Vera called to the door as I put the final full stop in place. I answered the door to a surprise. She had dressed up for the evening. Her tight body carefully wrapped in a black dress, with a few curves thrown in there for good measure. I stood before her in a white tee and considered stopping off at the Golf course's restaurant so I could borrow a suit jacket.
'Shut up,' she said 'you look just fine.'
Such a pretty little liar.
Giving her my the arm I walked her to the fire exit, popped it and from there to my car.
In an attempt to simultaneously say thank you and cancel out how pathetically vile my spewing self had appeared the last time we had spent any type of time together I had invited Vera along to a reading that Niamh had lined up for me at a burlesque club on the corner of Pacific. Clearly, she had given my repertoire some consideration, surmising that the place I'd least likely cause offence was somewhere that already sold skin and titillation, and with Jumbo's Clown Room being miles away, Boardwalk Alley Cats was the next best thing.
Pulling up I exited quickly, making good time around to the
passenger side so I could assist Miss Chu with a graceful exit from my dishwasher on wheels. Handing the valet my keys I'd tell him to keep it unlocked and running where the crackheads urinate. He laughed.
'I'm serious, it's worth more in insurance.'
Inside Boardwalk Alley Cats the lights hung low and shone softly, painting the atmosphere with delicate, moody, almost soft-core lighting.
Smiling through the crowd Niamh waved me towards her –and the bar, good the bar. The nerves were beginning to mount, it would take the squawk of Wild Turkey to chase them away. As we reached her, her face changed momentarily before resetting.
'You brought a date.' Niamh stated.
I looked to Vera, she didn't correct her and I got a half mast out of it. I made the introductions and then over Niamh's shoulder I saw him; Harlan Faher. Suddenly the mast was gone, replaced with a sinking of the stomach and a tightening of the balls that only fear can bring. I swallowed hard, trying my best to look pleased to see him. What was she thinking? It's not enough that I've to take to the stage to talk to a bunch of people who are humouring me in exchange for tits.
It's not enough that I've brought the college student daughter of my employer with me on a pseudo-date but now I have to take to the mike and do it in front of him.
'We meet again, Douglas.'
'Didn't know you're a fan of dirty stories.'
'All the best stories are dirty if you tell them right.' his smile was almost powerful enough to fill the room.
'Can I have a moment with you, Doug before I take you round to meet the MC?'
Shepherding me by the arm out of earshot I watch on stunned.
Vera looked like a child standing next to that man, that man -here to see me. Fuck. Chewing over her words carefully Niamh went to speak but I cut her off.
'Please don't tell me Harlan Faher is the boyfriend you're always talking about but never materialises.'
'What?'
'He's old enough to be your father's… very old brother.'
'No! And anyway that's none of your business even if he was plus that's rich coming from you. What age is she, nine?'
'She's a med student, and it's not a date. I owe her one.'
'Please don't elaborate on that,' Niamh sighed 'anyway. Harlan is here to listen to you read. I gave him a few of your short stories and he liked them. This is good news, Doug. Having a friend like Harlan Faher will open a lot of doors for you. Doors that, thanks to your personality, would probably remain shut otherwise.'
'You got anymore words of encouragement?'
'Don't drink too much, and don't fuck this up.'
With Niamh's lukewarm endorsement ringing in my ears I gave her a nod, and Harlan a nod, and Vera a nod, and made my way round backstage where I'd be introduced to the MC just in time for him to take to the stage and regurgitate the shit I'd been editing and re-editing when Niamh asked me for a bio.
'Ladies and gents,' his opening as original as a cumshot in a stroke movie 'next to the stage is a writer from Belfast in Ireland (pronounced Aye-R-land) aside from agreeing to perform here so he could get in for free he's written a novel that's available now and several short stories, some of which he's going to read tonight. Let's give him a big Boardwalk Alley Cat welcome, here he is Doug Morgan!'
The applause, though fake, was welcoming. It pushed me out of myself and allowed me to take on the role of the man he had just introduced. I pumped up my chest, pumped up my lungs, pumped up my cock and walked out on to the stage. A big fake prick ready to shoot sap on every single one of these motherfuckers.
Taking my place behind the microphone I cleared my throat, removed my sheet of paper, placed my glasses on to the bridge of my nose and looked out over them. Looking out into the haze of the evening mood lighting I saw many faces but I settled on two. Niamh and Vera, side-by-side. One brimming with nerves, one with excitement. I pictured them both naked, touching themselves, touching each other, touching me and I was touching them; licking them,
pumping them, watching them screw each other into a sweet mess.
