Notes. From the Upper West Side. A novel by Dan Wrench. Chapter 29.
My Ride with Big Butt. Big Butt Belinda was pretty surprised when I let it slip that park was physically deformed. I mean, I'm pretty sure when ladies fantasize about Blowing a Guy, they picture him having all of his fingers on toes. I felt sorry for this law.
No fooling. It wasn't his fault he was born with a foot that looks like a talent, but hey, even really hard pecks won't stop a girl from puking when she looks down at the end of the bed and counts. And recounts. And realizes she's lying next to something that would have been burned at the stake in simpler times.
I'm not saying those were good times. Those days back when park would have been lit on fire in a public place. I'm just saying that generally chicks don't fantasize about Blowing bevel-boy. There are freakish exceptions to that rule, my wife for example.
Big Butt. Wow, really? You're not kidding? Nine toes?
Me. Yeah, the chick he's with now. She's got some weight problems, so I guess she figures it's a trade off. Big Butt.
He's got a girlfriend? Me. I think she's his girlfriend. Maybe he doesn't call her that.
She's a silence. She looked out the window at the funeral homes, whizzing past. For the record, and because I'm being absolutely truthful in this tale of revenge and justice, Park didn't actually have this other chick in his life. I made her up on the spot.
Pretty smooth, right? Don't be acting all shocked. If you know anything about me by now, if I've gone out of my way to tell you anything about me, it's that I need to be Lord of all tale. Cock blocking is more than just a reflex with me and slightly less than a raised-owned death.
That's why I'm in therapy. I'm trying to deal with it. I'm trying to be a better person and usually I am. But see, Park sent me out on this errand when he knew all I wanted was my cami and she didn't show up.
He thought he could make me into his gopher and besides, I had to talk about something on the right back from Long Island, didn't I? He looks like a pop. She giggled. I wasn't ready to change the subject.
Maybe I get caggled. I bet he has ten toes though. She kind of shut up after that and stared out the window some more. I could smell her.
She had this scent of almond mint coming off her, probably off her hair, almond mint just like Junior's ex-hooker gal pal, Sue Gasperino. It was right about then that I started to wonder whether Big Butt Belinda was game for a roadside fuck. Swear to God, it started out as an innocent speculation, a rumination on the evidence at hand. In the first place I knew she posed naked on the internet.
In the second place I knew she was wearing jeans, solo cut I could practically see snatch cleavage. So how could I not wonder if she was just waiting for an invitation to pull over in slam for a while? What if she was telegraphing it to me so hard she was vibrating and I was just too damn dopey to pick it up? What if she's sitting there thinking, what the fuck is he waiting for?
And then the old dark suspicion said in the ancient male suspicion, primordial even. Back in the ooze, male lizards suspected they might be banging a lot more female lizard ass if only they spoke up more and weren't so afraid of getting shot down. Like I said, that's suspicion. That's suspicion that goes back so far it's branded on our DNA.
I felt it creeping up on me. So the next thing I knew I was opening my mouth and shit was flying out. Park tells me he found you on the internet while he was browsing for porn. I said, says your ass is a fan tab.
I gigcackled her. He said what? Fan tabulous. He didn't use that word though, that's pretty much my word.
She got really flustered which I was completely unprepared for. She started to talk a few times but cut herself off before she could get out more than an oom or sh. Or some other sound that wasn't a whole word. I gigcackled to try and make it seem like I was harmless.
Like I couldn't have meant to like to see her ass look close and bent over. What are you laughing at? She finally asked. Well, what?
Well, I hope you like my ass. Hey, it isn't me, Bindi. I plead. I don't think about your ass.
It's a parpe. He just told me about it. Oh, right. Yes.
Well, if you'd taken the time to see the pictures yourself then maybe you wouldn't realize they're ought. Classic. Looking at her big naked butt makes me an asshole. On the other hand, not looking at her big naked butt makes me an asshole.
Meanwhile, she's missing the entire obvious point that parpe is the asshole for going around telling people her ass is sweet, so check it out. I decided to play the mature card. You see, I said, my voice getting all low and adult. It's just that I'm the father of two preteen boys and sometimes they ask me questions about my friends and I'm well not always sure what to say to them.
Um, I thought you said this was because pop said my ass was fan-tapped. Now it's your kids. Sometimes they make you burn the mature card. I was using Tony as a jumping off point.
I said, I was kind of thirsty. Now, the way mature people are when they're disappointed you weren't mature enough to understand them the first time. It was quiet for a sec. Then she said, okay, what kind of questions do your kids ask and make you have to tell me how fan-tapped my ass is on the internet?
Well, I'm an actor and a model. I have a lot of artists friends who participate in activities that a couple of very young boys wouldn't understand, so I ask for them. And also, I chuckled here, well, for myself. I don't get it.
