Authors: Craig Spivek
When they got home they would have the fight that
would end their relationship and Chet would set off on his journey that would
take him into the bowels of the valley resulting in him having an orgasm so
volatile, so penetrating, and so massive in the cargo pants he had been wearing
when he met Lisa, that he could do nothing but lie there twitching under
Candy’s grinding pelvis, open to the cosmos.
Chet always had a plan. Never had doubt.
Never had regret. Chet was solid and salt of the Earth.
Neurosis was foreign to him. He had felt a horrible wave of
something indescribable upon entering The Spearmint Rhino, perhaps because it
showed such doubt and weakness. But he didn’t question it. He went through with
what his heart and physical body demanded. He knew the only way to gain
clarity and hope was after a moment of pure indulgence. He knew he
had to dive-in and
follow
the river upstream into the
darkness. The darkness was where the primal truth lay. He had to go where
it lead him, for better or worse.
As Candy geared-down her grinding she pushed
herself flat against his body
and brushed
her
knee up against his soiled pants verifying to her she had completed her task.
A wave of
stripper pride
came over her. She read his
expression. She could tell he was deep in thought.
Let him
think. He’ll tip bigger.
She continued to brush up against the
wetness she’d created. He was hot and hunky and she had broken him down
into pieces. It turned her on. She’d get another ankle tattoo to
commemorate the kill. Chet’s eyes glazed over. He held onto Candy’s
bare buttocks as she sank beside him on the overstuffed leather couch cupping a
hand around her welcoming, firm cheek. He was gently being whispered what
it is to be wracked by indecision and insecurity. What it is to be
genetically predispositioned to have every moment of your life accented by a
massive undercurrent of self-doubt, fear and apprehension. This is what
it feels like to be filled with
mishigas.
This was Lisa.
As
clarity started to set in he realized he was overcome by neurosis, paralyzed by
choice, and riddled by depression. As he sat there, his dignity soaked-through,
Chet became Jewish.
In the afterglow, as Candy brushed her
nail-polished fingers through his hair, Chet realized his relationship was
over. As she gently whispered that he could pay with a credit card, he
was already thinking about how to get the best rate on a moving van. He
would be moved out and dating a Baptist before the credit card bill for his
epiphianic dance had arrived. $335.35. A hundred of it was gratuity. Chet
would later name his two cats “Spearmint” and “Rhino”.
Spermy
would
marry a gorgeously
phat--assed
heavily bosomed egg named
Candy
.
Together they would metamorphose, and
BABY-LON 6
, a brand new
graphic novel about a giant ass-kicking baby from outer space would be born. It
sold millions.
“Pussy.” Lisa thought. Chet’s desire for
family showed weakness. A weakness she couldn’t respect, even if Ronit
had shown that weakness as well. Lisa still held onto it.
All of it.
She thought about Steven. She found it odd,
yet appropriate, they were still in each other’s life. Both of them had gone
the “single-way-out.” Both of them had become huge successes on their own
terms. She had a firm respect for Steven. He made sense to her.
He had balls. Maybe that was why she didn’t have any real
attraction to him. They were too similar.
Both too
ambitious.
If anything, he had given her great notes on her
Robodancer
script, a light-hearted tale about two urban youths who invent a dance that
hails an alien mothership circling Earth and controls most modern top forty
music being heard. All is saved when a popstar, to be determined later,
is blasted into space in
Armageddon-
like fashion and destroys the alien
vessel, grabbing back the reigns of commercial radio and putting it safely back
in the hands of ambiguously gay, Jewish corporate executives, to be played by
Andy Samberg and someone from the Apatow stable. Steven sold it for high six
figures as
Armageddon meets Soul Plane.
Huge
role for Britney, or whoever’s hot.
Commercial tie-ins,
internet
branding, early spring release, a great pre-summer
appetizer. It never got made. It was a studio’s wet dream but
no one wanted to make it.
The prevailing logic being if
no one else has made this, why should we?
It was a thesis project
while Lisa was still at Princeton. She realized its commercial potential
and knew her slimey, gropey professor would steal it and try to sell it, so she
held onto it and turned in
My Friend the Tampon,
a sixty-page industry
commercial on the rise of feminine hygiene. Now Lisa was rich. Steven was
God, her professor was still poor and horny, Chet had come and gone, and Ronit
was becoming a mommy. Still, the child-rearing book Ronit had given her
was handy and coached her quickly on the dos and don’ts. She tucked it
under her arm.
Lisa tapped on the door and bit her lower lip in
anticipation. There was no response.
What are they doing in
there? Answer the door! Let me in! I need to see that baby!
That sweet, precious, innocent, pure baby, GODDAMMITT!!!
Her
pulse quickened, she was going to B-line it for that kid. It didn’t
matter who was in the way. She heard no movement behind the door.
Calm
down,
she told herself.
Just calm down.
You always get what you want, so just calm down.
This was true.
Lisa, truly, was a person who always got what she wanted, regardless of
obstacle. Not because she was spoiled. She was driven.
Completely
and totally.
This was her greatest strength and it would soon
destroy her.
CRAIG
THE WARRIOR EMERGES FROM THE TOILET
I
had passed out in the toilet. On the way down I had slammed my head
against the porcelain sink. I had some pee droplets on my pants and the
water from the tap was still going. The fluorescent lights above me were
blinding. I could hear laughter in the background. I wished I
was
back on the beach.
