Franky lounged in the DumDum Lounge nursing his drink, nursing his headache, and thinking about nurses. Nurses, sterile white-robed angels dispensing drugs and sponge baths, made him think of Nik.

Nikolina Stravinski was a Russian expatriate. She left when her father, physicist Feliks Stravinski, defected before the war to avoid the confiscation of his notes on antigravity. Once in America, Feliks, a true capitalist at heart, went into business for himself and reaped tremendous profits from the Stravinski effect. Nikolina, being Daddy’s Little Princess, was the recipient of this wealth when her father died. She spent most of her time bumming around the free world, smuggling more often than not. For the thrill of it, she said.

Franky first met Nik in Sydney when he was on tour with the Rabbid Rabbis, shortly before they blew themselves up in Bangkok. He’s let he backstage to meet the band and she was very appreciative. They’d been seeing each other off and on over the last few years. Nothing serious, just a tumble whenever they happened to meet.

She’d called him last week from Kashmir saying she really needed to see him. She wouldn’t say why. Probably wants me to hold some more shit for her, he thought.

Franky didn’t need any more problems; he had a lot as it was and his recent headache fixation had turned him into an aspirin addict. He was pale; his black lipstick and eyeliner accentuated the pallor. He sprawled across the confines of the booth, his shaved head against the shifting colors of the wall and his spurred boots on the table. ROWEL SCRATCHING THE WOOD.

His mirrored magnigoggles his his intense gaze, slowly scraping across the blue tabletop. It was smooth to the casual glance, but to Franky’s magnified vision it was pitted and gouged, scarred like the surface of the moon.

Franky was hypnotized again.

He saw himself at a party he had been to last month at Debra Smythe-Wingate’s mansion. She had been Nik’s lover but they’d broken up over Nik’s recurring heterosexuality and her involvement with Franky. Oddly enough, he and Deb had become friends.

Franky heard about the party on the news and had wondered at his lack of an invitation, so he crashed it. He had been at the bar only a moment when he was tapped on the shoulder.

Busted, he thought. He turned around and his eyes widened as he took in the tuxedoed megalith of a bouncer before him. He tried not to panic. “It’s cool. I’m leaving.”

“That won’t be necessary, sir,” the big man said in a gentle voice incongruous with his appearance. “The mistress wishes to see you. Follow me, please.” The giant turned and walked away, the crowd gave him plenty of room. Franky followed.

They went to the second floor and down a long hallway the end of which were ornately carved doors of teak inlaid with platinum. The mountain knocked and led him in.

“Mr. Bach, m’lady,” he said to the tall redhead on the balcony. He left, closing the door behind him.

“Franky!” the woman squealed, turning around. Her face was leonine, an effect intensified by the mane of red hair. Her green eyes had a subtle epicanthic fold and she had a way of blinking them slowly in a way that drove men, and women, mad with passion. her hair had been jet black spikes the last time he had seen her.

She walked to him with long, graceful strides, the slits up the sides of her metallic evening gown revealing tanned leg with each step. Franky expected a peck and was surprised when her tongue slipped between his lips. He recovered quickly, however, and returned the gesture in earnest. He had his hands on her back and was just bout to move then down TO HER FABULOUS ASS when she pulled away.

“Long time, no see,” she said after a deep breath.

“You’re looking good, Deb. Or should I say m’lady?”

“Oh, pleeeease,” she said. “Let’s go out on the balcony. It’s such a beautiful night.” He followed her outside.

It was a beautiful night. The moon hung low and orange in a cloudless sky. Deb lived in the Hills, a posh neighborhood on the outskirts of town. The houses were mostly underground and Franky saw nothing but forest down to the brightly lit city.

“Let’s sit,” she said as she swung up and sat on the stone railing in one fluid movement. She kicked her bare feet back and forth over the abyss. “Hop up.”

He did, although less gracefully than she. He looked down to see that the balcony was built into a small cliff and the ground was a few hundred feet below. They sat for a minute listening to the night until Franky broke the silence.

