Notes. From the Upper West Side. A Novel by Dan Rench. Chapter 37.
The Big Crap Enigma. It's been a long while since I thought about that evening with Big Crap Cynthia, but last night when I banged out her story, the old curiosity got a hold of me again. Back then when it happened, I only talked about it with Parp and Jessica. Jessica thought I was overreacting, so I wrote the episode off to me being stupid and maybe missing out on a series of great blowjobs and anal sex just because I didn't understand some Bronx colloquialism about crap and farms.
But there's stuff about the whole adventure that I never could make sense of and still I can't. I fell asleep last night thinking about it. If I dreamed anything I forgot. Then today I had to go down to the Commodore Hotel for a meeting with management on my union members like me were coming back to work at the tavern.
Oh yeah, I did mention. I'm going back to work in a few days. Less time to crank out the book, but I also got a paycheck again which is pretty handy when it comes time to feed the boys. And while I was down there in one of the auditoriums at the Commodore listening to some guy in a suede jacket and sneakers talk about the bad economy and how the tea party sabotaged Obama and how it's great to still have a job.
Blah, blah, blah, blah. My mind wandered back to Cynthia. I was sitting next to John Oh, the main chef at the tavern, a big black guy from Puerto Rico who's had rude and raucous adventures all over the world like he was an ass pounding forest gump. I thought he might be able to help me figure out the big crap in England.
So after the speeches which I guess were supposed to indoctrinate us to the new world of labor relations down at the Irish tavern, me and John Oh adjourned to the hotel bar. But when we got up on the stools, the absence of hookers reminded us it was too early for drinks. So we got some sodas from one of the shops in the con course and sat down in the corner of the lobby off the 50th street entrance. A quiet corner and a quiet lobby, furniture with dark burgundy upholstery.
It looked out of place and sunlight like it was there for the people who had jobs, people who wouldn't be around until it was dark. John Oh sat in a chair and put his leg over one of the arms. I sat on the sofa at an angle to him and resisted the urge to put my feet up on the coffee table in front of me. And urge almost as bad as the urge to light up a sig.
We talked shit for a few minutes then I mentioned I was wondering if he could help me figure something out that had been budding me for a while and he said okay and I told him the story about that evening with Cynthia. When I was done he just looked at me for a few seconds and then he grinned and said why you asking me man. He smiled like it was a friendly joke I was having with him. I haven't thought about it in a while but last night I had a dream about it.
I lied. I didn't want to tell him about the book I was writing to get revenge on my cock sucking wife. Now it's on my mind you know. I never really did get it figured out back then.
He looked at me again and laughed like my uncle. No kidding if John was the only fat guy you'd ever met you'd think the cliché about all fat guys being jolly was really true. SCAT! He said you know it's Scat man.
I knew you were gonna say that but I don't think it makes any sense. Why not? Some guys love the big turds man. Ladies sheeting on them.
Ladies sheeting in front of them. Yeah I know I've been out to the internet but what would make her just assume I'm one of those guys. You didn't say nothing to her. I'm really really not into Scat.
Yeah but what did you say to her? Sort of God I didn't say a thing I'd been over it and over it in my head. The only thing we talked about was that my wife doesn't like head that much but I really loved giving it. He snort laughed.
Well let me think about it let me think about it. You show you told me everything you said to her. Every damn thing. Okay let me think.
He folded his arms behind his head and stared at the ceiling. When he looked around like he wanted to make extra extra sure we wouldn't be overheard and said you didn't say nothing to her like my wife got this big but I want to lick but she threw a tie. Nope. I still say Scat.
I don't know what you did but she thought you wanted a load of me go. Hey hey. Around the corner came Kurt Libby who I thought I saw there earlier. I may have mentioned in chapter six or eight or something that he tends to borrow at the Commodore.
Hey Kurt. I said Mr Libby. John I said what's life like in Harlem still got the wife and the three cats. Left on the train boys Kurt said.
Then he giggled like an ass and fumbled out a cigarette. You guys mind taking this out to the sidewalk so I can light up. I was all set to say yeah sure because I was aching to light up myself but John will beat me. As a matter of fact I don't mind.
I was just getting comfortable. Okay Kurt said like it was no problem at all to forget about his nicotine fix. He put the cigarette back in the pack and grinned at John O'Laugh like he just made the fat kid do 10 more push ups. Kurt sat down on the coffee table in front of us.
