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Chapter 30/Page 4 |
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My own voice screaming for help snapped me awake. 4’s needy cat was pawing at my shoulder with an expression on his face that said, “Dude, what’s wrong?” I had forgotten what it felt like to dream, it had been so long. My pulse was racing and my breaths were labored. The scream didn’t wake 4. It seemed so real. I wasn’t sure what it meant, but I took it as a sign to follow through with my plans to change our sleeping arrangement, even if only temporarily.
•••
“This job is starting to kick my ass,” I told Powerful Publicist. “What made it so crazy?”My own voice screaming for help snapped me awake. 4’s needy cat was pawing at my shoulder with an expression on his face that said, “Dude, what’s wrong?” I had forgotten what it felt like to dream, it had been so long. My pulse was racing and my breaths were labored. The scream didn’t wake 4. It seemed so real. I wasn’t sure what it meant, but I took it as a sign to follow through with my plans to change our sleeping arrangement, even if only temporarily.
•••
“This job is starting to kick my ass,” I told Powerful Publicist. “What made it so crazy?” “Volume -- sheer volume. Can I put you on speaker for a second?” I didn’t wait for her answer. There was a file I couldn’t reach while tethered to the phone. “My assistant is in the vault cataloging a stack of film reels, and that leaves me here alone to do everything else.” “Why don’t you hire another assistant?” “Because I work for cheap bastards, like everyone in this town,” I said. “I’m meeting with the bossman this afternoon to beg and plead. It would probably go a lot easier if I could develop a taste for semen.” “You’ve never tasted it?” “Sorry -- flaming heterosexual.” “Not even your own?” “If I could do that, I wouldn’t need a girlfriend, now would I?” “Or an ex boss.” I jumped to pick up the phone. “Watch it -- you were on speaker. Ixnay on offingbay the ossbay.” “I thought you said everybody knew everything around there.” “Not that, they don’t.” “So,” she manipulated the conversation, “back to my question. You’ve never tasted your own stuff?” Powerful Publicist’s curiosity about male/female relations knew no equal. “Nope.” “Never kissed a girl after she’s given you a blowjob?” I hadn’t considered that. Now I had to retrace fifteen years of oral sex history. “Yeah,” I said, “in that context, I suppose I have. But just a little aftertaste.” “Nobody ever put it back in your mouth?” “Is that something that you women fantasize about? 3a was always threatening to do that to me, and now you bring it up.” “Did she?” “Did she what?” “Did she ever put it back in your mouth?” “It didn’t start off in my mouth in the first place. But, no she didn’t. She kept saying there had to be a first time for everything. I said, ‘Does that include the first time I beat up a girl?’” “You never beat her, did you?” “Don’t be ridiculous. Not to change the subject, but do you know anything about budgets?” “Not really.” “Neither do I. I have no idea what some of these codes mean.” “So ask somebody.” “I can’t do that. They put me in charge here because they thought I could do the job. If I start asking how to do things, they will think they gave the job to the wrong guy.” “No, they won’t. Trust me, they will not fire you for asking for instructions. They can’t expect you to know everything.” “You don’t know the crazy fucks who run this place.” “You’d look a lot worse if you just go ahead and do it wrong, believe me.” “All right. But if I get fired, you’re paying my rent.” Turns out she was right. Nobody expected me to know what all the arcane accounting codes were, or where to allocate my department’s paltry budget without a series of meetings. That’s what they lived for, those meetings. As far as being swamped was concerned, my boss was sympathetic to a point. I would get additional help, but not a new hire. They transferred the Tall Gay Assistant to me and I couldn’t have been more satisfied. Bless his little anal-retentive heart, we never lost so much as a Post-It once he got on the staff (so to speak). The work continued to pile up. It’s not that there was suddenly more work -- just that the inventory of exactly how much work had dammed up over the years was finally published. That’s the way it goes when a company has gone years without a department it sorely needed. The numbers were staggering. Beyond the backlog of films the company had produced over the years, we now were in the business of buying up libraries from other companies. In a matter of weeks, I had a list of eight thousand films on my hands. Each title had to be inventoried, evaluated, and in many cases restored. It represented and years of work. Nobody actually expected it to be done overnight. And though I realized that, it was still overwhelming to see it all in front of me at once. I like to finish things, get a little closure in my life (ha!), and there was no end in sight to this monster. In my spare time, I got to oversee tasks for other departments that were too incompetent to handle on their own - Yay! There were days I actually ate three meals at my desk. The Colon is still thanking me for that. I used the job as an excuse to not spend the night with 4 on a few occasions. It was necessary in one respect because I was exhausted. But it caused a little tension. I remember being surprised about that, especially on our three-month anniversary. Though the date was burned