“So what about this m’lady business?’

She looked at him and theatrically wiped a nonexistent tear from her eye. “It’s a pretty tragic story, actually. I was in Europe last year and married a duke. He got his Dukedom and I got unlimited credit, a butler, and a small Caribbean island I’ve never even been to. You want it?”

“Want what?

“The island. Do you want it? I don’t and I think you might need a place to get away from it all.”

“What do you mean?’

“Have you talked to Nik recently?”

“No.”

“Well, I was in Houston last week and got picked up by Interpol. They had questions about Nik. Our affair was pretty public, you know. Apparently she’s mixed up with some kind of terrorist group, The Friends of JFK, and they pissed of the wrong people.”

“What happened?”

“They nuked Dallas. The Texas president put out a $500K bounty for each one delivered. Dead or alive, of course.”

“How wild west,” Franky commented.

“Quite. Interpol had an inside man that was snuffed just before the operation. He had already fingered Nik and a few others.”

“The fuzz told you all this?”

“I’ve got resources of my own.”

“Shit.” Franky said eloquently. “I told her this would happen if she kept srewing around like that. She told me to fuck off.”

“Yeah, she was always stubborn.” Deb held out a ring.

“What’s that?”

“The royal seal of the Isle od Driscoll, your island. Hold out your right hand.” Franky complied and she slipped it in his ring finger. “I now pronounce thee Duke Regent of the Isle od Driscoll. Long live the King!”

Franky laughed. How about a celebratory drink, m’lady?’

“I’d love one, m’lord.”

Her head exploded all over him.

Franky sat up with a start and pulled off his goggles with shaking hands. Bits and pieces came back to him. The body, the fuzz, the questions, the funeral. I must’ve blocked it all out, he thought. Repression. He remembered missing about a week, but that happened all the time and he’d thought nothing about it. He looked at his hands. The ring! He’d been wearing it since that night and hadn’t even noticed.

Still shaking, he popped a handful of aspirin and washed it down with the remainder of his drink. He punched his credit number into the drinkbox and ordered a Tequila Sunrise. A moment later the dinkbox buzzed and the drink slid out. He downed it in one gulp. Where is that bitch? he wondered just as Nik walked in.

she glided across the floor, her spike heels silent on the carpeted floor. Her blond hair was in a ponytail, pulled back from her face. Slate gray eyes darted around the room and she kept looking behind her as if followed or pursued. She walked up to Franky’s booth and stood there, her long, lean model’s body wrapped in a minidress of tight white plastic.

“Have a seat,” Franky said, vaguely waving his hand. “Long time, no see.”

She sat across from him. “You look like hell, Franky. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Great.”

“I’m so glad. Franky, I’ve got to talk to you about something important.” Nik kept her hands under the table and wouldn’t look at him. Franky sighed and decided to finish the game.

“You killed her.” He was simply stating a fact. “And now it’s my turn.”

“I’m sorry, Franky. They made me.” She sounded sincere.

The nanosecond before Nik pulled the trigger Franky turned her off. He reached into her head with long mental lips and sucked out her mind. Her eyes dimmed and Franky rubbed his temples as his head began to throb mercilessly. Reaching again for his bottle of bliss, Franky took another handful of aspirin, dry.

“May I help you, sir?” The lady behind the airport counter asked.

“I’d like a seat on the next flight to the Caribbean,” Franky said, toying with his ring.

The love of my life brought home an old table and chair that belonged to her Grandmother, God rest her soul. My beautiful wife’s mother had been storing them in the shed out back.

I forgot to take “before” pictures of the table but here it is after taking it apart, sanding, and reassembly:

And here it is after stain (Golden Oak) and a couple of clear coats:

I actually remembered to take pics of the chair before:

I took it apart (most of the screws were painted in and stripped and I bought a stripped screw kit to remove them – a few had to be drilled out), sanded it, and reassembled it with a rubber mallet and manly strength (and new screws). More Golden Oak and a coat of clear and here it is:

Edward stood shivering outside the apartment, finishing his cigarette and admiring the Christmas lights and spray-can frost in the windows of the buildings across the parking lot. It was cold but he didn’t want to go inside and face April with the news just yet. It was cold out here but she could be even colder.

