I’ve created an impasse for myself with my job at Sealed ASS, all my new furniture still being paid for in installments, my Z3, my affair with Sylvia. I scoffed at people like myself a few months ago, but here I am, sitting in my little office, my yapping secretary outside, my designer shoes propped up on my faux oak desk. I suddenly want this to end, want my old life back, with Gina, with the barroom philosophy, dive joints, freaky stories. My encounter with Pepe jolted my ordered lie of a life. I need to go back to being me.
In front of me I have the Daily Times. There is an article about the recall vote. It just passed, meaning that the governorship of
On the next page is a picture of Pinky MacDonald with a silver haired gentleman. I read the caption: Independent Party star announces his bid for governor on Pinky’s show. Fred Dawson... that sounds familiar. Where did I see that guy before? Could it be the guy that conned all those free drinks outta me? I don’t remember that gleaming silver hair, nor the sharp suit, but yeah, come to think of it, it definitely could be the same guy. I go on to read an article with the headline: “Fair” Fred Dawson, Rising Political Star Announces Candidacy For Governor.
LOS ANGELES,
Immediately after his announcement wild speculation about Fred Dawson’s character and past circulated the rumor mills. Who is this man? And why is he so alluring, so revered among his political cohorts? Early polls already show him with a strong minority vote - surely a result of his magnificently staged coup on
“Fair” Fred Dawson’s story is one of hardship and triumph. Growing up in the tough urban environment of Detroit - son of East European immigrants - he struggled in menial labor during his teens and early twenties, eventually working his way into political circles where his hard-earned opinions on the lives of America’s working men and women were attentively listened to. “There’s a kind of magnetism to him.” says one of his former co-workers at a
Through the window I see Chinaski coming in. 10:30. Two and a half hours late. No, I won’t say anything. It’s been a good month with Chinaski. Never once has he pestered me for work, and he seems to get along with his fellow workers; that is, not at all. I haven’t seen him talk once with anybody in the entire building. The lateness can be forgiven. Yet, to keep up appearances, especially in front of Charlene, I think I should call him to the office. I call him on his extension.
“Chinaski? Could you come see me?”
“Yeah. Sure Miguel. I’ll be right there.”
In a few seconds Chinaski is at the door to my office. “Go ahead,” I say to him, “shut the door and take a seat.”
“I’m sorry about being late like that Miguel, but...”
“Just call me Eric from now on, Chinaski.”
“OK, Eric. It’s just that the bus...”
“Don’t worry about it. I didn’t call you in here to complain about that. What I want to know is what you are doing here.”
“What?”
“Sealed ASS. Why are you working here?”
“Just getting paid, I suppose.”
“But you could do that anywhere. Why Sealed ASS?”
“Look. If you’re trying to get rid of me I’d prefer if you just told me straight out.”
“I wasn’t thinking that at all.”
“I just need to pay the rent. I’ve done every kind of job imaginable. Don’t think you’re breaking my heart.”
“Chinaski stop. I know this is kinda personal, but the other day I was remembering your resume.” He just looks at me, head tilted, eyes cracked. “About not getting laid in five years.”
“Did I really write that?”
“That’s what is says here,” I say, reaching down to my file drawer.
“No. No. You don’t have to show to me. I just can’t believe some of the stuff I write sometimes.”
“This isn’t really the best place to talk about it. Why don’t we meet later for a drink? At the NiteCap downtown.
“You inviting me out to drinks? Hold on... you... aren’t...”
“C’mon man! Let’s just get some drinks. I think I have a solution to your woman problem.”
“No man. I went to the doctors, everything...”
“Just first things first... all right?”
“So, you’re not gonna fire me?”
“No.”
“But, I really wouldn’t mind. This job is beginning to...”
“Yeah, I know. I don’t really care. Whatever you want.”
“I need to be fired from this place, Eric. It’s part of the equation, my suffering.”
“If you really want me to. Then, you’re fired.”
“Thanks.”
