Jellwagger didn’t get a wink of sleep that night. The only thing that kept him from losing sleep over not getting any sleep was Betsy telling him, just before slipping out with Danny draped all over her, that he could have the week off. And so for the first time since who knew when, our number one bad boy Michael Johnson Jellwag didn’t have to stress out over waking up underslept on a Monday.
Still, not that beggars couldn’t be choosers once in a blue moon, but Jellwagger wouldn’t’ve been heart-crushed if he’d gotten the opportunity to sleep in his bed. Nor would he have minded having a quiet apartment. Instead, he got the reverse of both. He parked himself on the recliner with Chump E. Chips on his lap while the sounds of Pat Dinner and Carla Houde fucking each other’s brains out reverberated throughout the semi-darkness that was lit with a dim amber from the courtyard light creeping through the vertical blinds.
But wait, the night from hell didn’t end there. When he first lay down, Jellwagger’s head swam in the three bottles of Spaten he’d thrown down during the party. While normally that would’ve afforded him a nice buzz, it would’ve hardly made him drunk, even on an empty stomach. As it was, and consistent with Jo’s caveat, the prescription pain killers enhanced the brew’s effects. He’d barely been able to stand on his own two feet. Actually, thanks to the bullet to the thigh, standing on his own two feet was complicated no matter what, hence the Donald Duck cane currently leaning against the recliner arm, the face pointed down as if Donald, too, were trying to catch some Zs.
Tomorrow, when he was sober, he’d have to think about how to patch things up with Grant. Maybe he could call him right now. Of course if Jellwagger’s slip of the tongue had precipitated the dissolution of Grant and Zach’s relationship, then calling them could get hairier than Pat’s goatee.
And what about Grace? Shit, what about everybody? There was only one thing for all of this: Escape. And the only way to escape was to Exit the Danish. Tomorrow, as soon as these two were gone, Jellwagger would dive back into his magnum opus for the first time in what seemed like forever.
Meanwhile, he lay there on his recliner while his brain’s swimming slowed down, his equilibrium was reestablished…and Pat and Carla just kept at it. Jesus, would you listen to them? Weren’t they supposed to loathe each other’s very souls? Of course, they say makeup sex is the best. And the worse the falling out, the better the sex on the rebound. Pat and Carla hadn’t fallen out so much as declared war on each other, with Jellwagger as the pawn for each of them, unbeknownst to the other. Thus, what we have here is the queen mother of makeup sex. On the plus side, this could very well mean a truce and that Jellwagger would no longer have to play these fucking games. Of course the question still lingered about how he’d pay off his obligation to Carla for having sat in his car outside her house for two weeks. Something told him her beef with Pat was immaterial to his servitude. Somehow, someway, she’d keep the debt chained to the iron collar around his neck.
The pain started to flare around two in the morning. Carla and Pat were taking a break, although Carla was still perfectly audible as she caught her breath and giggled. He wouldn’t have been so pissed at her for making a show of recovering from her orgasm if his leg didn’t hurt like a motherfucker. Seriously, it started throbbing so much that he broke out in a sweat. Before giving him those two pills around nine o’clock, Grace had told him he shouldn’t take anymore until the morning. Two a day twice a day. Technically it was morning, right? But if he took two now, he’d be stuck until tomorrow night. Or tonight, if you want to get technical again. Jellwagger drove himself nuts with this sort of logic.
Finally around three o’clock he couldn’t take it anymore. He was about to pick up Chump when he noticed the pooch spread out on his back across his lap. Shit! If he tried to move now, Chump would be furious and cause a ruckus and wake up the neighbors. People would complain, and Connie, who wasn’t too fond of Jellwagger right now, wouldn’t hesitate to document the complaints in Jellwagger’s file. Fuck!
The poor Jellwagger started panting while he continued sweating. “Chump E. Chips…please…wake up…”
Nothing. That Snoopy lookalike was a dead dog to the world.
“Wake up, God damn you. Just for a second. I need to get some Advil, Chump. Come on, if Grace or Azure were talking to you, you’d know exactly what to do.”
Advil wouldn’t have killed the pain completely, but it was much better than nothing. As it was, Jellwagger started crying. Actually it was more like whimpering. He didn’t have the strength to actually cry. He finally passed out.
Jellwagger woke to Carla’s pale face framed in disheveled red hair, holding out two pills and a glass of OJ in her black-nailed hands. His leg didn’t hurt quite as bad as before. Chump E. Chips was in the kitchen munching on kibble while Pat, wearing only boxers and black socks, petted him. Had the pain subsided because Chump was no longer on his lap, or had he reached the point of numbness?