He hoped, as he did every evening, that when he walked in she’d be at the canvas, long blond hair pulled out of harms way in a sloppy bun, working on something with the fire and intensity that had made him love her in the first place. He doubted it. April had hardly painted since her One Woman Show last spring. “Amateur” and “puerile” were only two of the confidence-shattering words one critic had used.

Edward flicked his cigarette into the parking lot and went inside. April was at the canvas but there was nothing on it but a few black squares and a red triangle. It was painting, at least, even if not a painting. She had her headphones on and hadn’t heard him come in. Edward hung his coat, got a beer from the fridge, and sat on the couch. He turned on the TV and hunted for a cable show about Hawaii or anywhere sunny and warm.

April heard the TV between songs but waited until the end of the CD to take off her headphones. She sat on the arm of the couch and put a hand on Edward’s shoulder.

“How was your day?” she asked.

“Long.”

“You want something to eat?”

“No thanks.” He nodded at the canvas. “What do you call it?”

“Absolutely nothing.” It was an assessment, not a title. She took a swig of Edward’s beer, the pecked him on the cheek. “I’m going to bed. Love ya.”

It brought a smile to Edward’s face every time she said she loved him. This time, though, it faded quickly. He grabbed her hand to stop her from getting up. “We need to talk.”

His tone as much as his grip stopped her. “What about?”

“I’m working tomorrow.”

“I figured you would. Do you think they’ll let you go early?”

“Some people will… but I’m working a double.”

“A double! On Christmas Eve? Why do they need someone on Christmas Eve?’

“To answer phones until corporate closes. Nine p.m. California time.”

“Eleven! They can’t make you do that. No one will even call.”

“They’re not making me. I volunteered.” Edward tried to look apologetic and gave a little shrug as if to say, I couldn’t help it.

April squeezed his hand. She was very angry. “You volunteered? To work Christmas Eve? When we have plans to go to Mom and Dad’s so we can spend Christmas morning at Grandma’s? Why would you do that?”

She tried to pull loose but Edward didn’t let go. He almost stood but didn’t want things to get more confrontational than they already were. “It’s double-time, honey, and if we’re going to Hawaii for my birthday then we need to get tickets and make reservations as soon as possible. Plus we need money to spend while we’re there.”

April knew it was useless but tried anyway. “Maybe we could go for your next birthday.”

“No!” he said louder than he intended. He lowered his voice. “We’ve had this discussion before. Craig and I promised each other we would go to paradise together before we turned thirty. Ever since he died I’ve planned on going for both of us but kept putting it off, figuring there was plenty of time. Now there’s no time left. I’m working and that’s it.”

“Fine.” April jerked free of his hand and ran to the bedroom, slamming and locking the door behind her.

Edward leaned back and closed his eyes. It had gone worse than he’d hoped but about as well as he’d expected. He picked up the remote and started channel surfing again, figuring April would be in there for hours going through her anger ritual of trying on different combinations of clothes, shoes, and makeup until she calmed down.

April had a different ritual to go through tonight and she doubted it would calm her any. She took the box out of the makeup bag she had hidden beneath an untidy pile of towels under the bathroom sink. She felt like she knew the instructions by heart but followed them step by step until there was nothing to do but wait. This was the third test in five days and if it was positive like the others then she was going to march right out there and tell Edward.

‘Do I have the right to do this to him?” she thought. “He’s a good man and will do everything possible for this child, but will he be happy? Will we be happy?

She knew Edward would act happy, even if he wasn’t. She didn’t know if she’d be able to tell the difference. She paced back and forth while her thoughts went in circles. Finally, mercifully, her watch beeped and she could check the results.

Pregnant.

That settled it. April took a deep breath and went out to tell the new father the good news.