I gathered myself up off Carin’s floor. I
grabbed onto the sink for a second and steadied myself. The image of the
sword Excalibur came into my head. I couldn’t remember anything else. I
stared blankly at the mirror. I turned around, turned the light off,
walked into the darkened hallway and stumbled back. I wasn’t sure if I
was out of the picture that I had fallen into on Carin’s bathroom wall yet, but
clearly this was a hallway and not a beach, or my cousin Freddy’s salon.
My body felt spent, like I’d given myself a hand job.
But without any gooey residue.
I walked back to the
living room where Gino was doing hits out of a glass matrix bong. “Here,
bro, cap it off. Gotta keep it going…
it’s
medical-grade.”
“Are you all right? I thought you had died
in there,” asked Carin.
As I exhaled.
“Yeah,
I’m good, I hit my head in your bathroom, but I’m okay.”
“You hit your head?”
“Yeah, I like that painting you have in
there.”
“The beach landscape?”
“Yeah.”
“My old acting coach sent it to me.”
“Very relaxing.”
“We had gone there together one time. It’s
why he painted it.”
“I know,” I said. Carin looked at
me strangely. “I mean I know that beach, it’s very nice.”
She
still looked at me puzzled. “It’s a beach up in the East Hamptons, Long Island.
You’ve been there?”
“Sure, why not?” as I lit the bong and sucked in
hard. Carin was truly puzzled. “I mean that painting was so good I
sort of just, you know, stepped into it.” I tried to play it off like it was
the pot talking.
But then the pot kicked-in.
The
pain in my forehead receded. It was definitely medicinal. I was on
Jupiter. I lifted my head up to the ceiling and exhaled a ginormous
lungful. It smoothed me out. The vision spoke through me again.
I could recollect everything now. What was blocked was now free.
“You were on a beach. There was a bed and breakfast nearby. The
sand was white, gorgeous; the sea was loud and foamy.” I had my eyes
closed.
“He took me
there
one weekend.
Behind his wife’s back.
God,
I was so bad.” Carin started to blush. “I was so young.”
Gino repacked it and handed it to Carin.
“Jesus, are we on Oprah? How you know all this shit?”
I realized I was in mixed company.
I tried to cover. “Well, I recognize the seascape as east coast, because
no west coast beaches have sand that white. Also,
the
painting was signed in the corner by a J.L. Krafft
, and there’s a
picture over in the hallway of Carin in an acting class which I can only assume
to be a J. Larry Krafft class. The legendary acting coach, if I’m not
mistaken. Carin looked to be impressed.
“Larry
wasn’t a legend yet. Not when I knew him.”
“No,
but you helped turn him into one.”
“Jesus, bra! You’re like that
Magnum detective or some shit.”
“A regular Sherlock Holmes,” she said.
“I’m just a man with a vision. Don’t spill
bong water on your imported comforter, Carin.” She looked down and
noticed the bong beginning to lean. There were two cigarette burns compliments
of Gino already. She grabbed it up by the base, steadied it and hit it
hard. She looked a little awkward. Like she hadn’t done it in a while,
but appeared to have pretty good muscle memory. She exhaled and smiled at
me.
“You are a very impressive driver, Greg.
Are you an actor?” I paused for a second. I liked that she
attempted to use my name in a sentence. I wasn’t sure what to say.
“It’s Craig. And no,” I finally replied.
“But I know how to play a scene.”
She
caressed the bong a little.
Back and forth, gently.
The last vision had really taken me away. I could feel what she was
feeling. I knew what she wanted. She eyeballed the bong, and looked
up at me.
Wait...Me? Why is she looking at me?
Finally, we sat back in our chairs and let the
drugs take effect. There seemed to be a calm come over. Gino was
uncharacteristically quiet. Carin was silent. The pot slowed down time. It
reduced me to only think about two things.
Loneliness
and time.
It’s why I avoided it.
Loneliness
without my Juliette, and time creeping by.
“I’m like wasted…”cracked Gino,
shattering the calm.
Carin started laughing. “Me, too,” she said.
Gino stood up and started to walk to the bathroom. He lasted about
three steps, muttered something about slacks and collapsed on the carpet.
Carin looked over at me. I looked at her.
We laughed. I could hear the ocean.
BABY KEVIN
As
the door to Rick and Randi’s apartment finally started to squeak open she was
jarred from thinking about Ronit, her unproduced scripts or Chet’s cock.
“Hi, Lisa! Come on in!” said an over-rambunctious Rick.
Does he have a boner?
Lisa
asked herself as she smiled and walked into the apartment. She couldn’t
help but lock eyes on what appeared to be an excited member that had been put
away wet.
“Uh, Randi and I were just trying to pre-screw.”
Randi was out of sight. “Listen, we really appreciate you doing
this for us,” Rick said as he ushered Lisa into the living room.
“It’s no problem,” said Lisa as her eyes darted
around in search of the baby, the prize.
“We are headed to a karaoke bar and then dinner,
drinks and some sex in the parking lot.”
“Don’t listen to him,” added Randi, as she
exited the bedroom adjusting her top, “He’s just horny.”
“So not true…” He stared blankly at Lisa like
she was a steak. “I just have an appetite.” Lisa felt his eyes on
her and felt incredibly uncomfortable. She had been told by Pudgie before
that this was how Rick and Randi were. A bit dirty, they seem to practice
a certain courtship
style which
required an audience.