"Here it comes," Virgil whispered under his breath, turning away from the approaching policeman.
Joanie shoved hands in pockets and replied, also in a whisper, "Be cool." Then, to the Nora, "Keep digging."
"Hello," the policeman said, talking loud as he was still twenty yards away, moving with purposeful strides across the green grass of Tranquility Park. "I'll have to ask you to stop that digging."
Virgil, in a navy blue suit, took a breath and squared his shoulders towards the Policeman. He attempted a smile and stuck out his hand. "Hello officer. What seems to be the problem?"
Behind him Joanie and Nora, both wearing work clothes - jeans, boots, reflective safety vests over cotton and hard hats - paused to watch. They were standing around a plaque set into the ground that read: "City of Houston Time Capsule. Buried September 2nd, 1960. Not to be opened until September 2nd, 2015."
"Can I see your work permit?" the cop asked, ignoring Virgil's hand.
Virgil looked around, confused and stammered, "...permit...? Why... what...?"
"Yeah, yeah," Joanie said. "I got it over here." She retrieved a metal clipboard, opened it, and flipped through a stack of paper.
"I can call the Mayor's office?" Virgil offered.
"No, no," Joanie replied. "I'm sure I have a copy."
"So do I dig or what?" Nora said.
"No," the cop said.
"Yes," Joanie said at the same time.
Nora speared the blade of the shovel in the ground and leaned on the handle. A big girl, crowding six feet tall and past the two century mark, her top-weight pushed it down a good six inches. She winked at the cop. "I'm listening to the man with the gun."
For all her heft, Nora had a very pretty face. Long, wavy curls of hair escaped from her hardhat and she made a show of tucking them back in. "Hell, even if he didn't have the gun," she continued, "he's too cute to argue with."
The cop - a youthful black who enjoyed visiting the gym, radiated confidence, and kept his appearance sharp and professional - did a double take. When she caught his eye, Nora winked again and there it was - that moment a man, confronted with such an unlikely specimen, thought, what if...?
"Here," Joanie snapped up a piece of paper. "Found it."
She handed it to Virgil who passed it to the cop.
The cop looked at its face. It appeared official enough, with stamps and signatures, but he didn't know enough about it to say one way or the other. "I'll have to call this in," he decided.
"For Christsake," Joanie bitched.
"Hey now," Nora beamed. "Overtime!"
"Look," Virgil said, "Just call the Mayor's office. You know Jack Vance, right? Ask for him."
"All I know is this thing isn't supposed to be dug up until tomorrow," the cop said. "There's supposed to be press; even a van. Buses of kids and all that. You guys are making a mistake."
Virgil nodded his head and chuckled, "Yes, you're right, officer....?"
"Martin."
"Officer Martin. See, the thing is, well.... Did you hear what happened when they opened the League City time capsule two years ago? No? It was somewhat of a disaster. Fifty years ago they didn't appreciate what the groundwater around here could do to even the sturdiest box made during that time. Anyway it was a stinking mess. The only things that survived were bits and pieces of old junk that couldn't be corroded. They pulled something out that looked - I swear to God - just like a wooden dildo. Might have been part of something else when it had been buried, but when they slapped it in the Mayor's hand.... Well, most people snickered, but quite a few were very offended. All those kids asking 'what's that, mommy?'.
"Oh! And there was the frog, too. Well, the frog skeleton, dressed in an adorable tuxedo - complete with a top-hat and cane, hermetically sealed in a bag with the sheet music to Ragtime Gal-"
"-Can we get on with this?" Joanie interrupted. "No way this project is authorized for golden time."
Virgil touched Officer Martin's arm, gently turning him away. "Our Mayor does not want that happening here. So this is somewhat of a preemptive strike. If we find everything in order, the capsule goes back and we cover it up just like it was. Bada bing. If, however, it's a big smelly puddle of slop? Well, I've got some clean old junk in my car. You understand how this works? Have to make hizhonor look good for the cameras."
Officer Martin's eyes went from the unctuous Virgil, to the exasperated Joanie, landing on the bemused Nora. "Okay," he said. "Carry on."
"Thank you Officer," Virgil said, once again attempting to smile.
"Hey Officer Martin," Nora called out. "You want to help dig? I'll bet those big arms of yours could make short work of this hole."
Officer Martin fought back a grin. "Tell you what, lady. I'll swing by here after I get off work and see if still need help with your hole."
Nora barked out a laugh loud enough to be heard in Sugar Land. "When's your shift end?"
"Eight o'clock."
"Me and my hole will be waiting."
Officer Martin strutted away using everything his momma gave him.
When the policeman was out of earshot, Joanie cut her eyes from Virgil to Nora and back again. "Jesus, you two...."
***
"I have bad news," Richard Hautala told Joanie. As if to emphasize the words, he dragged a straight razor across his hairy and bespotted forearm. A thin line of blood welled up from the cut.
"Um," Joanie said.
"Oh, this?" Hautala held up the razor. "This is just for effect." He turned it around and showed Joanie the other side where a tube containing red-dyed Vaseline lay across the blade. "It ain't real. It's about as sharp as an asshole. You squeeze this here for the blood." He demonstrated, dragging it across his wrist this time - same result: a thin line of red.
"Okay."
"But why, you're wondering?"
"Hey, Mr. Hautala, really-"
"-Surely you noticed my new look?" Old Man Hautala smiled - dentures gleaming - and twisted his head to let Joanie take it all in. An octogenarian, Mr. Hautala was bald and shriveled with the body shape - and skin texture - of an avocado. But since Joanie had last seen him, he'd added eyebrow studs, ear stretchings, and facial tattoos - tears at the corner of his eyes. He had a stud on one nostril and a loop through his lower lip.
He winked and lifted his polo shirt. Both sagging, leathery nipples had been pierced; connected by a silver chain.
"What do you think?" he asked.
"That's.... Something," Joanie rubbed the back of her neck. "You said bad news?"
"Kids today," Mr. Hautala explained, tucking his shirt back in, "do this shit now. If I want their business, I have to show them I relate." He gingerly brought a finger up to touch one of the ear stretchers.
Joanie flinched when the whole ear fell off, hitting the ground with a clang.
"Oops," Mr. Hautala reached to pick it up. Like the razor, it was a fake. His real ear was still where it belonged, on the side of his head. It had liver spots and tufts of hair, but no holes.
"I don't mind telling you," he said, fitting the prosthetic and screwing it in place, "it's all fake. Even the tattoos. Why take a needle when Sharpies cost, like, a dollar?"
Joanie shrugged.
"Right?"
"You said bad news?" Joanie prodded.
"These couple of kids come in looking to trade on old tech. On chips? Yeah, right, I tell them I'll do what I can, but don't go buying that house in the subs just yet. Anyway, these kids look like... like... the colour out of space, you know? Barely human. The dude had horns. No shit, implanted little nubs on his forehead, supposed to be horns. Huh. The girl's pants were so tight, you could tell what she drank for.... Nevermind. Anyway, when they come back and I tell them the deal, she starts slicing up her arm. I'm hip. Bad news hurts. Give me a whetstone, a Gillette, a squirting flower and five minutes and we'll commiserate together, darlin'. So here I am. What do you think?"
"Desperate times," Joanie stated.
"Too right!" Mr. Hautala exclaimed.
"The bad news?" Joanie tried again.
"Yeah. Turns out the buyer is in a sanitarium so.... No money."
Joanie rubbed a hand over her face.
"Okay, so this is not to say there will never be money, but just now...? She's kind of tied up."
***
Houston, September 2nd, 1960.
Ten year old Marion Bradley stood in wide-eyed wonder as the celebrity worked his way through the crowd. He tossed his head back and showed teeth when he laughed and, when he shook hands with the city's politicians, his head tilted slightly and his eyebrows raised inquisitively at their names. Houston doesn't have a fall season, so it was hot, but even still the celebrity wore a tapered jacket with a fleece collar. His waist was encircled by a gun-belt; the holster of which bore the image of a chess piece. He said "Thank you," with a peculiar clip to the words.
His name was Richard Boone and he was there on a publicity junket and to watch the time-capsule buried.
To young Marion, however, his name was Paladin and he was just about the closest thing to a living god she'd ever seen. Once a week she saw him on the television being as brave and intractable, wise and lusty as the entire pantheon of Greek deities; so how could he be here, now, walking around with them just as if he were a real person?
She was positively transfixed.
As he moved among the people, his eyes fell on her and he smiled. "Ho ho!" he said, scooping her off her feet. "What do we have here?"
Under his hands, Marion's flower dress became wings and she flew in the sky. If he let go, she'd fall into the sun. He didn't let go, however, just spun her around in a circle then set her back down. "You are just about the cutest thing I have ever seen. I believe I'm going to ask your father if you can join me for dinner tonight at the Carlton Hotel?"
Standing next to them, beaming like a child himself, her dad said, "Maybe when she's older."
"It's a date," Paladin said, slipping her a card with a wink. He gave one to her father, too. In fact, he handed them out freely to all around.
As they were closing the lid on the time capsule, he used two fingers to expertly flick one of those cards into the box. People cheered as it spun through the narrow opening at just the last moment possible.
The cards all bore the image of that same chess piece from the holster. They read "Have Gun, Will Travel".
Marion Bradley held the card in both hands like an icon. She knew it was a treasure she would never lose.
***
"Of course she lost it - or threw it away." Mr. Hautala had bagged up the card they'd retrieved from the time capsule. He slid it across the table to Joanie. "This was supposed to be the replacement. Shame. She was going to pay over a two hundred grand for it too."
Joanie, hands folded on her lap, looked at the card. It was remarkably well preserved. "What's it worth, really?" she asked.
"Less than nothing," he replied. "Well, check that. Because of the press you're getting, I could maybe get a couple thou. Maybe. It isn't every day you can snag grip from a stolen time capsule. The weirdness factor alone might go five grand." Mr. Hautala shrugged.
"Well, the buyer still wants it, though, right?"
"Sure. But, like I said, they locked her up."
"When's she getting out?"
"Eh, this could be one of those if she's getting out situations." Mr. Hautala rubbed his thumb against two fingers, making the international gesture of money. "She's very wealthy and her family is worried about their inheritance."
"Doesn't seem like a reason to lock her up." Joanie crossed her arms. "Isn't she fighting it?"
"Absolutely. She's a big shot lawyer, you know. It's just that, well, she has gone a little crazy." He tapped the card. "Two hundred grand plus for this? Do you know how many of these cards are out there? Even supposedly authentic ones - printed by the studio in the 50s and 60s - can be had for around fifty bucks. Hell, you can get one signed by Richard Boone himself for a thou or less. Nope. She has to have this one; no matter what the cost." Mr. Hautala whistled low and circled a finger around his ear.
"She's a collector," Joanie said, sounding indignant. "Lots of people pay lots more for stupider stuff."
"Sure," Mr. Hautala agreed. "But Marion Bradley isn't a collector. She is trying to recreate her life to be exactly like it was when she was a girl back in the '60s. Bought her parents' old house; got a refurbished Chevy Covair; snatched up every toy from that era. Changed her wardrobe. She's been sinking millions of dollars into this obsession. The doctors call it crippling nostalgia."
"They just made that up."
"She showed up in court wearing pedal pushers and a denim blouse knotted under her breasts. Her hair in ponytails, sucking a lollipop. She weighs close to two hundred pounds."
Mr. Hautala lifted the duffel-bag containing the rest of the stuff Joanie and her crew stole from the time capsule and handed it over. "Me? I don't get it," he said. "I never did look forward to looking back. Of course, that's probably because things were so terrible when I was a kid. Wars with a capital W. Diseases and no medicine. Hunger. And the constant fear of death from above 'cause all those damned pterodactyls."
"Is anything in here worth... anything?" Joanie said, lifting the bag.
Mr. Hautala made a face. "I took pictures and notes. Like I said, I'll shop it around. Y'all got a trending news story with that time capsule burglary, so there may be some interest there. But beyond nostalgia or weirdness?" He shook his head.
Dejected, Joanie stood to leave.
"Hey kid," Mr. Hautala stopped her at the door. "Just in case you're interested - the sanitarium where they're keeping Marion Bradley is located over on the Southwest side. In Missouri City. A place called Sendak's. Not like she's locked up in Supermax or anything."