Edward was asleep on the couch with a Hawaii travelogue on the TV and a smile on his face. This news might break his heart and would definitely break his promise. Could she do it? April realized there was another option she hadn’t allowed herself to think about until now and that, really, nothing was settled. She turned off the TV and lights and went to bed sure she wouldn’t get any sleep. She finally did fall asleep and had the most important dream of her life.

April was still asleep when Edward woke up. He shuffled into the bathroom, glad that April had unlocked the bedroom door. At least it’s casual day, he thought as he pulled on a pair of jeans. He kissed her cheek on his way out and she answered with a mumbled “Bye.”

Pulling a double makes for long day and even more so on Christmas Eve. Edward did his usual work then sat at the reception station reading magazines after everyone left. April was right – the phone didn’t ring once. She was right about more than that, he decided. They could go to Hawaii next year or the year after or whenever. Craig would probably have called him a fucking idiot for acting the way he had. Edward sped home to apologize.

The apartment was dark and Edward figured April was still too pissed off to wait up for him, even on Christmas Eve. He stepped in and turned on the light and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the fact that the walls were a different color.

Green.

No, not just green, he saw. Different greens. And blues, reds, purples, oranges, and browns. Almost every color he had ever seen and some he hadn’t. It was a jungle on every wall. There were trees, vines, leaves, flowers, birds, and bushes. He stood there, hypnotized by the explosions of color and realized there was no furniture in the room and April was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the empty floor, watching him and smiling.

“Close the door,” she said. “It’s cold.”

Edward closed to door and on the wall behind it was an erupting volcano. Smoke billowed from the caldera and lava flowed down the sides in colors so vivid he could almost feel the heat.

“What’s all this?” he asked as he sat on the floor beside her.

April kissed him. “I can paint! Merry Christmas. Now behold the masterpiece.”

On the wall in front of them was a painting so vivid it was like looking at a life-sized photo. Palm trees framed an idyllic panorama straight out of his dreams. The sky was a bright blue above a slightly darker blue ocean and the foamy whitecaps of breaking waves. A triple-masted schooner was anchored on the horizon. A couple stood on the glittering beach with their backs to the room, each holding a hand of the child between them.

Edward stood and stepped over to get a closer look. The woman’s blond hair hung to her grass skirt and her face was slightly turned towards the man. It was April’s profile. The man’s right arm was raised, pointing at the ship, and Edward could see the faint line running from elbow to wrist.

“That’s my scar,” he said.

April’s arms encircled him from behind. “It’s us,” she said softly.

He pointed at the child on the wall. “But we don’t have a…” He turned to face April and saw tears in her eyes.

“Merry Christmas again,” she said with a small smile. “I’m pregnant.”

“Pregnant?” Edward looked at her for a moment, then laughed and picked her up in a hug.

“Pregnant!” He set her back on her feet but continued to hold her as tightly as he dared.

“I don’t think we’ll be able to go to paradise before your birthday,” she whispered.

Edward felt her tense and his voice cracked with love for her. “We don’t have to go anywhere, my love. This is paradise.”

