Monday, August 01, 2005

Excerpt from "The Limits of Respectability"

"This is what we’re going to do," I had said, "Above all, we’re going to suck it up, and bide our time. We have to play a patient game and wait for our opening. It could be next week. It could be a month from now, but when the time is right, we’ll fix our drummer's ass. If this doesn’t make him more manageable then I don’t know what will?"

As it turned out, it was two weeks later at, The Grand Passaglia in Spuzzem. The Grand was not like the other hotels we’d stayed in. It was laid out more like a motel with long narrow horseshoes off each side of the main building. It seemed fairly vacant when we pulled in, with only a few transports and mud-caked vehicles that had lost their way. It’s not like the place was loaded with tourists, Come to Spuzzem – America’s best kept secret.

The accommodations portion of the club was two stories high, with long corridors running from either side of the check-in and restaurant. The bar itself was harbored behind these two areas, a huge rectangle that appeared to have been plopped there from some giant hand. It was located in a desolate place by the highway, with empty fields bordering all sides and an old wire fence stretched down the road in both directions until it disappeared into the underbrush.

When it came time to play, the bar was packed. It must have been the only source of entertainment in the area. The clientele mostly depicted a rougher look than the somewhat pretentious patrons we’d performed for in the past weeks. Welcome to Spuzzem where there’s always a body in the trunk.

It was another great gig for us. Our performance was really gelling and the stage truly looked magnificent with the eye-candy of lighting, parachute backdrop and army paraphernalia. We were still on the Walden high of playing in "A" circuit rooms. But our contact with our drummer Space, outside of performance, had become all but non existent as he was never without a crass insult for what he perceived as his inferiors.

"The first part of the plan gentlemen is we have to get Wally laid more. He has to make
up ground in this ridiculous sex contest. We have to create a sense of urgency that Space will react to."

"I like the plan so far," Wally had responded.

To that end, we’d spent the last two weeks working the room hard between sets to accomplish this task and a very happy Wally, the recipient of our sexual embassy, had closed in on the leader. Space had insisted to anyone who’d listen that he had nothing to worry about, and that we should all concern ourselves with our own sex lives instead of everyone else’s. However, there was a glint of fear beneath the tough talk.

"We all know Space if we put enough heat on him. He won’t want to lose, especially to Wally. He thinks the shit is all behind us now. The law of averages says, there will be no more jealous boyfriends, or spurned lovers, or rampaging husbands. But in the back of his mind, it fucks with him. Plays on his senses. The ‘what if’s’ and ‘maybe I shouldn’ts’ eat away at him. I just know it. He’ll put himself in that situation again and that’s how we get him. Just wait and see."

At the end of our week in Spuzzem the staff tossed a little private party after the bar closed. There was a great deal to drink and eat and a bounty of women to choose from. Space was his usual obnoxious self and working the room hard. He was sitting with two brunettes that Doc affectionately referred to as tar-paper blondes, and trying to get them drunk on the free booze.

"Look at Space over there like there’s a blast of sunlight coming from his asshole. Do you know how many points he gets for a three-way?"
"Don’t worry Wally. It’s on for tonight."

"Space knows nothing about Bronson and his ninja parafanailia. I suggest, we get the master key from the desk while Bronson gets his stuff on. I’m talking the whole getup, the black mask, the outfit, the sword, everything. We get him into Space’s room and put him in the closet. He waits there for Space to return with his chosen girl. Once they start having sex, Bronson jumps out with his sword raised and Space shits himself right then and there. He’ll think that this is it. The end where he dies on the blade of a jealous lover."

Doc had expressed concerns about Bronson falling asleep if too much time elapsed. Bronson assured him, "As long as I have a good book to read, no problem."

The party was starting to wind down, and Space seemed excited to get his girl back to his room for a little tag-team action. That was our cue to leave. With silent nods and sideways glances we left one by one and reconvened in the front foyer.
"Wires, Wally, go with Bronson and help get him ready. Doc, come with me."
We split up, heading in opposite directions. There was no one at the desk when Doc and I arrived. I rang the bell. Still no one. "Where the hell is the clerk?"
"It is, three in the morning Sparky," I rang the bell again. Finally a younger man wiping the sleep from his eyes appeared from the back room and aligned his crooked tie, "Can I help you?"
"Yes it appears I left my keys in my room. I need you to let me into 203."
"Hmm 203 . . . 203 . . . 203 . . ." He ran his finger through the registry. "You in the band?"
"Yes, we both are."
"Saw you guys Wednesday. You’re good."
"Thanks . . . perhaps you could hurry."
"Ah here it is 203 . . . you must be a Mr. Space. Is that right?"
"Christ! What a buffoon Space is. He doesn’t even use his real name anymore." I lied through my smile, "No. I’m Johnny Malveen his roommate."
"Hmm, says here Mr. Malveen, you’re in room 208 not 203."
"Yes ah . . . That’s correct. I left my keys for 208 in 203. Surely since I’m in the band, it shouldn’t be a problem letting me into one of my band-mate’s room?"
"I’m sorry Mr. Malveen, we have strict policies here. I can’t let you into another guest’s room even if it is to get your keys. I can let you into your room if you’d like, or you can wait for this Mr. Space to return and let you into his. It’s up to you."
"That’s OK, I’ll wait. Thank you."
Doc and I left the front desk, "What do we do now, oh great joke master?"
"Doc we have to run and get Wires. We’ll get him to jimmy the lock. But we have to hurry, we don’t have much time."