Joanie paused with her hand on the doorknob. She blinked twice.
"She'd be grateful, I'm sure," Mr. Hautala continued, "for a visit."
Joanie nodded slowly.
"Hey, check this out!" Mr. Hautala raised the fake razor to his mouth. "You think this'll freak those kids next time I see them?" He opened his mouth wide, eyes popping, and dragged the dull blade all over his tongue.
He also squirted some of the fake blood.
"Pah!" he winced, spitting. "Yuk!"
Joanie left him, closing the door on a sputtering of "Puh!"'s
***
"Oh shit," Virgil said, his eyes growing wide. "Ohshitohshitohshit,"
They were sitting in the booth of a Mexican restaurant close to the airport with the time capsule items spread out over the table, taking inventory. Virgil's outburst had been caused by the door opening. Joanie looked over her shoulder to see Detective Donald Sobol walking in.
"Be cool," she grabbed Virgil's wrist just as he was about to start scooping all the stolen items into the bag. "Be cool."
She let go the wrist. Virgil folded his hands.
Momentarily, Detective Sobol stood at the edge of their table. "Well hello, Ms. Muncie," he said. "Fancy meeting you here."
"Detective," Joanie muttered by way of greeting.
Detective Sobol set his hands on the table and hunched over the various maps, papers, trinkets, toys and doo-dads. He smiled. His aquamarine eyes sparkled. He laughed, showing them the two rows of coffee and cigarette stained teeth. "You've got to be kidding me."
"What?" Joanie said.
"Oh, nothing." He stood up. Then pushed his hands on his lower back and stretched. "Hey, maybe you can help me out with something. There was this unusual robbery yesterday, maybe you heard? A crew of slick operators stole a time capsule just before it was supposed to be dug up. Really embarrassed the Mayor in front of all those news cameras; standing over an empty hole with a bunch of nothing. But you wouldn't know anything about that?"
"What's a time capsule?" Joanie asked.
"Right." The detective said. "Y'all ought to be more careful. Food here's good, but they don't really clean the tables very well. Might get all this stuff sticky."
"Oh, right!" Virgil exclaimed. He started shoveling the stolen goods away immediately. "Thanks for the advice."
Detective Sobol watched Virgil, shaking his head sadly. Then he turned his attention to Joanie. "When are you going to stop this?" he asked.
Joanie cocked her head and just looked at him with a dull, blank expression.
"Can't you see it's over?" the Detective continued. "The time for this type of nonsense has come and gone. There's no more room for the common crook in today's society. You either have to be a brutal, remorseless killer or a highly sophisticated criminal to get noticed. These little grifts of yours? I hate to tell you this, but they're passé."
Virgil used both hands to cram the items in the bag. He struggled with the zipper, catching it on the edge of an old map. When he forced it, the paper ripped. "Shit," he said, holding up a ruined piece of history.
Detective Sobol motioned towards Virgil with an open hand. "See? This is who you're working with now? What ever happened to Leonard? Stark and Westlake?"
"Hey, those two...." Joanie sat forward, getting upset.
"Yeah, I know," Sobol interrupted. "But then there's Connell and Matheson, too. Hell, even Bradbury left you."
Joanie brought a fist down. Her mouth became a tense, white line and her eyes narrowed. Sobol recognized he'd gone too far. His voice softened. "I'm just saying. You're time has passed."
A waiter came with a basket of chips and two bowls of salsa. Detective Sobol took advantage of the interruption.
"Anyway, I'll leave you to your meal." He set twenty dollars on their table. "On me."
"Whoa, hey," Virgil pushed the money away like it was on fire. His distrust for police ran deep. "No need for that."
Detective Sobol put a hand on Virgil's shoulder and squeezed. He used the other hand to tuck the money into the breast pocket of Virgil's shirt. "I insist," he said. "I voted for Chris Bell."
Tuesday, August 30, 2016
Friday, August 12, 2016
What the wolf thinks while watching the sheepdog work.
A thick stack of plastic bags sat on Shane's desk. They were the kind used by most retail stores; 14 X 14 with perforated handles and a company's logo printed on the face. These bags had been prepared for a grocery store, HEB, but the lettering was screwed up and the graphics were cockeyed and overlapping. The 'E' was sideways intersecting the 'H' and the 'B' was five inches away jumbled into the confusing mess of mislaid graphics.
Her name was Sabrina and Virgil had - surprise! - met her on-line. They'd connected over a series of digital images posted to a social media site depicting a scenic wilderness. Virgil made a comment that he'd love to camp there; Sabrina replied that it would be worth the trip. Virgil thought her profile picture was compelling so he replied back saying, well, hope to see you there!
And they're off!
In a protracted series of friendly, but not flirty, posts; Sabrina expressed a love for camping and outdoors in general. She posted pictures of herself standing in sun-drenched fields of flowers and sitting around campfires in shadowy forests; always looking super cute with her wide eyes and big smile, braided hair and tanned skin, wearing hiking pants and cotton T's. Virgil responded with gentle compliments, careful not to sound too much like a stalker or a pervert, and always thanking her for sharing.
She pressed Virgil to post some pictures of himself - because his profile image was actually of his beloved dog, Fido, who'd died a few years back. I don't even know what you look like, she'd written. Virgil figured that would be the end of it. After all, he was bland, bald, on the wrong side of 40, and had never gotten around to losing the post-alcoholic thirty pounds. Ah well, he thought, I shouldn't be doing this type of nonsense anyway. Not fair to Sabrina either; a doll like her wasting time on a creepy old troll like me. So he sent an image from one of the office retreats when Shane had taken the whole crew fishing - Virgil sitting in a deck chair with a rod in one hand, a bottle of seltzer in the other, and a stupid, floppy Gilligan hat covering his head. It had been a good day and, in the picture, he was smiling and happy. It may not have been flattering, but it was honest.
I guess I should have warned you I'm old and ugly, Virgil commented when he sent Sabrina the picture.
Shut up! she replied. You look adorable!!!
Kind of her to say, Virgil thought, but he didn't expect Sabrina to maintain the frequency of their communication going forward.
However, it didn't stop; it didn't even slow down. Sabrina continued contacting Virgil many times a day; mostly to share something fun, but occasionally asking for his opinion or advise. You're so smart, she'd write, and; I really value your friendship.
She inquired about his life - where he worked, what else did he enjoy besides camping? Why wasn't he married? But don't answer if you don't want to!
Before long, Sabrina knew everything there was to know about Virgil Templeton:
Divorce is hard, I'm sorry you had to go through that.
I'm so proud you were able to quit drinking. My father never did and it killed him in the end. Please, stay strong for me!
That's a long time to be with one company! You must be very good at your job!
And so forth.
Conversely, Virgil learned an awful lot about Sabrina Achari:
She said was in her mid-thirties and worked as an administrative assistant for the government where she lived - a small island nation in the Indian Ocean called Macnas. A pretty place - she'd really love for Virgil to see it some day! - but it was poor and mismanaged. Not much tourism because it can be dangerous, especially after dark.
But you don't need to worry about me! I'm pretty safe because of where I work.
At one point during this 21st century courtship, Sabrina went silent for days. She didn't respond to Virgil's posts or even emails sent directly to her account.
Virgil worried about her intensely; but he also wondered if it was just her way of getting rid of a bothersome old man.
So he stayed up all night crafting an email insisting that she contact him, if she was able, just to let him know she was safe. As long as he knew she was okay, he wouldn't mind saying goodbye forever if she had grown tired of him.
He read it over and over again, making sure the tone was right. Then, with the first rays of sun spilling through the window, Virgil finally steeled his nerves enough to click Send.
And he waited. And waited. And despaired. And spent another long night writing an email he wouldn't send, because the next morning she finally responded.
I love you so much, Sabrina replied. I would never just stop talking to you!
I love you. 1.4.3. For the first time, it was said (written, posted, texted, commented, whatever) between them.
And, having read those words, Virgil felt, well, he felt.... He felt drunk. Happily drunk.
However, the rest of Sabrina's reply was worrisome. The reason she'd been off-line so long was because the government had to move its offices suddenly and it took a while for them to get their internet connection back. She made it sound as if it was no big deal, but, reading between the lines, Virgil could tell. She was scared. Governments don't just pack up and move in the middle of the night. Not even shitty little third world governments.
Virgil wanted to respond quickly, so he didn't waste any time firing off a reply. In it, he gushed about how happy he was to hear from her, how much he'd prayed for her safety, and how he loved her too.
And he wrote that she would have to come to America as soon as possible. She couldn't stay there any longer.
Honestly, Sabrina wrote back, I wouldn't mind leaving. This is my home, and I love it here, but it's become so different these past years. Unfortunately, I can't manage to move now. Soon, hopefully, but not now.
Is it money? Do you need money?
It's complicated.
If it's just money...?
I love you, Virgil, but I'm not taking any money from you. I couldn't do that. You have to understand.
I have enough money, it's not a problem. I love you so much - I need you to be safe.
Let's not talk about it anymore. I'm okay now. Thank you very much, however, you're very sweet.
If we were married, it wouldn't be my money. It would be our money.
...
Can you Skype?
***
One month later and Virgil was a married man with a wife he'd never actually met in the flesh en-route somewhere over, oh, probably New Jersey by now.
Being men of the world, Shane and Brian circled around the elephant, trying to find safe landing, but Virgil grounded them first:
"I know it might be a scam, guys. Marrying a woman I only know from the internet? I can't believe I'm doing it myself. But what if she is just like she says? What if she really does love me? Guys, this could be my last chance."
Shane used the opening to ply his employee with contact information for a smart attorney, a good doctor, and a worldly priest. Virgil promised he would call them, all of them, when the time was right.
As a man of the world, it was the best Shane could do.
***
Standing at the window overlooking the factory floor, Shane said, "Look at your boy."
Brian laughed. "Right?"
Below them, Virgil Templeton was dancing with a broom, swinging the handle around like it was Ginger Rogers. He handed it back to the janitor who shook his head, laughing. Virgil went over to the line where he told some jokes and slapped some backs and made all the workers there smile. He back-stepped away from the heavy equipment towards the hallway where he had an office in the admin wing, throwing a salute. People waved at him as he left.
"What it is?" Brian continued. "For the first time in his life, Virgil's gettin' sum on a regular basis."
"God bless 'im," Shane said, returning to his desk. "God bless her, too, I guess. Maybe she's not a scammer after all."
Brian sat across from his boss. "Only time will tell."
"True." Shane collated some papers, arraigned some folders, and looked at the photograph of his own family - wife and three children in a gold frame. "Have you met her yet?"
"Not yet," Brian replied. "He says soon. They're still getting settled." He made an obscene gesture with a finger pumping through a thumb/index circle.
"Nice. What are you, twelve years old?"
"Hey, I'm just trying to keep up around here. You know what Virgil told me the other day? He said, 'You need to find yourself an Island girl. They're different!' He didn't actually wink wink, nudge nudge, but I got the drift."
"He didn't really say that? Our Virgil?"
Brian nodded.
"Well, God bless 'im."
Shane slid some papers across the desk for Brian to read. Both men studied the sheets for a while until Shane lifted his head and said, "Still. I'd like you to keep an eye on him."
"Yeah. I know."
"When she breaks his heart, that bottle's going to call him out by name."
Brian nodded solemnly. And these men of the world returned to their work.
***
Brian burst through Shane's office door and said, "You will NOT believe this!"
Shane, water glass raised to his mouth, held up a finger for Brian to wait.
But Brian did not wait, instead he said in a rush, "Virgil just ate a pubic hair sandwich!"
Somehow, Shane managed to set the water down without spilling a drop. "You asshole," he said. "While I'm drinking? You couldn't wait?"
Brian threw himself in the chair. "We're sitting together in the break room and Virgil pulls out his sandwich and starts laughing, for no reason I can see, so I ask him what's funny. Then I notice all these curly black hairs on the bread."
Shane blew his nose, motioning for Brian to continue.
"We're all alone in the room, but he leans forward and whispers like the walls have ears, 'Sabrina's hair', and the way he said hair...."
Shane made some sounds and shook his head. "What? Why?"