Well, in your case, I'd like to be able to tell them how a photographic artist decides to become her own nude portraiture subject. How old are you kids? Seven and four. Wouldn't it just be easier to tell them not to browse the internet before they're old enough to reach the keyboard?
I chuckled serenely at this night, what? Well, ho ho ho ho, point taken, I said. That just sort of hung there in the air for a few seconds. She cleared her throat.
I was sure she was going to tell me I was full of horseshit, but instead she said, so what are your kids' names? And we got on to a conversation about the fam. I thought for a few minutes that there might still be some content for me. I thought maybe the mature card turned her on.
It says, I'm stable, sophisticated even. Maybe she and Cammy talked about me last night on their ride back to Long Island, maybe they both have fantasies about doing married men. But no such luck. We fam talked for a while and then suddenly the subject shifted to her childhood in Nassau County and how she wanted to be a photographer since she was eight and her uncle Jeffrey gave her an old Polaroid.
Then we had to talk about her cool boyfriend and how they live together in the little house with the Pitbull. And how the Pitbull stares at them every morning while the cool boyfriend eats her out. That's right. I can't bring up the subject of her ass because that might signify I have one of those disgusting male libidos.
But she can reliably mention she comes in her boyfriend's face every morning. Ladies if this game had rules, there would be flags all over the field. Oh and get this, she's a libertarian like parpe. Cool I said, so you're in favor of legalizing marijuana?
Yep it is. Me too but I'm just a lowly Democrat. Democrat huh? So that means you think the pull should be protected from the marijuana agribusiness right?
Huh? If marijuana is legalized right then you'll have a whole bunch of growers and sellers out there and each of them is going to want you to buy their marijuana. Think they should just be allowed to do that, you know, put profits before people? Well I think they should be strictly regulated of course.
Of course you do. She said, oh my friends, her contempt for my reasonable views just oozed. And the FDA should have to approve all the weed before anyone gets the smokey voice right? Huh, I said.
Interesting. You know I remember once in Syracuse we were scoring a bag. I thought the reminiscence would throw her off the scent and it did thank God. We talked about pot and pot smoking and how parpen fighter used to just sit there and never smoke it just passed it to the next person.
Sober's wet clams while everyone else giggled. She was curious about parpen fighter and whispers and how they all got together and what their stories were. I told her whispers was married to Mandy McDade and then I had to tell her who Mandy McDade was. You remember 1981?
I asked. I actually wasn't born in 1981. Oh well but you know the song not on the hood of my car right? Maybe.
Well she wrote that and it was recorded by her group Blinks which was pretty hot back then. They used it in the soundtrack to the movie surviving Chappaqua High. Oh I saw that movie what was the name of the song? Not on the hood of my car.
Pause. I saw her arm lurch as it started to reach for the non-existent radio then aborted. I can't believe you never heard of Mandy McDade. Sorry.
She said then she kind of giggled a scoffing giggle. I'll take it away for it. So cool. Bobby's married to a rock star.
Not Tony and George Vida. How did they hook up? So I told her how Park and Me and Vida went to school together. How in Park and Vida got out they did a summer at a resort doing a mind reading act.
Park was the mind reader. Vida worked to the audience. Then later they came to New York and Park started up a theater company and Vida did comedy. That's where Vida met Bobby whispers in the comedy clubs.
Whispers was a member of a four man comedy troupe called Max Yux. He wasn't that great a performer but Vida liked his material so whispers ended up writing for Vida after Max Yux split up over who got to fuck their one groupie. Vida's career really took off after that. Even like I mentioned before came the night when he froze in front of Letterman's microphone.
That by itself didn't kill him but his confidence was gone. He couldn't get a laugh. Other comics would sit at the bar watching him and wincing while he choked. While Vida was on the upswing, Whispers was living in large, New apartment, rock star girlfriend, leather blazer for every day of the week.
So when Vida's career exploded, Whispers was kind of caught holding a scotch and looking stupid. He might have tried some stand up himself but right around then his old man died and left him at tobacco shop on 6th Avenue. Suddenly his day job was making sure pork chops in suits got fresh fads cigars. The fighter has been in therapy ever since I told Big Bud but he's been making a comeback on cable shows.
If you've got HBO you've maybe seen a couple specialties done but he mainly performs at his club now. And the place we're going today that's Vida's? Yep and Whispers is directing and parp wrote it and I'm producing. Oh whoopi doo.
She said with a petulance that came out of nowhere. I was too tired to fight with it so we wrote in silence for a while. Just before we got to Manhattan she started taking pictures of me and giggling and I said now you stop that. You know, playfully.
I still can't figure out exactly where the turning point was. You know the exact point where she decided no, no cock in this car. But to this day I try to figure it out. The male lizard in me needs to know.
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 2013-2016.
By Dan Ren.