The Spectacular Simon Burchwood Read online

  "I guess you're right," I said.

  "I know I'm right. Now, turn over." Uh oh! Turn over? Was she fucking crazy? If I turned over, I'd poke her in the eye with my raging erection, which by the way, was as hard as could be. How embarrassing! Now, boners are great and all but they aren't that great when they are not wanted. There's nothing more intimidating and embarrassing than an inappropriate boner. It's true. I was in a quandary. I didn't want to move. "Come on, turn over."

  I reluctantly turned over with my eyes closed and fortunately, my ding dong found a way to lean toward my body. Hopefully, and this was pure hope, she wouldn't touch me in a way that would make him move. The potential for a humiliating disaster was one touch away. It's true.

  "I didn't think about going to Dallas. You think I should?"

  "I know you should." She started at my feet and massaged my lower legs, slowly moving upward, pushing and squeezing my leg muscles, working the tension from my calves, moving toward my crotch. "Open your eyes."

  I opened my eyes to discover that all she was wearing was a pair of black, lacey panties. She was naked otherwise, her small, perky breasts exposed, her skin covered with tiny goosebumps. She reached for a bottle of oil, poured some in her hands, and rubbed it on my chest. I was absolutely dumbfounded. I felt paralyzed, like in a bizarre lucid dream, where things were dancing and spinning around me, and all I could do was observe. Once the scent of that oil reached my nose, my ding dong decided it was time to make his presence known. He stood at full attention, raising the sheet like a makeshift tent. She giggled a little, pulling the sheet from my legs, exposing the rest of my body.

  "Ummm." That's all I could muster to say. Absolutely ridiculous.

  "I know just the thing to make you relax." She slid her oily hands around my ding dong and electricity shot through my nerves, hitting my brain like a bolt of lightning. It had been so long since I felt the hands of a woman on my body. But something just wasn't right. I felt paranoia slip in, wondering if Marvin and his bum friends were outside the window, prodding my car for an unlocked door or window. I wondered if the police were nearby, waiting to bust in and apprehend the two of us. I thought about my kids and wondered what they were doing and if they were thinking of me. It was all just too much to take. It was driving me crazy. "You can touch my breasts, if you'd like."

  Right then and there I jumped up, hopped off the table, grabbed my clothes, and tried to dress myself as I ran out of the room. She yelled something to me, something like where are you going and you owe me this and you shouldn't leave like that. The Muppet-looking extraterrestrial dog was yipping and yapping all over the goddamn place in the next room. I could hear it scratching at the door of the room it was in, trying to get out to maul my ankles or some shit like that but I didn't care. I continued to get dressed so I could get out of there. I wasn't looking for a hooker. I just wanted to relax. It's true.

  "Hey! You can't leave. You owe me $120!"

  I reached into my pant pocket and pulled out all the cash I had, maybe $15 or so. I tossed it on the floor and was out the door, half-dressed, ultimately humiliated, ready to go. I hopped in my car and cranked the ignition. I slammed on the gas, tearing down the street, right at Marvin and all of his goddamn buddies. They saw me and ran for either side of the street. They were lucky because I was on a tear. I turned right on 7th Street and didn't look back. I drove away as fast as I could. I could hear Marvin, yelling at the top of his lungs.

  "Come back, John Mayer. Come fo' yo' smoke. It's the shit! Bill Murray?! Where ya goin'?"

  I watched Marvin in the rear-view mirror until he was a tiny brown speck. Then he was gone.

  9.

  Let me get one thing straight because I don't like to be misunderstood. There is absolutely nothing in this world that is worse than being misunderstood, misinterpreted, or judged. Here it is. Are you ready? I am not a prude. It's true. But I have to admit that there is nothing more startling than having a strange woman touch your ding dong. I mean, no one goes into a situation like getting a massage by a professional thinking they are going to have their private parts manhandled. I mean, it really sounds nice and all. It really does. But fantasy and reality are two different things altogether. All men fantasize about a goddamn thing like that, especially if you're a fucking pervert. I am not a pervert. It's true.