“Wait a second. Let’s do this in style. You run out of the office, and I’ll follow you, yelling.”
“All right. This’ll make a great story.”
“Something to put on your resume. Ready?”
“Ready.”
Chinaski gets up and walks out the office and I follow behind and bellow:
“YOU’RE FIRED CHINASKI! That’s the last time you come in late! Don’t bother bringing your lazy ass back here!”
Chinaski runs out as we planned and slams the door behind him. Charlene is slack jawed, phone loosely cradled to her head. Jack and Zack have their dull, shallow eyes fixed on me.
“And the same goes for the rest of you! Let Chinaski be an example! Charlene, please hold all incoming calls for the rest of the day. Tell them I’m in a meeting. Thank You.”
I wake up around
“What’s going on? What’s the matter?”
Charlene sits back in her chair and cups her head in her hands, shaking.
“I can’t believe it... I can’t believe it...”
“What is it?”
“I won. What am I gonna do? I’m not ready! I can’t believe it!”
“Won what? What’re you talking about, Charlene?”
“A date with RUSSELL CLOONEY! That’s what I won!”
“Charlene. You know that’s not possible. There’s no way that you can ‘win’ a date with anyone. Especially Russell Clooney.”
“They just called and told me to be ready in five minutes... oh my gawd... what am I gonna do?”
“Charlene!” I slam my hand down on her desk, knocking over an idyllic courtship scene between the purple monster and the yellow clown. “GETTA GRIP, WILL YA!”
“What am I gonna do! I’m not even dressed up... I gotta...” She fumbles around her purse, pulls out some powder kits and starts for the bathroom.
“Charlene! What’re you doing! It was a joke! I called you. Don’t you know that?”
Charlene doesn’t answer and the bathroom door slams shut. I turn to Jack and Zack.
“You guys gotta talk to her! She’s gone out of her mind.”
“We don’t...”
“...know anything about it.”
“Yeah. Yeah, guy. Of course you don’t.”
I go back to my office and consider the possibilities. Really, there are none other than explaining the truth to her. But she isn’t disposed to the truth, apparently. She's back at her desk, where she gets into her coat, grabs her purse, and rushes out of the office. I run after her, down the halls, yelling her name in vain. She’s already through the door and past reception. When I get outside the bright
“Charlene! Don’t go there! It’s not what it seems!”
She disappears in the tenebrous interior. The man in the suit nods at me and ducks into the limo before it pulls out. I run after them and the limo leaves me in a cloud of dust and exhaust. I squint my eyes, watching it disappear, watching Charlene disappear with her movie idol, silver screen fantasy.
The NiteCap is a trashy dive bar downtown, one I’m sure Chinaski knows about. I told him to meet me at
The same old freaks from many months back are in there: Maurice the granny tranny, Big Jilm the paisley-clad queer with bad b o, Jane and Sue the regular late-night cheerleaders, and Walt the old time bartender. He hooks me up like old times with a double whiskey and a beer back. The juke is playing some Hank Williams, and the pool balls are clinking in the background. I’m at the corner, next to the door, watching the evening crowd pick-up. The night looks promising: suits on the prowl, skanks, misfits, and thrill seekers are drifting in from the mean streets. What is it about this place that brings me back? Am I a freak myself? These are disturbing thoughts.
“Hey Walt... how’s business?”
“Ahh.. man same old here. You know... all the old regulars, a few more. Got a new Sleepy LaBeef CD on the juke. That’s about it.”
“Glad to see things haven’t changed too much.”
“Where you been?”
“Out of town. Personal matters.”
“Well, welcome back, kid.”
I take the last pull on my double whiskey and wash it back with the beer when Chinaski walks in and takes the stool next to me.
“Hey man, glad you made it.”
“Get me a seven and seven.”
I shoot my order off to Walt and Chinaski turns to me.
“So. What’s the big news?”
“First off... let’s not talk about that just yet. Are you sure about your job? Don’t you want it back?”
“What?”
