in my book. And neither is being known as the guy with the world’s smallest dick. Hell, you don’t even want to be in the running for that one. At least Viagra can help you keep it up- but they don’t make Miracle-Gro for dicks yet, and nothing is going to make it significantly longer or thicker.
But I digress. Anyway, I got this crazy idea that whoever could provide Howard with a virgin would get a lot of airtime. And airtime could lead to fame. And fame could lead to fortune. And fame and fortune was just what I needed to pep up my sorry ass life. Now, if I could just find a virgin over age 18. I didn’t know many women well enough to know details of their sex lives, but the ones I did know I knew weren’t virgins, and the ones I didn’t know I could guess about, and I guessed they weren’t, either. A virgin over the age of consent is hard to come by these days.
Besides, I didn’t want to be the promoter, I wanted to be the star. It was too bad I wasn’t a virgin, I thought…too bad exactly two sex acts makes you a non-virgin. I mean, it’s been seven years…who could really tell…maybe I could pull it off…
The idea thrilled me in an excessively odd way. The idea of being the world’s oldest virgin, except for maybe a few nuns, who offers herself to Howard in exchange for a big break into the field of the famous, seemed plausible and exciting. I remind you, a lot of gin was involved. I didn’t really even think about the sex part much, except how to get around the fact that I wasn’t really a virgin. And then I forgot about that part and half-convinced myself that I really was a virgin and that this really could work. Before I knew it, I was emailing the show with my virginal tale of how I would let Howard deflower me if I could get the money to work on my All-American novel full time. It would be more expensive than the boob job, but much more interesting than gymnastics. I even included a picture of me in my glasses and a plain but short skirt. I looked like a librarian, but with good legs. A lot of guys fantasize about librarians, I thought. Before I could sober up enough to talk myself out of it, I sent the note.
It never occurred to me that Howard might not want to do me, that he might not think I was attractive, that he might not really and truly be interested in the idea of doing a virgin. I thought that I knew enough about men that anyone of them would want to do a virgin, to be the first to sail unknown waters, to chart uncharted lands. I assumed it was one of the heterosexual males’ most common fantasies, right up there with a menage a trois with the librarian in the glasses and your 10th grade English teacher, the young one with the long blond hair.
It also never really occurred to me that anyone would contact me about this crazy idea. After I wrote the email, I fantasized a little more about how much happiness and fame this stunt would bring to me, and shortly thereafter, I snuggled up tight in my bed and let gin-soaked sleep overtake me.
It was a great shock to me the following Monday to receive an email that indicated yes, Howard was very interested in meeting this virgin, if I was serious and for real, and he would like to put me on the air in four weeks. It was a shock that he wanted to meet me, but an even bigger shock that I had written the email in the first place. I had completely forgotten the product of my drunken stupor. Before I could talk myself out of it, I emailed back that I would love to come and to send me directions. Then I called Karen.
“Karen, you have to help me. I have to become a horny virgin in four weeks or less. I’m going to do Howard Stern.”

And now here we were, on our way to do Howard Stern. Me, that is. I would be doing the doing. Karen was my moral support. She was my coach, so to speak.
About 10 miles into Maryland, I started having second thoughts.
“I can’t do this.”
“You can do it- you can have sex with Howard. It will only take 10 minutes anyway. You can push through the fear, push through the pain, and ride your way to success and even perhaps ecstacy. Okay, maybe not ecstacy, unless you’re on ecstacy at the time, but definetly success.”
“Karen, you sound like a fucking running coach.”
“Think of me as your fucking coach-literally. After all, the deed itself will feel like a sprint to the finish after this marathon car trip. And then, you will meet your destiny.”
“What if destiny has a hairy back and his dick smells bad?”
“The back is most likely hairy- however, we’ll pray that the dick doesn’t smell bad. Hopefully, he wears boxers, doesn’t eat much garlic or curry, and doesn’t have issues with his sebaceous glands.”
“Why am I doing this, Karen?”
Karen gave me a serious look. “Because for some reason, in your twisted little mind, you think that fucking Howard Stern will bring you some measure of fame and fortune, and you are willing to give up your almost cherry to maybe get a little famous.”
“But really, why am I doing it?”
“Because you are completely fucking nuts.”
“So why are you helping me?”
“Because I think everyone should have a little help achieving their utmost potential. And you have potential to be a real hot little slut. And maybe this will give me a good chance to take advantage of you when we bed down at Motel 6 tonight.” She said all of this with such a straight face and sincere, heartfelt tone that it frightened me for a split second. Then I burst out laughing.
“I think you’re delirious. We have to stop and get some foodage and soon. I have to keep my strength up, right, Coach?”
“Absolutely. Lots of complex carbs for you tonight. You’ll get your protein tomorrow.”
“Eeeeww. I don’t want to think about that.”
“You don’t have to think about it, but it is polite to swallow.”
“Gross!”
“Not really, unless of course, his diet is high in garlic or curry.’
“That’s disgusting. You’d better shut up before I lose what little appetite I have left.”
“ Well, don’t say I didn’t try to school you in the finer points of cum swallowing.”
“Stop- I mean it. Now. I am going to barf.”
“Stop being such a prude, you little almost-but-not-for-long-virgin.”
“Stop-I mean it- stop here! There’s a food sign at that exit!”
Karen swerved sharply over into the right lane, protracting several beeps and probably a few middle fingers from the drivers around her. She was blissfully oblivious. I wished I had been. But she did get us on the exit ramp and within sniffing distance of food. I started to salivate. We hadn’t eaten since we left North Carolina.
There had been a food sign on the exit marker, but when we got to the top of the exit ramp, we didn’t see anything in sight except a small gas station that looked closed. I was getting a little cranky from the lack of food.
