Soon into chapter six of Civilization and Its Discontents, the distinguished mapmaker of the human psyche writes: “Every analyst will admit that even today this view has not the sound of a long-discarded error. Nevertheless, alterations in it became essential, as our enquiries advanced from the repressed to the repressing forces, from the object-instincts to the ego. The decisive step forward was the introduction of the concept of narcissism—that is to say, the discovery that the ego itself is cathected with libido, that the ego, indeed, is the libido’s original home, and remains to some extent its headquarters.”
But of course, your best friend Jellwagger wasn’t reading this masterwork. Detective John McLane was reading it to him while the underslept Jellwagger’s fingers clackety-clacked on the keyboard in autopilot with the endless names, numbers, and addresses of various peeps Powell and Powler was connected to in even the remotest way. That particular part of chapter six reminded Jellwagger of that one part in Die Hard. ‘Member that one part? It’s when McLane and the head bad guy Hans Gruber are having their back-and-forth on the walkie-talkie? It’s the first time Hans talks to McLane after finding out who he really is. He’s like, “Attention, Mr. Cowboy. Or should I call you Mr. McLane? Mr. Officer John McLane of the New York Police Department?” And then, right? Never missing a beat, McLane’s like, “Sister Theresa called me Mr. McLane in the third grade. My friends call me John. And you’re neither, shithead.”
Yeah!
Fuck yeah!
That was easily hands down one of Jellwagger’s most favorite Die Hard moments. Hearing Siggy go on about the libido living in the ego and all that shit reminded him of that scene no matter how many times he played it. No, really. Only the Good Lord knew how many times Jellwagger rewound the CD and listened to that one part. He was trying to get ideas about what Bruce Willis’s next role, that of John Lane in Jellwagger’s action epic Exit the Danish, could say in that same kind of way. Similar to Die Hard, it would be the very first time the head of the invading Danes talked to John Lane after finding out that he’s just some lowly middle manager for Wal-Mart. So naturally he’ll make fun of our hero, first of all because, as the head bad guy, he’s sort of obligated to do that. And secondly, he’ll put John Lane down because putting down a middle manager is so easy and irresistible. But our boy doesn’t miss a beat. Nope, not this John Lane. Unfortunately, however, this Jellwagger was missing quite a few beats in trying to devise clever repartees. What was the deal? Seriously, whenever Sig really got going about the inner workings of the noodle in the voice of Bruce, Jellwagger would come up with all this awesome stuff that would eventually find its way into his epic script.
Not today, though. You know why? No, it wasn’t the lack of sleep. He could handle that. And no, it wasn’t Grant walking by and dropping that God damned Gaze on him every hour or so. Our Jellwagger was better than anyone at taking weird-ass coworkers in stride. No, what was sapping his concentration today was the one and only thing on this waterball called Earth that he still couldn’t handle. Actually, I should say it was the one and only person he still couldn’t handle. Her name was Josephine Jellwag.
As I’m sure you guessed instantly, no one really calls her Josephine. It’s Jo or she’ll kill you with eyeball laser beams. Another thing I’m sure you’ve guessed by now is that she’s our man’s older sister. Not that much older, though. Jo’s only thirty-three to Jellwagger’s thirty-one. When they were youngsters, that tiny gap was a massive deal. You know how it is, right? When you’re a youngster? Jo would be in junior high while Jellwagger was still getting his skinny ass kicked up and down the elementary school kickball court. And then Jo would be in high school while our boy was in junior high. And so on. It reached its absolute worst when Jo went on to college. She left Jersey for Florida, and left Jellwagger boiling with envy. Because you see, it wasn’t just that she’d gone up another academic step, it was that she’d moved away altogether. Sure, she eventually came back. In fact, ol’ Jo Jellwag eventually moved into a place just a few miles from their folks’ house. Jellwagger couldn’t have known that at the time, though, could he have? All he knew was that he was stuck in the armpit of North America, still getting his ass kicked, while his big sis was in the Sunshine State getting tanned, rested, and ready for real life.
And so before Jo even had the chance to commence and head back north, an indignant Jellwagger took his high school diploma, high-tailed it to the Left Coast, and never looked back. That’s how Jo came to be at Dad’s side when he dropped like a sack of bricks from a massive coronary. According to Jo, his last words—or rather, word—was, “Jellwagger!” Jellwagger’s never bought that story.
