Tuesday, November 09, 2004
A SUPER SUNDAY, SOME YEARS PAST
"Bugel called," I said. "He wants us to come over for the Super Bowl."
"I thought you didn't care about the Super Bowl if the Eagles weren't in it," FW said.
"That's true," I said. "I don't care about it at all."
"Does Bugel care?" FW asked.
"I can't see it," I said.
"What time are we supposed to go over?" FW asked.
"Early," I said. "We don't want to miss the pregame extravaganza."
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"It's open," Bugel yelled. "Come in."
Bugel waved us and shushed us in one motion, without taking his eyes off the television. He was engrossed in something that looked and sounded suspiciously like a John Wayne movie.
There was an open bottle of tequila on the coffee table, but there were no glasses. Bugel must have been swigging straight from the bottle.
"What's that one?" I asked, pointing to the television.
"It's Pals of the Saddle," Bugel said. "One of the Three Mesquiteers series."
"Questionnable counterprogramming," I said. "Do you have any shot glasses?"
Bugel pointed toward the kitchen and refocused his attention to the movie.
I walked back into the kitchen and started to poke through Bugel's cabinets. I finally found some dusty shot glasses shoved way in the back of a cabinet overhanging the stove.
"Do you have any limes?" I yelled in to Bugel.
"I don't do condiments," he said. "If you need to chase the tequila, there's beer in the refrigerator."
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I grabbed the shot glasses and a six pack and made my way back to the living room.
"Where's Megsy?" FW asked.
"I sent her out to get some snacks and some other shit," Bugel answered. He gave me a quick look, to clue me in.
"You're very subtle," I said.
"I'm not trying to be subtle," Bugel said. "It's just the way I talk."
"Hello," yelled Megsy, from the kitchen.
"How'd she get back there?" I asked.
"She parks in the alley and comes in the back," Bugel said.
"Is that more convenient?" I asked.
"I don't know why she does it," Bugel said. He shrugged his shoulders.
"Hi everybody," Megsy said. She set down a bowl of chips and crackers on the coffee table.
"Did you get it?" Bugel asked.
"No problem," Megsy said.
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It was almost halftime. The tequila was almost gone, the beers were gone, the chips were gone.
"Let's go do some more lines," Megsy said.
We all got up and went into the downstairs bedroom. Megsy expertly cut eight lines on the upended mirror that was lying on the dresser. She did hers quickly and handed the rolled up bill to FW. I noticed that FW took the razor blade and fussed a little. Straightening, making the lines longer and thinner, then sliding some back and fattening them up again. Bugel did the same. When it was my turn, I inhaled without ceremony, and without altering Megsy's presentation.
"The game is boring," Bugel said. "We should do something else."
"What?" I asked.
"We could have an orgy," Megsy said.
"I think, with four, it's just group sex, not an orgy," I said.
"Then we could have group sex," Megsy said.
I looked at FW. She looked a little annoyed, but I could tell it wasn't about the sex. She was mad because she'd been taken by surprise. She had been half paying attention all night, lulled along by her lack of interest in football and her decided interest in the free drugs. She hadn't been thinking any farther ahead than her next line. Essentially, she'd listened to Megsy proposition me, and would now either have to go along, or end the night prematurely, and on an awkward note.
I wasn't worried. I knew FW's pique over having been outthought wouldn't be so great that she would miss a chance at some deviant activity.
At the same time, I appreciated Megsy's approach. I'd been thinking about her a lot recently, comparing her, favorably, to FW. They were both the same physical type, were both intelligent, and were both tightroping between borderline sanity and pure craziness. Yet lately, FW had seemed to fuzz along the edges to me, while whenever I pictured Megsy, she was sharp and bright. Her maneuvering and timing in the matter at hand were just more evidence of how she seemed like a quicker, improved version of FW.
"Let's get to it," I said.
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Bugel and FW left for another bedroom without saying a word.
"So it's down from an orgy, to group sex, to swapping," I said.
"Are you complaining?" Megsy asked.
"Not at all," I said. "This will be just fine."
And it was. I was enjoying myself immensly, yet appropriately, I felt. But as we went on, I could sense that Megsy was crossing some line. Eyes rolled back, gasping for air, she was disconcertingly wild. If I were a little more naive, or a little less self-aware, I'd have been flattered. But, unfortunately, I knew that it really wasn't me that was getting the reaction from Megsy. It was the situation that was making her night. The deviance, the drinking, the drugging, it all fitted her own craziness like a key in a lock. That was what was setting her off.
I had the feeling that if I were a one-legged dwarf in a Nixon mask, Megsy would have liked it that much more.
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I was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Megsy, a sheet half wrapped around her, was at the bureau preparing to cut out some more coke.
"We should get together, for real," she said. "It could work."
I knew it really couldn't work, but that didn't bother me. What bothered me was the sudden disruption, a disruption I wasn't prepared for. Apparently, Megsy was even farther ahead of me than she was of FW. The problem was that I thought of myself as being in a story with FW, and even though I knew it wasn't going to end well, I was enjoying the twists and turns along the way. It just didn't seem right to end that story prematurely; I would have felt I'd cheated myself as surely as if I'd read the first two thirds of a decent, though not great, novel, then thrown the book away.
And what about Megsy anyway? First Andy. Then Bugel. Now me. I wasn't at all sure I wanted to jump into her story.
"A tempting offer," I said. "But I think I'll pass."
Megsy laughed. "What's stopping you?" she asked.
"I don't trust your taste in men," I said.
"Well," she said, "you have quite a pedantic streak, but I was willing to overlook that."
"Can you cut me one more quick line?" I asked. "Then I want to go see what the score is."