“I thought there was supposed to be some fucking food around here! Where the hell is it?"
Karen was much more calm, almost serene. “Smell that? Smells like something cooking. I bet it’s that little building right there.”
“That’s a filling station. I’m thinking more like a Burger King or a Taco Bell. I don’t want a Stewart Sandwich heated in a microwave.”
“I bet they don’t even know what a Stewart Sandwich is. Let’s check it out.”
“They better have some food. I’m getting a little cranky. I might go postal.”
“I think it’s a little late for that, babe.”
We pulled into the drive for the little gas station, or whatever it was. There was one gas pump, and you can be sure that it did not have a credit card reader attached to it. I couldn’t even figure out where the handle was. Karen later pointed out that it was on the side, not on the front like all the new-fangled gas pumjps I was used to. The place had a very Twilight Zone feel to it.
“I don’t know if we should go in here, Karen. Ever seen Children of the Corn? Or Texas Chainsaw Massacre? I learned my lesson about messing around in little bitty deserted towns after dark. Maybe we should get back on the interstate and look for some fast food. Nobody ever got abducted from Wendy’s and made into a lampshade.”
“If you want anyone to fuck you, even Howard Stern, you are going to have to learn to shut your pie hole sometimes, you know that?”
“I’m just trying to keep us safe and all in one piece!”
“Where’s your sense of adventure? You’re getting ready to get naked and share your most intimate parts with a man you have never even met, yet you’re too scared to get a sandwich at a little store just because it’s not a starkly lit franchise of a multi-national conglomerate? You can stand out here and freak yourself out if you want to, but I am going in and getting something to eat with the brainwashed psychotic preteens and deranged redneck upholsterers. Maybe they have some real tasty chili.”
And with that remark, Karen whipped her long red hair around and purposefully strode into the little store. There was only a very dim light on in inside and the windows were tinted dark, so when she walked in the door, it seemed as if the place swallowed her up. I briefly considered fleeing the scene, but neither running down the dark country lane or picking my way down the nearby embankment to the exit ramp held much appeal, and Karen had the car keys in her pocket. I decided to take my chances and follow her.
“Well, there’s my sweet little Julie-Poo! See, nobody’s eaten me up yet!” Karen yelled across the room to my great dismay. Everyone in the room, which thankfully was only two other people, turned and stared in my direction. I scampered over and sat down nect to Karen att he counter. On the inside the place looked like a small convenience store with an old fashioned drugstore counter. Behind the counter, they had a small grill, cooler, an ice cream freezer, and even a milkshake mixer. My thoughts quickly turned away from cannabalistic locals to chocolate malts.
“See, Julie-Poo, this very nice lady has offered to make us pimento cheese sandwiches, and we don’t even have to give up a finger.” Karen was milking my dramatic performance outside for all it was worth. She had no qualms about making me realize my foolishness and making me feel even more foolish in front of strangers. This quality of hers applied to all her compatriots. No one was safe from her teasing. This proclivity towards ribbing was both incredibly amusing (when she was mercilessly teasing someone else) and terribly annoying (when her teasing was directed at you.) I shot her a nasty look, but I didn’t tell her to shut the fuck up since the waitress was standing right there and I didn’t want to look rude in addition to looking silly.
“She’s got a big mouth on her there, don’t she?” the waitress said in a jovial tone with a mock pseudo-country accent. She had a big smile and all of her teeth, which frankly surprised me. I had lived in a mid-sized city my whole life and had a very stereotypical view of the rustic country dweller, a view which included a lack of indoor plumbing as well as adult teeth. I have to admit that this view was terribly shortsighted of me. Perhaps this waitress would challenge my long-held beliefs.
“Yes, ma’am, she sure does,” I replied a little sheepishly. I was pretty embarrassed at this point. I just wanted to eat and leave quietly, then cuss Karen out in the car, but I had a feeling that wasn’t going to happen. Karen was beaming at the waitress’ almost insult like it was a compliment. As much as Karen loved a friendly jab at her friends’ expense, she loved even more a well-put comeback directed at her. She had a great sense of humor and justice, which was why most of her friends usually tolerated her jabs pretty well.
“And she doesn’t even know the half of it, does she, Julie-Poo?” Karen teased, an allusion I was guessing referred to her unofficial career as a resident loudmouth as well as self-proclaimed fellatio expert.
“Well, Miss Julie, what can I get for you tonight?” The waitress’ way of referring to me as Miss Julie was oddly heartwarming and slightly unnerving at the same time. It made her sound like a nursemaid from one of those old movies where the help calls the little kids Miss and Master such-and-so. I was not a little kid, and this lady was not quite old enough to be my nursemaid. She was only around thirty-five maybe, and she looked pretty good, not rode hard and put up wet like so many waitresses that you might see at various little Waffle Houses or IHOPs off the interstate. She was relatively unlined except for the laughlines around her face and a bit of furrowing between her brows. She looked like she had on no makeup, and her skin was pale and almost flawless except for a small circular scar on her left cheekbone. Her hair was pulled back in a low chignon at the nape of her neck. If she had taken off her waitress uniform and little paper hat and put on a lack cashmere sweater set and a strand of pearls, she could have easily fit in at a Junior League board meeting. I was intrigued and perplexed. I had expected someone a little more rustic, a little more like one of the Darling family from the Andy Griffith Show.
