Timmy saw himself floating at the bottom of a glass. He had a handful of grease in his hair and he sat towards the end of the bar with a glum look on his face.
His dismal state of mind had nothing to do with Terry…in fact, he was puzzled as to why thoughts of her warm body pressing up against his did not cheer him up. Those thoughts were definitely running through his head, but they were squelched by images of switch-blade knifes and motorbikes that made him depressed and hurt his tender feelings. Terry had only known him for one night and already she had told him, at least four times, that he needed to grow some thicker skin. He knew, deep down in his heart of hearts that the advice was sound, but he also knew that he liked to mope and wallow in his depression too much to do anything about it.
“Aw. Fuck…” he said, downing another huge swig of his cheap-ass Milwaukee’s Best beer. “I know what the problem is. I’m just a juvenile product of the working class.”
“Who you talkin’ to, greaser?” The bartender seemed a little confused, but he also exuded the air of a man who was used to his customers talking to themselves.
“I sure as hell ain’t talkin’ to you, you old bastard!”
“Who are you callin’ an old bastard, you half-drunk son-of-a-bitch?”
“I only see one of you behind that bar, and there’s only one bastard in the whole joint, so I guess that means I AM talking to you after all.”
“What makes you think I want to listen to the problems of a man who can’t afford to drink anything better than the Beast? In a bar, no less?”
“I don’t care if you listen to me or not, you self-righteous piece of shit. I didn’t ask you to. I’m perfectly capable of keeping my own self company.”
“Well I sure do feel sorry for you, because the company you’re keeping is a goat fucking asshole.”
“That’s as may be, but will you still feel the same when I pull out my gun and point it in your face?”
“Boy, you pull a gun on me and I’ll rip your fuckin’ head right off your shoulders and use it for a bowling ball. Don’t you threaten me, you lazy, no account…”…he cut off, not able to think of any profanity laced slurs he hadn’t already used.
“Then I guess it’s a good thing I don’t have a gun, doe, ain’t it?”
“What is this shit you’re talkin’ anyway, Timmy?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Fred. It’s Saturday night and I just felt like fighting.” He replied. “You’ve seen me, sitting here all night nursing this Milwaukee’s Best like it was milk from my own mother’s left tit. I swear to you that I am just about as oiled as a diesel train right now, and so far there has been no action to get in.”
“That’s true, old salt.” Fred said, scratching his head. “Slow night. It always is when ZZ Top is in town.”
“ZZ Top’s in town?” Timmy said with acute disappointment apparent in his voice.
“You’re goddamn right, they’re in town. Billy Gibbons even stopped in to have a few Lone Stars and shoot a few rounds of pool. He had this huge glob of tobacco juice all in his beard but I was too scared to tell him about it. Or maybe I just didn’t have the heart? I don’t know…I’ve never been good at dealing with these spoiled rock stars.”
“Oh, Fred, that’s to be expected. After all, he had you under pressure, showing up out of the clear blue sky like that.”
“I guess you’ve got a point there. But damn, the same thing happened last month when Geddy Lee walked through those very doors. I flat out laughed in his face, no reason, just busted out laughing.”
“Now there’s no excuse for that, Freddy Boy” said Timmy, incredulously. “Them Canucks will eat you for lunch.”
“Don’t I know it.”
“I guess that proves it. You got shit for brains.”
“Fuck you, Walrus. I’ll make you eat shit.”
“Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!”
“Goddamn, I love that word!”
With that Timmy decided he’d had just about as much “Freddy” as he could stand. The fellar was a good shoulder to cry on when things got tough, but tolerating him when things started looking up was no easy task.
He walked out the back door, whipping out his cell phone like it was an American Express Gold Card in a stripper club. Dialing the numbers he felt the cold rain drip down his face and no small degree of satisfaction that if Terry were to show up there and then the raindrops would disguise the tears. He’d been crying from the moment he stepped into the alley. He’d seen a homeless man lying in a puddle of his own vomit and felt sorry for him. That was when the dam broke and the tears began to fall. But he knew Terry would think he was bawling for her, so he was glad for the rain. Not that there was any reason he should have been bawling for her, but you know how some gals are. Always convinced that they’re worth crying over.
When Terry answered his call it was all he could do to choke back the despair in his voice.
“Hello?”
“Uhhh, yeah, babe. I was just calling to see if you got to the house alright. The moving men were there all day and I think everything is accounted for. Have you looked around yet? Is anything missing?”