  I realized pretty quick that Snaggle must have been playing a trick on me, that sneaky bastard. Who does that kind of shit unless it's a prank? Really? And from a goddamn coworker? So either that goofy bastard was a real grade-A pervert or he was absolutely clueless. I thought about it for a while, really analyzed the hell out of it, figured things from left and right and from top to bottom. I didn't really know him all that well. Who really knows anybody when you think about it? But after overthinking it, maybe a bit too much, I decided that Snaggle must be fucking clueless. He was too goofy and awkward and naïve and snaggly to be a sneaky bastard. I was sure of it.

  I have to admit that the even though Jenny was a goddamn whore, she was absolutely right. I had to give her credit when credit was due, even for a hooker. I was going to have to go to Dallas and get my kids. There was no other way around it. I mean, when you're a concerned father like myself, and you love your goddamn kids with all of your heart, there is nothing more important than doing the right thing for your kids. It's true. Kids deserve that more than anything. Look at the goddamn world we live in now, filled with divorce and broken homes and absentee parents and runaway children and pregnant teens and deadbeat dads. It was all a goddamn mess. My only problem was figuring out exactly when I could get the time off from work to go all the way to Dallas. I mean, I just started my job and all. I probably didn’t have the time to take off being that I had absolutely no seniority and shit like that. But when something has to be done, you always find a way. It's true.

  When I got to work the next day, I had two things on my to-do list. 1) Figure out if I could get a couple of days off so I could drive my ass to Dallas and 2) start my next novel. All I had so far was months of preparation and a partially written sentence. Not good, not good. How can I claim to be a writer with THAT? It was a goddamn pathetic situation. You can't claim literary greatness to the world and not have anything to show for it. It's true. Well, that's not entirely true. I mean, I had a novel under my belt, The Rise and Fall of a Titan. What a turd! It was an absolute disaster, sorry to say. I was going to have to write a masterpiece to make up for that pile of dog shit.

  I walked into the office and had a strange feeling. Everybody was looking at me, really staring it up. Did they know? Were they judging me? Were they thinking, "What a goddamn pervert?" I didn't know for sure but something wasn't right. I saw Snaggle peeking from behind his cubicle, curious and shit. He watched me walk to my cube. That sneaky bastard. He knew what had happened to me. I just knew it. And I wasn't at my desk for more than 30 seconds when that goofy bastard appeared behind me. I turned around and glared at him, his hand plunging in his pocket giving his testicles a run for their money. He was a filthy bastard. The filthiest.

  "So?" he asked, juggling the change in his pocket, gazing at me with his bloodshot eyes, his teeth jutting between his chapped lips.

  "So what?"

  "Did you get a massage?"

  "Yes, I got a massage."

  "Was it good?" He was really talking it up, all goofy and awkward and snaggly. What a goof! "Did you enjoy it?"

  "Maybe." I think he was trying to get me to admit that I was as perverted as he was. I wasn't falling for that shit. It's true.

  "Well," he said, pausing for a second, gee-whizzing it like a country bumpkin. "I was just curious. I've never been to see her. I've always wanted to but I've never made an appointment."

  "What?" I was shocked, really. I could tell he was telling the truth. He was standing there like a little kid, like my kid Sammie. I could tell he had no idea that Jenny was a goddamn whore, standing there kicking his foot back and forth. It's true. "You've never been to see Jenny for
a massage?"

  "Nope."

  "Never?"

  "Nope. Never. I saw a stack of her business cards at the 7-11 when I was buying a Slurpee. Sounded nice, a massage. But I've never gone."

  "Oh." I realized right then and there that goofy bastard wasn't sneaky. He was absolutely fucking clueless, a real goddamn naïve doofus. It's true. I had him figured all wrong. Everyone makes mistakes and I just made a really big one.

  "Did you know that urine is drinkable in small amounts?"

  "No," I said, chuckling. "No, I didn't know that."

  "Did you know a trout's brain weighs .02 ounces?"

  "Uh."

  "Did you know..." I raised my hand, stopping the insanity. I had to start working on my novel and I wasn't going to do it with this goofy bastard asking me if I knew a bunch of goddamn nonsense. "Sorry."