“Man you think I was just ingratiating you back there? Do you really think I wanna fire you?”
“It don’t matter. That place was a heap of shit anyway.”
“Well, I tried.”
Chinaski takes his first long sip on the seven and seven and shakes his head.
“That’s the first time, and I suspect the last time, that my boss has begged me to come back.”
“Well, I’m not gonna be boss for long.”
“Oh yeah?”
“That’s not what I came here to talk about.”
“Then what is it? You drag me here out of the goodness of your heart?”
“Kind of.”
“Oh?”
“I want you to knock the shit out of me, Chinaski.”
He almost chokes out his last swallow as I say this and looks at me with jaded eyes.
“OK.”
“Thing is, I want you to wait until Sylvia arrives.”
“Who’s Sylvia?”
“She’s the girl you’re gonna steal from me.”
“I don’t need your sloppy seconds.”
“You don’t understand. She’s fucking hot, alcoholic, and borderline crazy. Filthy rich too. She also likes rough, marginal types... like yourself.”
“Sounds interesting.”
“Don’t you wanna know why?”
“No.”
“Well... this is what you have to do.”
Sylvia and I had arranged to meet at 10. I’d promised her a quick drink here before we went on to one of her hipster places. The bar is packed now, with colorful folk drifting in and out, cigarettes puffing discreetly in the corners through the buzz of the pool table lamps. Cash is singing a song about cocaine and cheatin women, and I’m alone at the bar. I’m halfway through my third double whiskey, getting tipsy, the alcohol finding easy space in my empty stomach. Then she walks in. So poised, primmed, confident. So utterly antithetical to the usual clientele in the bar.
“Sylvia,” I call to her. She smiles, sashays over, and pecks me on the cheek. “Howya doin baby!” I dig my hands into her thigh.
“Stop that! Are you drunk?”
“No baby! Just glad to see ya!”
“Bartender!” she calls to Walt. “Get me a Kosmo.”
Walt goes and mixes a Cosmo, probably the only one he’s made in months. Just for the lovely Sylvia.
“Parking is a pain in the ass around here.”
“Why’d you drive? Your car’ll last five minutes out here before it gets stripped.”
“I was downtown anyway. But don’t worry. I got my Rover parked in the garage.”
She looks over the clientele in the bar, then back at me. I try to give her my best shit-eating grin.
“Some characters in here,” she says.
“Yeah. That’s Moreen over there,” I say, pointing to Maurice the granny tranny. “She’s my ex. Ain’t that right baby?” I yell out. Maurice looks over and winks at the two of us through the smoky red air.
“You’re kidding me right? And what’s goin on with the big guy dancing over by the juke box? Is he strung out or something?”
“Big Jilm? Dunno. Why don’t you ask him for a dance?”
“My you’re aggressive tonight!”
I down the rest of my whiskey and order another from Walt. Sylvia flashes a smile with her perfect, sculpted teeth and stares ahead of us again. I’m not sure, but it seemed genuine.
“You’re drunk, I can tell,” she said.
“No... I’m... not.”
“You are! You’re so sweet normally.”
“Normally! Ha! You hardly even know me!”
“If you want me to go... I don’t even know what the hell I’m doing in this dump.”
A big guy sits on the other side of her, two stools down. He orders a beer and checks Sylvia out, then me.
“It’s you,” he says. “Miguel. You got some nerve comin to my bar. What... you wanna rub it in? You think it’s funny?”
“Miguel,” says Sylvia, “what’s he talking about?”
“That’s just Chinaski. Some slacker I had to fire today.” I brace her with my left arm, pulling her towards me. “Stay away from him. His loser ways are contagious.”
“Let go!” she says, wriggling out of my grip.
“Chinaski your stink is affecting my woman’s sense of logic. You better get outta here.”
Chinaski just sips calmly on his beer. The other clientele in the bar are beginning to look in our direction.
“Chinaski! Did you hear me! When I fired your slacking ass it was because I didn’t want to see you again!”