“You have pimento cheese?” Karen had referred to this as I walked in the door, and through all my embarrassment this is the thing that most stuck out to me. Pimento cheese was my favorite kind of sandwich. To me, pimento cheese equaled warmth, security, and love. My grandmother made the very best pimento cheese ever. She always took care of me when I was home sick from school, and her pimento cheese sandwich was what I always asked for. It was sharp yet sweet, creamy, yet not too wet. It was perfect and wonderful. I had tried to make it, but even when I followed the recipe to the tee, it did not come out just the same. And since my grandmother’s death, I had been on a fruitless search for the perfect pimento cheese. To date, I had been greatly disappointed, yet still I searched. I tried it at every restaurant I went to that had it on the menu. I bought it at every supermarket that stocked it. I even got Karen’s mom to make her pimento cheese for me, and it was good, but it was not the pimento cheese I was looking for. So without much hope that this would be the ephemeral perfect pimento, but out of habit, I decided to try this pimento cheese. It couldn’t hurt.
“Yes, that’s what Miss Big Mouth over here ordered, and she said you might like one, too, but I wanted to be sure before I put it on the grill.”
“On the grill?” My heart leapt in excitement. Grilled pimento cheese, in my mind, was the perfect serving suggestion for a pimento cheese sandwich. Of course, that was the way my grandmother always made it, browned and buttery on the outside, warm and slightly melted on the inside. A little bit of cheese might snake out of the middle and ooze on to the plate in a small orange pool that looked like a little sun, right there on your plate. If that didn’t cheer you up, nothing would.
“That’s the only way, in my opinion. I’ll throw one on for you, too, then?”
“Oh, please.” I hopped up and down on my barstool involuntarily in my excitement. The prospect of a good pimento cheese had the power to move me, even of it wasn’t my grandmother’s. It had been my experience that the smallest outfits made the best pimento cheese, and you couldn’t get much smaller than this one.
“Well, Miss Julie-Poo, you seemed to have cheered up a bit,” Karen teased.
“Well, Miss Karen-Poopie Head, it’s not anything you have done, I am here to tell you.”
Karen simulated pulling a knife out of her heart. “Julie-Poo, you cut me to the bone. I am hurt, mortally wounded, bleeding profusely. I shall die if you don’t love me anymore.” And with that pronouncement, she dramatically dropped her head onto the old formica counter top.
The waitress came back over. “I can’t believe she shut up for a minute.”
“I’m dead,” Karen piped up.
“Oh, that explains it. I thought dead men didn’t tell tales,” the waitress quipped.
“Yes, but I’m going to haunt my dear Julie-Poo forever since she’s the cause of my untimely demise. She killed me with her cruel, cold words. I died from utter heartbreak.”
“Will you stop being so obnoxious if I tell you I still love you?” I asked.
“Maybe. At least a little.”
“Okay, okay, okay- I love you, Karen Poopie Head.”
She turned her head to the side and opened one eye. “Do you really mean it?”
“Yeah, I guess,” I said with an overly dramatic sigh. “Whatever.”
“Oh, Julie-Poo, I am cured! Cured of my deadly heartbreak! You have saved me!” she exclaimed, grabbing my neck and covering me with smacking noises and pseudo-kisses.
I pulled away in mock horror. “Don’t go and make me sorry, alright?”
“Okay, I’ll wait until tonight at the Motel 6 to show you my boundless gratitude.”
“I’ll sleep with one eye open, I promise,” I said, half-kidding and half-serious. I was pretty sure Karen was kidding, but you never could tell with her. I was going to get deflowered for the second time in less than two days- I couldn’t take anymore self-discovery than that in one week. Karen would say that my discomfort at her friendly lesbo jokes only pointed out my inner conflict about my sexuality and that the people who were most uncomfortable with homosexual references were the biggest closet fags and dykes. Maybe she was right, but if that were the case, I’d prefer that facet of my sexuality to remian hanging up rigght between my winter jacket and my high school prom dress for a while, at least until I got the more pressing matter at hand dealt with. One can only make so much progress toward self-actualization in one week.
About the time Karen was done slobbering all over me, our sandwiches were done. The waitress, whose name tag indicated her name was Isabella (an unlikely name for a lunch counter waitress, if you ask me), brought them over and set them down in front of us. I stared at my sandwich in rapt appreciation. It was perfectly done, light brown and cut on the diagonal, with a little pool of melted pimento cheese right in the center of the little white paper plate. A few bread and butter pickles were fanned out on the side of the plate. Isabella set down a small bag of plain Ruffles next to each of our plates. Plain Ruffles are the perfect accompaniment to pimento cheese, since their lovely saltiness accentuates the sharp cheese and sweet pickle juice flavor, yet doesn’t compete with the delicate mix. Plus, you can use the chips to scrape up whatever pimento cheese has gooshed out onto the plate while you’re eating. If the pimento cheese is really good, you don’t want to waste a drop of it.
The first bite of my sandwich transported me back about twenty years…suddenly, I was six years old, sitting at the coffee table in my nightgown eating my grandmother’s pimento cheese sandwich while we watched “The Young and the Restless.” It was that good. It was the perfect pimento cheese sandwich.
“Forget New York, forget being famous,” I told Karen seriously. “I can die happy right here, right now.”
Karen gave me a quizzical look. “What, it’s better than whoopie with Howard Stern?”
“Ten thousand times better,” I moaned with my mouth full of sandwich. I had inhaled it all in about three bites, and now I was violently scraping the plate absolutely clean with a Ruffle.
“You don’t have to eat the plate, you know,” Isabella said as she eyed my plate scraping curiously. “I’ll be happy to make you another one.”
“No, that’s okay, really,” I said, reluctantly pushing the plate away. “Just tell me how you did it. What’s the secret? I have had a million pimento cheese sandwiches in a thousand establishments, and none even touch this. It’s just like my grandmother’s used to be.”
“Pickle juice and sharp cheese, that’s the secret.”
“But I use pickle juice and sharp cheese, and mine doesn’t taster half this good.”
“Homemade pickle juice and Cracker Barrel cheese. Accept no substitutes.”