  "I'll talk to you during my break."

  "OK." He skipped back to his cube, popping his headset on. What a goddamn dork! Or as good ol' Sammie would say, 'What a shmork!'

  I was really starting to miss good ol' Sammie and my cutie pie Jessica. I wondered if they missed me, thought of me. I hadn't seen them in a while and that was weighing on me something fierce. The idea of them living in Dallas with their mother killed me, absolutely killed me. I guess it made sense that their mother would want to move there being that her parents lived there too but that didn't make it right. I imagined her parents hated me now. Jessica had a way of exaggerating things and I imagined she made up some bullshit story about me and that I was a bad father and a bad husband and an absolute failure, spectacularly bad, and all. As much as I wanted to start writing my novel, I had just too much on my mind to do that. Life has a way of killing any creative energy you have with a bunch of bullshit. It's true.

  So, rather than work on my novel, I decided to send my supervisor Rod an email. If I was going to drive to Dallas to get my kids, then I had to do it sooner than later. Waiting any longer was going to be a big mistake. It's true. I put my thinking cap on and started writing an email. It went like this.

  To: Rod

  From: Simon

  Subject: Death in the Family

  Rod - Recently, my grandmother of 89 years passed away. She was like a mother to me. She helped to raise me and even paid for my college tuition. Can you believe that? As far as grandmothers go, she was the best, a real special person. In addition to being the best, she was also a saint. Really! Whenever the Christmas holidays came around, she used to buy homeless people hamburgers and shoes. Anyway, I think it's important that I attend her funeral. I know I haven't worked here very long and I probably don't have the vacation time to use but I would really appreciate it if I could have the time off to go. I'll work extra hours when I get back. I promise! Thank you. Simon

  Sometimes, and I mean sometimes, when you need to get your way, you have to lie. I'm sorry to say that but it's true. I mean, a little white lie never hurt anybody. But if you're going to lie to someone, it has to be pretty goddamn believable. And if you really need to make something happen, what better way to do it than to pull the "my grandma died" card. It was fool proof! No one ever questioned something like that. It's true. You'd have to be a pretty jaded and unsympathetic bastard to question someone when they told you their grandma just died. Would you question it? I didn't think so. But here's the thing. Once you pull that "my grandma died" card, you'd better be wary of ever pulling it again because people only have so many grandmas. It's not like you say "my grandma died" whenever you needed to take time off from work. People remember shit like that, unless you get a different job, which in theory, puts the "my grandma died" card back in your deck of excuses. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Rod had no idea that my grandma was healthy and alive and enjoying retirement with my grandfather. That was really none of his business. It's true.

  In a matter of seconds, Rod replied that it was OK for me to take off and that he was really sorry and all and that he felt bad for me because his grandma had passed away recently and that I wouldn't get paid while I was gone but that it was fine with him that I go and this and that and blah blah blah. It worked! What did I tell you? The "my grandma died" card worked like a charm. I popped my head up in my cube and saw Rod across the room, giving me the thumbs up. I returned the thumbs up with the satisfaction of knowing that I would be seeing my kids soon. I felt like celebrating! And what better way to celebrate while you're at work than taking a break? I needed a break. I was working too hard. It's true. I took myself out of the calling queue for a well-deserved break.

  I found a sweet spot outside in the great lawn separating my building from the Capitol building on a bench under a huge oak tree. It was a beautiful goddamn day, evident from all the other goddamn government workers strolling around the lawn or sitting under the trees or napping in the grass or doing anything but working, just like me. It was beautiful to see. I think people underestimate government workers. Many assume that the people working for the government are a slovenly group, not fulfilling their potential. But that is making the assumption that money is the only thing that matters in a career. I believe that government workers are a smart bunch, mainly because they value their time over money. It's true.

  I closed my eyes, feeling the cool breeze hitting my face, thinking about how soon I would see my children, when I heard a noise behind me. It was a very familiar sound, the sound of coins and keys and stuff. You know that sound? Of course you do.