"Well, apparently they were talking after sex - that part's implied - and she asks about his ex-wife. He tells her how, when they were first married, his ex had been real sweet and all - putting love notes in his lunch and stuff - but that it didn't last very long.
"So Sabrina apologizes because she's never put any kind of note in Virgil's lunch, and then he tells her 'It's okay, you're not that type of wife, thank God!'"
"And today she put a note in his lunch?"
"I guess so!"
Shane looked at Brian meaningfully. He arched an eyebrow.
"Well?" Shane asked.
"What?"
"Did he actually eat it?"
Eyes wide as saucers, Brian nodded Yes!
***
"I'm suing this company for sexual harassment," Brian said, closing Shane's office door behind him.
"Fuck you." Shane responded. "Suck my dick, too."
"You're the one told me to keep an eye on Virgil. You're responsible."
"For what?"
"Today," Brian sobbed comically, "he made me feel inadequate."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
Brian sat down, hooked a leg over a knee, leaned back and asked, "Have you ever had a threesome?"
"Are you making an offer?"
"No, that's what Virgil asked me today. Have I ever had a threesome."
"Oh Lord what now?"
"Well, Goody Sabrina has found a small community of immigrants from her paradise island home and, occasionally, they like to get together to talk about the motherland. As immigrants do. Anyway, Virgil came home last night just as the party was breaking up and his loving wife introduced him to a very special friend - a girlfriend she'd known since childhood."
"Do I want to hear this?"
"I didn't. Anyway, one thing leads to another and today Virgil asks me if I've ever had a fucking threesome. Do you know any good lawyers? I'm suing this dump."
"He must have been joking."
"You know Virgil better than that."
"That's right, I do. He'd never swagger around bragging about something like that."
"Who said bragging? No, he was being serious. He wanted to know how to handle himself." Brian leaned forward. "Shane, he was asking for advice."
"I don't want to hear this."
"Yeah? Tough shit. I had to," Brian pointed a finger for emphasis. "You have to."
***
Virgil smiled and nodded to the small gang of Macnas-ites as he passed them entering his house while they were leaving. As a people, they were brown and short with big smiles and bright teeth. Most of the gaggle coming out of his house were girls, but two petite men blended in with the crowd. All of them giggling and tugging each other on their way.
A happy people.
Sabrina greeted Virgil at the door with a deep kiss and her hand on his buttock. He reciprocated enthusiastically.
"Come see," she said, taking his hand and pulling him inside. "This is unbelievable!"
She led him to the living room where she presented one of her countrymen. Or, more apropos, country-WOMAN: A very pretty girl with long black hair and a trim figure who bowed her head and spoke in broken English.
"So happy to meet you, Mr. Virgil sir."
***
The girl's name was Shubra and she had been Sabrina's best friend growing up in Macnas. They sat on the couch and chattered back and forth in their native tongue, of which Virgil understood not a word. Every once and a while, Sabrina would explain something to him, but it didn't take long for Virgil to realize he was a third wheel in this reunion, so he offered to go and bring back food. Of course Shubra would stay for dinner! Virgil exclaimed. He couldn't let such a lovely lady leave his house hungry.
Oh, how they giggled at that one.
***
Later, after food and drink (wine for the ladies, seltzer for Virg.) they rested in the sitting room. Virgil took the sofa while Shubra and Sabrina sat smooshed together on the love-seat, arms circling each other.
They were, apparently, very close friends.
And they mostly spoke to each other in Macnas-esse (if that was such a thing) for Virgil spent the evening cocking his head like a confused dog - unable to follow any of the conversation between the two women.
At one point Sabrina howled with laughter and their voices rose to a level of near hysterics. Sabrina caught her breath and explained to her husband:
"Shubra wants to know if it's true about the white man," she said. "The size."
Virgil, bless his soul, didn't get it at first, until he noticed both of the women gazing at his crotch.
"Macnes men are small," Sabrina explained. "It is a well-known problem on the island."
The best-friends howled and hugged on each other more and Virgil blushed until his hair turned red, then Sabrina launched herself from the love-seat and yanked him standing.
"Show her!" she demanded, fiddling with his zipper.
Virgil liked to die.
But, a testament to his stamina, he didn't even pass out when Sabrina tugged him lose and hung America's Pride over the crotch of his khaki Dockers.
Both girls laughed and it sounded like screams.
Then Sabrina said something in the foreign language and translated to English, "Wait, it gets better!"
And she took Virgil in her mouth.
Then, it was very possible Virgil did die for a petite moment. Certainly, his heart briefly stopped. Also, his vision failed. When he regained control of all his senses, he discovered Shubra had taken a knee next to Sabrina, both women laughing as they passed his rod between them; each taking a taste in turn.
***
In the bedroom, on the bed, Virgil was worse than useless. He'd lost his tongue and his muscles. He couldn't contribute at all to the unraveling events. His wife and her best friend caressed each other, kissed each other, licked each other; and he just sat there on the corner of the mattress like a dork; hand's folded like a peaked tent over his aching dick which, honestly, didn't give a shit. It just wanted to get in the game, man!
But when the women tried to coax Virgil into the pile, he went hesitantly, and only with intentions for Sabrina. When she tried to guide him toward Shubra, he rebelled and retreated to his corner. At one point, he harshly pushed Shubra's ass away when she'd thrust it at his face. The women laughed about that, and Sabrina went to work calming the situation, but the damage had been done.
Sadly, Virgil just didn't know how to handle himself at an orgy.
***
Shubra snored in her sleep. She was on the far side of the bed between Sabrina and Virgil.
Sabrina carefully unraveled herself from Shubra, rolled over and placed her hand on Virgil's heart and said, "You're awake? ... You're mad?"
"...no..."
"You didn't like it?"
"...nuh..."
"You didn't?"
"Sabrina, I...."
"I'm sorry."
"No, don't be. I'm sorry."
...
"The island is different," Sabrina nuzzled against her husband. "When we're young girls.... We have to take care of each other. We have to teach one another. It is like a tradition, yes? We survive together."
"Okay."
"I hope you're not mad."
"I'm not."
"I love you, only you. But Shubra...? She is part of me. She is very much like me. When I touch her, I touch me. Do you understand? When you touch her, you touch me. Yes?"
She hiked a leg over his stomach. He felt her wet sex pushed against his hip. Her breasts against the side of his chest.
"...okay..."
"Don't be mad." Her tongue found his ear.
"I'm not. It was just.... Unexpected. Better stop. You'll wake her."
"You're upset. It won't happen again. I'm so sorry."
"No. I'm okay. It's okay. It was just.... Unexpected."
"If she wakes up...," Sabrina didn't finish the sentence; she just rolled on top of her husband and reached for his stiffening dick.
***
"He wanted to know if all young people today partake in the ménage," Brian concluded. "He was worried that he'd been too... what's the word he used?... fuddy-duddy about the whole thing."
"So what did you tell him?"
"Nothing, man! I just hemmed and hawed and said whatever like a hundred times before making some excuse to run away."
"Maybe I should talk to him," Shane said. "After all, I do have more experience with that sort of thing."
Brian made jerking-off motions with both fists. "Switching hands doesn't count."
"Oh, never-mind then." Shane sighed. "How concerned should we be about this?"
"Yeah, well, it's going to end badly," Brian said. "That's plenty obvious. I just don't think there's anything we can do right now."
"I could call Archer. He could run a background check."
"And what would that accomplish? No matter what he found, Virgil wouldn't listen. And he would resent the hell out of you for doing it, too." Brian shrugged. "Look at it this way - maybe Virgil is being taken for a ride, but what a ride!"
***
Time passes. Virgil's work performance remains steady, but his bonhomie demeanor starts to fade. There are days where he's just checked out; still doing his job, but otherwise disengaged. At first these days are rare, and then they become more frequent. By the end of the third month, his co-workers start to talk. They can't remember the last time anybody saw Virgil smile.
***
"Hey Virg." Brian said, entering the break-room for a cuppa. Virgil, at the corner table, didn't return the greeting. He sat there, gazing blankly at the coffee, hands on his lap, a furrow upon his brow.
"Heeeeeeey," Brian tried again. Again, nothing.
"Yo! Virg!"
With that, Virgil snapped out of it and jerked to attention. His knees whacked the bottom of the table, knocking over his cup. Coffee went everywhere.
"Oh, man, I'm sorry." Brian grabbed some paper towels. When he got there, Virgil was standing, coffee dripping off his pants. A puddle at his feet.
Brian held out the towels, but Virgil didn't take them. "Virg?"
Brian then noticed tears welling up in Virgil's eyes. Almost spilling over.
"Virg? You okay?"
"What?" Virgil aggressively wiped his face. "Yeah. Yeah, sorry. I'll clean it up. Sorry."
Brian went for more towels and came back to help, kneeling on the floor next to Virgil.
"What's up, man? You look bad."
"No, I just.... Late night is all. My wife's brother is staying for a visit."
"Oh?"
Virgil nodded. He wiped his nose. "She says her brother."
***
Sabrina called him Jimmy and, from the moment he'd entered their house, she was never an arm's length away from the boy; constantly taking his hand, squeezing his narrow shoulders or fussing with his long black hair.
"My loving brother!" she exclaimed. "He's going to stay with us a few weeks - isn't that great!"
Jimmy didn't say much. He smiled a lot, but spoke infrequently and when he did his voice was soft and barely above a whisper, so Virgil didn't catch much of what was said.
The brother seemed nice enough, though. A very small man - shorter, even, than Sabrina - with delicate features. Like his sister, he had big, dark eyes.
But sometimes Virgil would sense those eyes on him, turn and see a thin-lipped smile spreading across the boy's unnaturally handsome face, and he would feel.... Uneasy.
***
Virgil normally liked to announce his return from work with a boisterous call or a suggestive comment, but since Jimmy had been staying with them, he'd been more subdued.
He unlocked the door, stepped into his house, and went to the kitchen where he got a bottle of seltzer. "Babe?" he called out, heading for the living room. "Jimmy?"
In the master, he found Sabrina reclining on the bed halfway under a thin, white sheet; breasts exposed, the form of her dark pubic triangle visible. She held out her arms for him.
"Mmmm," her voice was sleepy. Dopey. "You're home."
Virgil took a step towards the bed then stopped. The master bath was open and he saw movement through the door. Jimmy, naked, appeared in the doorway. He spread his arms to grab each side of the frame and stood there with his slightly aroused penis dangling freely and that thin, sinister smile on his face.
"Come," Sabrina beckoned, curling her fingers.
Once again, Virgil's body failed him. Unable to move, he made a low noise and one knee buckled, causing him to teeter. Sabrina was out of the bed in a flash, grabbing him around his waist, leading him to the sheets. She made loving noises. Her hands and mouth were all over his face, smothering him with kisses, stroking his cheek then the back of his head.
She moved down to his neck, kissing and nipping at his throat. Her hands unclasped the few buttons on his Polo short-sleeve. Virgil felt another set of small hands reach around from behind. They pulled his shirt un-tucked and then went to work on his belt.
Virgil twitched, tried to move away, but there was nowhere to go. Sabrina, on her knees now, pushed his head between her breasts, cooed at him like a child. Called him "baby". Told him to shush.
Now his shirt was off. Behind, thin lips pressed against his shoulder blades. Hands moved up his stomach and tweaked his nipples.
Before him, Sabrina laughed and rose up, standing precariously on the mattress. It was just the right height and she guided Virgil's face towards her sex. Jimmy whispered, "yes," and Virgil felt the hot breath on the back of his ear.
She says her brother....
***
Virgil asked for medical leave to have voluntary hernia surgery. Shane gladly signed off, telling him to take all the time he needed. The man looked bad. In conference with Brian, they concluded that this was it - Virgil's bizarre marriage must finally be coming to an end.
They resolved to keep tabs on him; make sure he didn't do anything too stupid. Shane knew a very good lawyer who would handle the divorce; still, it would certainly cost Virgil a ton of money to get away from this vixen. Nevertheless, Shane also knew how much Virgil's stock options were worth. He could absorb a hit and still manage retirement.
As long as he didn't do anything too stupid.
