I’m sitting in Café Dumonde with Terri. We’ve spent the better part of the day together, walking around the French Quarter. We went to Bongo, the French Market, Tower Records and Record Ron’s.
Because I bought and ate a bunch of fruit in the French Market, I’m not all that hungry now, so I’ve only ordered a salad.
Terri lights a cigarette and looks out the window and then back to our waitress, this foreign girl, who was sort of flirting with me. “Bitch, I hope she gets fired,” says Terri.
“Why?” I ask.
“You saw how she was flirting with you. I don’t know what the customs are in her own country but she needs to learn ours.”
“She was just being nice. That is, after all, part of her job,” I say.
“Why are you defending her Trevor?”
“I’m not.”
“You are too. I saw the way she was looking at you, smiling at you.”
“And just how was that Terri?” I ask, sort of annoyed.
“Like you were a piece of meat.”
“Whatever,” I mutter. “Big deal, so she flirted with me. It’s not like I’m going to go get her address and phone number for Christ’s sake.”
“I don’t think this is going to work,” says Terri, almost inaudibly.
“What?” I ask, even though I heard her.
“I said, I don’t think this is going to work,” she repeats. I’m sitting in Blue Crystal with this guy, Alex, that I barely know. He came up to me earlier tonight in Phase looking for Martin (since he knows Martin and I are friends) and when I told him I hadn’t seen Martin in over a week he asked me if I felt like riding to the city with him.
I told him yes and now I’m beginning to think it was a mistake. He’s likeable enough but sort of goofy. He sure can’t drive worth a damn. We almost got into two wrecks on the way here. The thing that bugs me the most though is the way he acts.
For example, he just bought a round of drinks for these three girls that looked at him like he was deranged when he approached them. After they finished the drinks they abandoned him and walked out to the dance-floor. Alex followed them out and started dancing with them, looking pretty retarded as he did so, until they left the floor. Undaunted, Alex just kept dancing.
Now they are sitting at a table, pointing at him and laughing, which sort of pisses me off. I’m thinking about telling them something when one of them, the blonde, walks by my table.
“Hey,” I say, calling out to her, not really sure what to say when she does turn around.
“What,” she says.
“You could’ve been a little nicer to him,” I tell her.
“Why? He’s an idiot, look at him.”
“Yeah, I know. But he’s also an idiot with only six months left to live,” I lie, primarily because I’m bored out of my skull and I need some sort of entertainment.
“Big deal,” she says. “They’ll be one less jerk in the world.”
I’m so completely stunned by the coldness of her reply I can’t even form some sort of retort before she walks away. In attempt to forget her sheer meanness I begin to think about how different the Blue Crystal is. Gone are the pool tables and punk rockers. The fireplace, which used to burn all year round, is now bricked up. I begin to feel depressed. Alex walks over and asks me what’s wrong.
“Nothing,” I tell him.
“Cheer up. You need a drink or something? You low on cash?”
“No. Why don’t we leave? Go to Fat City or something dude?” I suggest. “There’s nothing happening here.”
“We will,” he tells me. “I’m just waiting for some people.”
I know, and I’m pretty sure he knows I know, that the people (If they even exist in the first place) he’s waiting for aren’t going to show up. We’ve been here for two very long hours. Finally, he says, “Allright. If they aren’t here in an hour we’ll go to Fat City.”
I’m at Riviera Spa, with my father, sitting on an exercise bike in a room with glass walls. The spa, located in a 20-story glass building, overlooks the Causeway Bridge, which is like the longest bridge in the world. It’s been a rainy week, with more rain forecasted, so I’ve taken off and am spending the weekend in Metairie with my father.
I’ve just finished a half hour on the exercise bike and I’m sitting here, sweating profusely. I’m in worse shape than I thought I was in. I towel off and go try to find my dad.
I finally do find him at the health bar, flirting with these two women that don’t look much older than me. He’s telling them about Alaska, where he’s worked on and off since I was a kid. One of the women is sort of ugly. She’s got a bad complexion and fried hair. The other one is totally hot though. She’s got beautiful, long, shiny black hair and the deepest, bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. She’s probably wearing colored contacts. Her nipples are protruding through her leotard top and if she is aware of it she certainly isn’t very self-conscious about it.
I walk up and, since his back is turned to me, he doesn’t see me. The woman with the fried hair motions towards me with her eyes and my father turns around and says, “Son, this is Marilyn and this is Debbie. This is my son Trevor.”
They both smile at me as I sit down and I’m pretty sure Marilyn catches me staring at her nipples, even though I was trying to not be obvious, because she blushes slightly and smiles smugly.
