Although yesterday was the 1st of the month, I decided to hold off for a day before I posted my shameless self promotion, yesterday being April Fools and all. Besides, I had already submitted 5 Blogs and some of you were probably wondering if I might have been in to that second pot of coffee.
Today there is just the one Blog. The one that expresses the only other self love I can display without touching my crank. I present to you an except from my second novel The Limits of Respectability.
I looked around. Thumper, Wally and Doc all had their equipment packed up and piled neatly by the door waiting to be loaded, but the guys were nowhere to be seen. I rushed over to Wires.
"Where is everyone?"
Wires took a long pull on his cigarette, "Don’t know. They asked me how long we’d be. I told them about two and a half, and they said they were going out for a while. They’ll be back when..." He stretched out his hand toward the rest of the gear still in a state of disarray like he was showing us a new car.
"They didn’t say anything about a party?"
"No."
"Was anyone else with them?"
"Tall guy with a mullet."
"Oh that’s just frickin’ marvelous! Shit, shit, shit! They're so going to get their asses kicked." I turned back to the girl. "You have to take me to this party."
"Why what’s wrong? Don’t you want to be alone with me?"
"Can you take me there or not?"
"Yes."
"Sparky, take Bronson with you."
"Wires you need him here with you."
"No one goes anywhere alone. Remember?"
"I’m not. I have . . . what was your name again?"
"Lexie."
"I have Lexie with me."
"No offence Sparky, she’s not band. Take Bronson. I’ll be all right. I can do the rest myself."
"Fine mother!— OK mumbles let’s go."
Bronson put down the coil of extension cord he was wrapping and joined me. He had hardly said anything to anyone this week except maybe Wires. I didn’t see how taking this scrawny kid with me would help a potentially explosive situation. I needed to warn the guys and hopefully just get them to leave the party quietly, unnoticed.
"Wires better try to speed up your schedule for leaving. We may have to get out of here quick."
Wires looked at me as if to say, "Well, duh," then he went back to work with his cigarette hanging out of his mouth.
We walked briskly beside Lexie, as our guide led us down one of the streets adjacent to the club. I was still sick and the quick steps were agonizing. My bowels were in knots but I
clenched my butt cheeks together to prolong the inevitable.
"It’s there," she said, "See. At the end of the street." There was a house blazing with light and an obvious din was reaching us in scraps of conversation as we approached. The lawn was littered with pickup trucks and a scattering of beer bottle sentries. A few of the party goers sat on a swinging love seat on the front porch smoking nature’s finest, thick and aromatic.
"Bronson, take Lexie and try to find the guys. Tell them everything’s packed up and we’re ready to leave . . . and stay calm."
"You mean unlike you. Where are you going?" Lexie asked.
"I have to find a bathroom quick."
"Up the stairs to the left. Last door on the right."
I left them and raced up the stairs. I found the bathroom, but I also found a line five deep.
"Is there another bathroom in the house?"
A guy holding down the fifth spot turned to me, "In the basement dude, but I don’t think it works."
"Thanks." I ran down the stairs and then another set into the basement. I passed by several doors with people lounging, drinking, making out and listening to music. I searched frantically, trying to keep the torpedo door closed.
"The enemy is in sight Captain ready to fire."
"Steady. Steady."
I found the bathroom. It wasn’t working. Not only was the guy right, there wasn’t even a toilet there, just a hole in the floor where a black pipe jutted out awaiting the arrival of its porcelain buddy.
"Captain the enemy’s closing fast!"
"Steady. Steady."
It’s funny how my dire need to warn my fellow band mates had been pushed to the back burner by one of life’s most basic functions, the excretion of waste. They could be up there somewhere lying in a bloody pummeled mess, being tortured with hot pokers to the eyes and I couldn’t care less. I had to find a place to relieve myself.
"OK lads prepare to fire."
"But Captain the torpedo doors are still closed."
"Get them open damn it, quick! Fire!"
...And fire I did right into the litter box I found there under the sink. I grabbed a brush from the medicine cabinet and started flicking kitty litter over my mess to try to hide it. I finished just as someone pushed their way into the bathroom.
"The toilet’s out, buddy. Just the sink’s working," I said as I washed my hands and dried them on a small towel.
"Oh, Thanks." He was about to leave when he noticed the cat box. "Holy fuck! Bruiser’s cat must be huge!"
"Yeah I know. Can you believe that shit," I said as I pressed by him and back up the stairs. I could hear him faintly behind me, "Here kitty, kitty."
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