Chinaski sets his beer down and leaves four dollars on the counter. He gets up and starts walking out when I get up and approach him. I give him the biggest shove I can and he goes toppling backwards, straight into Big Jilm. Sylvia is drawn into herself, stuck up against the bar. Chinaski comes charging after me and the neon beer signs, pink and blue of the juke, the yelps and cheers from the barflies, blur into one intense moment, like a struck match, and the next thing I know I’m on top of the pool table swinging a pool stick, Chinaski coming at me. Somebody pulls me off from behind and Chinaski rams me once, then twice, then three times until all I see is Sylvia over me, screaming.
“Miguel! Miguel! Are you all right? Miguel!”
“Yeah... uhh.. where’s that bastard Chinaski? What’re you doin here?”
“He went off with one of those floozies. I don’t know. C’mon we better get outta here.”
Sylvia helps me to my feet. I’m trembling like a newborn calf. “C’mon... lets get to my car. I wanna get outta here before the police arrive.”
“You kidding me? There’s fights in there every night. The police won’t show up there for nothing!”
“Here,” she says, leading me into a garage a few blocks away. “Just wait here and I’ll go get my car.” I sit down in a chair next to the valet’s booth and feel my bashed-up face. So that bastard Chinaski beat me up and went off with another girl. Figures. Now I’m stuck with Sylvia again. Sylvia and her goddamn Picasso tattoo. I never want to face that thing again, I think, when up pulls a green Land Rover. I see her driving it, then I see it in front of me, in front of the cafe. I see the Brigades for the Oppressed kid stepping out, and all of a sudden something gels. I’m not quite sure, but it’s almost like a premonition of things to come. She unlocks the door and I get in.
“C’mon. Let’s go back to your place. You need some washing up.”
She hands the valet a wad of one dollar bills and we peel out into the one way traffic.
“Sylvia. Look. I don’t know why I have such a tough time saying this. I mean, confronting the truth with you.”
“Miguel, don’t worry about it. I can see you got your senses back. You were so obnoxious in the bar!”
“It’s not that, Sylvia. I’m not drunk, wasn’t that drunk to begin with. I can’t be with you anymore.”
Her mouth spreads open and she sucks in a deep breath, and just when I think she’s about to scream, she bursts out laughing. “You fucked me Miguel. Once! What do you mean you can’t see me anymore? I’m the one who sees you. Don’t you know that?”
“You don’t even know me Sylvia. You don’t even have my name right.” We’re coming to a stop at an intersection and I take the door handle with my right hand. “You hear that? Huh? With your big car, fancy coats, your Chanel number 5... You wanna have your lie! On your own, baby.”
As I open the door she yells at me, “You just lost your job! I’ll make sure of it!”
I‘m out of the car and I swing the door shut on a rock-mouthed Sylvia. The light turns green and the tires squeal as she accelerates into the myriad red and white lights stretching to the end of the boulevard, up and over the bend.
In front of my mirror now I check out the damage Chinaski did to my face. Not as bad as my last real fight, 10 years ago in the school yard. Chinaski bruised me up, but broke nothing. I wash off the caked blood underneath my nose, pat it dry with my hand towel, and collapse on my couch.
I wake up around eight with a busted and swollen face. Somehow I manage a shower and carefully avoid any needless touches to my face. I go to the garage and start up the Z3 and drive out to Sealed ASS, one hour late. Outside the building, perhaps a hundred feet away, I see a yellow car idling. Another weird premonition comes to me in the form of Sylvia’s
In the back office Jack and Zack are at their computers, as usual. Charlene’s desk is vacant, however.
“Don’t you guys...” They both look at me, blank stupidness written across their faces. “Nevermind.” I wave them off and enter my office. I grab my few belongings, and from the shelf, Pepe’s Seven Steps book. I sit down in the chair and think about calling Sternislouse, telling him the gig is up, before Sylvia has a chance to manipulate the situation. But no, I just need to leave, here and now. I think of Gina, the only person that I can confide in right now. But just as I’m about to dial her number I take a look at the open paper in front of me. The Last Straw.
