by Kim Zarins
Years later Cocky loses his job and has to get work at a mini-market in the middle of nowhere. Literally just a shop off a forgotten freeway. So, his wife, Briana, and daughter, Allie, who is just starting at some no-name community college, move into the one-bedroom connected to the store. Yes, indeed, they all had to sleep in the same room. To top things off, Briana has a second child, and now they have to fit a crib in the already overstuffed bedroom. The baby yowls every night and will only settle down after a late night feeding and stroll with her mom.
It’s a rather dull life, I must say, and the only fun Cocky has is pranking the occasional customer—only no one has been around in a long time.
Now I will introduce two college students, graduates from our own Southwark High. They are on their way to Brown, and all their worldly goods are packed in their Subaru. I’ll play the main one, but for the story, we’ll call him Mitch.
I smile ear to ear. I mean, Mitch. It’s as if in his fantasy life, Reeve is one of the popular meatheads he claims to despise. It’s like catching him pulling a varsity jacket over his bony shoulders.
And my friend will be our own Jeff Chaucer.
“What?! Leave me out.” I try to look tough (like a Mitch), but immediately everyone’s throwing out fake names, and they decide to name us Bert and Ernie. Alison claims she once dated an older guy named Bert, and Reeve gets way too excited when he hears that.
“Can you do Ernie’s laugh?” Pard asks, and there’s still a lot of bliss-smacked predator to him, but that edge of mockery is also back, which might be progress.
Reeve, meanwhile, swaggers a bit as he launches back into his tale.
So these guys come in and see this dumpy little store, and they see Cocky, a big bald guy, sitting back watching TV, like his store is his living room, which it is. I should add that Cocky is a corpulent fellow. Over the years, all his muscle has turned to fat, and he has trouble getting out of his chair when the college students arrive. This makes them snicker, and Cocky wants revenge.
Ernie asks to use the bathroom, and Cocky has it all worked out. With a smile on his face, he gives Ernie a key.
That leaves Bert for him to deal with. Cocky looks out the window and sees the Subaru packed with gear.
“Car looks pretty dirty,” he says. “A wash is only five bucks.”
“Just coffee, thanks,” Bert says, and he buys an overpriced cup. Cocky hands it over with a grin, and Bert takes a sip. It tastes like the dirt it was made from.
Then Allie walks into the store, and Bert’s jaw drops. “Hi there,” he says, and she smiles at him.
Cocky doesn’t like that, but he uses it to his advantage. “Allie, want to help Bert get his car washed?”
“Sure,” she says.
Bert can’t say no to that, even though he has to cough up five dollars.
While Bert is scrounging for change, Cocky tells his daughter the plan to prank the boys. She zips outside with Bert’s car keys.
When Bert joins her, she already has the car queued at the machine drive-through.
“Let’s go,” she says, and Bert climbs in the passenger side, and they ride into the darkness with all the water jets and sponges.
Unbeknownst to Bert, the back windows are all rolled down. He sniffs. “Does it smell soapy in here?”
Allie laughs and then makes him forget everything when she gives Bert a big kiss. With tongue!
The real Alison leans forward. “No way! I am not making out with you, Bert.”
Reeve’s laugh is more nervous than evil. Heh-heh-heh. “Let’s just move on.”
When they get out of the wash, Allie parks the car right where it had been. It’s not all that clean, but Bert has no complaints . . . until he notices the soggy mess inside.
“Everything is ruined.”
Allie laughs. “Oh, it’s just a joke. Lighten up!”
Just then Bert hears shouting.
It’s Ernie, who has been locked in the bathroom the whole time.
“Bert, get me out! It reeks in here!”
Bert rushes to Cocky to demand help. Cocky unlocks the door. Out comes Ernie and the stench of an unwashed bathroom so filthy that a guy has to pee standing on the counter top.
Ernie glares murder at Cocky. All three of them head back to the store, when they see another sight:
The Subaru’s tires are flat.
And Allie is tiptoeing away, carrying a harpoon.
“That does it!” shouts Bert. “I’m calling the cops.”
“No, wait, it was an accident!” blurts Cocky. “I’m sure she just tripped carrying that thing.”
The young men stare at him. “Tripped four times? Holding a harpoon?”