Bottom line? If you have siblings, even one sibling, or if you don’t but you know someone who does, then I’m sure by now you can tell that the dynamic between this particular Jellwagger and his sister was awkward to say the very least. That’s why he slept for shit last night and today hasn’t been able to concentrate to save his life, even with the voice of Bruce Willis to inspire him. Jo was coming over!
What’s worse, she didn’t even give a reason. She left a voicemail saying she was heading on out Van Nuys way and, well, I’ll see you soon! Gal didn’t even give a time for when her plane would be landing. She could be in L.A. right now. Where would she go? Did she know someone? You don’t understand. The reason this was so bizarre, besides the fact that it was, was that Jo had never…ever!...made the slightest overture of ever coming out here to visit Jellwagger. If Jellwagger ever wanted to see his family, he would have to take the initiative and donate a lung for the cross-country airfare. That’s what was sapping the shit out of his concentration: What was Jo doing here?!
The indignation he felt as he huffed his way to the subway station reminded him of exactly how he felt when Jo packed her behind in a suitcase and took off for Florida. The twenty-five-minute ride to North Hollywood usually went by in a blink on account of Jellwagger’s uncanny ability to bury himself in a book. Not on this dusk, though. If he couldn’t summon enough concentration to listen to Detective McLane, how do you expect our boy to concentrate on a book? The twenty-five minutes may as well have been twenty-five millennia. I’m not sure you could’ve made this Jellwagger more agitated if you’d tried. While wracking his noggin for reasons for Jo’s visit, he kept expecting either Carla and/or Pat Dinner to call him up and give him shit to do. That was the last thing he needed with family in town, to play bitch not only to a carrot-topped madam, but to her zillionaire ex as well. No, if he was going to survive this, he needed all the focus he could get.
Focus for what, though? What precisely was Jo trying to pull here? What was the big idea? What in Christ was the score? And when would he found out? When the subway pulled into North Hollywood, Jellwagger rushed up the million-story escalator and elbowed his way to Shitty Shitty Bang Bang, having convinced himself that Jo had left another voicemail letting him know she was here and that she was staying at such-and-such posh hotel. No doubt the hotel would be downtown. Good God, with Jellwagger’s luck, it would be the Standard, the same hotel where Pat Dinner and gang nearly killed him with vats of Lagavulin.
As it turned out, he wouldn’t have to get home to find out where Jo was. In fact, he wouldn’t even have to get to the car. As always, Jellwagger had parked his car well toward the far reaches of the parking lot as, no matter how early he got there, he was almost always one of the last. He was still several yards away when he spotted a little round head in his passenger seat. First he thought this car only looked like his piece of shit. But nah, as he looked around, not only did he realize his was the shittiest Mazda in town, but that the head belonged to the one and only woman who knew how to push each and every one of his buttons. He stood and stared for what seemed forever. He didn’t want to reach the car unless she knew he was coming. What the hell was she doing? Sleeping? Reading? No kidding, Jellwagger couldn’t tell for the life of him. Jo’s head was tilted down and remained still as a stone gargoyle. Didn’t she have any peripheral vision to save her life? Couldn’t she see that someone was watching her? And if she could, why didn’t she turn to see who it was? After about two minutes of being just as still as his sister, it occurred to Jellwagger that perhaps he wasn’t very visible amidst the oodles of other people walking back to their cars. This occurred to him when this one guy passed him and looked at our man like he’d just sprouted a second head or something. This guy’s car was right next to Shitty Shitty Bang Bang. He started it, pulled out, aimed it right at Jellwagger, and blared the shit out of his horn. Jellwagger jumped to the side and scowled at the weirdo. Just before driving away, the man rolled down his window and said with a phony smile: “Excuse me, sir. The parking lot exit is that way.” He pointed past Jellwagger. “I wouldn’t be able to get to it with you standing there. Right there. Right in the middle of the lane. Thank you, sir.” He kept his smile aimed at Jellwagger while rolling up his window. Maybe it wasn’t as God-awful a car as Shitty Shitty Bang Bang, but Jellwagger still wasn’t impressed.