We ran huffing and puffing to the crew room where we found Bronson decked out in his costume. All I could see were his eyes. The rest of his body was black. He held a long curved sword, silver and shining in the soft light. He looked very ominous and intimidating. I stopped short and laughed, "Oh this is going to be so good."
"Yeah but we have a small problem. The guy at the desk won’t let us into the room."
"Wires, can you get us in?"
"Shouldn’t be too much trouble," Wires said, kicking open a tool box that lay at the side of his bed.
"Je-sus Wires. Some times I worry about you."
"Come on guys," I urged, "Let’s do it. Wally run to the end of the hall and watch for Space. It won’t look good if he comes up when we’re all on our knees giving his door handle a blow job."
Wally ran to the end of the hall and pushed his back to the wall at the corner. Occasionally he peered around it, at the stairs ascending from below, like he was on some covert mission. Wires extracted a small case of tools from his back pocket that he’d brought with him, and went to work on the lock. He fiddled with a pointed steel instrument and another one with a small flat end. There was a click.

Wally whispered loudly. "He’s coming! He’s coming! Abort! Abort!" We could hear the door at the bottom of the stairs creak open and heard the combination of laughter amid footfalls as the threesome climbed the steps.
The door to Space’s room swung open. We could see the closet, across from the bed next to a window. "Ok Bronson go! Get in there." Bronson charged forward.
Wally hissed, "Guys! No time! Abort!"
"Shit! Everybody back to the room. Bronson, get out!" Bronson pulled back out. Wires closed and locked the door and we all retreated into the crew’s room two doors down. For Wally it was too late and Space and the girls practically bumped into him coming around the corner. He had a girl under each arm who giggled through a drunken stupor. We had our ears pressed to the door listening hard to the conversation. We could hear Space’s macho bravado laced with suspicion, "Wally. What’s going on here?"
The girls giggled.
"Uh . . . uh."
"Come on Wally," I whispered, "Think of something."
"Sparky this is Wally we’re talking about," Doc reminded as he pressed his ear back to the door.
"Well Wally? Can’t you see I’m busy? Out with it. Why are you skulking around corners?"
"I thought . . . I thought, that since you had two girls with you I could join you."
"You thought you could join us? Huh," Space looked at the girls. "Funny Wally, I don’t see a girl here for you. You’ll have to get your own, that’s if you can find one that you can blow up at this late hour."
The girls giggled some more.
"Wally, my advice. Don’t go where you’re not wanted. Come on girls we have business to attend to. The business of pleasure." There was further giggling.

We heard them approach. The key slid in the door Wires had closed only moments ago. It opened. In they walked and then SLAM! the door was shut. There was a weak knock at our entrance, and we opened it to find a pathetic looking Wally. "Well I guess we wait for another time?" He sounded downcast.
"No! We do it tonight. This is perfect. We can’t pass up an opportunity like this. I thought he’d have only one girl but he has two! No, we have to find a way somehow."
"Sparky what about patience, waiting for the right time, picking our spot."
"Fuck patience! Fuck picking our spot! This is the right time!"
Bronson mumbled something.
"What did you say?"
He pulled his mask down, "Perhaps there’s another way I can get in there without them noticing?"
Wires spoke, "His window was open. Space likes the fresh air. Maybe we can boost Bronson up to the ledge and he can get in that way?"
"Let’s try it."

There was renewed energy and hope was rekindled, as quickly and quietly, we stole out of the room and down the hallway to the exit. The four of us continued on with our dark figured ninja, creeping around the exterior of the hotel to the back where we could see Space’s window on the second floor. It was open as Wires had said, and there was a faint glimmer of light from within.
"Bastard! He left the light on so he could watch too!"
"Wouldn’t you Wally?"
"Yeah. But I’m not the asshole here."

There was a row of garbage receptacles below, sheltered by a wooden hutch that sat against the first floor wall. "What do you think Bronson?"
Bronson mumbled something.
He again lowered his mask to his mouth, "I said, no problem. Give me a hand to get on the garbage box and I can hoist myself up from there."
"Excellent!" I said excitedly, "Once you’re in position, give us five minutes to get back up to the door so we can listen."
Bronson gave me a thumbs up. Doc and Wires helped him get on top of the shelter. I was impressed how quiet and agile he was. Without much effort, he pulled himself into position atop the window ledge, and waited there with his sword out. From a distance he looked like a black cat enjoying the coolness of the night and nothing more. The rest of us circled back, hurrying to get into position and waited with nervous silence at Space’s door for things to unfold.

