January 11, 2019The phone rang loudly as I held the brush steadily in my left hand, and a pink bandana in the other—I was staring intently at the canvas and meticulously implementing stars in the center of my piece to create a vast void, elegant and cuntesque.
“V.”
“Who’s this?” I replied tossing the rag into a small tin trash can nearby.
“It’s the woman of your dream.”
“Mother?”
“Very funny, weirdo, it’s me, Margaux.”
“Hello, Margaux, how are the kids?”
“They’re good, V. I want you to meet them. I just been so busy. I mean, literally…I’m running around chasing the little fuckers.”
“I bet.”
“So, when you gonna make an honest woman out of me, eh? I mean, you’re not getting any younger, you know?”
“You’re hilarious.”
“On a serious note, though…my sister is having a party and I wanted you to join me as my date. I know you hate people, I know you hate parties and you’d rather be on your typewriter, but…I mean, you might get a kick of the entire thing and maybe get some ideas for your little stories and stuff. No, totally. What do you think?”
“A party…” I sighed deeply then took a hit of Scotch. “Is it a lot of young, dumb people?”
“It’s gonna be a hoot. They’re doing this cup thing—“
“Cup thing?”
“Yeah, it’s a pretty clever rule where single people can only drink from the red party cups and those who are taken can only drink from the blue ones. Pretty fun stuff. Don’t you think that’s creative? It solves the whole I-don’t-know-who’s-single problem, you know?”
“What a fucking tragedy.”
“What, V.?” She asked annoyed. “I thought you’d love it—seemed like your kind of party.”
“Then you obviously don’t know me at all.”
“How’s that?”
“That’s placing a dead gazelle on a platter and delivering it to a Lion.”
“I mean…”
“No. The lion doesn’t just like the taste of the gazelle…it relishes the microseconds just before his adrenaline spikes and his paws dig into dead grass and dust, and every muscle in unison: fierce soldiers of one mind—propelling him forward into a manic chase of sharp turns and abrupt speeds…heavy panting…growling….twigs flying…stones shooting…then finally…furious fangs plunging through fur and flesh…and blood spraying across the infinite blue amid white gargantuan clouds. Then…and only then, will the prey be worthy of the predator.”
Her bubblegum chewing got louder and impatient and she grunted like a horny goat and said, “ Pleeease…Daddy…Just say you’ll come. Please?”
“There is no way I’m drinking out of a plastic cup. Maybe if I can bring my Old Fashioned.”
∞