“Take these, stat,” Carla said. “You were mumbling in your sleep.”
He took the pills and threw back the OJ in a single pull while taking in Carla wearing his Devils T-shirt. “What is it with hot chicks and that shirt?”
“Ha ha!” Pat stood up and thumped over to Jellwagger while running his thumbs along the inside waist of his boxers. “My man. You were on a tear last night. No prisoners.”
“Everyone hates me. Which means I’ll probably get fired.” Damn, were the pills working already? Amazing. “Connie’s all mad now. So that’ll mean eviction. My life’s over.”
“Bah!” Pat waved it away. “All you did was get drunk off your ass and make a fool of yourself. Who hasn’t done that?”
Carla raised her hand.
“Oh come on, sugar! You don’t remember our honeymoon?”
Jellwagger was pain-free enough that he could actually laugh. “Sugar?”
“You’re going to make shit up about me, Pale Cock?”
“You don’t remember? We went dancing at that one club the second or third night. This was in the Canaries, Jellwagger. That one club. You kept throwing back those rum concoctions the waiter warned us about.”
“Warned or recommended?”
“And you just threw them down and got totally smashed. Started a couple fights with people.”
“I don’t remember that shit at all.”
“No, I suppose you wouldn’t.” He sighed, which turned into a hacking cough. Pat held a fist to his mouth as he coughed and thudded over to the speaker next to the TV stand where his brown prescription pill bottle sat. Jellwagger watched Pat take the pills while Carla seemed interested in how Jellwagger was processing what he was seeing.
“Better get on the horn, bitch,” she said. “You’ve got a lot of apologizing to do. Take it from us: You don’t want to let things fester.”
“Amen!” Pat said while walking back over and chewing his pills, nodding at Jellwagger and shaking his index at Carla. “Listen to her. Carla and I haven’t made it this far without pissing off some people. Eh, babe?”
“Fuck you, I don’t have enemies.”
“And yet you have galumphs like Neckman in your employ. Point being, when you piss someone the hell off, you need to make amends. Even if it wasn’t necessarily your fault, my man, you hear me? Don’t let the hard feelings fester. ‘Cause then, like snot, it’ll harden. It’ll harden if you don’t do the dirty deed and wipe it away. Bury that hatchet before it rusts.”
“Atta boy, Patsy,” Jellwagger said. “Those are some pretty awesome metaphors you got there.”
“Listen, bitch,” Carla said. “You may think this is all fun and games, but you fucked up and you fucked up huge. You may have ruined their relationship.”
“Grant’s the one who cheated.”
“It may have been a one-off.”
“That makes it better?”
“You don’t know the context. Maybe they weren’t exclusive. Point being, you aired something in a very public way that should’ve been kept strictly between them. And in so doing you may have caused far-reaching damage. You’ve never had a relationship worth speaking of, have you? No need to answer that. After the way you and I met.”
“Yeah, you know what?” Pat said. “You never did tell me how you two know each other. I would’ve asked you last night if I wasn’t so busy trying not to keel over.”
“The bitch stalked me,” Carla said. “How do you know him?”
“Well I don’t really. He met Flip at Spago. They hit it off.”
“No shit,” Carla said. She gave Jellwagger a look.
Jellwagger made a show of looking at his wrist even though his Indiglo wasn’t there. “Golly shucks, rich people, I reckon you’ve stained your souls enough by being in Van Nuys for twelve whole hours. Time to hit the 405, whaddya say?”
“Getting dressed now,” Pat said. He jogged a couple steps toward the back of the apartment, causing the walls to tremble, before slowing to a walk.
“Trying to get rid of us, bitch?” Carla said.
“Take a guess, Marie Curie.”
“I’m going to take a quick shower!” Pat called.
Carla stared at Jellwagger.
“Would you knock it off?”
“I know he has no idea you work for me,” she said. “That he hasn’t a fucking clue that I’m using you to bring him down.”
“So you two didn’t make up? What the hell was I listening to all God damned night?”
“We’re human beings who have carnal desires same as everyone else, Jellwagger. Sex with him was never an issue.”
“Why Pale Cock then?”
“Take a guess, Einstein.”
“You said it was pale as Caspar.”
“Pale as, not small as. If you want to talk about size, I’d compare it to…”
“Stop! One more metaphor and I’m a goner.”
“So you’re friends with Flip, eh?”
“Not really.”
“I knew it!”
“I mean Flip’s okay, don’t get me wrong. It’s all good, Carla. I’m Pat’s errand boy. He doesn’t have a clue what the real score is.”
She crossed her arms and considered him some more.