Really not supposed to do that but nobody who squealed was watching. I'm trying to help Paul figure something out. John O'Sad. Yeah.
What. So I told Libby the story. She was like she doesn't have to shut. The bathroom was right there and she didn't move for it but you're only there for like 30 seconds.
Maybe she was holding it. Yeah. John O'Laugh like a maniac. She was saving it to dump on his chest.
Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh Libby left. So Paul you're saying this freak is in the little round Jewish hat video. Yep. They're reshooting that out in LA right now right.
Yeah. I was getting a little irritated. So how come you're not out there reshooting it with them. Fuck.
I just stared at him. Man I wanted to smoke. Which one was she? As John O.
I've seen that video a few times not gonna have to see it again. She was the you remember when they're doing that big dance number down the so called so host strip and there's this fat guy at the piano. Bido said Libby what as John O George Bido said Libby the comic you're not a heart of him. Yeah maybe me and Paul might just go with him.
He's the fat guy in the fatty out playing the piano. Right. I said and there's this pole on the piano and these strippers and yarmagas and hot pants are dancing around on it. She was one of those chicks.
What did you do close down the whole street John O'S? Ah green screen high Paul. Herd asked. Yeah.
I said wait he might have been their last march instead of me. Right. I said oh I get it. John O'S said.
That's what you were saying about you were shooting in the restaurant as you followed you out. I don't get it. What does life on a farm me? Libby asked.
Did she mean like a farm animal like a cow? Maybe she meant like a campesino you know. John O'S said like a peasant. Peasants crap big.
I asked I don't know. John O'S said. I guess out on the farm they got one five right. Seems like a stretch.
I said I think she meant like a cow. Flocked like a butterfly. Crap like a bay. Libby said I laughed but I really didn't get it.
John O'S shrugged. They said Libby changed the subject pretty fast. Hey John O'S said word around the pound. You're back banging fat.
You mean fern John O'S said with the speed grin. But yeah yeah fart. Sorry. Yeah I'm seeing her again.
He looked at me. Man she's pissed at you. And he rolled with the laugh but he never broke eye contact. Still?
Holy shit yes. I'm supposed to kick your ass if I ever see you. I have strict fucking instructions. So I guess today we never met.
Now Libby was giggling too. He wrote in it for eight guys. He said eight. John O'Laff.
Alright, fuuuuunne! I gotta go, guys. I said, ya! Libi said, Fern works at this hotel.
If she says, ya, she'll chase you down and sit on your hat. I looked at him for a second before John O'Laff then said, you crack me up, Libi. I split while the two of them were talking about Fern and Kurt's wife, Candace, who was now enrolled in a seminary of all places. That's right, Candace, Libby, blonde hair, round ass and her cunt belongs to Jesus.
But here's the really fucked up part. As soon as I step out of the elevator in my apartment building the cell rings and it's Libby, and what does Libby want? He wants to know if I've still got Cynthia's phone number. I get catty.
No, can't do Kurt. She's got a boyfriend. Oh, what? What?
Jesus. They're really not gonna give me her number. You don't remember par passing you for some chicks' number three Christmases ago? They're retired.
You don't remember what you said to him? Long pause. Oh, yeah. Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh.
But that was different, man. Part was being an asshole. Stalker. So, I don't know.
Can I have her number? So you're just gonna call her up, a complete stranger. Yeah. Well, I'd give it to you if I had it Kurtz, I just don't have it.
Had to keep my voice low. I'm going to the app because I didn't want to have to explain this end of the conversation to the boys Christ. Narrow walls paint the same yellow as the naked light bulbs and the smell of cat box coming from three directions. I want it off the phone and in the apartment.
Wasn't there like a contact sheet or something? Oh, yeah. Wait, I think I might have that. It was a Google Doc.
But if there's more than one Cynthia, you're shit out of luck if you know what I mean. Guess you're thinking I'm kind of a freak. You know what he said. Because you like getting crap done?
I guess there's worst things. Like the one with the 20-foot-tall women who like the jam little men up their buds. I don't... Aww.
Doesn't say I like getting crap done, man. I just like... I'm just like a honey with a nice torch wrap on out now and then. There was a long pause.
I was just beginning to think we were disconnected then he said, no, judge, man. Hey, your wife is in the seminary. I'm just glad I could do you this solid. Yeah.
Oh. 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 2016 by Dan Wrench.