into my consciousness, I let it pass without acknowledgment, thanks to her “clingy” comments. The Heart wanted to send her a flower or something, but the Balls refused to let the Hands make the call. Without calling attention to our milestone, I orchestrated our own three-day holiday. I worked extra hard during the week so that when I went to my boss to ask for a personal day Friday, I was armed with documentation that I was indeed ahead of schedule. The day was mine. 4 had no problem getting the time off. Friday was going to be all about her. I made all the plans: A day of shopping, Mai Tais at Trader Vic’s, and dinner at a romantic Italian place in the neighborhood. What girl could resist? Shopping requires attention in so many ways. More than any other activity, this is when women revert to words that, while they may sound a lot like words you know, none of the normal definitions apply. A guy really must keep on his toes to prevent stepping on his gal’s. I was more exhausted than I knew that day and perhaps not at my best. We started on Melrose Avenue -- trendiest of the trendoids. The quality available on the street varies wildly from shop to shop and ranges from expensive European designer wear to absolute crap that fell off a truck in the West Bank. I’m usually smart enough to know that when a girl asks for your opinion on an article of clothing that she’s taken the time to model for you, it’s a courtesy. She’s already decided that she likes it and merely wants you to reinforce her decision. I know that, I really do. But I was too tired to effectively wrangle the Mouth. “What do you think?” She stepped out of the dressing room in a tight off-white number that buckled up the front like my childhood rain boots. It didn’t take too quick of an eye to get an eyeful. I studied her for a moment. “Turn around, let me see the back.” She obeyed my instruction. I didn’t like the dress. She faced me again. “Well?” “Honestly?” “Of course,” she said, not meaning it at all, if what I thought was that she looked like she was about to work the pole at the Seventh Veil. I got up close to her and spoke softly. “I think some of the clothes in here look kind of cheap.” “Really?” She fingered the fabric. “It’s well made.” “That’s not what I mean.” She cocked her head. “It screams for attention.” “What do you mean?” “You know that I’m not a jealous guy, right?” “Yeah.” “And I handle all the men that hover around you really well, don’t I?” “Uh-huh.” “This dress screams for attention...” “You said that.” “... from men. It says, ‘I have low self-esteem and I need men to look at me.’” That didn’t come out exactly how I wanted, though it was exactly what I meant. Attempted recovery seemed prudent. “You’d look great in a potato sack.” “So you want me to wear frumpy clothes?” “No, not at all.” “Then what?” “You’re gorgeous -- you don’t need a dress like this to get attention from anyone. All I’m saying is I think you’re better than this dress. I’d like to see you try on some nicer things.” I could have stopped there. But I didn’t. “You’d look even sexier in something that wasn’t trying so hard to look sexy. Do you know what I mean?” She nodded, but I’m not sure I made the point I intended. She looked herself over in the mirror. “I’ll think about it.” We left that shop and went into many, many others. She didn’t find anything she liked.
“Volume - sheer volume. Can I put you on speaker for a second?” I didn’t wait for her answer. There was a file I couldn’t reach while tethered to the phone. “My assistant is in the vault cataloging a stack of film reels, and that leaves me here alone to do everything else.” “Why don’t you hire another assistant?” “Because I work for cheap bastards, like everyone in this town,” I said. “I’m meeting with my boss this afternoon to beg and plead. It would probably go a lot easier if I could develop a taste for semen.” “You’ve never tasted it?” “Sorry - flaming heterosexual.” “Not even your own?” “If I could do that, I wouldn’t need a girlfriend, now would I?” “Or a boss.” I jumped to pick up the phone. “Watch it - you were on speaker. Ixnay on offingbay the ossbay.” “I thought you said everybody knew everything around there.” “Not that, they don’t.” “So,” she manipulated the conversation, “back to my question. You’ve never tasted your own stuff?” Powerful Publicist’s curiosity about male/female relations knew no equal. “Nope.” “Never kissed a girl after she’s given you a blowjob?” I hadn’t considered that. Now I had to retrace fifteen years of oral sex history. “Yeah,” I said, “in that context, I suppose I have. But just a little aftertaste.” “Nobody ever put it back in your mouth?” “Is that something that you women fantasize about? 