“Ahh, the real secret. So you have to put up pickles to get this kind of pimento cheese. It would be easier for me to just drive up here every time I want a sandwich.”
“You can do that. Or I can give you the recipe for my famous refrigerator pickles.”
“Please, give her the recipe. I think that’s the closest she’s come to an orgasm since I’ve known her. She could use more pleasure in her life,” Karen remarked.
I was too enraptured by my perfect pimento cheese experience to pay any attention to Karen. “I would love the recipe. And I would love another sandwich.”
“Coming right up,” Isabella said. She paid strict attention to the grill while the sandwich was cooking, but when my second, equally perfect and wonderful sandwich was done and delivered to me, she pulled up a barstool on her side of the counter, rested her hands on her knees, and gave me and Karen a very serious look.
“Well, now that we all know each other a little better, do either of you care to tell me what in the hell you’re doing out here in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night?” Isabella asked in an almost motherly tone.
“What the hell are you doing out here working the graveyard shift in a diner in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night?” Karen countered.
“ I asked you first,” Isabella stated firmly, her lips set in a line, her eyes narrowing.
“Okay,” Karen said in mock resignation. “I’ll tell you, but then I’ll have to kill you.”
“Not if I shoot first,” Isabella said, pointing her forefinger and thumb at Karen.
Karen broke up in giggles and put her hands in the air. “Don’t shoot, lady! I’ll tell you anything you need to know! We’re on a mission from God to pop this young woman’s cherry! Howard Stern is going to do it at 0600 Monday morning! Please don’t kill me!” With that pronouncement, Karen ducked under the counter in mock fear. I wanted to duck under the counter, where I hoped that a large sinkhole would open up and suck me into the bowels of the earth, where I could hide from my embarrassment. Instead, I stayed on the stool and felt my face turning thirty shades of purple. I couldn’t meet Isabella’s gaze. I stared hard at the little orange pool that was the remains of my second perfect sandwich.
“Do what?” Isabella said in amazement. It was the first thing that we had heard her say that wasn’t a complete, coherent and carefully formed sentence. “Huh?”
Karen poked her head up above the edge of the counter, ready with a helpful explanation. “Julie here is a virgin- well, almost, anyway. So, in a fit of brilliance carefully disguised as a drunken stupor, she decides to give it up to Howard Stern in exchange for a book deal or at least a little cash.”
Isabella thought about all this for a minute. She looked at me intently, opened her mouth, then closed it abruptly. Finally, she said, ”So, what is your book going to be about?”
I was dumbfounded that she wasn’t going to comment on the extraordinarily strange purpose for our journey. And grateful. Very grateful. Especially since her pause gave me a moment to come up with a comeback for our Little Miss Big Mouth.
“Well, it’s a murder mystery thriller. See, there’s this psychotic killer who looks like a really sweet young woman- one might say almost virginal, but not quite- who commits serial murders. She goes around methodically killing blabbermouths who can’t keep their traps shut. She starts with this one girl who used to be her friend before she told every single fucking thing that she knew about the killer, who then found it necessary to torture her to death, beginning with cutting out her tongue and making her eat it.”
“How would she eat it if she didn’t have a tongue?” Karen asked cattily.
“I think the killer would puree it and then pour it down her throat.”
“Oh, I see! And I’m touched that you would put me in your book, Julie-Poo,” Karen chirped brightly.
“Have you ever considered cutting her tongue out now, and chalking it up to research? I’m sure if you made an audiotape of her first, any jury in the country would exonerate you,” Isabella asked innocently, with a wicked gleam in her eye. She looked at me and winked. Then she shot a sideways grin at Karen, who was loving every minute of this mock gang bang of insults. She was weird like that. I guess if you’re always the dominant in conversations and life, it’s nice to get a friendly spanking for a change.
“I love you, Isabella,” Karen sighed. “Can I take you home?”
“No, darling,” Isabella drawled langorously. “But if you want, you can come home with me for a while.”
Karen and I exchanged a quick glance. It was a tempting offer. It was late, and we were full. More importantly, we were loving Isabella. I didn’t make friends quickly, and Isabella was easy to warm up to. Karen made friends easily, or rather men in particular wanted to make friends with her easily, but rarely met someone who she liked and who would give it back to her as quickly as she could dish it out. We knew nothing about this woman, though. We couldn’t go home with her.
“Sure, we’d love to,” I said quickly, and Karen nodded in agreement.
“Wonderful,” Isabella proclaimed. “My shift is over, so let’s hit the road.”
“Your shift is over, just like that?” Karen asked. “Won’t your boss be mad if you just close up?”
“I am the boss, darling,” Isabella explained. She threw away our trash, wiped down the counter, and then shooed us out the door, locking it behind her.
“Follow me, ladies,” Isabella called on the way to her car, a tiny green MGB. “Home is only a mile a way.” She peeled out of the parking lot and we followed in hot pursuit.

Chapter Two- Hit the Road, Jack

2005-10-17T22:57:00.000-04:00

Don't forget- I'm posting these sequentially, which means y'all will see them assbackwards, so read from the bottom up, okay?

Oh, and I TRIED to edit them in the editor, and give tabby-poos to the dialogue and paragraph breaks, but they came out all left justified anyway. Shit. Well, I tried.
___________________________________________________________________
“What the fuck was that?”
“What was what?”
“That big motherfucking bump in the road that fucking woke me up.”
“Nothing. Go the fuck back to sleep.”
I tried, but after being violently jostled awake, it was difficult to fall back into a peaceful slumber. Especially since Karen was driving. Karen was a lovely girl and a very good friend, but she seemed to be under the mistaken impression that she was an Indy racer. She was one of the few people I knew who drove better stoned than sober. And she was driving my beloved little Honda on Interstate 85. This was frightening. I certainly did not feel safe after the ptohole (I hope it was a pothole) incident.