“How was your workout?” Dad asks me.
“Decent,” I say.
“You want something to drink? Their papaya shakes are great,” he tells me.
What is this, Gilligan’s Island or something?
“I’ll take a Gatorade,” I finally say.
“Gatorade,” repeats my father, rolling his eyes for their benefit.
It’s a pretty well known fact that when it comes to women, your friends will sell you out in a heartbeat. But your own flesh and blood? Christ.
“No class son,” he says jokingly, but not jokingly enough to let it be known that part of him is serious.
He orders the Gatorade for me anyway, but the guy behind the bar say that they’re out.
“They don’t have Gatorade son,” my father repeats, knowing damn well I heard the guy. He almost seems elated by this fact. Again he suggests the papaya juice.
I order an Evian just to spite him but he doesn’t seem to be bothered and he continues telling these women a story about a guy he knew in Alaska that got mauled by a brown bear. “You may not know this,” he tells them, “but the brown bear is the largest bear in the world.
“No they aren’t,” I blurt out, throwing the entire story out of sync.
“Excuse me,” says my father, beginning to look just a little pissed off.
“Polar bears are the largest,” I say, hoping I’m right.
“Oh, that’s right,” laughs my dad, as if this were something he’d just casually forgotten.
“So what do you do Trevor?” asks Debbie, the one with the fried hair.
“I’m in school,” I say, sipping my water.
“What are you studying?” asks Marilyn.
“I’m pre-med right now,” I lie. My father grins, not correcting me.
“Really? Your father must be proud.”
“Oh yes,” says my father. “My son the doctor.”
“Gynecologist,” I add. Hell, if you’re going to lie you might as well lie big.
“You’d make a good gynecologist,” Marilyn tells me. “Most male gynecologists are either callous or kind of creepy. You seem kind though. I think you’d have good bed-side personality.”
There’s something in her tone of voice that gives me an erection. I imagine her tan, lithe form beneath me; my tongue flicking over her nipples. I try to imagine what she sounds like when she’s coming.
“Tell me about it,” adds Debbie, her nasal Chalmette accent totally ruining my fantasy. “When I was in college, the gynecologist I saw doubled as the parish coroner.”
Jesus. That was certainly information that I didn’t need to know. I finish my water and ask my father for the locker key. After hassling me about leaving, he finally digs out the key and hands it to me. I smile and tell them it was nice to meet them and that I’ll be back after I shower.
In the locker-room, I lock myself in a stall and do some of the coke that Martin got for me a few days ago. After that, I go sit in the steam-room, but I between the steam and the coke it becomes too much and I decide to go shower instead. The coke is really kicking in and I masturbate furiously, imagining that I’m fucking Marilyn doggy-style.
After I shower, I get out and walk to our locker. I open it and towel off. I put on my jeans and loafers and check out my stomach in the mirror. Its not as bad as I thought it was. I put on deodorant and slip on an undershirt. I then slip on my tan and blue Ralph Lauren shirt. I put some gel in my hair and realize that I’m pretty tanned for only the beginning of April.
I do a little more of the coke, close the locker and leave to go find my father. On the way to find him I see this girl that reminds me of Terri and I start feeling bad about our argument last weekend, not to mention my auto-erotic episode in the shower starring Marilyn so I find a payphone and call her.
“Where are you?” she asks me.
I tell her I’m with my dad in Metairie and that I’m sorry about our fight.
“It’s okay,” she says. “I was being stupid. When are you coming home, Trevor?”
“Probably tomorrow,” I say.
“That’s too bad,” she says.
“What?” I ask, wondering why it’s too bad.
“I said it’s too bad.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Because I miss you,” she says.
“Oh,” I say.
“Don’t you miss me too?’ she asks.
“Sure I do,” I say.
“Well then why don’t you tell me so?”
“I feel silly,” I say.
“But you do miss me?” she asks.
“Sure.”
“You don’t sound sure,” she says.
“I’m hungry,” I say.
“What does that have to do with anything?” she asks.
“I’m hungry and I have a headache,” I say. “Look, I’m still at the gym with Dad. I’ll call you when I get back to his house. After I eat.”
“Whatever,” she says.
“Bye,” I say, not hanging up yet, listening to see if she says anything. She doesn’t but I can still hear her breathing. Finally, she whispers my name, but I don’t say anything. Finally the line goes dead.
I walk back to the health bar. I don’t see my father or the women. I walk over to one of the glass walls and look out over the water. The sun has sunk in the west but it isn’t quite dark outside yet. The lake is choppy and churning. I stand there for a while gripping the rail. I finally look down and notice my knuckles are practically white from clutching it so hard.