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"Bugel called," I said. "He wants us to come over for the Super Bowl."
"I thought you didn't care about the Super Bowl if the Eagles weren't in it," FW said.
"That's true," I said. "I don't care about it at all."
"Does Bugel care?" FW asked.
"I can't see it," I said.
"What time are we supposed to go over?" FW asked.
"Early," I said. "We don't want to miss the pregame extravaganza."
----------------------------------------------------------------------
"It's open," Bugel yelled. "Come in."
Bugel waved us and shushed us in one motion, without taking his eyes off the television. He was engrossed in something that looked and sounded suspiciously like a John Wayne movie.
There was an open bottle of tequila on the coffee table, but there were no glasses. Bugel must have been swigging straight from the bottle.
"What's that one?" I asked, pointing to the television.
"It's Pals of the Saddle," Bugel said. "One of the Three Mesquiteers series."
"Questionnable counterprogramming," I said. "Do you have any shot glasses?"
Bugel pointed toward the kitchen and refocused his attention to the movie.
I walked back into the kitchen and started to poke through Bugel's cabinets. I finally found some dusty shot glasses shoved way in the back of a cabinet overhanging the stove.
"Do you have any limes?" I yelled in to Bugel.
"I don't do condiments," he said. "If you need to chase the tequila, there's beer in the refrigerator."
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
I grabbed the shot glasses and a six pack and made my way back to the living room.
"Where's Megsy?" FW asked.
"I sent her out to get some snacks and some other shit," Bugel answered. He gave me a quick look, to clue me in.
"You're very subtle," I said.
"I'm not trying to be subtle," Bugel said. "It's just the way I talk."
"Hello," yelled Megsy, from the kitchen.
"How'd she get back there?" I asked.
"She parks in the alley and comes in the back," Bugel said.
"Is that more convenient?" I asked.
"I don't know why she does it," Bugel said. He shrugged his shoulders.
"Hi everybody," Megsy said. She set down a bowl of chips and crackers on the coffee table.
"Did you get it?" Bugel asked.
"No problem," Megsy said.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was almost halftime. The tequila was almost gone, the beers were gone, the chips were gone.
"Let's go do some more lines," Megsy said.
We all got up and went into the downstairs bedroom. Megsy expertly cut eight lines on the upended mirror that was lying on the dresser. She did hers quickly and handed the rolled up bill to FW. I noticed that FW took the razor blade and fussed a little. Straightening, making the lines longer and thinner, then sliding some back and fattening them up again. Bugel did the same. When it was my turn, I inhaled without ceremony, and without altering Megsy's presentation.
"The game is boring," Bugel said. "We should do something else."
"What?" I asked.
"We could have an orgy," Megsy said.
"I think, with four, it's just group sex, not an orgy," I said.
"Then we could have group sex," Megsy said.
I looked at FW. She looked a little annoyed, but I could tell it wasn't about the sex. She was mad because she'd been taken by surprise. She had been half paying attention all night, lulled along by her lack of interest in football and her decided interest in the free drugs. She hadn't been thinking any farther ahead than her next line. Essentially, she'd listened to Megsy proposition me, and would now either have to go along, or end the night prematurely, and on an awkward note.
I wasn't worried. I knew FW's pique over having been outthought wouldn't be so great that she would miss a chance at some deviant activity.
At the same time, I appreciated Megsy's approach. I'd been thinking about her a lot recently, comparing her, favorably, to FW. They were both the same physical type, were both intelligent, and were both tightroping between borderline sanity and pure craziness. Yet lately, FW had seemed to fuzz along the edges to me, while whenever I pictured Megsy, she was sharp and bright. Her maneuvering and timing in the matter at hand were just more evidence of how she seemed like a quicker, improved version of FW.
"Let's get to it," I said.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Bugel and FW left for another bedroom without saying a word.
"So it's down from an orgy, to group sex, to swapping," I said.
"Are you complaining?" Megsy asked.
"Not at all," I said. "This will be just fine."
And it was. I was enjoying myself immensly, yet appropriately, I felt. But as we went on, I could sense that Megsy was crossing some line. Eyes rolled back, gasping for air, she was disconcertingly wild. If I were a little more naive, or a little less self-aware, I'd have been flattered. But, unfortunately, I knew that it really wasn't me that was getting the reaction from Megsy. It was the situation that was making her night. The deviance, the drinking, the drugging, it all fitted her own craziness like a key in a lock. That was what was setting her off.
I had the feeling that if I were a one-legged dwarf in a Nixon mask, Megsy would have liked it that much more.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
I was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Megsy, a sheet half wrapped around her, was at the bureau preparing to cut out some more coke.
"We should get together, for real," she said. "It could work."
I knew it really couldn't work, but that didn't bother me. What bothered me was the sudden disruption, a disruption I wasn't prepared for. Apparently, Megsy was even farther ahead of me than she was of FW. The problem was that I thought of myself as being in a story with FW, and even though I knew it wasn't going to end well, I was enjoying the twists and turns along the way. It just didn't seem right to end that story prematurely; I would have felt I'd cheated myself as surely as if I'd read the first two thirds of a decent, though not great, novel, then thrown the book away.
And what about Megsy anyway? First Andy. Then Bugel. Now me. I wasn't at all sure I wanted to jump into her story.
"A tempting offer," I said. "But I think I'll pass."
Megsy laughed. "What's stopping you?" she asked.
"I don't trust your taste in men," I said.
"Well," she said, "you have quite a pedantic streak, but I was willing to overlook that."
"Can you cut me one more quick line?" I asked. "Then I want to go see what the score is."
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