Cocky casts his daughter a look like she’s gone too far, even though he told her to do it, then turns back to the angry boys. He‘s worried they might call the cops. “My daughter got carried away there. I’ll make it up to you guys. You can crash here tonight. I should be able to put on some temporary tires that will get you through. There’s no need to get upset. I’ll even throw in dinner, on the house. How’s that for a handsome offer?”
The guys agree, or pretend to, at least. When Cocky goes into the garage to find cheap tires, Bert says, “I’ve had it with this guy.”
Ernie agrees. “But there’s not much we can do.”
“Or is there?” Bert chuckles.
That night, after a dinner of heated up micro meals from the convenience store, they have to figure out the sleeping arrangements. It’s tight in the tiny, one-bedroom apartment off the store that the whole family shares, and putting up two other people makes it almost impossible. Cocky and Briana decide that they should sleep in their usual bed, with the crib at the end, and they put up the young men in Allie’s double bed. Allie herself will sleep on a rollaway in the storage closet.
Before long, everyone is asleep, except the two friends, because Cocky snores like a walrus.
Bert rolls toward Ernie. “I’ll see you later.”
“Where are you going?”
He winks. “To Allie’s. I thought she might enjoy a visit.”
Ernie gasps. “What about Cocky?”
A snore shakes the room. Bert grins, then flicks off the sheets. “Serves him right. See you around.”
“Wait, don’t!”
But Bert is already sneaking to the storage closet. It swings open without a sound. Allie is asleep, but Bert jumps in the bed and passionately rolls on top of her.
“And then she wakes up and screams that a rapist is attacking her?”
Alison has her arms crossed, and everyone’s whispering and weighing in. The image of Reeve climbing on top of a sleeping girl is way too horrible a visual.
“No, she doesn’t . . . I mean, no . . . ,” Reeve counters. “It’s my story, and she woke up wanting it. Knowing Bert is hot and could do it with her.”
“No. She doesn’t,” Alison says, and her voice has a finality to it.
“But she has to,” Reeve whines. “It’s part of the plan. It’s the whole point of the story. Cocky screws over the boys all day, and they screw him over all night.”
Alison raises that eyebrow. “Then why didn’t Bert jump on top of Cocky?”
Reeve gets this exasperated look on his face. “Because he’d kill me . . . and I am not a homosexual.”
Alison heaves a big sigh. “Look, I’ll help you write your story.” And she takes over.
So, Bert climbs on top of Allie, but Allie wakes up and tells him she doesn’t want him, so Bert stops. Right?
Reeve is devastated. “Right.”
There’s pity in Alison’s smile as she continues her revised version.
Allie points out that it’s rude to make love to people without their permission. She takes his arm and leads him back to his bed. She explains to him that you should make sure the person wants it, and she’ll show him how. She sees Ernie there, watching them with eyes wide open. Allie asks Ernie, “Want to sleep with me tonight?” And Ernie says . . .
Alison looks at me with those brown eyes snapping with energy. “What does Ernie say?”
“Sure,” I squeak. Earlier, I thought Pard had been messing with my head more than I could take, but now my head-mess knows no bounds.
Alison flicks a hand as if to say, There you have it. She finishes telling the story her way.
Then Allie puts Bert in his bed and pulls Ernie out, and she leads Ernie to her little rollaway in the closet. And Ernie is sweet and innocent, Allie’s favorite flavor. She teaches him first how to kiss, and they play around in various states of undress until they are making love again and again. They play the night away, until Ernie needs to sneak back to his bed in the morning.
“How’s that?” she asks.
“Fine,” I say, breathless. My heart’s beating fast, and my voice betrays me.
Her smile is wicked, like she’s mock-scolding my naughty mind. “I was talking to Reeve.”
“Oh.” I turn to the window and pretend to look for Long Island. I want to die.
“W-well,” Reeve stutters, “have it your way. I don’t want to offend the fairer sex. Anyhow. Allow me to continue.”
Bert lies in the bed, alone, none too happy at being rejected by the lovely young woman. So he dozes off. He wakes up an hour later to a baby crying. He’s been warned about the baby’s habit of waking up every night. The room is pitch dark, but the other bed creaks, and he knows Briana is taking the baby out for a night walk, and maybe even a breast-feeding.