Nor was he impressed with his sister. There she was, still looking down at something. Christ, what the hell! It was killing him! If he didn’t go confront her about her stillness, he’d’ve dropped dead right there, right in the middle of the lane.
He barely had enough time to get in and slam the door before Jo said, “As usual, kiddo, nothing has changed with you. Not a thing, right?” She was typing on a laptop and still wouldn’t look at him. He couldn’t help looking at her, though. Whereas the rest of his car didn’t have much color to it, Jo was all purple. That had always been her color, but Jellwagger still couldn’t get used to it. I mean shit, look at her. Could you get used to that? Even her frickin’ laptop was purple for the sake of Peter, not to speak of the clip in her hair, her coat, the shirt. All various shades of violet. Okay, the jeans may have been blue, but would you please do me a favor and explain the purple hem? Not to speak of the purple shoelaces. What the hell was she typing anyway? Jellwagger craned his neck.
Holy shit! Even the font was purple!
“Are we going home or what, Jellwagger?”
“Jo… I mean… Jesus, Jo!”
“Let’s go. This is weird. People are walking by and staring at us. I’m not comfortable. What if one of them wants my laptop?”
“You’ve got nothing to worry about, believe me. No one in their right mind would want a purple laptop with purple text for Christ’s sake. Jo, really, come on!”
“I suppose you’re right. The damage is done. While you stood out there like a moron, everyone and their cousin walked by and thought you were retarded. That much is obvious. But here’s what you may not have thought about. Once they figured you were a ‘tard, they looked in your car and thought two things. First they thought, ‘Wow, what an awful-looking piece-of-shit car. Who in their right mind would get behind the wheel of that insult to the automotive industry?’ And then they thought, ‘Who’s that weirdo woman sitting in the passenger seat of said shitty vehicle? Sister? Friend? Girlfriend? Does it really matter to Moses? She’s obviously associated with that skinny nutjob standing there looking awkward in his shirt and tie, looking as if his mom dressed him or something. And what kind of company would hire him to begin with? So if she’s associated with him at all, then she can only be weird by default.’” She closed her laptop and looked at him for the first time. Jellwagger frowned at her. Good God, were her eyes purple to boot? “No, Jellwagger, I don’t wear purple contacts. I used to, but Mom and Pop Pop put the kibosh on that. You’re thinking of course they did. It was tacky, right? Well, it was just a phase, right? We all have phases. But that’s all they are, phases. By definition they come to an end. Unfortunately, you reached your awkward phase only to discover that it was an awkward permanence. Would you stop staring at my God damned eyes?”
“I swear they’re purple.”
“Here.” She tried turning on the car’s roof light to no avail. “Naturally. Okay, let’s try this. Get out.” She slid her laptop under the seat and got out of the car. Jellwagger followed suit. They walked around to the back of the car and stared at each other. The setting sun’s light splashed across Jo’s pale face.
“Now your eyes look sort of orangish.”
“Let’s switch sides.” They did so.
“Oh now I see.”
“I know, right? I think the shine from my purple laptop left an imprint on your eyeball or something, so that everything looked purple after that, even your own skin.”
“I didn’t know you had green eyes, Josephine.”
“Whoa, whoa, hold it. First of all, never…ever!...call me Josephine if you value your life and that of your dog.”
“Leave Chump out of this.”
“Use that name on me again and I’ll strap you to your lounger and make you watch me kick the shit out of that Snoopy wannabe. Okay? And two. How in holy hell did you not know I had green eyes?”
“You just said, right? They used to be purple.”
“You never saw me with those contacts, genius. That phase came and went well after you moved away. I’ve always had green eyes.” Her tone suddenly softened. “’Member, Jellwagger? ‘Member how Daddy always told me they were so green. They really stand out ‘cause of my brunette hair.”
“Well. You’re lucky I could tell they were any color at all. That sun’s killing my eyes.” He wiped his eyes and got back in the car.
Jo got in and buckled her seatbelt and didn’t say anything during the drive home. When Jellwagger said, “I suppose at some point you’ll tell me what you’re doing here,” she didn’t answer.
It wasn’t until they pulled into his apartment building that Jo said, “There was no sun, silly.”
“Now what the hell?”
“It was already behind the trees.”
“You got any luggage or what?”