Are my complaints futile? Will nothing ever be done? I believe in the working man, in the right to a just and fair work environment. Now that all legal means are used up, I have no choice. Desperate times call for desperate actions. If no one will hear a rational voice, then I have to resort to one still greater.
On the way in I saw a yellow car idling with two occupants inside, a hundred feet from our building. I remember the Land Rover, Sylvia handing money to a kid - the Brigade for the Oppressed kid. Sternislouse’s rotten apple fell off the tree and lived in my neighborhood, printing out his phony hype, fomenting hate from his little hovel with his mousy girlfriend. He had the site plans, and now it’s all making sense. I see the two towers on his kitchen wall burning up, crumbling. I hear a boom, feel the building shudder around me. Muffled screams come from the corridors. As I run out of the office Jack and Zack stare at me with animal fear in their eyes. “What’s wrong with you guys? MOVE!”
The halls are a chaos of people rushing for the exits. “Where was it?” I ask. “Where the fuck did it happen?” I hear someone say the warehouse and I run down the stairs and when I enter the first thing I see is the receptionist, shredded, severed at the waist with her guts spilling out. An overwhelming stink of shit and burnt plastic engulfs me. Bloody chunks are laying all around me, crimson is splattered thirty feet up on the ceiling. A leg is off in a corner. I see Alvaro in his forklift, crumpled up against the steering wheel. I run through the bloody carnage, up to him, see blood trickling out of his ears. “Alvaro!” He doesn’t move. A few feet away is Tony, holding his severed arm. His face is spattered with blood. “She tried to stop him. She tried to stop him,” he says when he sees me.
“Who?” But before he can answer his eyes shut and he collapses in a puddle of his own blood.
I walk further into the warehouse to see if there’s anyone left. The walls are pocked with shrapnel, blood and bones. On the ground in front me is a disembodied head. I see the face, sun burnt, cherry-red, ripped and torn. It’s the face from a couple nights ago. I see through that messy, brown beard, and remember that defeated voice.
It’s not too late I tell myself as I rush out of the factory, to my Z3. The yellow car is long gone. I hop in my car and drive like mad to the city.
I park in the middle of the sidewalk, about half a block from Brigade’s building. When I get there the gate is open and I take the four flights up to his apartment. I push on his door and it eases open. Scraps of paper and the odd item of clothing, nothing more. I walk into the kitchen and everything is gone. I don’t know what to do anymore. What else does he know about? Who else has he duped?
I walk down the streets, down past the bars, the massage parlors, the bums, everything. My car is no longer on the sidewalk. I pat myself down. No keys. I must’ve left them in the car when I dashed up to Brigade’s house. I pull out my cell and scroll through the menu until I find Gina. A man’s voice answers her work extension.
“I’m sorry, she doesn’t work here anymore,” he says, and hangs up. I dial her cell number this time and she picks up.
“Gina. It’s me.”
“Eric? I can’t believe it.”
“Gina I’ve been so wrong. I have to see you. You won’t believe what’s happening.”
“I... I can’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not there Eric. I left everything after we split up.”
“What?”
“I’m in
“Oh. I see.”
“I’ll write you some time. I gotta go now.”
“OK. Take care.”
I fold my phone and stuff it in my jacket and walk on, delirious with pain for everybody around me. What the hell is going on in this world? I’m not a good person, it’s just that I feel so bad for people. Bad for Pepe, for Alvaro, for Gina, for Sylvia... even for that pseudo-revolutionary kid that thinks he has the answer, that he knows better than everybody else. Even for Sternislouse on his Aegean isle, so far from the carnage, so far from reality. He’s gotta have a story, something to tell. Now I know what I have to do. I’m gonna get it from him, his story, stop all this madness. I’m gonna strip everybody in this giant whorehouse. Till we’re all just flesh and bone, ink on paper.