***
Two weeks leave turned to a month. Six weeks. Two months. Throughout, Shane and Brian made frequent phone calls and sent numerous emails inquiring about Virgil's health. The replies were always vague and grew increasingly hostile:
I'm still sick. You can fire me if you want. I'll see you in court.
That's how Virgil responded to Shane's last email inquiring if he and his wife would be attending the Company's Fall Picnic.
***
No other cars were parked around the house when Shane pulled his Lexus GX into the driveway. He worried that he'd made the trip in vain. The yard hadn't been attended to in a while; it was covered by fallen leaves with clumps of weeds growing through. Shane picked up two of those nuisance freebee newspapers on his way to the front door.
It was a nice, one story red-brick in a peaceful suburban neighborhood. Upper-upper middle class. Shane pushed the buzzer and waited.
He listened intently, but heard no sounds coming from within. He buzzed again. Time stretched. He muttered a profanity under his breath and turned to leave.
The door opened a crack. Virgil's face appeared and he asked, "What are you doing here?"
A week's worth of dirty, patchy stubble clung to the pallid skin of his cheeks. He'd also neglected to shave the ring of hair lining his scalp and it grew over his ears, grey and stringy.
But worse, his eyes: they had sunken into his skull, creating two deep, black pools on his face.
"Christ, Virg.," Shane said. "You look like shit."
Virgil had a hard time processing that information. He just shook his head, scowling.
"Hell," Shane approached the door. "Let me get a look at you."
Virgil closed the crack, peering out with only one eye. "Go away," he said.
"Virgil, buddy," Shane pressed. "You gotta come with me right now to go see a doctor. Come on."
"I can't," Virgil said. "You need to leave. Sabrina will be home soon."
"Bullshit," Shane took another step and Virgil slammed the door. "Virgil!" Shane pounded. "Come on, man, open up!"
A muffled voice through the door said, "Leave or I'll call the cops."
"And tell them what? Come on, Virgil, let me in." Shane pounded some more. "Virgil!"
Shane gave up on the front door and jogged around to the back. That door was locked, too, and he got no response when he hammered on it. "Virgil! Goddamn it!"
He cupped hands around his eyes and peered through the kitchen window. At the other side of the house, a skeletal shape crossed the entry to the bedrooms' hallway. "Virgil!" He rapped knuckles against the glass.
Another shape appeared in the hallway; short and dark in the internal shadows of the house. Shane had difficulty making out any features, but it looked like a man - or maybe a boy? - standing there naked.
Then it was gone.
Shane backed away. "Hell," he said.
Shane tapped his fingers against the armrests of his chair and looked across the desk at Brian, the floor manager. Brian shrugged.
"Hell," Shane concluded and stood up angrily. He walked to the window overlooking the factory and shoved his hands in his pockets. Below, employees carried on their work; loading raw supplies into machinery, inspecting final products rolling down conveyor belts, carting boxes and barrels hither and yon.
"We give them this pallet, gratis," Brian said. "We messed up, but we'll correct it."
"Hell," Shane sighed. He returned to his desk and sat down.
"You know they'll still use these," Brian held up the flawed bags. "Put them in one of their League City stores where nobody gives much fucks. It'll be okay."
"I'm not worried about that." Shane scowled. "But this was Virgil, right?"
Brian lifted his eyebrows. "This was on my watch, boss. Lots of things went wrong, I should have-"
"-Don't bullshit me, Brian. Virgil screwed this up. Again." Shane brought a fist down on the bags, not violently, but with emphasis. "Hell."
Brian sat back and waited.
Eventually, Shane continued, "Don't cover for him, Brian. You won't be doing him any favors if you are. You know this."
"Look boss," Brian leaned forward. "Yeah, he screwed up. And, yeah, he's been distracted lately. But he's on time every day, his eyes are clear, his hands steady. I'm not saying I greet him with a big hug and kiss when he gets here, but we work pretty close and I haven't smelled anything on his breath. Not like I used to."
"So what's going on?"
"I don't know. Nothing bad, I don't think. He seems happy. Just a little... out of it."
Shane swiveled his chair right and left a few times then said, "Get him."
***
Virgil entered the office, whistling brightly with a grin on his face. "You wanted to see me, boss?" he said, then saw the bags on the table and his face fell. "Oh."
"Sit down," Shane said, motioning for him to grab one of the plastic scoop chairs lining the wall. Virgil did and dragged it over to the desk, legs clacking on tile.
"Damn, I'm sorry, boss, I-" Virgil started, but Shane held up a hand to cut him off.
"All I want to know, Virg.," Shane said. "All I want to know is this: Are you drinking again?"
Virgil's head snapped back and he made a wry face. "What? No! Why would you...?"
"For a senior man, you've been making a lot of rookie mistakes lately, Virg. I'm not out of line asking."
Virgil nodded his head. "Yeah, right."
"If you are, you have to tell me now. Right now. Fuck these bags, Virg.," Shane swept them off the desk and launched them at the trash can. "You're down there working with heavy equipment, training some young folks. If you're drinking again, we have to deal with it. You understand?"
Virgil's head continued nodding. "No, I get it. You're right. Absolutely."
Then nobody said anything for a stretch of time. Virgil nodded at Brian and smiled, then back to Shane.
"So?" Shane prodded. "What the hell, Virgil?"
"Well, I got married, you see," Virgil scratched the back of his neck. "And I'm meeting my wife for the first time tonight. I guess I'm a little nervous about it."
***
Her name was Sabrina and Virgil had - surprise! - met her on-line. They'd connected over a series of digital images posted to a social media site depicting a scenic wilderness. Virgil made a comment that he'd love to camp there; Sabrina replied that it would be worth the trip. Virgil thought her profile picture was compelling so he replied back saying, well, hope to see you there!
And they're off!
In a protracted series of friendly, but not flirty, posts; Sabrina expressed a love for camping and outdoors in general. She posted pictures of herself standing in sun-drenched fields of flowers and sitting around campfires in shadowy forests; always looking super cute with her wide eyes and big smile, braided hair and tanned skin, wearing hiking pants and cotton T's. Virgil responded with gentle compliments, careful not to sound too much like a stalker or a pervert, and always thanking her for sharing.
She pressed Virgil to post some pictures of himself - because his profile image was actually of his beloved dog, Fido, who'd died a few years back. I don't even know what you look like, she'd written. Virgil figured that would be the end of it. After all, he was bland, bald, on the wrong side of 40, and had never gotten around to losing the post-alcoholic thirty pounds. Ah well, he thought, I shouldn't be doing this type of nonsense anyway. Not fair to Sabrina either; a doll like her wasting time on a creepy old troll like me. So he sent an image from one of the office retreats when Shane had taken the whole crew fishing - Virgil sitting in a deck chair with a rod in one hand, a bottle of seltzer in the other, and a stupid, floppy Gilligan hat covering his head. It had been a good day and, in the picture, he was smiling and happy. It may not have been flattering, but it was honest.
I guess I should have warned you I'm old and ugly, Virgil commented when he sent Sabrina the picture.
Shut up! she replied. You look adorable!!!
Kind of her to say, Virgil thought, but he didn't expect Sabrina to maintain the frequency of their communication going forward.
However, it didn't stop; it didn't even slow down. Sabrina continued contacting Virgil many times a day; mostly to share something fun, but occasionally asking for his opinion or advise. You're so smart, she'd write, and; I really value your friendship.
She inquired about his life - where he worked, what else did he enjoy besides camping? Why wasn't he married? But don't answer if you don't want to!
Before long, Sabrina knew everything there was to know about Virgil Templeton:
Divorce is hard, I'm sorry you had to go through that.
I'm so proud you were able to quit drinking. My father never did and it killed him in the end. Please, stay strong for me!
That's a long time to be with one company! You must be very good at your job!
And so forth.
Conversely, Virgil learned an awful lot about Sabrina Achari:
She said was in her mid-thirties and worked as an administrative assistant for the government where she lived - a small island nation in the Indian Ocean called Macnas. A pretty place - she'd really love for Virgil to see it some day! - but it was poor and mismanaged. Not much tourism because it can be dangerous, especially after dark.
But you don't need to worry about me! I'm pretty safe because of where I work.
At one point during this 21st century courtship, Sabrina went silent for days. She didn't respond to Virgil's posts or even emails sent directly to her account.
Virgil worried about her intensely; but he also wondered if it was just her way of getting rid of a bothersome old man.
So he stayed up all night crafting an email insisting that she contact him, if she was able, just to let him know she was safe. As long as he knew she was okay, he wouldn't mind saying goodbye forever if she had grown tired of him.
He read it over and over again, making sure the tone was right. Then, with the first rays of sun spilling through the window, Virgil finally steeled his nerves enough to click Send.
And he waited. And waited. And despaired. And spent another long night writing an email he wouldn't send, because the next morning she finally responded.
I love you so much, Sabrina replied. I would never just stop talking to you!
I love you. 1.4.3. For the first time, it was said (written, posted, texted, commented, whatever) between them.
And, having read those words, Virgil felt, well, he felt.... He felt drunk. Happily drunk.
However, the rest of Sabrina's reply was worrisome. The reason she'd been off-line so long was because the government had to move its offices suddenly and it took a while for them to get their internet connection back. She made it sound as if it was no big deal, but, reading between the lines, Virgil could tell. She was scared. Governments don't just pack up and move in the middle of the night. Not even shitty little third world governments.
Virgil wanted to respond quickly, so he didn't waste any time firing off a reply. In it, he gushed about how happy he was to hear from her, how much he'd prayed for her safety, and how he loved her too.
And he wrote that she would have to come to America as soon as possible. She couldn't stay there any longer.
Honestly, Sabrina wrote back, I wouldn't mind leaving. This is my home, and I love it here, but it's become so different these past years. Unfortunately, I can't manage to move now. Soon, hopefully, but not now.
Is it money? Do you need money?
It's complicated.
If it's just money...?
I love you, Virgil, but I'm not taking any money from you. I couldn't do that. You have to understand.
I have enough money, it's not a problem. I love you so much - I need you to be safe.
Let's not talk about it anymore. I'm okay now. Thank you very much, however, you're very sweet.
If we were married, it wouldn't be my money. It would be our money.
...
Can you Skype?
***
One month later and Virgil was a married man with a wife he'd never actually met in the flesh en-route somewhere over, oh, probably New Jersey by now.
Being men of the world, Shane and Brian circled around the elephant, trying to find safe landing, but Virgil grounded them first:
"I know it might be a scam, guys. Marrying a woman I only know from the internet? I can't believe I'm doing it myself. But what if she is just like she says? What if she really does love me? Guys, this could be my last chance."
Shane used the opening to ply his employee with contact information for a smart attorney, a good doctor, and a worldly priest. Virgil promised he would call them, all of them, when the time was right.
As a man of the world, it was the best Shane could do.
***
Standing at the window overlooking the factory floor, Shane said, "Look at your boy."
Brian laughed. "Right?"
Below them, Virgil Templeton was dancing with a broom, swinging the handle around like it was Ginger Rogers. He handed it back to the janitor who shook his head, laughing. Virgil went over to the line where he told some jokes and slapped some backs and made all the workers there smile. He back-stepped away from the heavy equipment towards the hallway where he had an office in the admin wing, throwing a salute. People waved at him as he left.
"What it is?" Brian continued. "For the first time in his life, Virgil's gettin' sum on a regular basis."
"God bless 'im," Shane said, returning to his desk. "God bless her, too, I guess. Maybe she's not a scammer after all."
Brian sat across from his boss. "Only time will tell."
"True." Shane collated some papers, arraigned some folders, and looked at the photograph of his own family - wife and three children in a gold frame. "Have you met her yet?"
"Not yet," Brian replied. "He says soon. They're still getting settled." He made an obscene gesture with a finger pumping through a thumb/index circle.
"Nice. What are you, twelve years old?"
"Hey, I'm just trying to keep up around here. You know what Virgil told me the other day? He said, 'You need to find yourself an Island girl. They're different!' He didn't actually wink wink, nudge nudge, but I got the drift."
"He didn't really say that? Our Virgil?"
Brian nodded.
"Well, God bless 'im."
Shane slid some papers across the desk for Brian to read. Both men studied the sheets for a while until Shane lifted his head and said, "Still. I'd like you to keep an eye on him."