Who could be nervous with a sight like that? As my prick rose so did my voice.
'This one's called Nazi Doctor…'
Niamh slapped her palm to her head, over the attentive silence I could hear oh for fuck's sake. Smiling, I turned back to my text.
'I was still sweating the beer out and already paying for the pains of the night before. Ten men together. Add beer. Square the testosterone levels and what you're left with is three broken ribs, no medical insurance and an urgent care facility that looked as though its better days had not been seen by anyone still top-side on God's green one…'
***
Leaving the stage I felt like Elvis Presley on his first appearance after Vietnam. I could have fucked God and gotten away with it such was the buzz that was racing through my body. Crossing, and contorting my way through a sea of round tables I made my way to the back where Harlan stood grinning like a prized idiot, where Niamh waited relieved and where Vera drilled fuck-holes with her eyes into me.
'Good read, man.' said a hat wearing hipster.
'Thanks.' I replied, genuinely meaning it.
With a giant pat on the back Faher laughed. 'Fuck kid, you've got some piss and vinegar in you. You're going to make a lot of enemies but fuck them.'
'That was great, Doug.' offered Vera admiringly.
'Yeah, Doug. Good work.'
Breaking me away from the ladies, Harlan wrapped a fatherly set of knuckles around me and strolled us both outside where we lit cigarettes and stood triumphantly in the cold kiss of the slumbering Metropolis. Spitting out a slither of loose tobacco he eyed me up as though ocularly weighing me in for a bout.
As Arlo's heir poured praise on me I found myself growing fonder and fonder of the old man. With only the slightest amount of encouragement I found myself spilling out all over him, telling him this idea, and that project, about my idea for a novella about look-a-like turf wars slash crime thriller; Heroes of Hollywood Boulevard I called it.
'That sounds great, kid.' he beamed 'You written anything of it yet?'
'No, not much, not yet. I'm still cooking it.'
'Give me a shout when the oven pings, ok?!'
I promised and, returning to the bar, bought a round of drinks for all my friends. Making himself impassable, Harlan occupied Vera's attentions leaving Niamh with her number two client. The man, Harlan Faher had taken to calling son. The man who, though takes exception to that, says not one damn word about it. Play nice, Doug. Get ahead. Shake hands, kiss babies, hold open doors and sneak through when nobody is looking.
Leaving the burlesque club, Niamh poured Harlan into the
backseat of her four-by-four. For a lifelong drunk he sure dropped quickly. It was sad to see how the body inevitably let the spirit down.
The longest love affair in your life –over. Sticking a hand into the air I flagged a cab down and gave him the address. The Mexico could board for a night.
'You know you could walk that in ten minutes.' snapped the driver.
Opening her door I guided Vera in before taking my seat beside her. As I turned to start into respectable small-talk I found her hands on my lap, tussling with the buttons on my jeans before springing free the pink convict. Stiff and loose once again. With both hands she worked it. I hadn't planned on it but now I was in the middle of a complication to my living quarters it seemed a shame to pass up. It was going to get complicated regardless; might as well hit the big-O.
Sliding a hand up between her legs I cleared some panty space giving me access. Working it with finger and thumb I massaged a moan out of her before the car mounted the curb; almost killing a homeless person. With some effort the driver managed to force his eyes back on to the road gulping down his excitement as Vera mashed at my joint.
Leaping from the cab I tossed a handful of Presidents his way grabbed Vera by the hand and raced for the front door, my prick sitting poker straight and all but glowing in the night air.
Charge! Rushing down the corridor I rammed the key home, sprung the lock, carried her inside and dumped her on the bed. A nervous giggle escaped her as I kicked off my shoes and dropped denim. Removing her pants Vera parted her legs and I took her.
***
In the morning I woke. Vera was gone but I could still taste her, still smell her. It was as though I was sweating her out having consumed all of her. Checking my phone I noticed three missed calls; one from Niamh and two from Winston. Dragging my saddle sore bones from my resting place I made my way to the bathroom. I had to make it back to
the burlesque club to retrieve my shit-box of a car. Vera had left her mark on the sheet of paper that had sat stalled in my typer for weeks:
GOOD WORK WITH THAT THING
SEE YOU LATER
V