Jo giggled as she opened the trunk without having to wait for Jellwagger to press a button or anything. “That’s so weird! This thing could just fly open while you’re in the middle of the freeway. Here.” She gave him the smallest of her three bags while she took the two bulky suitcases on wheels as well as her purse and laptop case. Yes, you guessed it. All of Jo’s bags were purple.
Jellwagger was panting when they got to his door. Jo hadn’t broken a sweat. “Laugh and you die,” Jellwagger said while fumbling his keys.
“Where are we anyway?”
“Earth. Welcome.”
“You’ve got different keys for your doorknob and deadbolt?”
Chump E. Chips was going crazy behind the door. “Brace yourself,” he said.
She pecked him on the cheek. “Well hey. It’s good to see you even if you do want to kick my ass. Come on, right? It’s okay, right?”
When Jellwagger opened the door, Chump E. Chips wasted no time in jumping up and down Jo’s legs. “Hiya, girl!” Jo said, getting down on her haunches and rubbing Chump’s smooth little white head. “What a cute little girl you are! Get the bags, eh Jellwagger?”
“His name’s Chump. Notice it’s a he. Notice the male genitalia between his hind legs. Usually people take a hint from that. Out of the way, Jo! What the hell! If you want me to help with the bags…”
Jo parked herself on Jellwagger’s lounger with Chump E. Chips on her lap. “I just love your cute little head. What’s his name again?” Jellwagger was busy piling up all of her bags on the sleeper sofa. “Hey. Are you whining? Would you care for a cheese platter with your whine?”
“It’s Chump E. Chips. How many times on this waterball called Earth do I have to tell you?” He closed the door. Jo frowned when he locked the deadbolt.
“Expecting unexpected company or what, kiddo?”
“This isn’t small town Jersey, Jo. This is the real world. Okay? Got it? Now if you don’t mind, I need to take all of these bags off the sofa so I can unfold the bed and make it up and what have you. Okay? Are you saying I should’ve done that ahead of time? Not a bad point. And it’s so close to being a valid one too. Only thing is, you gave me no heads-up at all that you were coming. What are you doing here, Jo? What the hell!”
“What’s this cutie’s name?”
“If I have to tell you one more time, I’m gonna puke.”
Jo looked at the little name tag hanging from the neck. “Chump E. Chips.”
“Ha. You read it slower than a six-year-old.”
“Wow, such a normal name, Jellwagger. Are you sure we’re on Earth?” She sat back and laughed. “Hey, ‘member that one time?”
Jellwagger removed the cushions and unfolded the bed. “Be careful with Chump. In addition to noticing his gender, you’ll also notice that he’s a bit on the tiny side. And he scares easily. Well, not around me. But he’s kind of a chicken shit around strangers.”
“Oh man, kiddo. You’ve got to remember this. I was just reminded when you were going on and on about this mutt. How you’re so protective of him.”
“He’s pure!”
“See? Jesus! Look at you! What are you doing with the bed, Jellwagger?”
He disappeared into the hallway and came back sniffing the pile of linens in his arms. “It’s all musty. They really could’ve stood a run through the washer and dryer. But again, no warning. Nothing. I had no idea any of this was going to happen, so naturally nothing else in this apartment could’ve known. Not Chump. Not my sheets. Not my sleeper. Everything and everyone who lives here has been ambushed. I hope you’re happy.”
“It was that stuffed whatdoyoucallit. Not your blanket.”
“Did I stuff my blanket? I don’t remember.”
“No, no, no. Come on. You remember!”
“This’ll all go much faster if you help, Jo.”
“What kind of stuffed animal did you have, Jellwagger? Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. You protected that little bastard like it was Fort Knox. ‘Member that one time Mom wanted to wash it? You threw the Queen Mother of all hissy fits. You practically invented that term. Hissy. Invented by my baby brother. By the way, brother, you got any beer? I’m parched.”
Jellwagger tripped over one of the sleeper legs in trying to reach the kitchen. Eventually he reached the fridge and got both of them a bottle of Spaten.
“Spaten?” Jo said after taking a sip.
“Just got a couple six-packs of the stuff yesterday,” Jellwagger said as he resumed making up the sleeper. “Brewed in Munich. Birthplace of the Oktoberfest. If you like beer, you’re gonna love this Teutonic potion, Jo.”