The light spilling from the windows of the house glittered on the beer cans and bottles littering the front yard. Cars were parked in a seemingly unbroken line on both sides of the street, choking the steady flow of traffic searching for parking spaces of their own. Grant made his way slowly through the crowd of teenagers adding their own litter to that already in the yard, slapping skin, punching shoulders, and giving hey nods in greeting. He carried the two remaining cans of a six pack of Schaefer by the plastic ring, had a bottle of Michelob in the left pocket of his letter jacket, and a pint of peach Mad Dog in the right. The crowd thickened by the front door and Grant squeezed through to the two enormous football players, linemen, collecting a cover charge at the door.
“Hey, man, you gonna make pay?” Grant asked one of the brutes.
“Hell no, man, I wouldn’t make you pay. I am kinda thirsty, though.”
“You seen Karen?” Grant asked as the big guy nearly ripped the top off the Schaefer Grant gave him.
The gorilla emptied the can, crumpled it in his fist, and threw it into the yard. “Nope.”
Grant plunged into the mob inside and slowly made his way over to a group of people hunched around he coffee table playing Quarters.
“Grant, man, what’s going on?” Chuck asked from his chair.
“Not much Chuck. You seen Karen?”
“Uh-uh. Hey, sit here while I go to the john.”
“OK. Hurry up.”
Grant sat in the chair looking around for Karen. He finished the last Schaefer and set the can precariously on top of the pile next to him.The structure fell over, making a sound not unlike a high speed car wreck. Nobody seemed to notice, so Grant ignored it as well.
The hulk taking money at the front door walked up. “Hey Grant, Sharon’s here.”
“Who?”
“Sharon! Weren’t you looking for Sharon?”
“Karen, dipshit, I’m looking for Karen.”
“Ah. Sorry.”
Grant hoped Karen wasn’t mad at him for not taking her out last night, but he wanted to get high with his friends. He was starting to feel stifled but he didn’t want to give her up for good. She could be a stubborn bitch sometimes and she would probably stay home tonight just to make him mad. He’s left a couple of messages on her answering machine but she hadn’t called him back.
“Grant, can I have my chair back and where’s Karen?”
“Who cares!” Grant jumped out of the chair, knocking over more beers. He went over to the phone and dialed Karen’s number. He let it ring twenty times before giving up. Grant slammed the phone down and turned around to leave. Karen was standing so close behind him he almost knocked her down.
“Where have you been?” Grant yelled.
“I was looking for you,” Karen replied innocently.
“Bullshit! I asked everyone if you were here, and they all said no!”
“Well, I was here. What do you care anyway? You wouldn’t even take me out last night. All you want to do is chase pussy with your football friends.”
“I knew you were pissed off about that. And we weren’t chasing pussy. We sat around and watched TV.”
Grant walked off with Karen close behind.
“Grant, wait.”
Grant spun around and grabbed Karen’s arm, taking her into a bedroom and closing the door. He threw her down on the bed and paced around the room.
“Karen, the reason I didn’t take you out last night is because I’m bored. We do the same things every time we go out and I’m getting bored with it.”
“Well, what makes you think I’m not bored?” She looked and sounded like she was about to cry.
“Are you bored?” Grant asked, pacing.
“No.”
“Then don’t be stupid!” Grant was relieved to see that someone had stashed some beers in here earlier. They were still cold and he opened one, taking a long slow drink of courage.
“We’ve been dating for six months, that’s a pretty long time.”
“Six months isn’t very long at all.” Karen’s eyes were filling with tears.
Grant burped. “Maybe it’s not long but it’s a long time for me. Anyway that’s not the point.”
“You brought it up.” Karen started crying.
Grant was starting to feel bad. “I know it’s my fault. Stop crying.”
Someone started banging on the door. “Hey, who’s in there?”
“What do you want?” Grant yelled at the door.
“That’s my parents’ bedroom!”
“Chuck, it’s me, Grant. Everything’s cool.”
Grant stepped toward the bathroom. “Don’t walk out, Karen. OK?”
“OK.” Karen quit crying and got a beer. Grant came out of the bathroom, got a beer, and sat down beside her.
“Look, Karen, I don’t want to stop seeing you but you’re being too possessive.”
“I’m not possessive. You can’t handle commitment.”
“What do you think I’ve been for the last six months if not committed? Shit, Karen, if I even talked to another girl you get mad and don’t talk to me, so I quit talking to other girls. If I go mess around with my friends you say I’m out chasing pussy, so I quit going out with my friends. All I do is hang around with you all the time.”
“I thought you like to hang around me all the time.” Apparently Karen wasn’t going to let Grant see her cry anymore.
“I used to, but it’s booooring.” Grant opened another beer.
“Does that mean that you want to stop seeing me?”
“No, that’s not what it means.” Grant burped again. He took a long pull on his beer, finishing it. When he looked at Karen there were two of her.
“Then what does it mean?”
“It means…” Grant trailed off as his alcohol-soaked brain began wrapping up for the night.
“It means what, Grant?”
“Be quiet for a sec, OK?” He laid back and closed his eyes.
“It means you still love me?”
“Mmmm.”
“I love you too,” she said solemnly and covered him with a jacket as he slipped into unconsciousness.