“Why don’t I drive for a while?” I suggested.
“No, you need your beauty sleep. Gotta look fresh for Howard, baby.”
“Ugh.” I rolled over on my side on the passenger seat of my car. It’s funny how you can own a car for years and years, but whenever you sit in the passenger seat, you almost feel like you’re in a different car. I once spent over a year with a broken passenger side mirror in my car, but I had no idea because I don’t sit on that side of my car, obviously.
“What were you fucking moaning about?”
“Huh? What the fuck are you talking about?” Fuck was Karen’s favorite word, and it was a close second with me, right behind ‘fabulous’. ‘Fucking fabulous’ was my most favorite phrase of all. Whereas I was a trifle shy about throwing around the f-word in mixed company, Karen had no qualms. She stated, questioned and exclaimed ‘fuck’ any and every where, in front of old ladies and small children. She was banned from babysitting her two young nephews because of her potty mouth, after an unfortunate incident in which the four year old went back to preschool the following week and called his teacher a fat fucking bitch. Karen tried to explain to her brother and his wife that they should be glad that he was asserting himself. They were not amused. Her nephews, of course, thought she was the coolest fucking aunt ever.
“So, what the fuck were you moaning about? Already practicing for your big moment?” Karen teased.
“Not hardly. I was dreaming that I was desperately trying to figure out how to drive while sitting on the wrong side of the steering wheel. My legs were just slightly too short to reach the gas pedal from the passenger seat. Then I tried to climb over the gearshift while the car is going, and my leg gets stuck, so one leg is on the driver’s side and one is on the passenger side, and I’m swerving to miss cars and I can’t reach the steering wheel and it’s a big fucking mess. Now what the fuck does all that mean, do you think?”
“Girl, you are such a control freak, even in your dreams.”
“How do you figure that?”
“Well, you’re now even sitting in the driver’s seat, but instead of sitting back and relaxing, you’re stressing out and trying to literally drive all the action.”
“But no one was driving. I had to take control.”
“Let me ask you this- was the car running fine before you tried to climb into the driver’s seat?”
Well, she had me there, so I shut up.
“See? You are struggling to control every aspect of your life when you should just relax and go with the flow. This dream had a crystal clear message for you. Crystal fucking clear.”
“Yep, clear as mud. You are so full of shit, motherfucker.”
“Yeah, well, fuck you, bitch,” Karen said as she punched me not lightly on the leg. This was our brand of playful teasing. It involved a lot of profanity and a little bit of violence, but an equal measure of friendly affection. I think this was Karen’s general approach to life. Karen was everything that I was not. Lots of long red hair, nice big boobs, nice big hips, an impossibly small waist, a dirty mouth, and an even dirtier mind. Most people who were so overtly sexual in appearance were a disappointment in the bedroom- Karen was not, I had heard from more than one source, as well as Karen herself. She was a force of nature, a big gust of raw natural animal sexuality. And she was not ashamed of her nature as a very sexual being- she sowed her wild oats and dared anyone to call her a slut. The thing was, Karen wasn’t pursuing some weird mind games or using sexual favors as barter for status and such. She just liked to fuck. Somehow, this honest sexual curiosity came across for what it was- an incredible zest for life. Amazingly, few people called Karen called Karen a slut or whore or other derogatory term- they just said she was wild. Which she was. She was, in her words, an equal opportunity employer. She would consider men, women, maybe even a German Shepard if they were really friendly and had a big dick. I’m just kidding about the dog. But she really did have lovers of all kinds, colors and persuasions. Karen had done almost everything. She was an expert on all things kinky and was happy to share her vast knowledge. The local bar in her neighborhood even had an “Ask Kinky Karen” night. Instead of having a band on Thursday nights once a month, she held court and answered any sexual questions the crowd, and there was a large crowd, could think of. She dressed in black leather and fishnets, with impossibly high stiletto heels, not those strange platform like plastic see through heels that strippers wear, but real black leather 4 inch spike heels with tiny little straps across the ankle and the teensiest little silver buckle that you ever saw. They were hot. These shoes made some men wish they were women. These shoes made some men wish they were these shoes.
She also brought part of her large sex related library for reference just in case there was something they asked about that she hadn’t done in a while. People gawked at the nature of her personal reading material. Some was relatively tame, like The Joy of Sex, or lighter fiction like Delta of Venus. And some was decidedly not tame, like Mistress Mary’s Guide to Punishing Your Very Bad Boy and Making Him Like It or something like that. To top it all off, she threw out condoms as party favors. Karen was big on the virtues of condoms, a fact she was quick to note to any potential partners. In fact, on more than one occasion, I had seen her use this passion for condoms as a pick up line. You wouldn’t believe how quickly guys respond to this question from a hot, buxom redhead: “ Hi, I’m Karen, and I just love chocolate mint flavored condoms, what about you?” Or my personal favorite: “ Hi, I’m Karen, and I just want you to know- if we’re going to have sex tonight, you’ll absolutely have to wear a condom.” They just melt at that one, I tell you what. Especially if she’s still in the black leather and the stiletto heels. Even if she stands taller than them. Did I mention that Karen was almost six feet tall? A lot of guys have a complex about women who were taller than them, but apparently, they didn’t seem to mind when it came to Karen.
Anyway, Karen was fucking fabulous, and she was coming with me to New York City to help me fulfill my destiny. She was going to help me prepare my almost virginal self for the meeting with the man, Howard Stern. She was to be my mentor, my sensei of sex on the road to stardom. I jokingly told her I’d buy her a house with my first porn movie paycheck. She advised me to shoot for Playboy first, since you could do Playboy and still get vanilla movie roles. So I promised to list her as my turn-on when I got my centerfold. She gave me a wicked little look and licked her lips, which gave me this funny feeling down there that I could not put my finger on. But I bet Karen would have, literally, if I had given her the chance.