“What is with you?” she said after taking a couple more swigs. “Why are you acting like, well, like you’re having a hissy fit?”
Jellwagger was tucking in the top sheet. “It’s just that, you see, you’re probably the only woman in all of Los Angeles right now who’s drinking beer. The gals here, Jo? They don’t drink beer. And they don’t eat meat. So for instance, take this. When I order pizza for us in a few minutes, if I ask for the Meatalicious special, I’m sure you wouldn’t have any problem with that, right? Indeed, Joseph-, I mean Jo, you might even prefer I tell them to slop a ton of pork products all over that cheese and tomato masterpiece. Am I right or what? What the hell, Jo?”
“I still don’t get why you’re a clumsy bastard, kiddo.”
“You’re drinking beer right now, Jo! You know how long it’s been since I saw a gal swig the sudsy stuff? It may have been the last time I was in Jersey.”
“And pizza with just cheese on it? Or with green peppers or what have you? That’s what Mom orders. You know, right? It’s all about her weight these days. Even though she says she’s sworn off men. I know, right, Jellwagger? The woman’s sworn off men, yet she insists on trying to lose weight. Who is she trying to look good for then? The mailman? That guy, man. He’s like a hundred years old. Kiddo, I have to say, I’m afraid of what you’re getting me into.” She’d already thrown down half her Spaten. “What are you doing here? What is this?”
“It’s good German brew. It’s strong, it’s authentic. Just drink and enjoy, Jo. Don’t analyze it, okay? You’re on vacation. No analyzing. At least, I think you’re on vacation. Or is there some more diabolical reason behind your cameo?”
“Jellwagger, Jesus Christ! What was that stuffed bastard you had as a child that you always guarded like it was Fort fucking Knox? ‘Member that one time?”
“No.” He was fitting the pillow cases.
“You scratched me so bad, you left me a scar. See?” She held out her left hand. “Oh wait, is it the other one?”
“I don’t remember.”
“What the hell are you doing with those sheets and whatnot? I hope you don’t think I’m gonna sleep on that thing.”
“You prefer my gorgeous shit-brown shag carpet? Fine, I don’t care. I’ll be out for the count.” He pointed toward his bedroom. “Right there. Snoring my skinny ass off.” He pointed again. “Right there.”
“Kiddo, relax. What I’m saying is, I’ve got my own sheets. And my own pillow cases. Everything I need, I’ve already got. So please, for the love of all that’s musty, please remove those green sheets. Fold ‘em up, put ‘em back in the closet, run ‘em through the wash, I don’t care. Chump E. Chips doesn’t care either. Just take them away and let me make up my bed with my own sheets.”
“Let me guess. Purple sheets?”
“You’re a regular Isaac Newton. Lookit, I’m sure as shit not gonna upset Chump. He may be small, but I’ll bet our house in Jersey that he’ll eat my head off if I try to get up. So listen, kiddo. Order that pizza, stat. Okay? And then make my bed for me. The sheets are in the big suitcase. And when you’ve got a second, could you please try to remember the name of that stuffed bastard you had as a kid that I almost lost a hand over?” She polished off her Spaten. “God damn it, yes! Barkeep! Another!”
Jellwagger ripped the green sheets, which admittedly he only used for the sleeper when he had overnight company, which admittedly had been never, off the bed. He was about to chuck them, unfolded, back into the linen closet when the musty smell smacked him in the nose particularly hard, like a smelly lick from Chump right across the face, but millions of times worse. So he marched into his room and threw them into the hamper. He couldn’t remember another time in his life when he needed a second beer so badly. Our favorite Jellwagger would be God damned if he’d let his sister, of all God-forsaken people, out-guzzle him. He didn’t have the discipline to wait until after trying to find her purple sheets, so he fetched them both another Spaten and kicked himself in the ass for not having gotten a third six-pack. Shit, at this rate? They’d be fresh out in an hour. Couldn’t that woman pace herself?