“Oh, hey, that’s real nice of you to call. Yeah, I think it’s all here.” She said. “No, wait. There IS something missing. I’ve got this huge jar of pickles that my mom gave me just before she died. I never broke the seal on it, baby. Those gherkins are aged to perfection, I was hoping to break ‘em out on our fourth anniversary. I don’t see ‘em anywhere! What am I going to do?”
“Don’t worry ‘bout a thing, baby,” he said. “Pickles is one thing...”
She waited for him to complete the sentence, but apparently he had said all he had to say.
“Oooookkaaaayy,” she said, by this point confused. She would soon learn that Timmy had a way with confusion that she found alternately frustrating and loveable. “So what are we going to do about the pickles, then?”
“Well, the way I see it,” Timmy began, “we’ve got a few choices. Number one, we can go to the store and buy a new jar. But, then, they would not be nearly as old as the ones you lost…”
”Oh, I didn’t lose ‘em,” said Terry, anger quaking in her voice. “It was those goddamn motherfuckers on that moving crew. I’ll stake my life on it.”
Timmy wasn’t disturbed in the least by this logical observation, although he did silently make a compact with himself that, not only would he no longer do business with this particular moving company, he would, if the opportunity ever presented itself, beat the living shit out of anyone who worked for them. He never trusted people who got paid to do something he could do himself, if only he had a truck large enough.
“Number two,” he said, not hesitating. “We can buy a jar of dills, sit ‘em on a shelf, then wait for our 10th anniversary.”
At this point the realization dawned upon her that they were already talking about anniversaries. Not only had they never discussed marriage, they had only been together for a day or two. “What the fuck am I thinking?” she asked herself. “Either I am a fool in love or I’m one of the biggest, most naïve hepcats in the civilized world.
She settled on the former (although she rather liked the idea of being a hepcat, naïve or otherwise). Love is a funny thing, she understood instinctively, and there’s really nothing more satisfying to a young woman than a hunka hunka burnin’ love.
“I don’t like that idea, either, Chief. I was thinkin’ that 4th anniversary was going to be the special one.”
“Okay,’ Timmy persisted. “Option number three, and I hope you like it, cuz it’s all I got. Number three: fuck the pickles. Just forget ‘em. We can find something else to eat on our fourth. Maybe I’ll take you to McDonald’s, order you a quarter pounder with cheese, EXTRA PICKLES!”
“Yeah, baby dog!” she yelped with the excitement of a young teenage girl who has just been given permission to raid her parents liquor cabinet. “That’s a capital idea! What was I thinking? Burgers are better than pickles! But can I ask you for one favor?”
“What’s that, sweet cheekers?”
“Do you think we could make it Burger King?”
“Burger King? FUCK THAT SHIT! McDonald’s all the way, beee-ahtch. I’m tellin’ you for the first time, and no doubt it won’t be the last time, but me and the Hamburglar are TIGHT! I mean to say we are SOLID. Ronald fuckin’ McDonald, that’s my homeslice.”
“Whatever you say,” Terry said, somewhat disappointed. Her acquiescence, however, was feigned. Deep down she realized a truth that, had she affirmed it there and then, would have saved her a world of heartache, pain and misery. There was no getting around it: Timmy was an asshole of the highest order.
But she loved this asshole. That made all the difference in the world. The sacrifices she made and the hardships she faced over the next few years were, to her, a small price to pay for the joy he brought into her life. He could do no wrong, she believed, and so what if he had expected sex within hours of meeting her? At least he hadn’t broke down and cried when she refused. There was no denying, though, that ever since that fateful night she had been plotting and planning just how she was going to do the deed…if she could ever get him in the mood for it, that is. He had seemed not only disappointed that night, but she thought she saw a gleam in his eye that spelled M-U-R-D-E-R. “Whoooo,” she thought. “Murder! Big word!”
On the other end of the line Timmy yelled at her. “Hey! Where did ya go? Are you still there? Answer me, bitch!”
“Oh, yeah. Hey! I’m sorry babydog. I got to thinking.”:
“Well don’t do it again, y’hear?”
“Right-o.”
“So listen, I can’t be yappin’ on the phone all day long, and I sure as hell can’t stand here listenin’ to dead air on the other end of the line. Now I don’t know what’s so important that you have to waste my minutes, but I’m gonna let it slide. I gotta go, sweet cheekers. I’m ramblin’ on. I’m going home. You gonna be there when I get there?”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Oh, that’s right. You’re my new roomie now. I almost forgot.”
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