"Yeah. I know."
"When she breaks his heart, that bottle's going to call him out by name."
Brian nodded solemnly. And these men of the world returned to their work.
***
Brian burst through Shane's office door and said, "You will NOT believe this!"
Shane, water glass raised to his mouth, held up a finger for Brian to wait.
But Brian did not wait, instead he said in a rush, "Virgil just ate a pubic hair sandwich!"
Somehow, Shane managed to set the water down without spilling a drop. "You asshole," he said. "While I'm drinking? You couldn't wait?"
Brian threw himself in the chair. "We're sitting together in the break room and Virgil pulls out his sandwich and starts laughing, for no reason I can see, so I ask him what's funny. Then I notice all these curly black hairs on the bread."
Shane blew his nose, motioning for Brian to continue.
"We're all alone in the room, but he leans forward and whispers like the walls have ears, 'Sabrina's hair', and the way he said hair...."
Shane made some sounds and shook his head. "What? Why?"
"Well, apparently they were talking after sex - that part's implied - and she asks about his ex-wife. He tells her how, when they were first married, his ex had been real sweet and all - putting love notes in his lunch and stuff - but that it didn't last very long.
"So Sabrina apologizes because she's never put any kind of note in Virgil's lunch, and then he tells her 'It's okay, you're not that type of wife, thank God!'"
"And today she put a note in his lunch?"
"I guess so!"
Shane looked at Brian meaningfully. He arched an eyebrow.
"Well?" Shane asked.
"What?"
"Did he actually eat it?"
Eyes wide as saucers, Brian nodded Yes!
***
"I'm suing this company for sexual harassment," Brian said, closing Shane's office door behind him.
"Fuck you." Shane responded. "Suck my dick, too."
"You're the one told me to keep an eye on Virgil. You're responsible."
"For what?"
"Today," Brian sobbed comically, "he made me feel inadequate."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
Brian sat down, hooked a leg over a knee, leaned back and asked, "Have you ever had a threesome?"
"Are you making an offer?"
"No, that's what Virgil asked me today. Have I ever had a threesome."
"Oh Lord what now?"
"Well, Goody Sabrina has found a small community of immigrants from her paradise island home and, occasionally, they like to get together to talk about the motherland. As immigrants do. Anyway, Virgil came home last night just as the party was breaking up and his loving wife introduced him to a very special friend - a girlfriend she'd known since childhood."
"Do I want to hear this?"
"I didn't. Anyway, one thing leads to another and today Virgil asks me if I've ever had a fucking threesome. Do you know any good lawyers? I'm suing this dump."
"He must have been joking."
"You know Virgil better than that."
"That's right, I do. He'd never swagger around bragging about something like that."
"Who said bragging? No, he was being serious. He wanted to know how to handle himself." Brian leaned forward. "Shane, he was asking for advice."
"I don't want to hear this."
"Yeah? Tough shit. I had to," Brian pointed a finger for emphasis. "You have to."
***
Virgil smiled and nodded to the small gang of Macnas-ites as he passed them entering his house while they were leaving. As a people, they were brown and short with big smiles and bright teeth. Most of the gaggle coming out of his house were girls, but two petite men blended in with the crowd. All of them giggling and tugging each other on their way.
A happy people.
Sabrina greeted Virgil at the door with a deep kiss and her hand on his buttock. He reciprocated enthusiastically.
"Come see," she said, taking his hand and pulling him inside. "This is unbelievable!"
She led him to the living room where she presented one of her countrymen. Or, more apropos, country-WOMAN: A very pretty girl with long black hair and a trim figure who bowed her head and spoke in broken English.
"So happy to meet you, Mr. Virgil sir."
***
The girl's name was Shubra and she had been Sabrina's best friend growing up in Macnas. They sat on the couch and chattered back and forth in their native tongue, of which Virgil understood not a word. Every once and a while, Sabrina would explain something to him, but it didn't take long for Virgil to realize he was a third wheel in this reunion, so he offered to go and bring back food. Of course Shubra would stay for dinner! Virgil exclaimed. He couldn't let such a lovely lady leave his house hungry.
Oh, how they giggled at that one.
***
Later, after food and drink (wine for the ladies, seltzer for Virg.) they rested in the sitting room. Virgil took the sofa while Shubra and Sabrina sat smooshed together on the love-seat, arms circling each other.
They were, apparently, very close friends.
And they mostly spoke to each other in Macnas-esse (if that was such a thing) for Virgil spent the evening cocking his head like a confused dog - unable to follow any of the conversation between the two women.
At one point Sabrina howled with laughter and their voices rose to a level of near hysterics. Sabrina caught her breath and explained to her husband:
"Shubra wants to know if it's true about the white man," she said. "The size."
Virgil, bless his soul, didn't get it at first, until he noticed both of the women gazing at his crotch.
"Macnes men are small," Sabrina explained. "It is a well-known problem on the island."
The best-friends howled and hugged on each other more and Virgil blushed until his hair turned red, then Sabrina launched herself from the love-seat and yanked him standing.
"Show her!" she demanded, fiddling with his zipper.
Virgil liked to die.
But, a testament to his stamina, he didn't even pass out when Sabrina tugged him lose and hung America's Pride over the crotch of his khaki Dockers.
Both girls laughed and it sounded like screams.
Then Sabrina said something in the foreign language and translated to English, "Wait, it gets better!"
And she took Virgil in her mouth.
Then, it was very possible Virgil did die for a petite moment. Certainly, his heart briefly stopped. Also, his vision failed. When he regained control of all his senses, he discovered Shubra had taken a knee next to Sabrina, both women laughing as they passed his rod between them; each taking a taste in turn.
***
In the bedroom, on the bed, Virgil was worse than useless. He'd lost his tongue and his muscles. He couldn't contribute at all to the unraveling events. His wife and her best friend caressed each other, kissed each other, licked each other; and he just sat there on the corner of the mattress like a dork; hand's folded like a peaked tent over his aching dick which, honestly, didn't give a shit. It just wanted to get in the game, man!
But when the women tried to coax Virgil into the pile, he went hesitantly, and only with intentions for Sabrina. When she tried to guide him toward Shubra, he rebelled and retreated to his corner. At one point, he harshly pushed Shubra's ass away when she'd thrust it at his face. The women laughed about that, and Sabrina went to work calming the situation, but the damage had been done.
Sadly, Virgil just didn't know how to handle himself at an orgy.
***
Shubra snored in her sleep. She was on the far side of the bed between Sabrina and Virgil.
Sabrina carefully unraveled herself from Shubra, rolled over and placed her hand on Virgil's heart and said, "You're awake? ... You're mad?"
"...no..."
"You didn't like it?"
"...nuh..."
"You didn't?"
"Sabrina, I...."
"I'm sorry."
"No, don't be. I'm sorry."
...
"The island is different," Sabrina nuzzled against her husband. "When we're young girls.... We have to take care of each other. We have to teach one another. It is like a tradition, yes? We survive together."
"Okay."
"I hope you're not mad."
"I'm not."
"I love you, only you. But Shubra...? She is part of me. She is very much like me. When I touch her, I touch me. Do you understand? When you touch her, you touch me. Yes?"
She hiked a leg over his stomach. He felt her wet sex pushed against his hip. Her breasts against the side of his chest.
"...okay..."
"Don't be mad." Her tongue found his ear.
"I'm not. It was just.... Unexpected. Better stop. You'll wake her."
"You're upset. It won't happen again. I'm so sorry."
"No. I'm okay. It's okay. It was just.... Unexpected."
"If she wakes up...," Sabrina didn't finish the sentence; she just rolled on top of her husband and reached for his stiffening dick.
***
"He wanted to know if all young people today partake in the ménage," Brian concluded. "He was worried that he'd been too... what's the word he used?... fuddy-duddy about the whole thing."
"So what did you tell him?"
"Nothing, man! I just hemmed and hawed and said whatever like a hundred times before making some excuse to run away."
"Maybe I should talk to him," Shane said. "After all, I do have more experience with that sort of thing."
Brian made jerking-off motions with both fists. "Switching hands doesn't count."
"Oh, never-mind then." Shane sighed. "How concerned should we be about this?"
"Yeah, well, it's going to end badly," Brian said. "That's plenty obvious. I just don't think there's anything we can do right now."
"I could call Archer. He could run a background check."
"And what would that accomplish? No matter what he found, Virgil wouldn't listen. And he would resent the hell out of you for doing it, too." Brian shrugged. "Look at it this way - maybe Virgil is being taken for a ride, but what a ride!"
***
Time passes. Virgil's work performance remains steady, but his bonhomie demeanor starts to fade. There are days where he's just checked out; still doing his job, but otherwise disengaged. At first these days are rare, and then they become more frequent. By the end of the third month, his co-workers start to talk. They can't remember the last time anybody saw Virgil smile.
***
"Hey Virg." Brian said, entering the break-room for a cuppa. Virgil, at the corner table, didn't return the greeting. He sat there, gazing blankly at the coffee, hands on his lap, a furrow upon his brow.
"Heeeeeeey," Brian tried again. Again, nothing.
"Yo! Virg!"
With that, Virgil snapped out of it and jerked to attention. His knees whacked the bottom of the table, knocking over his cup. Coffee went everywhere.
"Oh, man, I'm sorry." Brian grabbed some paper towels. When he got there, Virgil was standing, coffee dripping off his pants. A puddle at his feet.
Brian held out the towels, but Virgil didn't take them. "Virg?"
Brian then noticed tears welling up in Virgil's eyes. Almost spilling over.
"Virg? You okay?"
"What?" Virgil aggressively wiped his face. "Yeah. Yeah, sorry. I'll clean it up. Sorry."
Brian went for more towels and came back to help, kneeling on the floor next to Virgil.
"What's up, man? You look bad."
"No, I just.... Late night is all. My wife's brother is staying for a visit."
"Oh?"
Virgil nodded. He wiped his nose. "She says her brother."
***
Sabrina called him Jimmy and, from the moment he'd entered their house, she was never an arm's length away from the boy; constantly taking his hand, squeezing his narrow shoulders or fussing with his long black hair.
"My loving brother!" she exclaimed. "He's going to stay with us a few weeks - isn't that great!"
Jimmy didn't say much. He smiled a lot, but spoke infrequently and when he did his voice was soft and barely above a whisper, so Virgil didn't catch much of what was said.
The brother seemed nice enough, though. A very small man - shorter, even, than Sabrina - with delicate features. Like his sister, he had big, dark eyes.
But sometimes Virgil would sense those eyes on him, turn and see a thin-lipped smile spreading across the boy's unnaturally handsome face, and he would feel.... Uneasy.
***
Virgil normally liked to announce his return from work with a boisterous call or a suggestive comment, but since Jimmy had been staying with them, he'd been more subdued.
He unlocked the door, stepped into his house, and went to the kitchen where he got a bottle of seltzer. "Babe?" he called out, heading for the living room. "Jimmy?"
In the master, he found Sabrina reclining on the bed halfway under a thin, white sheet; breasts exposed, the form of her dark pubic triangle visible. She held out her arms for him.
"Mmmm," her voice was sleepy. Dopey. "You're home."
Virgil took a step towards the bed then stopped. The master bath was open and he saw movement through the door. Jimmy, naked, appeared in the doorway. He spread his arms to grab each side of the frame and stood there with his slightly aroused penis dangling freely and that thin, sinister smile on his face.
"Come," Sabrina beckoned, curling her fingers.
Once again, Virgil's body failed him. Unable to move, he made a low noise and one knee buckled, causing him to teeter. Sabrina was out of the bed in a flash, grabbing him around his waist, leading him to the sheets. She made loving noises. Her hands and mouth were all over his face, smothering him with kisses, stroking his cheek then the back of his head.
She moved down to his neck, kissing and nipping at his throat. Her hands unclasped the few buttons on his Polo short-sleeve. Virgil felt another set of small hands reach around from behind. They pulled his shirt un-tucked and then went to work on his belt.
Virgil twitched, tried to move away, but there was nowhere to go. Sabrina, on her knees now, pushed his head between her breasts, cooed at him like a child. Called him "baby". Told him to shush.