3a was always threatening to do that to me, and now you bring it up.” “Did she?” “Did she what?” “Did she ever put it back in your mouth?” “It wasn’t in my mouth in the first place. But, no she didn’t. She kept saying there had to be a first time for everything. I said, ‘Does that include the first time I beat up a girl?’” “You never beat her, did you?” “Don’t be ridiculous. Not to change the subject, but do you know anything about budgets?” “Not really.” “Neither do I. I have no idea what some of these codes mean.” “So ask somebody.” “I can’t do that. They put me in charge here because they thought I could do the job. If I start asking how to do things, they will think they gave the job to the wrong guy.” “No, they won’t. Trust me, they will not fire you for asking for instructions. They can’t expect you to know everything.” “You don’t know the crazy fucks who run this place.” “You’d look a lot worse if you just go ahead and do it wrong, believe me.” “All right. But if I get fired, you’re paying my rent.” Turns out she was right. Nobody expected me to know what all the arcane accounting codes were, or where to allocate my department’s paltry budget without a series of meetings. That’s what they lived for, those meetings. As far as being swamped was concerned, my boss was sympathetic to a point. I would get additional help, but not a new hire. They transferred the Tall Gay Assistant to me and I couldn’t have been more satisfied. Bless his little anal-retentive heart, we never lost so much as a Post-It once he got on the staff (so to speak). The work continued to pile up. It’s not that there was suddenly more work - just that the inventory of exactly how much work had dammed up over the years was finally published. That’s the way it goes when a company has gone years without a department it sorely needed. The numbers were staggering. Beyond the backlog of films the company had produced over the years, we now were in the business of buying up libraries from other companies. In a matter of weeks, I had a list of eight thousand films on my hands. Each title had to be inventoried, evaluated, and in many cases restored. It represented and years of work. Nobody actually expected it to be done overnight. And though I realized that, it was still overwhelming to see it all in front of me at once. I like to finish things, get a little closure in my life (ha!), and there was no end in sight to this monster. In my spare time, I got to oversee tasks for other departments that were too incompetent to handle on their own - Yay! There were days I actually ate three meals at my desk. The Colon is still thanking me for that. I used the job as an excuse to not spend the night with 4 on a few occasions. It was necessary in one respect because I was exhausted. But it caused a little tension. I remember being surprised about that, especially on our three-month anniversary. Though the date was burned into my consciousness, I let it pass without acknowledgment, thanks to her “clingy” comments. The Heart wanted to send her a flower or something, but the Balls refused to let the Hands make the call. Without calling attention to our milestone, I orchestrated our own three-day holiday. I worked extra hard during the week so that when I went to my boss to ask for a personal day Friday, I was armed with documentation that I was indeed ahead of schedule. The day was mine. 4 had no problem getting the day off. Friday was going to be all about her. I made all the plans: A day of shopping, Mai Tais at Trader Vic’s, and dinner at a romantic Italian place in the neighborhood. What girl could resist? Shopping requires attention in so many ways. More than any other activity, this is when women revert to words that, while they may sound a lot like English, none of the normal definitions apply. A guy really must keep on his toes to prevent stepping on his gal’s. I was more exhausted than I knew that day and perhaps not at my best. We started on Melrose Avenue - trendiest of the trendoids. The quality available on the street varies wildly from shop to shop and ranges from expensive European designer wear to absolute crap that fell off a truck in the West Bank. I’m usually smart enough to know that when a girl asks for your opinion on an article of clothing that she’s taken the time to model for you, it’s a courtesy. She’s already decided that she likes it and merely wants you to reinforce her decision. I know that, I really do. But I was too tired to effectively wrangle the Mouth. “What do you think?” She stepped out of the dressing room in a tight off-white number that buckled up the front like my childhood rain boots. It didn’t take too quick of an eye to get an eyeful. I studied her for a moment. “Turn around, let me see the back.” She obeyed my instruction. I didn’t like the dress. She faced me again. “Well?” “Honestly?” “Of course,” she said, not meaning it at all, if what I thought was that she looked like she was about to work the pole at the Seventh Veil. I got up close to her and spoke softly. “I think some of the clothes in here look kind of cheap.” “Really?” She fingered the fabric. “It’s well made.” “That’s not what I mean.” She cocked her head. “It screams for attention.” “What do you mean?” “You know that I’m not a jealous guy, right?” “Yeah.” “And I handle all the men that hover around you really well, don’t I?” “Uh-huh.” “This dress screams for attention...” “You said that.” “... from men. It says, ‘I have low self-esteem and I need men to look at me.’” That didn’t come out exactly how I wanted, though it was exactly what I meant. Attempted recovery seemed prudent. “You’d look great in a potato sack.” “So you want me to wear frumpy clothes?” “No, not at all.” “Then what?” “You’re gorgeous - you don’t need a dress like this to get attention from anyone. All I’m saying is I think you’re better than this dress. I’d like to see you try on some nicer things.” I could have stopped there. But I didn’t. “You’d look even sexier in something that wasn’t trying so hard to look sexy. Do you know what I mean?” She nodded, but I’m not sure I made the point I intended. She looked herself over in the mirror. “I’ll think about it.” We left that shop and went into many, many others. She didn’t find anything she liked.
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