“Carla, at some point I’m going to have to get out of this recliner if for no other reason than to drain the weasel. I’ve got to think you have other things to do than intimidate some flunkie in Van Nuys.”
“If I find out you’re lying to me…”
“You’ll cut my balls off, I get it.”
“That’ll be the first thing I do.”
“Okay I’m done with this.” He dragged himself out of his recliner. Pat was showering in Jellwagger’s bathroom, so our main man with the floating back teeth had to drain his umpteen hours’ worth of piss in the guest bath. He was shaking his head and marveling at Carla’s paranoia when Carla herself barged in. Don’t you know she timed it to be when Jellwagger was exactly halfway through. Worse, the emptying of his bladder meant the relaxation of his bowels, translating into a loud fart.
Carla laughed her ass off while taking off the Devils tee and throwing it into the hallway.
Let’s see how far he could take this. When she slipped off her panties and kicked them away, he said, “Guh-REAT ass!”
She laughed again. Damn her for being so cool!
On her way to the stall, she pushed him so that his piss got all over the place. “Oops.”
“Motherfucker!”
Carla cracked up as she stepped in and closed the sliding door. Jellwagger got some paper towels from the kitchen and wiped it up and plotted revenge when Carla, washing her face with her head dipped under the spray, said: “Get your ass in here when you’re done.”
“Fuck off.”
For this she had no humor at all. Carla slid open the door and glared at him. She looked adorable with her hair soaked to her scalp. “Bitch, I don’t fucking have time for your sulking. You can say and do shit to me but I can’t hit back? Another free tip from me to you: If you can’t take it, don’t dish it. Now mop up the piss and get. Your skinny ass. In here. Stat!”
Jellwagger’s leg was feeling great, but he was still horribly underslept. Once again, he had no energy for much resistance. His fatigue must’ve been eating at his brain because he forgot one crucial thing before opening the sliding door.
“Your clothes, bitch!”
“Fuck!” Jellwagger didn’t have the patience for this shit. Worse, the big picture was presenting itself as starkly as the mirror was reflecting our beleaguered boy here. How the hell did he end up in this ridiculous situation? Of course that was rhetorical. In the back of his mind he knew he should’ve been downright amazed that the hot redhead he’d been…okay, stalking…for two weeks was now inviting him into the shower. But he didn’t care about any of that now. He knew Carla Houde. If he’d gotten to know her before all this started, he wouldn’t’ve bothered…okay, stalking…her. “This is bullshit!” He folded up his jeans and threw them like a fastball into the hallway. Was that Pat Dinner singing in the shower? “You’ve got to be kidding me. Who the fuck sings in the shower anymore?”
“In!”
Carla somehow pulled off looking both cute and hot with the steaming water’s spray and mist playing games around her fucking perfect pale body. The way her soaked red hair was all draped on one side was something she’d obviously done, the calculating bitch. How dare she make Jellwagger hard when it was the last thing he wanted to be right now? No matter. The sooner he got this out of the way, the better. To continue the metaphor streak, if he jumped into the jaws of the beast, maybe the beast would disappear.
No sooner did he step in than Carla slammed the sliding door shut and planted him with a deep, long, lip-munching, tongue-probing kiss. When she finally came up for air, she had that same unsure look from before. Jellwagger’s temper, along with his muscles, had gone limp. He didn’t have the energy to be indignant at this weird piercing look she took to giving him this morning. She kissed him again the same way as before, this time putting her arms around him.
When Jellwagger heard Pat singing again, he pushed Carla away. “What the fuck? What are we doing?”
“He’s going to be in there a while.”
“A while?”
“Pale Cock’s sort of girly that way. I know, don’t ask. That’s another bullshit stereotype I had to put up with married to him. Usually it’s the woman portrayed as extra attentive to hygiene and presentation and all that. Nah, Pale Cock’s the queen. Making sure he’s squeaky clean. His showers are almost never shorter than a half-hour.”
“What the fuck? That’s a waste of water!”
She laughed her most unguarded, innocent laugh Jellwagger had yet seen.
“Dude, I’m serious. We’re in a drought. We need to conserve water. They’ve passed laws about this shit.”
“If he caught us like this, he would freak. I can’t even imagine what he’d do. With the kinds of people he’s got working for him…”
“Flip wouldn’t give a shit. If anything, he’d be happy for me.”
“Oh I don’t mean Flip. Is he the only one on Pale Cock’s staff you’ve met? Jellwagger…” She shook her head. “Just… It wouldn’t be good.”
“Then what the fuck are we doing?”
“Because he’s got a good twenty minutes left.”