Now his shirt was off. Behind, thin lips pressed against his shoulder blades. Hands moved up his stomach and tweaked his nipples.
Before him, Sabrina laughed and rose up, standing precariously on the mattress. It was just the right height and she guided Virgil's face towards her sex. Jimmy whispered, "yes," and Virgil felt the hot breath on the back of his ear.
She says her brother....
***
Virgil asked for medical leave to have voluntary hernia surgery. Shane gladly signed off, telling him to take all the time he needed. The man looked bad. In conference with Brian, they concluded that this was it - Virgil's bizarre marriage must finally be coming to an end.
They resolved to keep tabs on him; make sure he didn't do anything too stupid. Shane knew a very good lawyer who would handle the divorce; still, it would certainly cost Virgil a ton of money to get away from this vixen. Nevertheless, Shane also knew how much Virgil's stock options were worth. He could absorb a hit and still manage retirement.
As long as he didn't do anything too stupid.
***
Two weeks leave turned to a month. Six weeks. Two months. Throughout, Shane and Brian made frequent phone calls and sent numerous emails inquiring about Virgil's health. The replies were always vague and grew increasingly hostile:
I'm still sick. You can fire me if you want. I'll see you in court.
That's how Virgil responded to Shane's last email inquiring if he and his wife would be attending the Company's Fall Picnic.
***
No other cars were parked around the house when Shane pulled his Lexus GX into the driveway. He worried that he'd made the trip in vain. The yard hadn't been attended to in a while; it was covered by fallen leaves with clumps of weeds growing through. Shane picked up two of those nuisance freebee newspapers on his way to the front door.
It was a nice, one story red-brick in a peaceful suburban neighborhood. Upper-upper middle class. Shane pushed the buzzer and waited.
He listened intently, but heard no sounds coming from within. He buzzed again. Time stretched. He muttered a profanity under his breath and turned to leave.
The door opened a crack. Virgil's face appeared and he asked, "What are you doing here?"
A week's worth of dirty, patchy stubble clung to the pallid skin of his cheeks. He'd also neglected to shave the ring of hair lining his scalp and it grew over his ears, grey and stringy.
But worse, his eyes: they had sunken into his skull, creating two deep, black pools on his face.
"Christ, Virg.," Shane said. "You look like shit."
Virgil had a hard time processing that information. He just shook his head, scowling.
"Hell," Shane approached the door. "Let me get a look at you."
Virgil closed the crack, peering out with only one eye. "Go away," he said.
"Virgil, buddy," Shane pressed. "You gotta come with me right now to go see a doctor. Come on."
"I can't," Virgil said. "You need to leave. Sabrina will be home soon."
"Bullshit," Shane took another step and Virgil slammed the door. "Virgil!" Shane pounded. "Come on, man, open up!"
A muffled voice through the door said, "Leave or I'll call the cops."
"And tell them what? Come on, Virgil, let me in." Shane pounded some more. "Virgil!"
Shane gave up on the front door and jogged around to the back. That door was locked, too, and he got no response when he hammered on it. "Virgil! Goddamn it!"
He cupped hands around his eyes and peered through the kitchen window. At the other side of the house, a skeletal shape crossed the entry to the bedrooms' hallway. "Virgil!" He rapped knuckles against the glass.
Another shape appeared in the hallway; short and dark in the internal shadows of the house. Shane had difficulty making out any features, but it looked like a man - or maybe a boy? - standing there naked.
Then it was gone.
Shane backed away. "Hell," he said.
Wednesday, August 3, 2016
Crucified on a Tumbleweed
Justin watched Virgil killing it from off-stage. The mulatto midget had the house howling with his amoral-mouth comedy routine. His voice was deep and rich and rumbled through the auditorium speakers like 'fuck' filled thunder. Justin risked a glance around the back side of the curtain and saw the front few rows were breathless from laughing; wiping tears from their eyes.
Follow that?, Justin thought. Then smiled. Yeah. I can follow that.
Virgil finished his act with a final, booming "Fuck all y'all!" and waddled over to where Justin was standing. As soon as he was hidden behind the curtain, Virgil blew wind and wiped his massive forehead. "Jesus," he said, tapping Justin's hand. "Hot fucking crowd!"
The applause would not stop. The men looked across to stage left where the MC was frantically waving. He pointed at Virgil (finger down low) and motioned for him to go out and take another bow.
Virgil squared his shoulders, Justin gave him a shove, and the midget returned to the stage where the sound wave from the applause damned near bowled the little man over.
The MC joined Virgil on stage, raised his hand like a winning prizefighter, and that kept the crowed going.
Justin's smile widened. He found himself applauding too.
The MC ushered Virgil off the stage and calmed the audience with some mildly amusing banter, setting up Justin.
Justin ruffled Virgil's hair as he passed. Virgil punched him in the butt.
"And now, give it up for the world's oldest juvenile delinquent, JD!"
Justin bowed his head, quickly used two fingers to cross himself, and then took the boards.
***
"You asshole," Virgil said, tossing a damp hand towel at Justin as he entered the dressing room. Justin had to reach down to catch it before it hit the floor, and then spun around fast, slinging the towel right back. It sailed over Virgil's head, hit the mirror, and plopped on the counter. "And they're still fucking clapping! I thought I wore those fuckers out!"
Virgil was referring to the applause still audible even though Justin had returned to the stage twice to take bows before calling it quits. The MC was out there now, hands raised, telling everyone they didn't have to go home but....
"You couldn't wear out a fistful of tissue," Justin said, sitting on the chair next to Virgil. He took the filthy towel and wiped his face.
"Fuck you."
Virgil sat and watched while Justin cleaned up; using cold cream to remove the stage makeup. With his lips stretched down to rub under his nose, Justin rolled his eyes over to Virgil and asked, "What are you waiting for? Permission to go sniff those panties the ladies threw on the stage for me? Knock yourself out, buddy."
"Bullshit. They threw panties? Bullshit. They haven't done that since the '80s."
"Class never goes out of style," Justin replied.
Virgil hopped off his chair and left the dressing room. Justin unbuttoned, un-tucked his shirt and slid it on a hanger. He drank a bottle of water in one go; guzzling with Adam's apple bobbing. Then he took a clean t-shirt from his duffel bag and pulled it on.
Virgil returned. "Panties my ass." He threw an article of clothing at Justin who swatted it from the air. It was a pair of boxers; large. "That's what was on the stage - shitty men's undies. You old homo. I knew something was wrong with the crowd tonight. A bunch of your Gay A. R. P. fans. No wonder you got the most applause. Incontinent perverts think it's okay to shit themselves if they can blame it on the laughter. 'Oh, I couldn't help myself, when Mr. Yummy started joking about airline food, my bowels just BBRRPTHTH!'"
Justin laughed, and picked up the underwear with two cautious fingers. They were indeed filthy - stained brown and yellow - but the smell coming off the fabric was more chocolate than shit.
"Seriously, Virgil. Did you just wreck a pair of your drawers for this gag? Good lord are you going commando right now?"
"Gay A. R. P...." Virgil walked over to the counter. "That's pretty good. Has that been done?"
"Everything under the sun has been done." Justin swung a hand back, open palm. "It's all in the delivery!" He brought the hand around in massive stage slap, smacking it harmlessly against Virgil's cheek. Virgil played off the violence, whipping his head around, face contorted in pain, curly black hair flying.
The midget recovered and viciously brought a foot up between Justin's legs. He didn't even come close, but Justin crossed his knees, crossed his eyes, and collapsed onto the chair cupping his junk in both hands.
The two men sat down, grinning like fools.
"Anyway," Justin continued. "You can't do gay jokes. Not unless you yourself are gay. Otherwise it's a hate crime."
Virgil shrugged. "If the joke's good enough, I'll suck a dick before telling it."
"Still a hate crime."
"Fuck you." Virgil took a business card from his shirt pocket and thumped it on the counter in front of Justin.
"What's this?" The card was embossed gold on black with an official looking star at the right and lettering on the left.
"Fucking forgot you can't read. That's the business card of Mr. Shane Muncie of T.X.S.A.S.."
Justin slid the card away. "Keeping Texas sassy?"
"Keeping you from starving. They're offering money to travel and tell jokes."
"Let me guess - a month working the Louisiana casinos and come home with maybe twenty dollars in my pocket? No thanks."
"Call him." Virgil jumped down and walked away, pointing a middle finger in the air. "And sit and spin on this, too."
Justin picked up the card between finger and thumb. With his other hand, he flicked the card's edge making it spin.
***
It wasn't the first time Justin had lived out of his car. Spending the hot Houston days in a mall or a library; taking in a movie or visiting friends during the evenings. Then finding a security-camera free parking lot in some industrial park on the north side to crank back the seat and catch some Z's with the windows down and the cab reeking of Deep Woods Off. Morning comes, grab a cup and wash 'em up in the Men's of a McD's, and then do it all again until the cheap-ass booking agent comes across with your checks.
Actors, musicians, porn-stars, poets and stand-up comedians know the routine.
But today Justin had his appointment with Mr. Muncie of T.X.S.A.S. and it was at the swanky Westin Oaks Hotel inside the Galleria. Not the place one likes to enter stinking of bug-spray and B.O..
So on his way to the meeting, Justin stopped at Target and splurged on a pack of T's and a bottle of Febreez. He changed shirts and showered in the spritz of the atomizer and figured - good enough.
Ten minutes later he was greeted in the lobby by a sharply dressed, immaculately groomed young man with intense eyes, a toothy smile, and a bone-crushing handshake. They exchanged pleasantries then Mr. Muncie brought Justin up to their rooms for the pitch.
***
When they entered the suite, five men in khaki shorts and polo shirts stretched taught over muscled chests and arms stopped what they were doing and shot eye-daggers towards the door.
"Relax, guys," Shane Muncie said. "He's a comedian."
That did nothing to alleviate the tension. Indeed, Justin felt the glares grow more hostile. The men had been leaning over maps and stacks of paper spread out on a series of folding tables, but now all stood tall and silent, massive arms crossed, frowning. And then Justin's own special coping mechanism kicked in:
"Yeah, don't worry fellas; I'm not here for the circle jerk. You'd be in trouble, though, if I was. Y'all got the size, but I've got speed, and that's what counts. Jesus. I saw some phone-books in the lobby, if you really want to tear something in half. Hey, you know what's fun? They're feeding the gorillas down at the zoo, you want to go watch? Or y'all could just order room service. Look at you. Can you even reach down far enough with those arms to wipe your own ass? Never mind. Your shit probably comes out clean and hot like a cannonball. So, lover, how weight can you bench with your tongue? What the fuck, guys, if the goal was to get my balls to go into hiding behind my prostate - mission accomplished."
Shane interrupted with a fake, short laugh and took Justin's arm. "Sorry, Mr. Danny," he said, leading him out of the main suite into a side room. "What they're doing is.... sensitive."
"Well maybe we should go somewhere else? Jesus." Justin wiped sweat from his forehead.
The off-room was small - a bed, desk and one chair. Shane motioned for Justin to sit on the bed.
"We don't like to conduct business in public," he explained, taking the chair from the desk and turning it towards Justin. "If you decide to work with us, after you sign the papers, you and I can go for lunch or coffee. If you'd like."
"Yeah, well. What if I don't sign the paper? Am I leaving through the door or window?"
This time Shane's laugh was slightly more genuine. "Nothing like that, Mr. Danny-"
"-JD-"
"-JD." Shane tugged on his pant leg. Ran two fingers down the crease. "The work we do is... sensitive, but totally legit. We are, in fact...," Shane paused to find the right words. "Well, let me just say that, although we aren't officially sanctioned or recognized by the United States government, we often find ourselves acting in her best interests. Do you follow?"
"Not a single word," Justin complained, standing. "Look - I think this is a big mistake. I'd like to leave, but I don't want to get eye-fucked by the Incredible Hulk brothers out there. Can you...."
Shane brought out his billfold, opened it, and handed Justin two hundred dollar bills. "Yes, of course JD. I'll walk you out. Thank you for coming."
"What's this?" Justin pointed at the money.
"Yours," Shane said. "For your time."
"I was, like, three minutes here...." The money stayed out in the open, waiting. Justin did not take it. Time stretched.