“So, are you excited about your upcoming deflowering?” Karen asked.
“I’ve already been deflowered, honey, I told you that.”
“Look, sweetheart, your cherry was popped so long ago you’ve probably grown another one. Plus, a girl whose had sex one time seven years ago is not as exciting as a girl who’s still a virgin. Remember- we want excitement! Excitement gets on the radio! Cute little virgins are exciting! Therefore, virgins get on the radio! Not almost virgins.”
“Okay, but I feel guilty about lying.”
“You are so full of shit. You do not feel one little fucking bit of guilt.”
“Well, maybe a little. What if he can tell?”
“Ah, so we aren’t feeling guilty, we’re feeling paranoid.”
“Maybe. Could he tell?”
Karen sighed heavily. “You might as well be a virgin for all you know! Number one, you are probably just as tight as a virgin, seeing as how you’ve seen no action in eons. Number two, you’re so nervous, you’ll tighten up even more once you get to the deed itself. Number three, when a guy is sticking his dick inside you and ramming away, unless you are exceedingly loose, he is not comtemplating the particular tightness of your vagina. In fact, he is not contemplating anything except the fact that it feels so good and he’s getting ready to shoot his big wad, oh baby here it comes.”
“Do they all say that?”
“In one way or another, they do. Even if they don’t say it, you can see it in their glassy stare. They aren’t thinking about shit except getting off. This is also why you must make sure you’ve already gotten off or are almost getting off when they just start to get off, otherwise, you’ll never get the chance to get off before they’re done getting off, since all they’re worried about is getting off.”
“Jesus, you make guys sound pretty cold-hearted about pleasuring women.”
“That’s not true for the entire population for the entire length of the sex act. But it is true for all men in the act of actually having penis in something intercourse. Once they head down the high road, their little minds get tunnel vision. All they see is their cum at the end of your tunnel. This is why you make sure you get off first and often. And if you can, put him in a cock and ball restraint. Then you don’t have that problem- you control when they’re going to get off. Then they’re much easier to deal with.”
Karen could expound on such a topic for great lengths of time. I often wondered why she didn’t become some kind of sex worker. Not in the literal sense, like a prostitute, but like Dr. Ruth, only much sexier looking. But Karen was a insurance adjuster. So in a sense, I guess she was fucking people for a living.
I groaned and tossed around in my seat. I couldn’t get comfortable, I was keyed up, and Karen was changing lanes every 30 seconds. We were whizzing down the interstate at 85 miles per hour. But so was everyone else. I didn’t have the energy or heart to protest that Karen was speeding. If I died, I died. I just wanted to get some rest first.
“Go back to sleep, honey. Trust me, you want to sleep through Philly. It’s dirty and ugly and smells bad. You’ll get enough of that when you meet Howard’s little radio friends.”
“You are not making me feel good about this. You are supposed to be pumping me up, remember.”
“Hey, I’m just kidding, honey. I bet he actually smells good. He makes enough that he ought to. Although you never can tell how a man’s dick is going to smell. Some really cute guys have very strange smelling dicks. Just one more reason to break out the rubbers, right?”
“I wouldn’t know. I’m a virgin, remember?”
“That’s the spirit! Now go back to sleep, that’s an order!”
“Or else?”
“Or else I’ll pull the car over and spank you till your ass is red,” Karen teased.
“Hmm, tempting,” I purred.
“Sure is,” Karen whispered, and I wasn’t sure if she was teasing, so I pulled my coat over my head and pretended to be asleep. I must have fallen asleep for a while, because the next thing I knew, we were stopped waiting in line at a toll booth. You know you are out of the south when you are waiting in line at a toll booth and it’s past midnight and there’s still enough traffic to create a substantial line. I peeked out from under my jacket. Karen was staring out the window, her head turned away from me. I slowly realized her attention was focused not on me, or the line, but on something very different. She had her skirt hiked up to her hips and was moving her hand around under her skirt. I knew exactly what she was doing, being a big fan of it myself, but I hadn’t done it in a car in a very long time. She was obviously enjoying herself. Her mouth was slightly open, her head resting back on the seat, eyes half closed. She suddenly sighed audibly as her whole body tensed and then melted back into the seat. She looked utterly refreshed and I was utterly jealous. I was still having trouble exciting myself, and the stress of my trip to meet stardom was not helping matters. And here was the amazing Karen, getting off in less than five minutes while I watched. Bitch.
Maybe I should let her get me off, I thought, and then surprised myself by seriously considering the idea. I wasn’t sure, but I thought I might be attracted to her. I had some weird feelings in the pits of my stomach, well, not really my stomach, but, you know, down there, when she looked at me sometimes. But as much as Karen was not my type, I was sure I wasn’t hers either, whatever that was. Besides, why ruin a good friendship, right? I wasn’t that adventurous. But I was getting that desperate. We better get to New York quick, I thought.

In the Beginning

2005-10-17T22:47:00.000-04:00

This is the first chapter of my 2003 NaNoWriMo novel. There were approximately 45,ooo words (50k is the goal, for those of you not familiar with the phenomenon of NaNoWriMo. Google it and be sucked into the creative vortex of November. You won't regret it.) I have been able to find 37k of those 45k which were on floppy, and I will post them here for your amusement. Mostly just for Roof's amusement, as she was my 'concepting' buddy, meaning she told me funny stories about our mutual friends, which I blatatly stole, or 'fictionalized.' Thanks a million, Penny. You rock.

The format is going to suck, since this is cut and paste from Word. If you have a better idea about how to make this more readable, please email me. I need help. I was an English major, okay?

