Notes from the Upper West Side. A novel by Dan Wrench. Chapter 47 Passing The Ticket So I guess you could say I was unnerved. Way unnerved.
First, Dandy Boy yells at me for being a peasant who smacks his lips. Then my cover, my alibi, my old pal park calls me up on the phone, motivated by an insane compulsion to tell me in-depth why I am a dick. And this all happens just hours before I need to launch on a pair of fresh tits with rutal, bulging man pride. That was enough to undermine me plenty enough.
But then, park also less on, there is this regimen of penile calisthenics I was supposed to be doing. Well, in case you can't tell, I wasn't doing them. And I could no more fit them into the next few hours than I could fit in the years worth of push-ups and sit-ups and benches and squats that I also didn't do. And on top of that, I smelled bad.
The boys and I were back at the apartment and I was in the shower feeling sorry for myself when it occurred to me that being completely unable to do anything about my geezer corpus was kind of lucky. No shit. I was a bullet now. A dead lump with a single trajectory into something soft and pink.
Well, there was one other conceivable trajectory. The one park suspected. On said trajectory, I called Cammy up and make some cock off, cock off. Sorry excuse for why Admiral Ballsy can't make the appointed appearance.
But that trajectory was out. If I took it, Admiral Ballsy would never let me live it down. Neither would park. And it's not like Cammy met me online or something.
It seemed me up close and for some reason she wanted what she thought I might have. I didn't have to understand it. I started feeling pretty relieved. So while I was in the shower, I reviewed in my head the strategy I had mapped out for the evening.
First, I go into tent bar. Next, park comes by to give me his roundabout in gold card, AKA the fuck ticket, and splits quick. Then, about an hour after park splits, Cammy comes by to get said ticket so she can head up to the hotel and hang around watching porn in the room we reserved three days before. I go to adults, no kids, one night, until I get off my shift, which won't be until after midnight.
Then, at about nine, I call up Corinne to tell her I have to help park with some post-production deadline because he's my job and there's no one else to help him and I probably won't get home until early next morning so I may as well just sleep at barbs. Then I finish my shift and head over to screw Cammy till she cries. I was definitely not looking forward to parks involvement in this. After that phone call I got from him, I was pretty sure he was going to show up and continue her ranging me.
But he was pretty good. He didn't say a damn thing about Ballsy. Like the books on that subject were completely closed. He just sat at the bar drinking his ginger ale and handed me the gold card fuck ticket like we agreed.
When Cammy came in we did this routine where she was all, Mr. bartender's sark and I please have a- And I was all, we ain't a please ma'am. It was like we were street mines only using cryptic snatches of oral gush to further confuse the onlookers. And we fell right into it no pre-planning or anything, we just had this great banter sim patico.
She said, Hey, barking, I think I was in here like a week ago and left my f ticket. She giggled like a slut at the prom. Was that like a business card on gold paper? Hey, you're cracking wise low life.
Cut it out. There was this chunky Asian guy in a black jacket and tie with a drink in his hand watching us with this look on his face like he knew we had a secret and he was sort of in on it. Right about then, Arvo the bar manager walked in off the street and came over to us. Before I could actually grasp what was happening this human sphincter artifact who hadn't shaved or showered in a week was standing next to me behind the bar.
His stringy black hair just inches from my own head, easy leaping distance for lice. So who's this? He grinned big. The yellow teeth weren't so bad.
The two gray ones in the front though and the breath like he'd just finished sucking a dumpster. Arvo, this is Cameron, an actress friend of mine. Cameron, this is Arvo, the bar manager. Actress, huh?
Cammy tittered polite answers but you could see from her rictus grin that screaming horror alert just beneath her face. When he finally got tired of nauseating us and sludged his way back into the office, he covered her mouth and nose with a neck of her t-shirt so she looked like a bandit and said, oh fuck, is he wearing a diaper? Is it full? Nah, it's just that when he walks here from his house he likes to play in the puddles of piss and he never changes his socks.
The Asian guy in the black jacket and tie overheard that and did one of those squuttery laps through his lips. He put an unlit cigarette in his mouth and said, watch Tran please. I call small. We all beat.
He slid off the stool and was gone. I gave Cammy the gold fuck card ticket and she skipped but not before she looked at the name on it and said, Mr. Tony Harpzarr. Half to herself.
Then to me. So what do I have to play a forges name on something to claim is frequent fucker miles? Nope. He already called up so they know you're his guest.
Later on when I come up I'm his other guest. He never has to show. Roundabout in? She said, cool.
See ya. Yeah, I said. Roundabout midnight. I gigcackled but she was gone.
One last thing to do. Call up Corin and sound all that bastard parp has me over a barrel of the fucking fuck so I can't come home to the ones I love. Corin did not take it well. Okay.
She said. Tell me again why you're doing this. I told her. I'm not going to think about post production.
Nobody else will help him with the voiceovers babe. Silence. You know how it is? The guy is lucky to have even one friend.
Do you think anyone else on the planet would stand for this shit? He fucked my friends. She said it like she was resting her case. And then they dump him, right?
Silence then. I hope he's paying you at least. Not even that. This is what I get for being the producer.
Silence and lots of it. Corin. Goodbye. Click is the noise that non cell phones make or used to make back when I had one.
Now of course I just stood there. said, um, hon, you there? Like a jackass. She was gonna be sore for the next few days, but hey, Admiral Ballsy needed something wet and rigid.
And sometimes the Admiral gets what the Admiral needs. Notes from the Upper West Side is a work of fiction. The people depicted in this work do not exist. Notes from the Upper West Side copyright 2013 to 2017 by Dan