  "Did you know that squirrels are very adept swimmers?" Snaggle said.

  I placed my weary head in my hands, shaking a negative but, goddamn it, he continued on.

  "Did you know an ostrich's eye is bigger than its brain?"

  "How did you find me?" I asked, annoyed.

  "Don't know. I just did."

  "Do you need something? Is Rod looking for me?"

  "No but he did tell me your grandma died and I wanted to say that I'm sorry. My grandma died last year." Oh shit, here we go again. Why is it that people feel the need to tell you about their goddamn relatives kicking the bucket whenever they find out one of your relatives kicked the bucket? How annoying! I mean, he didn't really know that my grandmother was still alive and I didn't really care that his grandma bought the farm and was hanging out with Jesus right now. It was just too much to take. It's true. "I miss her like you probably miss your grandma."

  "Mmm hmm."

  "It's OK to cry, if you want."

  "I don't want to cry."

  "Well, you can if you want to, if you change your mind." Snaggle sat his goofy ass next to me and that was the last thing I wanted him to do. Really. He smelled of peanut butter and donuts and Coca Cola, a real nightmare. I wanted to vomit. "I find crying to be very therapeutic. I think all men should express their emotions more."

  "Really?"

  "Yes," he said, turning his head to the sky, letting the sunlight warm his face. "Men are more complex than just testosterone and muscles and chivalry. To be a complete human being, one must have access to all of their mental and physical abilities as well as their full range of emotions."

  Holy shit! Did I misjudge this goofy bastard? This aw-shucks, silly, nerdy bastard just dropped some knowledge on me when I wasn't expecting it. He really did. Crazy! I always go back to what my grandfather and his buddies told me in situations like this. It's true.

  "Thanks. I appreciate that. I really do." Now I felt bad. Here I was letting on that my grandmother was dead and she was alive and kicking just like it was yesterday. I was feeling something awful. It's true.

  "When are you leaving for Dallas?" he asked.

  "Oh, probably Thursday. That way I have a long weekend to get up there and back for work Monday."

  "You know, if you need some company on your trip, I'm not doing anything this weekend. I'm never doing anything except playing video games or building computers. I have nothing better to do."

  "You want to go to my grandmother's funeral with me in Dallas?"

  "Sure." Unfucking believable. Really.
I barely knew Snaggle at all and here he was trying to invite himself on a trip to do something that wasn't going to happen. What a nut job.

  "Well, I don't know. It seems kind of strange."

  "I have lots of money saved up."

  "So?"

  "We could make a road trip out of it. Maybe do some stuff on the way. Turn a sad trip into a fun trip." As crazy as that sounded, he was really starting to wear me down and make some sense. I mean, he was starting to appear to be a lot sharper than he led on with all of his goofy trivia and incessant games of pocket pool and his snaggle teeth and his bad breath and all. And without Jason around, being that he lived in fucking Montgomery with his whore wife, and I didn't have any other friends around, it was nice having someone offer to hang out and be my copilot. I didn't know how to break it to him that my grandmother really hadn't kicked the bucket. But for that one moment, it really didn't seem to matter. It's true.

  "Let me think about it," I said.

  "Did you know that babies develop their finger nails in the uterus?" I started to laugh my fucking head off. I was laughing like a goddamn jackal, spitting and spatting all over myself.

  "For once, I did know that."

  "You let me know if I can tag along. I'll bring lots of soda."

  "What the heck. Sure."

  "Sweet!" He jumped up from the bench and danced a retarded jig, flailing his arms and legs about like a rooster who had his head chopped off. He looked like a mental patient hopped up on caffeine. It's true.

  "I have something I have to do tomorrow so I can leave on Thursday."

  "No problem. I have to get back to the call queue."

  "OK," I said, watching him skip back to our building. What a goofy bastard! But it really started to seem like a good idea, what, with it being a long trip to Dallas and all. Maybe having Snaggle along would help me. I could dictate some of my stories to him on the way. Maybe bounce some ideas for my novel off of him. We could complete some Mad Libs. It all seemed like such a fantastic idea. It's true.