Anyway, on to Chapter One. Subsequent chapters posted herewith as time permits.
_________________________________________________________________

I don’t think the worst thing in life is having this big dream your whole entire life that crashes and burns in this whole enormous fire ball, consuming the product of your life’s work and passion. I think the worst thing in life is not having any big dream. And when I say ‘big dream,’ I don’t mean that it has to be a great and noble quest. I mean, if your big dream is to have the world’s largest ear wax collection, with specimens from every country on the globe, well, some might say that’s not noble, but I say it’s a pretty serious undertaking. At least you have a goal to work toward.
In that idyllic summer, I was suffering mightily from a lack of direction and purpose. I had graduated college one semester early, busting my balls through three Lit Seminar classes, three 30 page papers, and a whole lot of crap just so that I could get my piece of parchment and the elusive real job. That real job turned out to be a real piece of shit- working in a Collections phone unit at Sears. This is what I worked my ass off for? This was why I had worked 50 hour weeks waiting tables to put myself through college for? I watched my friends get ready for Thursday night keggers while I ironed work clothes for the next day. They were just getting warmed up while I was warming up my bedcovers. Alone.
My life lacked purpose and directions, but perhaps even more pathetically, it lacked sex. Good sex can make you forget about your inhibitions as well as your ambitions for a good long while. But when you have lots of inhibitions, no ambition, and no sex, not even with yourself, there is nothing to distract you from the glaring fact that your life is a meaningless shell, a plodding existence, a waste of oxygen. Before long, you start thinking that your so-called life is so forlorn and pitiful that no one could possibly be interested in sharing coffee with you, much less a bed, and before long you have such a low opinion of yourself that you don’t even want to touch you. You disgust your self with your absolute incompetence. You can’t even get yourself off anymore- how in the hell could you rock someone else’s world? It’s a vicious cycle, a whirling cyclone of doubt and despair that sucks up any creative thought that might innocently leak out of your weary, whipped mind. It’s bad icky poo.
Clearly, I was in need of a dream, some goal to work toward, some carrot on the end of my stick, some chocolate chip cookie wedged into the slats of my little piggy cage so that when I came bounding down the finish line of life, I could settle down, lick my chops and say, ‘Damn, that was a good race, even if I know now they’re going to slaughter me and serve me up with blueberry pancakes in a few weeks.’
At that particular point in time, my driving ambition was to watch as much trashy TV as possible. I had missed out on every big TV moment of the last 7 years, first in high school, then in college, by studying too much and working nearly every night. Now I was going to make up for it. I watched about 7 hours of TV every day, starting with the news in the am and going all the way to infomercials for all manner of depilatories and hair replacement service, usually back to back, which I found endlessly amusing. Too bad that no one could figure out how to take armpit and leg hair and graft it onto balding heads. Now that would be the ultimate infomercial. “This fantastic product does it all- it harvests your own armpit and leg hair and safe and effiectively grafts it onto your hair challenged areas! We’ll throw in this spray hair deodorizer, for those of you who choose to use armpit hair, absolutely free! Only $19.95 plus shipping and handling!”
As it happened, this pattern of compulsive TV watching helped me catch up on all that I had missed in the past few years, namely some very questionable fashion trends and a whole lot of sex. There was sex everywhere- even on primetime When steaminess comes on at eight and you haven’t gotten laid in a very long time, it does cut you to the bone. When Dennis Franz’ ass is the closest you’ve gotten to a piece in more months than you have fingers, then it’s time for drastic action. I figured I technically counted as a virgin, even though I had technically had sex once (well, okay a couple of times) before. But it had been years. Seven years in fact. That would pretty well qualify as a lifetime in this day and age, right?
Ah, seven years before. I can still smell his shampoo. Pantene. Hey, don’t laugh- that guy had the softest, most beautifully healthy hair I have ever seen. And it smelled like heaven, very clean and sweet, but not girly. And he smelled like leather, too, which also has a very nice clean smell, if you’ve ever stopped to really smell it. But is looks forbidden and dirty. So leather is kind of a metaphor for your teenage fantasies- it looks sexy and has a bad attitude, but it really is sweet and clean underneath.
That’s how Will was, too. He was the guy with the hair and the leather jacket. Long dark hair and a black leather jacket with all manner of zippers and such on it. And he was a big tall guy, not a shrimpy little preppy dude with a cracking voice, J.Crew sweaters, and loafers. Will wore a leather jacket, motorcycle boots, and best of all, already had a deep manly voice at fifteen. Since we did much of our romancing over the phone, as car-less fifteen year olds are wont to do, the manly voice was very, very important. You have to have a very good imagination to get all horny over someone with a voice in a higher octave than yours, but it’s easy to get your fifteen year old hormones all in an uproar about someone who sounds like a late night DJ on a jazz radio station. It gets my thirty year old hormones all in a uproar just thinking about it.
Oh, and he played guitar, too. Oh yes. He would talk in that low raspy voice and play guitar and that was pretty much all it took. There was an unmistakable rumbling in my loins that no prepubesecent boy in my life had ever evoked from me, and I could not help myself. Never mind that I had never really thought about sex except in a very abstract, ephemeral way. Never mind that my hands were the only ones that had ever touched my loins. Never mind that I had never even seen a penis up close, let alone knew what it would entail to get one inside of me. Nope, those were mere details. Whatever that feeling was, I wanted more of it, and I wanted it right now. You know, I still want it fifteen years later. There is nothing quite as powerful as young lust.
Plus, he was smart without being arrogant, sensitive without being effeminate, romantic without being slick, so in addition to wanting him to get in my pants, I fell in love with him. Hard. Aching. Painful. First. Love. When you’ve ever loved anyone that way, you never want to again. And I haven’t.