“But what are you doing? You hate my fucking guts.”
“Jellwagger!” She shook her head. With one hand against the tiles next to his head, she used her other hand to stroke his cheek and explore his chin with her thumb. Her look went from paranoia to disappointment. Seeing this disappointment up close and in the stark light of day pissed Jellwagger off. As if sensing he was about to snap at her, she tightened her grip on his face. “Knock it off. You’re so simple.”
“’The fuck are you talking about?”
“You’re a child. You think I hate you?”
“How else do you explain the shit way you’ve treated me?”
“Let’s see. How about payback for stalking me?”
“You love overplaying the shit out of that, don’t you?” He expected another tight grip or a scolding look. Instead, Carla relaxed both her grip and her countenance.
“Jellwagger, stalking isn’t funny. Even if hurting me wasn’t your intent, it’s the principle of the thing, you know? Shit, Jellwagger.” She looked away and shook her head. “I mean…” She turned back to him. “I’ve gotten to know you a lot better over the past week. You know? If you don’t count the stalking bit, you’re not such a terrible guy. I’m guessing you had to sit around a long time to convince yourself that driving over the Hill to camp outside my house was actually a bright idea. Seriously, bitch.” She slapped his arm playfully. “How long did you ponder that shit before you were like, ‘Let’s go!’”
Jellwagger wanted to shoot back with a repartee, but now that she mentioned it, he had vacillated for some time before deciding to do it. And of course he had to agree with her about the sheer stupidity of it. What the hell had he been thinking?
“I’ve done some pretty stupid shit in my time too, Jellwagger,” she said. “Plenty of things I’m not proud of. Things that would make you look like a pussycat. Some would say the business I’m in would count as stupid shit. But I’m proud of it. Ya know?” Was she smiling at him? “It’s the oldest business in the world, Jellwagger. Sure, it can be abused. It has its ugly side, but take Holland and Germany. If you keep it regulated, there’s nothing wrong with it.”
“What is the point of this? Pat…” He looked up at the ceiling and shook his head. He knew what she was doing. She figured she had nothing to lose with Pat Dinner, but Jellwagger had everything to lose. She was going to keep him here until Pat…
“You’re wrong. That’s not why I’m keeping you here.” She kissed him again. “How’s your leg?”
“Much to your chagrin, not too bad.”
“See? That’s why I respect you. You don’t take shit lying down. You give as good as you get. You act all pussy sometimes, but you’ve got a lot of fire in that belly that your glasses and your skinny-ass nature do a good job hiding. Look at the way you dealt with that douche bag who broke into your apartment. He had a gun. So? You didn’t care.” She laughed. “That’s awesome. I bet Neckman couldn’t’ve done that.” She shook her head. “I know I’ve made life hard for you. And now you’ve been shot. Not my fault, but I figure you deserve a reward.”
“Did you fire Stefania?”
“Shut the fuck up.” She slapped his arm again. “Hey, this is most likely the only time I’m going to do this for you. Don’t fuck it up.”
“Do what?”
She smiled at him another moment, then got on her knees and proceeded to blow him.
It took Jellwagger longer than usual to get hard. This couldn’t possibly be happening.
“Maybe I misspoke,” she said while whacking him off to get the blood flowing. “I said don’t fuck up, right? Maybe just this once the reverse would apply.”
Jellwagger cracked up, which was perhaps her intention because it did the trick.
Man, what an awesome teacher that Stefania was. Carla was down there a good five minutes before she came up for air. He wouldn’t’ve lasted five seconds this time last week.
Carla stood up and turned them around so it was now her standing against the wall. “Your turn.” She gently placed her hands on his shoulders, but she didn’t need to force him down. Jellwagger went down on her voraciously. At first he was petrified Pat would hear her moaning and yelping, but God damn if the jolly son of a bitch was still singing show tunes. Jellwagger ate her for at least the same amount of time she blew him. When she turned around, he thought to himself how galling for her just to assume he was an ass man. Actually, judging by her “fuck me” whimper, she wanted him to stand up and do the needful, but it was too late. Jellwagger already had his mouth in her crack. “Motherfucker! Oh you’re so fucking nasty!”
He pulled out. “You want me to stop?”
She reached behind, grabbed his head, and pushed his face back in. “Get back inside, you nasty bitch! Yes!”
For hygienic purposes Jellwagger couldn’t keep this up too long, but he did induce another orgasm or two before standing up and sticking himself inside her.