Silence, then the gentle squeaking of a bed, a moan, more silence. We tried desperately to stifle our snickers. Doc uttered softly, "What’s he waiting for?"
"Maybe Bronson fell off the ledge?" Wally whispered.
"Shhhush!" Another moan, silence . . . and then . . .

— There was a thud and a voice, "Ah-ha!" followed by a terrible commotion of screaming and yelling that I had not heard in some time, female, male, solo and in unison. It was a symphony of shrieking, thumping and banging and the sounds of things knocked over in the melee of tornado voices accentuated by another, "Ah-ha!" then silence once more. At one point there seemed to be crying, (more like blubbering really). Then the voices rose up again and commenced into more shouting. There was a hint of laughter and cooing, then more yelling and screaming.

The door flung open. Bronson raced out nearly bowling us over in the process. Doc, Wally, Wires, and I collected ourselves as one of the girls, naked and hot on Bronson’s heels, stopped short in her tracks when she saw us. She screamed and slammed the door. We looked at each other and then burst into a Vesuvius of laughter.

We headed down the hall to retrieve Bronson. We found him in his room panting and giggling laying face up on his bed. Down the hall we heard our drummer slam the door as the two women collected their belongings and left. Space had pleaded for them to come back but to no avail.
"God Bronson What the hell happened in there? We heard a hell of a ruckus and then nothing."
Bronson had removed his mask and sat up gasping as he continued to laugh. He soon had us all holding our bellies begging him to stop, but wanting him to go on, every detail, every nuance, every raise eyebrow and quivering lip. We wanted to eat it all up.

"I could hear them in there on the bed. It seemed like I was up there for hours. My legs were starting to cramp so I decided it was now or never. I flung myself through the window with the sword held high and I screamed out in anger, which probably sounded more like shock cause there they all were, a flesh convention right in front of me. The two girls were in a sixty-nine position having at it, and Space was standing at the side of the bed with his bare white ass to me working the top girl doggy style. Then . . . then," Bronson paused to laugh and we all joined him, "Space spun around. His eyes were so full of terror. I think his dick made a slight popping sound as he pulled it out, and the thing spiraled around a few times until it was completely flaccid."
Welcome to Spuzzem- From erect to flaccid in 2.3 seconds.
"The girls were screaming and Space was grabbing frantically at the covers trying to hide himself, or protect himself, I’m not sure which. He fell backward over the edge of the bed into a gap between the bed and the wall with a clump of covers on top of him. The girls were clutching one another in fright and had moved to the opposite side of the bed. I think that’s when I sprang forward onto the bed yelling and pointing the sword blade directly at Space’s face as he clutched the blankets and brought them up to his nose. His eyes were so wide with fear, I can’t tell you."
"I wish I could’ve seen that," Wally lamented as he wiped away tears of laughter. Even Wires mostly stoic demeanor was one of mirth.
I urged him on, "What happened next Bronson?"
"Yes tell us!" Doc insisted.
"Then Space began to cry. His eyes welled up with tears and they poured from him. He begged me to spare his life. Do you believe that? He actually thought I was going to kill him. That I was the crazed boyfriend of one of the two girls and I had come to decapitate him."
"Or worse...cut his balls off."
"How is that worse Wally? Decapitated you’re dead, castrated you just sing higher."
"Doc let Bronson tell the story. God! What happened then?"
"It got quiet, except for him repeating, please don’t kill me, over and over. So I told him it was me. That it was all just a joke."
"You told him it was a joke. Shit! What did Space say to that?"
"He said, ‘What?’ I had my mask up I guess he didn’t hear me. So I lowered the mask and he saw that it was me. That’s when things got crazy again. The girls realized I was one of the band and attacked me, trying to get my clothes off. I guess they thought it was game on again? I pushed them off because I could see the realization slowly sinking in with Space. He’d been made a fool of, and I didn’t want to stay there any longer. That’s when you guys saw me as I ran from the room."
"Wow!" Doc said in awe. We were caught in our own silence now looking at one another. Then Doc said, "Tell the story again!"

We all lay in hysterics in Wires and Bronson’s room. My gut hurt from laughing so much. We all had red faces and just a glance at one another sent us into further fits. Everything had not just gone perfectly, it had been better than any of us had expected. Somewhere down the hall Space was busy trying to put up a brave face to cover his humbling abasement and rebuild
the shards of a fractured ego.
Welcome to Spuzzem home of the unexpected surprise!


Mitzie Von Hellrink said...

Your blatant sexism and objectification of women has got to stop Mr. Strange. I find it very disturbing. It is not a dish that should be served to the masses. I suggest you concentrate on studying the classics written by the great female authors, Margaret Attwood for one.

Strange said...

I agree Attwood's great......FOR SLEEPING!

Perhaps I can send you a copy of my new book, "Handmade Heart," when it's done? It has less sexism but more dick and fart jokes.