So of course, when the opportunity arose, so to speak, I was more than happy to rip off my panties and beg him to make love to me. I begged him. I hurt, I wanted him so bad. I had no idea what it was I wanted, but I knew he had it, and I wanted it. He asked me again, just to be sure. By this time I was about to gnaw his ear off and pull his hair out. Then he did. And ooh boy, the reality of what it was I wanted kind of took the air out of my big balloon of lust. It hurt. It was uncomfortable. He was big. And then the condom broke. It was not a moment of fireworks and flowers for me, what can I say? Does anyone have a totally satisfying first fuck? Honestly, you’re so horny and so inexperienced that things are bound to sip and slide and stick and get stuck and get a little frustrating.
So we did it again once more that night, since it couldn’t possibly get any worse, and things went a bit more smoothly. I could have chalked the whole thing up to experience and we could have gone on to have very satisfying and wonderful encounters whenever our parents weren’t home. But then I missed my period. Going to get a pregnancy test at fifteen is a real cold shower, let me tell you. It sent my budding sex drive into the deep freeze overnight. I wasn’t pregnant, but I wasn’t going to take anymore chances. We went out for 6 months and had no more sex. None. It wasn’t for lack of opportunity, either. The whole thing traumatized me to the point that I wasn’t sure if I wanted to ever do that again.
Will, on the other hand, was quite sure that he did want to do it again, and preferably with me. However, when I made it patently clear that I was not giving in or giving it up, then he broke up with me in short order. I know, he was supposed to be Mr. Wonderful, right? So sensitive and feeling? Well, I can’t say I blamed him. I would have left me if I was a horny young stud with a big beautiful dick, too. He was much more experienced that I was. Whereas I didn’t have a wealth of sexual knowledge against which to measure this experience, he did. He knew exactly what he was missing and didn’t want to miss it. Frankly, I am amazed he held out as long as he did, since I wasn’t even giving him head. (I developed a bit of penis fear after the whole initial sordid incident and broke out in a sweaty rash whenever he pulled his out. Not very sexy, I admit.)
So Will went his way and I went mine and I never had sex again, except with myself. And that was enough, for a good six years. I became ambidextrous. I developed an incredible imagination. Since I wasn’t on any birth control or other hormones, I had a very healthy sex drive, and I serviced it quite nicely. I even got to the point that I could shift myself almost imperceptibly in my seat while wearing a certain pair of jeans and get a great deal of pleasure from it. This discovery occurred one day while listening to a particularly boring Chemistry lecture. While it did serve to keep me awake during the long sessions, it did not help me pay attention and my grade did suffer. But I was willing to make the sacrifice. I got off in buses, while driving my car, in many different lectures, even in proper movie theatres. I was not hurting for lack of satisfaction.
I dated a little, but no man could ever capture my attention the way Will had. They had a lot to measure up to, to pardon the pun. But even if a suitable man had presented himself, when would I have had the time for a serious boyfriend? I was taking a full load of classes and working full time. Most of my ‘dates’ consisted of grabbing a coffee before class or a drink after work. And even if I had found a guy I really, really liked, I don’t know if I could have gone through with the deed. I still had a bit of a complex. I hadn’t decided to become a nun, but I had decided that the last thing I needed was to fuck up college by getting knocked up. I was doing perfectly fine on my own.
I continued to feel no ill effects until I graduated from college and started work in the real world. The real world will suck the lifeblood right out of you. Especially when your job is to call people to try and get them to send you money and have them yell at you and then hang up on you and then you have to get right back on the stick and do it all over again. This job is the working definition of futility. Unless you are a person that enjoys conflict and gets off on yelling back at these poor saps, pretty soon you start to feel as if not only your job, but your whole life, is a futile pursuit. If this is the end result of what you worked for up until this point, then you have wasted the last twenty years to get yelled at fifty or more times a day by strangers. You would have had it better if you had stayed at home and worked at Burger King. Then you probably would have only been actually yelled at four or five times a day, and you wouldn’t have college loans to pay off.
All this sturm and drang in my work life carried over into my personal life as I watched my friends who were still in college. Those jokers were living it up, taking two or three incredibly inane classes to take up those last few credits. I had one buddy who took Basket Weaving and Folk Music Appreciation back to back. Then they went and partied like it was 1999, every single night. Those fuckers. I was so jealous. My life was not even a pale shadow of theirs. I retreated into my dingy little apartment directly after work and did not emerge until the next morning. They left their apartments around the same time and did not return until the time I was getting ready to leave for work.
I hated my job. I hated my life. I began to hate myself. And it’s really hard to get intimate with someone you hate. I tried to get drunk so I could do it. I just passed out. I tried getting stoned. I just got the munchies. I tried eating oysters. I just got some kind of evil stomach problem that caused me to puke for two days, which is not an aphrodisiac. I just didn’t do it for me anymore. And as everyone knows, when your sex life has hit rock bottom, the rest of your life is not far behind. For me at least, the two were in direct proportion.
Now I had nothing at all to look forward to. Not even a little self love between the sheets. And all this sex on TV every night. Everyone was getting laid and getting famous but me. Even the fat obnoxious guy on Survivor got skinny, won a million bucks, and was likely getting laid every night. Anyone could make something greater of themselves, it seemed. Anyone but me. TV only demoralized me further, if that was possible.
Something had to be done. I had to turn my life around. I had to develop a plan for success, stardom, international fame. I laid in bed at night watching True Hollywood Story and wanting that for myself, only without the drug overdoses. Those people started out basically normal, but they dreamed big, worked hard, and when their lucky break came, they were ready. I could do that. I already had been working hard. I just needed to dream big and get that one lucky break…
And that is how I decided I would do Howard Stern.