In Guy DeMaupassant’s 19th century morality tale, The Necklace, Mathilde Loisel starts out melancholy and wistful, married to a clerk in the Department of Education, daydreaming about wealth and greatness. Beautiful and smart, but born into a middle-class family, married to a middle-class man, and living a middle-class life, she feels cheated. 150 years before social media, “She burned with the desire to please, to be envied, to be attractive and sought after.” Mathilde suffers from the common delusion that receiving the love of others will make us love ourselves when it’s actually the other way around – love yourself and others will love you. When we accept ourselves, when we have the confidence to be who and what we are, love and admiration pour into our lives.

Mathilde is unhappy with her lot in life. “She suffered constantly, feeling herself destined for all delicacies and luxuries.” She lives in Paris, Paris!, but she wants to live in a palace. She has a servant, but Mathilde neglects her own part of the housework while daydreaming of being wealthy. She and her husband sit down to eat dinner at a table “covered with a cloth that had not been washed for three days.” Loisel is excited by the pot au fue – a dish of boiled beef and vegetables that some say is the quintessence of French family fare, but she wants “delicate foods served in delicate dishes.” Mathilde has a rich friend from convent school whom she won’t visit because it makes her miserable. “She would weep for the entire day afterward with sorrow, despair, regret, and misery.” The devil on my shoulder is named Entitlement and I have to be on constant guard against its soft and conniving, but oh so convincing, whispers.

In addition to Mathilde’s unhappiness with her socioeconomic status, she is vain. Loisel finagles invitations to an important party and Mathilde insists on getting a new dress – “There’s nothing more humiliating than to look ragged in the middle of rich women.” Her husband buys her a $400 dress (money Loisel was saving to buy a shotgun so he could go hunting with his buddies), and Mathilde complains that she has no jewelry. “I’m going to look impoverished. I’d almost rather not go to the party.” Loisel, a problem-solver like most men, suggests that she borrow something from her rich friend. She agrees and paws through the gracious Mme. Forestier’s jewelry with no success until she finds a beautiful diamond necklace.

Ay the party, Mathilde is finally in her element, “she danced madly, ecstatically, drunk with pleasure, with no thought for anything.” Finally, at the end of the party, Mathilde’s vanity is shown once more when Loisel gives her a shabby shawl to wear home. “She felt it and hurried away to avoid being noticed by the other women, who luxuriated rich furs.” I thought the they were going to catch the flu and die and that would be the lesson but no, they make it home only to discover that the necklace is gone. They retrace their steps and look everywhere they can think of but can’t find it. Well shit.

There’s no way Mathilde can face her friend and admit what happened so they search the city again, this time for a replacement. They finally find an almost exact duplicate but it is SPENDY. Loisel borrows a shit-ton of money from loan sharks, forfeiting his future, to buy the necklace so Mathilde can pass it off as the original to her friend. It works and her friend is none the wiser.

Now, faced with the reality of loan-shark debt, Mathilde switches gears. To pay back the money Loisel borrowed, she puts aside her dreams of wealth and fame and gets to work. “She learned to do heavy housework, dirty kitchen jobs. She washed the dishes, wearing away her manicured fingernails…” She not only works hard to earn money but puts forth as much effort to save what she’s earned, “…she went to the fruit dealer, the grocer, the butcher,…haggling, insulting, defending her measly cash penny by penny.”

It takes a decade to pay off the debt, and Mathilde is beaten down by the end of it. She sees Mme. Forestier at the park one day and her old friend doesn’t even recognize her. Mathilde tells her the whole sad story and her friend, horrified, drops the bomb that the lost necklace was a fake, worth about a tenth of the replacement and that’s where the story ends.