"Maybe you would like to hear what the job is?" Shane asked, eventually.
"Okay....,"
"Please, take it." Shane put the money in Justin's hand. "It is yours either way."
"Okay...," Justin pocketed the bills and sat on the bed.
"As I said," Shane continued, "we are not affiliated with the United States government, nor it's military, but we do function very much like an army. And, as such, we find it beneficial to provide our soldiers - our employees - who work in very stressful environments - with entertainment. When it is practical and safe, of course."
Justin nodded.
"Kind of like a U.S.O. show. But, since we are a for-profit organization, we do pay our talent. Does this sound like something you would be interested in?"
"Yeah. A greedy Bob Hope. That's me."
Shane smiled. "Yes, well. As I said, this isn't a charity. We pay handsomely, but our confidentiality and non-disclosure requirements are very strict. And, I want you to understand this up front, there is some danger involved. If you do sign up, you'll be required to qualify with a handgun and assault rifle before joining the tour."
"You're kidding?"
"No. Obviously we pay for the training and certification, but it is required." Shane shrugged. "It only takes a day and most people enjoy it. It's informative and fun for those who have never fired a gun before."
"Sure."
"The tour will last two months and during that time you'll be asked to perform twice a week at different locations. I can't tell you exactly where or when, but it will be overseas. You'll need to take a medical exam and have shots administered before joining the tour."
"Well, once you train me how to use a gun, I can just shoot myself."
"The pay is $50,000"
"Yeah, right. Make it $100,000"
"I'm authorized to go $75,000."
"I was joking."
"I'm not. Also, there are bonuses depending upon the success of the deployment. Most often these bonuses are substantial."
Justin tapped the tips of his fingers together. "Every angle I come at this lands me in a pile of bullshit. I'm trying to see the gag, but Alan Funt's been dead a long time now and the scam is too soft for a Youtube stunt - unless when I walk out that door those guys have dropped trou and are waiting to piss on my face. Still, the setup doesn't scan."
"It's not a gag and it's not a scam. It's a job. You're free to take it or leave it and, I assure you, nobody in that room is waiting for you dick-out."
"Okay." Justin grinned. "Sure. So how does Virgil fit into all this? I can't see him playing the shill unless there's a gag."
"Mr. Templeton? He's signed on. If you so choose, you'll be with him on the tour. I understand the two of you work well together."
Justin studied the ceiling and walls, looking for a camera.
Shane leaned forward and said, "I understand this is an unusual situation. The money seems excessive for two month's work, but it is only a fraction of what our soldiers - employees - earn for a deployment. Do you get the picture? We're elite. We don't have to pander to the lowest common denominator. Our employees are unique and that is reflected in their tastes. We could easily hire Jay Leno," Shane shook his head, "but our employees don't want to see Jay Leno. They like different. They like you."
"Bullshit. I'm no different from a hundred other burnt out, washed up would-a-beens slowly dying on the circuit. A thousand."
"You sell yourself short, JD." Shane beamed. "I've seen your act. It is absolutely hilarious! That bit about the alcoholic and his dog with the compulsive eating disorder?"
"Barfo and Scarfo? Oh yeah. That's elite material right there."
"It's funny as hell. But I'll be honest with you, there are other criteria we look for when planning these tours, and you match them."
"Such as?"
"You're not a drug user or a drinker. You don't have any outstanding debts or legal entanglements. From all accounts you work well with others and have no problems with authority."
"Jesus. You got all this from my Facebook page did you?"
"And you don't have a family."
Justin sat back and gripped the edge of the bed.
"So," Shane continued, "we feel you would be a perfect fit with our organization. And, although I can't make any promises, if you do sign up for this tour, there may be more opportunities in the future. Generally speaking, it would never be more than once a year, and we would expect new material, but we're getting ahead of-"
"-I'll do it," Justin interrupted.
"Oh? Good." Shane took some papers from a portfolio on the desk. "The way the contract is structured, we'll give you ten percent now - cash, if you'd like - then the remainder upon completion of the tour. If you're unable to complete the tour due to personal reasons, we'll prorate the payment based on-"
"-Just give me the pen."
"Okay. I do advise you to read this first...."
But Justin had already made his mark, a swirling "JD" across the bottom of the last page of contract.
***
Ciella heard Pinky, their terrier dog, bark and whine with excitement from the back yard; and then a rare knocking at the kitchen door. She pulled back the curtain and smiled.
"Justin," she said, letting him in. He was carrying a box, but he set it on the breakfast nook table to give her a hug and a peck on the cheek. "What are you doing here?"
"Unannounced, I know, I hope you don't mind."
"Of course not, sit down. Can I get you something to eat? Drink? Have you lost weight?" Ciella had food on the stoves and she went to turn down the heat and stir something in a saucepan. "You missed the kids - they're at the pool. Will you stay for dinner?"
"No no no and no. Ciella. Thank you. I really just came by to drop something off."
With the food settled, Ciella wiped her hands on her jeans and turned to Justin.
"You look terrible," she said, concern creasing her pretty, dainty Filipino face. "Skinny and tired and.... terrible."
Justin laughed. "Good to see you, too, Sis!"
Ciella sat next to him, put her small hand over his. It barely spanned the knuckles. "You'll stay for dinner."
"I can't."
"The kids will love to see you."
"Ciella....," Justin pulled his hand away and reached for the box. "Look, I just need you to hold on to some things for me for a while. A few months. I'll put it in the attic so Paul won't even know I was here."
"Oh, fuck Paul."
"Ciella! Such language!"
"Justin! Fuck you!"
They laughed. Then Ciella said, "Paul runs his mouth sometimes but he likes you, Justin. Don't ever be afraid to visit because of him."
"Yeah, he likes me about as much as snot and that's not a lot."
"Ha! Maybe. But I can promise he'll be civil with you. That I can promise." She cracked her knuckles menacingly. "You're family."
Justin nodded. "Thanks."
Uninvited, Ciella took the lid off the box and rifled through the contents. Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled over. She wiped them away with the back of her hand.
"Ciella, I....," Justin found no words.
She shook her head and took out a framed picture - Justin on his wedding day. In a tux standing next to beautiful Filipino girl in a white gown. Ciella was there too; standing by the bride, her sister.
"It's been so long, Justin. So long."
Justin looked at his hands and said nothing.
"She would hate to see you like this. You know she would."
"Yeah. I know," he said, gently taking the picture away from Ciella and smiling over it.
"Life goes on, time heals all wounds, God works in mysterious ways," Ciella sighed. "All those fucking platitudes. Justin. They're true in the end. We have to keep living."
"Hey," Justin put the picture back in the box. "I am living. Living out of my car. Which is why I need you to hold on to this stuff for a few months while I'm away."
"Oh bullshit! You're sleeping in your car? Come on, JD, you are staying here, with us, no questions asked."
"Ciella, I'm joking, of course. Well. Kind of. Anyway, it's complicated, but no, tonight I am sleeping in a fine bed in a fine hotel with lots of whores and whiskey bottles and Jack Russell terriers and...."
Ciella had her fists on her hips and an expression on her face that was frighteningly severe. Worse, for Justin, was how much of his long-dead wife he saw in those stern features. How that look used to scare him proper when she was alive and how he would do anything - anything - to make her happy again.
And he knew he had to leave his sister-in-law's house. ASAP.
"I've got to go." Justin stood to leave. "It's actually a real good job, Sis. Could really be a turning point for me. Can I put this box in the attic?"
Ciella shook her head. "Leave it. I'll take care of it."
"Thank you," Justin said, opening the kitchen door.
"She would hate to see you like this," Ciella repeated.
Justin paused. "Oh, I know she would," he turned to Ciella. "But you know what I think about sometimes? So say I'd stayed in law school and met someone else and got married and had kids and wound up...." he motioned around, taking in the house, yard, dog, toys, everything. "....here? Say all that. Then how would I feel looking at her picture today? Would I enjoy seeing her? Or would I hate it? Or would it mean.... nothing to me?"
He closed the door behind him as he left.
Follow that?, Justin thought. Then smiled. Yeah. I can follow that.
Virgil finished his act with a final, booming "Fuck all y'all!" and waddled over to where Justin was standing. As soon as he was hidden behind the curtain, Virgil blew wind and wiped his massive forehead. "Jesus," he said, tapping Justin's hand. "Hot fucking crowd!"
The applause would not stop. The men looked across to stage left where the MC was frantically waving. He pointed at Virgil (finger down low) and motioned for him to go out and take another bow.
Virgil squared his shoulders, Justin gave him a shove, and the midget returned to the stage where the sound wave from the applause damned near bowled the little man over.
The MC joined Virgil on stage, raised his hand like a winning prizefighter, and that kept the crowed going.
Justin's smile widened. He found himself applauding too.
The MC ushered Virgil off the stage and calmed the audience with some mildly amusing banter, setting up Justin.
Justin ruffled Virgil's hair as he passed. Virgil punched him in the butt.
"And now, give it up for the world's oldest juvenile delinquent, JD!"
Justin bowed his head, quickly used two fingers to cross himself, and then took the boards.
***
"You asshole," Virgil said, tossing a damp hand towel at Justin as he entered the dressing room. Justin had to reach down to catch it before it hit the floor, and then spun around fast, slinging the towel right back. It sailed over Virgil's head, hit the mirror, and plopped on the counter. "And they're still fucking clapping! I thought I wore those fuckers out!"
Virgil was referring to the applause still audible even though Justin had returned to the stage twice to take bows before calling it quits. The MC was out there now, hands raised, telling everyone they didn't have to go home but....
"You couldn't wear out a fistful of tissue," Justin said, sitting on the chair next to Virgil. He took the filthy towel and wiped his face.
"Fuck you."
Virgil sat and watched while Justin cleaned up; using cold cream to remove the stage makeup. With his lips stretched down to rub under his nose, Justin rolled his eyes over to Virgil and asked, "What are you waiting for? Permission to go sniff those panties the ladies threw on the stage for me? Knock yourself out, buddy."
"Bullshit. They threw panties? Bullshit. They haven't done that since the '80s."
"Class never goes out of style," Justin replied.
Virgil hopped off his chair and left the dressing room. Justin unbuttoned, un-tucked his shirt and slid it on a hanger. He drank a bottle of water in one go; guzzling with Adam's apple bobbing. Then he took a clean t-shirt from his duffel bag and pulled it on.
Virgil returned. "Panties my ass." He threw an article of clothing at Justin who swatted it from the air. It was a pair of boxers; large. "That's what was on the stage - shitty men's undies. You old homo. I knew something was wrong with the crowd tonight. A bunch of your Gay A. R. P. fans. No wonder you got the most applause. Incontinent perverts think it's okay to shit themselves if they can blame it on the laughter. 'Oh, I couldn't help myself, when Mr. Yummy started joking about airline food, my bowels just BBRRPTHTH!'"
Justin laughed, and picked up the underwear with two cautious fingers. They were indeed filthy - stained brown and yellow - but the smell coming off the fabric was more chocolate than shit.
"Seriously, Virgil. Did you just wreck a pair of your drawers for this gag? Good lord are you going commando right now?"
"Gay A. R. P...." Virgil walked over to the counter. "That's pretty good. Has that been done?"
"Everything under the sun has been done." Justin swung a hand back, open palm. "It's all in the delivery!" He brought the hand around in massive stage slap, smacking it harmlessly against Virgil's cheek. Virgil played off the violence, whipping his head around, face contorted in pain, curly black hair flying.
The midget recovered and viciously brought a foot up between Justin's legs. He didn't even come close, but Justin crossed his knees, crossed his eyes, and collapsed onto the chair cupping his junk in both hands.
The two men sat down, grinning like fools.
"Anyway," Justin continued. "You can't do gay jokes. Not unless you yourself are gay. Otherwise it's a hate crime."
Virgil shrugged. "If the joke's good enough, I'll suck a dick before telling it."
"Still a hate crime."
"Fuck you." Virgil took a business card from his shirt pocket and thumped it on the counter in front of Justin.
"What's this?" The card was embossed gold on black with an official looking star at the right and lettering on the left.
"Fucking forgot you can't read. That's the business card of Mr. Shane Muncie of T.X.S.A.S.."