He made up the bed in her purple sheets, which looked so hideous in the light of his living room lamp he had to fold up the bed and slide it back into the sofa or he’d puke. Then he ordered a couple of the Meatalicious pizzas. The two of them killed time watching reruns of old sitcoms from twenty years ago, sitcoms which had been current when they were teenagers living under the same roof. Jellwagger got the weirdest feeling watching this stuff, and naturally his sister’s presence had something to do with it. The weird thing was, while he was watching these old-ass shows, he had the distinct feeling that absolutely no time had passed since he’d been in high school. Actually, when this one sitcom that was on right now had been current, Jellwagger was in junior high. You see how it always worked? Jo’d been in high school, a sophomore or whatever. She’d been just high enough to be in a separate school from our boy here. Naturally he felt like shit for being left below. It was bad enough that she had to remind him constantly just by the way she looked at him that he would never reach her level. No, really. All she had to do was look at him a certain way. You know the way I mean. So that’s how old this sitcom was. It’d been twenty or so years since Jellwagger had seen it last, but it may as well have been last week. How long did it seem like for her? “’Member when we used to watch this constantly?” he said between his second and third slice. She was busy munching on who knew which slice. And how many Spatens had she had? He asked her.
“It’s only my third or whatever,” she said. “It’s the last for me. God, I feel like a blimp.”
“Stop being such a girl. Be a man, Jo! Beer and pizza make up the divine dish. This is the meal you’re going to have for all eternity when you go to Heaven. If you go. If not, then it’s beets or what have you.”
“I remember you not liking this show.”
“Are you kidding? It’s a classic. It was like a ritual when we all watched it. All of us. You, me, Mom, Dad. Even Pop Pop when he came over. We would all gather on Wednesday nights and watch all that great stuff. Wednesday used to be like the night of all the best shows all lined up, back to back to back from eight to ten.”
“Eleven. You were the only one not allowed to watch that cop show that came on at ten. Man, kiddo, it’s driving me nuts. What? The hell? Was that animal you were so protective of? Come on!”
Jellwagger was too tired to care about whatever it was she was trying to remember. It wasn’t actually that he was tired. This particular Jellwagger was restless. He had stuff to do, a screenplay to write. John Lane needed him. The Inuit needed John Lane. The Inuit needed Jellwagger. He gave a ton of serious consideration to getting up right now and holing himself up in his study and leaving Jo out here to reminisce all by her lonesome. But as he set to his fifth or sixth slice, he just didn’t have the energy. He felt like a turtle that had been knocked over onto its back and couldn’t do anything but wiggle its little stubby legs. Wow, but it was so uncanny how he was now twenty years older and three thousand miles away from the time and place when he’d last seen this God damned sitcom, and no time had passed at all. He was still a twelve-year-old skinny bastard with enough acne to be Earth’s second moon, living in New Jersey with not an inkling of what Los Angeles meant beyond what he saw in the movies. The more he thought about it, the more depressing these sitcom repeats became. Why in Christ was he watching them? He reached for his eleventh or twelfth slice and grabbed the remote while he was at it. He started flipping channels not only to find something to cheer him up, but to see if he could press his sister’s buttons as well. Jo’s flying out here on the spur had pressed one massive Jellwagger button, so it was a moral imperative that he find a way to reciprocate in kind. Let’s see how invested Jo was in reliving those old Jersey days?
Apparently not much at all. No sooner did Jellwagger land on one of those innumerable police procedurals than Jo polished off her last slice and took the last sip of her Spaten and wiped her hands. “Okay, Chump E. Chips. You awake? Auntie Jo’s gotta take a bath now. You catch that, Jellwagger? He didn’t understand a lick of what I said, but I hope you did. I noticed that the guest bathroom has a tub. I’m going to utilize it appropriately.”
After she disappeared, Jellwagger saw a golden opportunity to further the adventures of John Lane. The opportunity was short lived. The poor boy had only been tap-tapping away on Exit the Danish for about twenty seconds before he heard his sister’s hysterical screaming from the bathroom.
“Oh my God! Jellwagger! I remember! Get that skinny Jersey-bred ass in here, stat! I finally remember!”
Jellwagger burst into the guest bathroom only to be bodyslammed by the most horrific smell he’d ever had the terrible luck to run into during his all-too-short life. He couldn’t place it. It wasn’t rotten fish or anything obvious like that. Nah, this must’ve been something from Jo’s cosmetics bag, something she obviously thought was God’s greatest gift to the human nostrils. Once he recovered enough to open his eyes, he was confronted by what would go down as the most hideous sight his God-forsaken eyes had ever beheld.