DeMaupassant develops Mathilde into a very complex character. She displays different qualities in dealing with different situations. Her unhappiness is shown in her daydreams and lack of concern about the household. Her vanity is displayed by her demands for the party and her desire to appear equal to the rich women. Her heroism is proven by her willingness to work hard and make great personal sacrifices to pay off her debts. Although her negative attributes got her into trouble, her heroism in paying her debts make Mathilde truly admirable.

I sat in the dark light of the hot tub and thought about all that I’d had and all that I’d lost. It was a Texas February, and while not as cold as the rest of the country, it was cold enough to make the hot tub and a few beers a welcome refreshment. A big, brown cockroach stepped onto the tile beside my hand and I recoiled instinctively. My move didn’t seem to bother her (most of the cockroaches you see are female – the males just follow them around trying to mate, then dying, and the females roam far and wide looking for the best place to lay their eggs) and she sat there with her antennae waving, evaluating the situation. Elizabeth did the same thing before finally going out with me. She didn’t have antenna but she took a long time evaluating the situation and evaluating me. I asked her out three times before she finally agreed.

The first time I asked her out it was just “No.”

The second time, she at least gave me the courtesy of lying, “I’m busy.”

Third time’s the charm and she said, “You don’t want to get involved with me.”

“Really? Why not?” I did want to get involved with her. She busted me checking her out, once. I sat with a view of the trip she made back to Reception every day after handing out memos and mail, and I would watch that ass and those long legs walk away. I was ogling her one day and she turned suddenly and caught me looking. She gave me a wicked grin and we both knew she caught me in more ways than one.

“Because I’m involved with someone very important here at work,” she said quietly.

Whatever. He was a call center manager, not someone “very important”. He was my boss, and hers, sure, but he wasn’t in the C-suite or anything. She was being all circumspect like it was some kind of big secret that she was fucking the boss – the married boss. Everyone in the office knew.

“I’m just asking you to go to a movie, not get married.”

She looked nervous and actually turned around to see if anyone was watching us talk. She was paranoid and she worried that this was a trap. Worried that the boss sent me to see if she’d go out with someone else so he could make her pay for it later. As if blowjobs in the storeroom and fucking in the car weren’t already payment enough. She finished her big, dramatic look around and faced me with gallows eyes.

“Okay,” she whispered.

“Don’t you want a goodnight kiss?” she asked me as I was waling out her apartment door.

She’d been asking me for the last two hours if I wanted to spend the night. After we got back from dinner, after the movie, we sat on her couch and talked. She wore khaki capris, mule penny loafers, and a white button-down with the tails tied at the waist but not showing any skin because she felt fat (a year earlier she lived on one yogurt a day and barely had the energy to crawl out of bed to get it. She slept eighteen hours a day and masturbated the other six.) She did have a belly but not much of one, especially for a woman with two kids. I thought she was too skinny. Snow said she had an ass like a hatbox.

“Do you want to spend the night?” she asked as we sat on the couch.

“Do you want to fuck?”

She laughed. “Seriously, do you want to spend the night?”

“Seriously, do you want to fuck?” I wasn’t actually serious. We weren’t going to have sex and I knew it and I just wanted to go home and get some sleep.

She looked at me for a moment as if considering it. “No.”

“Then I’m not spending the night.”

She’d slipped off the mules and sat cross-legged beside me. Her fingers, lips, and toes were all the same shade of burgundy. Her camel-toe was khaki.

She had little TV with no cable and no antenna so the TV was off and we took a sex quiz from an old Cosmo she had. I didn’t pass that test and after too many questions about spending the night and an equal number of fuck denials, I was ready to split. It was Christmas Eve and it was late and I had to be at my parents’ at nine the next morning for Christmas. I said as much and was congratulating myself on how well the date went when she stopped me at the door and asked if I wanted a goodnight kiss.

Well, hell yes I do! Kissing hadn’t been part of the conversation. It had all been about spending the night or fucking. A goodnight kiss was a different matter and Snow would think it was so COOL that I’d kissed Elizabeth. Hatbox ass or not, he’d be jealous.