Justin slid the card away. "Keeping Texas sassy?"
"Keeping you from starving. They're offering money to travel and tell jokes."
"Let me guess - a month working the Louisiana casinos and come home with maybe twenty dollars in my pocket? No thanks."
"Call him." Virgil jumped down and walked away, pointing a middle finger in the air. "And sit and spin on this, too."
Justin picked up the card between finger and thumb. With his other hand, he flicked the card's edge making it spin.
***
It wasn't the first time Justin had lived out of his car. Spending the hot Houston days in a mall or a library; taking in a movie or visiting friends during the evenings. Then finding a security-camera free parking lot in some industrial park on the north side to crank back the seat and catch some Z's with the windows down and the cab reeking of Deep Woods Off. Morning comes, grab a cup and wash 'em up in the Men's of a McD's, and then do it all again until the cheap-ass booking agent comes across with your checks.
Actors, musicians, porn-stars, poets and stand-up comedians know the routine.
But today Justin had his appointment with Mr. Muncie of T.X.S.A.S. and it was at the swanky Westin Oaks Hotel inside the Galleria. Not the place one likes to enter stinking of bug-spray and B.O..
So on his way to the meeting, Justin stopped at Target and splurged on a pack of T's and a bottle of Febreez. He changed shirts and showered in the spritz of the atomizer and figured - good enough.
Ten minutes later he was greeted in the lobby by a sharply dressed, immaculately groomed young man with intense eyes, a toothy smile, and a bone-crushing handshake. They exchanged pleasantries then Mr. Muncie brought Justin up to their rooms for the pitch.
***
When they entered the suite, five men in khaki shorts and polo shirts stretched taught over muscled chests and arms stopped what they were doing and shot eye-daggers towards the door.
"Relax, guys," Shane Muncie said. "He's a comedian."
That did nothing to alleviate the tension. Indeed, Justin felt the glares grow more hostile. The men had been leaning over maps and stacks of paper spread out on a series of folding tables, but now all stood tall and silent, massive arms crossed, frowning. And then Justin's own special coping mechanism kicked in:
"Yeah, don't worry fellas; I'm not here for the circle jerk. You'd be in trouble, though, if I was. Y'all got the size, but I've got speed, and that's what counts. Jesus. I saw some phone-books in the lobby, if you really want to tear something in half. Hey, you know what's fun? They're feeding the gorillas down at the zoo, you want to go watch? Or y'all could just order room service. Look at you. Can you even reach down far enough with those arms to wipe your own ass? Never mind. Your shit probably comes out clean and hot like a cannonball. So, lover, how weight can you bench with your tongue? What the fuck, guys, if the goal was to get my balls to go into hiding behind my prostate - mission accomplished."
Shane interrupted with a fake, short laugh and took Justin's arm. "Sorry, Mr. Danny," he said, leading him out of the main suite into a side room. "What they're doing is.... sensitive."
"Well maybe we should go somewhere else? Jesus." Justin wiped sweat from his forehead.
The off-room was small - a bed, desk and one chair. Shane motioned for Justin to sit on the bed.
"We don't like to conduct business in public," he explained, taking the chair from the desk and turning it towards Justin. "If you decide to work with us, after you sign the papers, you and I can go for lunch or coffee. If you'd like."
"Yeah, well. What if I don't sign the paper? Am I leaving through the door or window?"
This time Shane's laugh was slightly more genuine. "Nothing like that, Mr. Danny-"
"-JD-"
"-JD." Shane tugged on his pant leg. Ran two fingers down the crease. "The work we do is... sensitive, but totally legit. We are, in fact...," Shane paused to find the right words. "Well, let me just say that, although we aren't officially sanctioned or recognized by the United States government, we often find ourselves acting in her best interests. Do you follow?"
"Not a single word," Justin complained, standing. "Look - I think this is a big mistake. I'd like to leave, but I don't want to get eye-fucked by the Incredible Hulk brothers out there. Can you...."
Shane brought out his billfold, opened it, and handed Justin two hundred dollar bills. "Yes, of course JD. I'll walk you out. Thank you for coming."
"What's this?" Justin pointed at the money.
"Yours," Shane said. "For your time."
"I was, like, three minutes here...." The money stayed out in the open, waiting. Justin did not take it. Time stretched.
"Maybe you would like to hear what the job is?" Shane asked, eventually.
"Okay....,"
"Please, take it." Shane put the money in Justin's hand. "It is yours either way."
"Okay...," Justin pocketed the bills and sat on the bed.
"As I said," Shane continued, "we are not affiliated with the United States government, nor it's military, but we do function very much like an army. And, as such, we find it beneficial to provide our soldiers - our employees - who work in very stressful environments - with entertainment. When it is practical and safe, of course."
Justin nodded.
"Kind of like a U.S.O. show. But, since we are a for-profit organization, we do pay our talent. Does this sound like something you would be interested in?"
"Yeah. A greedy Bob Hope. That's me."
Shane smiled. "Yes, well. As I said, this isn't a charity. We pay handsomely, but our confidentiality and non-disclosure requirements are very strict. And, I want you to understand this up front, there is some danger involved. If you do sign up, you'll be required to qualify with a handgun and assault rifle before joining the tour."
"You're kidding?"
"No. Obviously we pay for the training and certification, but it is required." Shane shrugged. "It only takes a day and most people enjoy it. It's informative and fun for those who have never fired a gun before."
"Sure."
"The tour will last two months and during that time you'll be asked to perform twice a week at different locations. I can't tell you exactly where or when, but it will be overseas. You'll need to take a medical exam and have shots administered before joining the tour."
"Well, once you train me how to use a gun, I can just shoot myself."
"The pay is $50,000"
"Yeah, right. Make it $100,000"
"I'm authorized to go $75,000."
"I was joking."
"I'm not. Also, there are bonuses depending upon the success of the deployment. Most often these bonuses are substantial."
Justin tapped the tips of his fingers together. "Every angle I come at this lands me in a pile of bullshit. I'm trying to see the gag, but Alan Funt's been dead a long time now and the scam is too soft for a Youtube stunt - unless when I walk out that door those guys have dropped trou and are waiting to piss on my face. Still, the setup doesn't scan."
"It's not a gag and it's not a scam. It's a job. You're free to take it or leave it and, I assure you, nobody in that room is waiting for you dick-out."
"Okay." Justin grinned. "Sure. So how does Virgil fit into all this? I can't see him playing the shill unless there's a gag."
"Mr. Templeton? He's signed on. If you so choose, you'll be with him on the tour. I understand the two of you work well together."
Justin studied the ceiling and walls, looking for a camera.
Shane leaned forward and said, "I understand this is an unusual situation. The money seems excessive for two month's work, but it is only a fraction of what our soldiers - employees - earn for a deployment. Do you get the picture? We're elite. We don't have to pander to the lowest common denominator. Our employees are unique and that is reflected in their tastes. We could easily hire Jay Leno," Shane shook his head, "but our employees don't want to see Jay Leno. They like different. They like you."
"Bullshit. I'm no different from a hundred other burnt out, washed up would-a-beens slowly dying on the circuit. A thousand."
"You sell yourself short, JD." Shane beamed. "I've seen your act. It is absolutely hilarious! That bit about the alcoholic and his dog with the compulsive eating disorder?"
"Barfo and Scarfo? Oh yeah. That's elite material right there."
"It's funny as hell. But I'll be honest with you, there are other criteria we look for when planning these tours, and you match them."
"Such as?"
"You're not a drug user or a drinker. You don't have any outstanding debts or legal entanglements. From all accounts you work well with others and have no problems with authority."
"Jesus. You got all this from my Facebook page did you?"
"And you don't have a family."
Justin sat back and gripped the edge of the bed.
"So," Shane continued, "we feel you would be a perfect fit with our organization. And, although I can't make any promises, if you do sign up for this tour, there may be more opportunities in the future. Generally speaking, it would never be more than once a year, and we would expect new material, but we're getting ahead of-"
"-I'll do it," Justin interrupted.
"Oh? Good." Shane took some papers from a portfolio on the desk. "The way the contract is structured, we'll give you ten percent now - cash, if you'd like - then the remainder upon completion of the tour. If you're unable to complete the tour due to personal reasons, we'll prorate the payment based on-"
"-Just give me the pen."
"Okay. I do advise you to read this first...."
But Justin had already made his mark, a swirling "JD" across the bottom of the last page of contract.
***
Ciella heard Pinky, their terrier dog, bark and whine with excitement from the back yard; and then a rare knocking at the kitchen door. She pulled back the curtain and smiled.
"Justin," she said, letting him in. He was carrying a box, but he set it on the breakfast nook table to give her a hug and a peck on the cheek. "What are you doing here?"
"Unannounced, I know, I hope you don't mind."
"Of course not, sit down. Can I get you something to eat? Drink? Have you lost weight?" Ciella had food on the stoves and she went to turn down the heat and stir something in a saucepan. "You missed the kids - they're at the pool. Will you stay for dinner?"
"No no no and no. Ciella. Thank you. I really just came by to drop something off."
With the food settled, Ciella wiped her hands on her jeans and turned to Justin.
"You look terrible," she said, concern creasing her pretty, dainty Filipino face. "Skinny and tired and.... terrible."
Justin laughed. "Good to see you, too, Sis!"
Ciella sat next to him, put her small hand over his. It barely spanned the knuckles. "You'll stay for dinner."
"I can't."
"The kids will love to see you."
"Ciella....," Justin pulled his hand away and reached for the box. "Look, I just need you to hold on to some things for me for a while. A few months. I'll put it in the attic so Paul won't even know I was here."
"Oh, fuck Paul."
"Ciella! Such language!"
"Justin! Fuck you!"
They laughed. Then Ciella said, "Paul runs his mouth sometimes but he likes you, Justin. Don't ever be afraid to visit because of him."
"Yeah, he likes me about as much as snot and that's not a lot."
"Ha! Maybe. But I can promise he'll be civil with you. That I can promise." She cracked her knuckles menacingly. "You're family."
Justin nodded. "Thanks."
Uninvited, Ciella took the lid off the box and rifled through the contents. Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled over. She wiped them away with the back of her hand.
"Ciella, I....," Justin found no words.
She shook her head and took out a framed picture - Justin on his wedding day. In a tux standing next to beautiful Filipino girl in a white gown. Ciella was there too; standing by the bride, her sister.
"It's been so long, Justin. So long."
Justin looked at his hands and said nothing.
"She would hate to see you like this. You know she would."
"Yeah. I know," he said, gently taking the picture away from Ciella and smiling over it.
"Life goes on, time heals all wounds, God works in mysterious ways," Ciella sighed. "All those fucking platitudes. Justin. They're true in the end. We have to keep living."
"Hey," Justin put the picture back in the box. "I am living. Living out of my car. Which is why I need you to hold on to this stuff for a few months while I'm away."
"Oh bullshit! You're sleeping in your car? Come on, JD, you are staying here, with us, no questions asked."
"Ciella, I'm joking, of course. Well. Kind of. Anyway, it's complicated, but no, tonight I am sleeping in a fine bed in a fine hotel with lots of whores and whiskey bottles and Jack Russell terriers and...."
Ciella had her fists on her hips and an expression on her face that was frighteningly severe. Worse, for Justin, was how much of his long-dead wife he saw in those stern features. How that look used to scare him proper when she was alive and how he would do anything - anything - to make her happy again.
And he knew he had to leave his sister-in-law's house. ASAP.
"I've got to go." Justin stood to leave. "It's actually a real good job, Sis. Could really be a turning point for me. Can I put this box in the attic?"
Ciella shook her head. "Leave it. I'll take care of it."
"Thank you," Justin said, opening the kitchen door.
"She would hate to see you like this," Ciella repeated.
Justin paused. "Oh, I know she would," he turned to Ciella. "But you know what I think about sometimes? So say I'd stayed in law school and met someone else and got married and had kids and wound up...." he motioned around, taking in the house, yard, dog, toys, everything. "....here? Say all that. Then how would I feel looking at her picture today? Would I enjoy seeing her? Or would I hate it? Or would it mean.... nothing to me?"
He closed the door behind him as he left.
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