The bath was purple.
I shit you not. Jo was submerged up to her God damned smug ears in a purple bubble bath. What’s worse, she greeted our hero with the widest and brightest shit-eating grin this side of the Pecos. Jellwagger was about to hurl, but really, Jo’d already humiliated him enough for one night, hadn’t she? Losing his Meatalicious in front of her sure as shit wouldn’t’ve helped matters. He’d actually gotten as far as lifting the toilet seat and lowering his head before he willed himself back onto his wobbly legs with the determination to save face.
“I’ve got it, you sissy bastard! It was Leggy!”
“Jo, please. Please. What the hell? Why are you here? Just tell me. I’m not in the mood for games. And I’m sure as shit not in the mood for any more of this God damned purple.”
“It was a giraffe! That’s what you protected like the royal guards protecting the queen’s jewels. Son of a bitch, Jellwagger, you gave me a scar because of that fucker. See?” She held out her hand.
“I can’t see shit for all the purple soap. No, Jo, really. I’m working on what will be one of the greatest screenplays ever written. I shit you not. Have I told you about it? Exit the Danish? You like Bruce Willis, right? Our fellow Jersey hero?”
“Listen to me. Motherfucker. When you were tiny, Pop Pop got you this stuffed giraffe. It had a small little body, but those fucking legs! They dangled! They got in the way of everything when you carried it around. And kiddo, did you carry it everywhere or what!”
Jellwagger stood straighter and forgot all about his nausea and the headache induced by the purple. “Oh my God. Jo. Oh. Oh my God. Leggy. Little Leggy.”
“You bastard! We couldn’t get you to pronounce the word giraffe to save your hilarious little life. But we all complained about the disproportionate length of those infernal legs. You must’ve heard everyone and their cousin complain about those legs a million and a half times. So finally you started calling him Leggy.” She laughed so hard her head submerged under the bubbles before she came back up and spit out the water. “You’d carry that thing wherever you went. And when we all went out somewhere? Like to the mall or the movies or what have you? You’d take Leggy or you wouldn’t even consider going. Of course we had to relent. You were far too tiny and small to leave on your own. And that, kiddo, his how you fucked up my hand beyond all repair. It was like, I dunno, you were four or five or something. Maybe five, ‘cause I think you were in kindergarten. Plus, you were finally of that age when you could speak plain English and, ya know, converse with the adults in the family, which was everyone else besides you.”
“Oh come on, Josie! If I was five, you were seven. Hardly a God damned adult.”
“My intellect was, and still is, light years ahead of my age. I tell ya. Anyway, if you let me finish. So Dad got this hair-brained idea that, ya know, since you could speak plain English ‘n all like the rest of us, then, well, you should be able to show up at the dinner table and eat your dinner without a stuffed animal in tow. So he told me to get you, which I normally had to do anyway. You always seemed to be living on another planet. Why is that, Jellwagger? Why did you always have to be the one who never knew it was dinner time? Anyway, so I go up to your room to get you. I tell you it’s dinner. You’re all happy and everything. You always were when food was being served. Happy as all hell. So anyway, I show up at your room and insist you come to dinner without Leggy. Naturally you refuse. Then I made the positively horrific mistake of trying to take Leggy away from you. And you know what you did? Obviously you don’t, judging by that baffled expression on your face. Jellwagger, you fucked up my hand! I may have only been seven, but I can still feel those nails digging into my skin. The soft part right here. That pulpy chunk of skin between my thumb and index.” She wiped the purple soap off her hand and held it out. “You see, you malicious little bastard?”
“Where is he?”
“’The fuck are you talking about, Jellwagger?”
“Leggy!”
A deafening cackle came from right behind Jellwagger. Our man fell to the tiles for two reasons. First, the cackle had been so deafening. The man to whom it belonged couldn’t have been more than a centimeter or two behind him. The second reason was because Jellwagger knew exactly to whom it belonged.
What in all that was holy and purple was Pat Dinner doing in Jellwagger’s guest bathroom, in his crisp charcoal suit with silver tie?
“What’s going on, my man? Drunk off your skull as usual, I see. Now that’s an interesting smell.”
“It’s lavender,” Jo said. “You like?”