At one point, when Carla threw her head back and howled at the ceiling, Jellwagger couldn’t help wonder if she was faking it for his sake. Someone with his very limited experience couldn’t possibly have this effect on a woman like her, right? Not that he wanted to take anything away from his manhood, but the logic of it didn’t add up. What was that song Pat was singing right now? It sounded familiar. Cole Porter maybe? Probably. Cole Porter reminded Jellwagger of Carla’s talking about his pussy demeanor. The woman never minced words. She didn’t care what you thought of her. To take a metaphor she may have used: Carla Houde had been around the block too many times to give a flying fuck what you thought of her. So if he wasn’t cutting the mustard as a sex partner, he had to figure she wouldn’t be shy about criticizing him, or even laughing at him. Yet here she was, seemingly enjoying it.
Her wet red hair draped down her back looked irresistible. He grabbed a wad of it and yanked her head back. This made her yell more, but she didn’t try to stop him. “You like that shit?” he snarled in her ear. He pulled harder. “You love it.”
“Oh fuck you! Harder!”
He wasn’t sure what the “harder” referred to, so he pulled her hair harder while fucking her harder. Whatever she’d meant, it did the trick.
When it was over, she collapsed against the wall. Jellwagger wiped away the foamy spit from all the snarling while Carla panted like someone who’d just sprinted a mile.
Suddenly she stood up and stopped breathing. “No singing.”
“What?”
She mouthed the word “out” while gesturing for him to get the hell out of Dodge.
Jellwagger didn’t need to be told twice. He hopped out of the stall, decided to leave the lone towel on the rack for Carla, and hurried to the hallway linen closet to grab one of the extra towels. He heard the squeaking sound of the shower nozzles as Pat turned off the water. He sighed pleasurably. “Oh yeah. It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, baby!”
Pat went on and on in the same fashion, which afforded Jellwagger sound cover so he could creep into his room and get some clothes without Pat hearing. It meant sneaking to the other side of the room, where the bathroom was, to get a shirt from the closet. Because he lived alone, Jellwagger always left the bathroom door wide open when he showered, but Pat had closed it almost all the way. Jellwagger was less than ten feet away from Pat as he pulled one of his Nets tees off the hanger. He crept back into the hallway to scoop up his jeans before taking refuge in the kitchen. It wasn’t until he was drying himself furiously by the counter while listening to Pat come out of the bathroom and sing who-knows-what and Carla turn off the water and open the sliding door that the stealthy Jellwagger noticed Chump E. Chips staring at him from the recliner in sheer wonderment. Jellwagger had to struggle not to laugh out loud.
Apparently Pat was also a dawdler when it came to getting dressed. Jellwagger was dry and dressed in plenty of time. His hair was still a bit wet. He’d never gotten his head completely under the water, but the sides and back had gotten doused while he’d been on his knees. He went out into the courtyard to let the air do what the towel couldn’t.
No one was around. The courtyard was dead quiet. Sometimes he could at least hear a noise. With all these families, you’d be bound to hear one or two kids crying or whining or yelling or running around. Then he remembered it was Monday morning. When was the last time he’d stayed home on a Monday? Or stayed home at all for the matter of that? If Jellwagger had done something right at Powell and Powler, it was maintaining an attendance record that rivaled any attorney’s.
By the time Pat came out, our man was parked in the recliner with Chump in his lap. “Whatchya watching, my man?”
“Golly shucks, Pat. I’ve been flipping channels the whole time you were doing Cole Porter proud. I’m not used to all the empty time.”
Pat stuck his head back into the hallway. “I’m outa here.”
“Get lost,” Carla said.
He smiled as he strolled over to Jellwagger. “If she doesn’t care, why is she taking the time to get dolled up?” Pat made a show of checking what was on TV while coming to a stop next to the recliner. He leaned over and whispered, “She can’t know you work for me. Is that clear?” The whisper was rasping, like Pat’s air supply was limited. And his wide-eyed look wasn’t threatening so much as pleading.
“Sure thing.”
He patted Jellwagger’s shoulder. “Take care of yourself. When you’re back on your feet, I’ll be in touch.”
“I’ll call you.”
“No need.”
Within seconds of his departure, Carla emerged. All trace of her emotional nudity, as with her actual nudity, was gone. She blocked his view of the TV with her hands on her hips. “He. Is not. To know. Anything!” She cut the air with her hand at the last word.
“Got it.”
She considered him another moment before digging into her little purse for her keys. When she looked back up, she said, “Rest up, bitch. Because as soon as you’re healthy again, I’m putting you right back to work and hard.”
“And I won’t have to call you.”
Carla left.
There was our Jellwagger, sprawled on the recliner just as we found him when the episode began. A whole week of not having to work lay before him. What to do?
To be continued...