I turned around in the doorway and she ate me alive. Elizabeth attacked me with her tongue, her lips, her hands, and her feet. She pushed me against the wall and kissed me like D-Day. I gave back all I got and more with handfuls of ass, leg, breasts, and hair. We had to pull apart periodically to catch our breathing she would give me a weird look before pouncing again. She was like a predator with prey, checking to see if I was dead yet because it was taking longer than usual.

We spooned on our first Christmas Eve, must as His parents must have on theirs. I hope that relationship went better than ours. Elizabeth set an alarm so I could make it to my parents’ for Christmas and told me later that she was disappointed I didn’t invite her along.

Elizabeth believed that who you were with and what you were doing with them on New Year’s Eve would carry on throughout the year. She was right about us, at least. I ate her pussy until she screamed my name and she sucked my dick until I screamed hers. We fucked for the first few hours of the new year and that pretty much set the stage for the next twelve months and I thought it would last forever.

It lasted thirteen month and thirteen days.

Towards the end of us she asked about my plans for the future and how they related to her. She asked if I’d be willing to live in a pool house behind the big house where she and her rich husband would live and she could fuck me on the side. I thought she was just making conversation.

She was not.

Elizabeth married a very rich, very old man that she’d had a thing with when she was thirteen, she told me over the phone when she finally answered my calls. I didn’t move into the pool house.

So I sat in the dark light of the hot tub and thought about all that I’d had and all that I’d lost, all that she’d taken away. Suddenly, in a drunken rage of self-pity, before I could think about what I was doing, I grabbed the cockroach, popped it into my mouth, and bit down. The wiggling crunch turned my stomach and I gagged, but held my hand over my mouth, forcing myself to chew. I cried as I tried to swallow, half-puked, then fully swallowed the bitter results of bad decisions.

Long time, no post! i got a full time job and, once again, ignored the blog. Anyway, I was on the couch last Friday night, wasting time on the internet, when a rat comes walking into the room like it owns the place. There was jumping and screaming on our side, and scurrying on its side and now it’s disappeared under the dishwasher. Actually disappeared – it crawled in there but is not in there now even though there is no way out. Fucking rat.

I installed some walls in the cabinet as a result.

Per almanac.com, the term “on the wagon” first came into use at the turn of the 20th century, when someone who gave up drinking alcohol was said to be “on the water cart”, meaning that he was using the services of horse-drawn water vendors instead of imbibing at the local saloon. By 1904, it had become “on the water wagon”, then shortened to “on the wagon” with the same intended meaning.

Yesterday marked six months since I had my last drink of alcohol!

The numerous benefits of sobriety have been listed elsewhere ad nauseam: improved sleep, clearer thinking, a better attitude, etc., but what I never saw mentioned was the cumulative effect of these improvements and let me tell you, brothers and sisters, THAT is the greatest improvement of all.

Getting a good night’s sleep and waking up refreshed and rested can only be truly appreciated by those of us who have awakened with a skull crushing, stomach churning, absolutely BRUTAL hangover, most likely on multiple mornings and probably on multiple mornings in a row. 

For a long time, my first thought on waking was, “Well shit, I lived.” Not a great attitude with which to start the day! Then crawl out of bed like a corpse out of a coffin and shuffle to the bathroom to piss brown and check for cuts and bruises. Make coffee while I tried to piece together the scattered and tattered memories of the previous evening. I don’t necessarily bounce out of bed every morning these days, raring to go, but I can at least think about the day ahead instead of the night before.

Hating everyone and everything, but mostly hating myself, and gutting out the next forever until I was finally able to get that first, lovely, glorious drink and start the crazy shit all over again. Now I can love others since I’m not spending so much energy hating myself.

Each of these things is a blessing in itself, but, in total, add up to so much more than the sum of the parts that the difference is like night and day.

I’m a different man than I was six months ago, a better man. I have more patience and less anger. More love and less hate. More understanding and less judgment.

It’s a long road, this life, and not always smooth, but it’s a pretty nice ride up here on the water wagon.