Jellwagger could barely catch his breath. Seriously, was Pat really standing there? He’d ingested enough lavender fumes that hallucination wasn’t that far off a possibility. Pat got down on his haunches and reached out his hand.
“You going to live, slugger?”
Jellwagger took the hand and soon enough found himself on his feet staring at the wealthiest weirdo in the Granola State.
“So this is how it worked, my man. I called your sister here as a reference. If you were going to work for me, then I had to check with those who knew you. As much as I’m sure she’s a bright woman, Betsy Seth just wasn’t enough. Nor was Grant Prossich. By the way, what’s the deal with Mr. Prossich? Now there is one interesting fellow. He kept going on about these sculptures he was doing that looked like the office windows. You know what he was talking about? Anyway, then it occurred to me.” He opened his arms as if the light bulb in his noodle had just flickered on. His extra chin shook with the motion. “The man must have family back east. So I better check with them. Jo here was generous enough to come out. So long as I paid for it, of course. And, well, here we are. Now if you don’t mind, my man, she and I need to have a chat.”
“About me?” Jellwagger said.
“Well. I mean. Yeah.”
“Get out of here, baby brother. If you want to work for Pat, then make yourself scarce. Go screw that copper-headed madam or something.”
“You told her about that?” Jellwagger said to Pat.
“Jo here, the smart cookie that she is, was sincerely confused as to why she’d need to make an in-person appearance to vouch for her baby brother. Be flattered, my man. She was complimenting you. And the truth is, I probably didn’t need her to come here. You have to understand, though. I work in a business where you can’t be too careful. You take risks, yes. It’s impossible to get ahead without taking risks. But if you can control the risk, then you do it. And so I did. That’s why our gal here is taking a bath in lavender. Good God, the smell!”
“Jellwagger, didn’t you hear me?” Jo was saying. “Make yourself scarce. Aren’t you trying to write something or whatever?”
“I’m not trying to write anything, Jo. I am writing the next vehicle for Bruce Willis. It’s called Exit the Danish. There, pronounce that if it isn’t too complicated for ya. Tell her, Pat.”
Pat put his hand on Jellwagger’s shoulder and escorted him out of the guest bath. “Listen, my man. I really do want to get the lowdown on you from your sister. I know I would appreciate it. And I know you’d appreciate it the sooner I can get this done. All right? Are you really working on a script? I happen to know some producers. Maybe I could show it to them.”
“It’s not finished yet.”
“But you can work toward finishing it back there, right? That’s my man.”
They must’ve been kidding themselves. Jellwagger didn’t have a snowball’s chance in a nuclear reactor of getting a single line of his screenplay done. Jo made Pat wait out in the living room and told him to finish off the pizza because she couldn’t stand the sight of cold pizza in the morning. Then she joined him out there. On her way into the living room, Jo closed the hallway door, effectively sealing Jellwagger in the back half of his own apartment. Finally he cursed at his computer, turned it off, changed into his PJs, and hit the sack.
He didn’t sleep a wink that night. Partly this was because he couldn’t help but wonder what his sister would be saying about him. The other reason—minor point—was that Pat Dinner was fucking Jo’s brains out all night. Even with both the hallway door as well as his bedroom door closed, Jellwagger could hear his sister screaming her orgasms as if she were just three inches away.
Finally, around four o’clock or so in the morning, he drifted off to sleep.
Seemingly a second later, his eyes snapped open at the sound of Pat’s howling cackle. That was followed by Jo saying something like, “No, I’m serious. I’ve never seen one that incredibly white before. Mind you, I’ve met my share of pale dudes in Jersey.” Pat said something to that, but Jellwagger couldn’t hear.
It was approaching five when he nodded off again.
Half a second later, someone smacked their knuckles against his door. “It’s almost six o’clock, my man. Aren’t you supposed to be getting up right about now?”
“When I get home tonight, all I want to do is throw down some brews, microwave some ‘corn, and watch one of Bruce’s flicks. Have any recommendations?”
“You’ve lost me as usual, my man.”
“The Fifth Element. Excellent choice.”
“Of course that assumes you’ll be done by tonight.”
“Done what?”
“Get up, sleepy Jellwagger!” Jo shouted from somewhere in outer space.
“Done what I need you to do for me. Congrats, my man. Your sister has been a glowing reference on your behalf.”
To be continued...