Bert gets up and moves the crib to the foot of his bed. Then he takes off his clothes and waits under the covers.
Briana comes back and passes his bed, and then retraces her steps. She puts the sleeping baby in the crib and crawls in next to him.
“I almost got in the wrong bed!” she whispers to the man she thinks is her husband.
“Hmm,” Bert groans heavily, hiding his voice to keep the game of musical beds a secret. He runs his hand over her breast, and she rolls toward him. Then they start making out, all tongues and grinding and sex. The real deal. Heh-heh-heh. Over and over, and she is totally into it. She moans, “Cocky, you’re on fire tonight.” They fall asleep naked in each other’s arms.
Well, when Ernie finally returns to the room, tiptoeing in the dark, he almost gets into bed with Bert and Briana, but the baby crib warns him that this is the wrong bed.
So he gets into bed with Cocky instead.
Then he scoots up real close and tells Cocky every kinky thing he did with Allie that night.
He’s totally shocked when Cocky rolls over and grabs him by the throat.
“It’s me, you moron,” Cocky growls. “How dare you sleep with my daughter?”
Briana calls from the other bed. “Cocky, is that you? But I thought I was having sex with you in this bed.”
“So. Much. Ew,” moans Briony.
Cocky roars, “You guys slept with my daughter and my wife!” The only reason Ernie doesn’t get strangled is that Cocky lunges for Bert while still holding on to Ernie. Cocky’s plan seems to be to grab both of them by the necks at the same time.
Everyone is screaming, all while at least partly naked, and Briana slaps Bert, and the baby starts bawling, and Allie rushes into the dark room with her harpoon in hand in time to hear Cocky roaring loudly as he chases Bert and Ernie around the room.
Clutching the baby, Briana shrieks at her daughter, “Help your father!”
So Allie takes a swing with her harpoon. Everyone hears a thunk, and a body falls to the floor.
By now the gray light of dawn breaks over the horizon, and in seconds everyone can see the truth: not Bert or Ernie on the floor, but Cocky.
Allie has clocked her own esteemed progenitor with solid iron.
Bert says, “Well, ladies, we had a terrific time, and now we’ll be on our way.”
So they get into their musty Subaru and drive to school. The end.
Reeve’s story was so mean spirited—not to mention so rape-happy—that everyone and especially the girls rant about what a load of sexism it was.
“And he wonders why he can’t get laid,” Reiko says to Frye with a snort.
Briony is also beside herself, insisting to everyone that she (1) would never sleep with Rooster and (2) would kill herself before she let Reeve touch her body.
Point #1 is extremely awkward for Rooster. I mean, the first word that came out of Briony’s mouth when Reeve claimed she’d slept with Rooster was “gross,” and now she adds that she’d never sleep with him. And Rooster can’t tell Briony off, because she’s Kai’s girlfriend. So he just sits there, dumbstruck.
I’m looking at Rooster through Briony’s eyes, and I see it. He’s a football star, and popular, but not hot. There comes a point when a guy gets so huge that he’s like another species. Girls squeal when he picks them up, but not because his body makes their hearts flutter. They save the flutter thing for guys like Kai, with those smooth shoulders and small waist. Even skinny-assed Frye sees far more action than Rooster does. It’s weird, because Rooster has had some hot girlfriends, but I’m wondering if any of them ever made him feel hot. I’m guessing not. And I wonder if that bites.
I’m grateful Alison isn’t giving a huge speech about how mating with me would be the most disgusting experience in a menu of horrific life options. Still, I’m feeling low from being set up in a fictional one-night stand that no girl in real life would ever tolerate.
“What did you think of the story, Jeff?” Mari is asking my professional opinion again, which feels suspicious. Maybe she wants to see if I’m one of those pigheaded, sexist authors.
Obviously, I know which side to take in this war. “It was vindictive. And raping a woman to get back at a man is totally off.”
“No one got raped!” Reeve screeches.
“What about Briana?” Cece demands loudly, even though she’s sitting near Reeve at the front. She’s been grumbling about the sexism in the other stories and seems to have reached her tipping point. “That was not consensual.”
“Anyone sleeping with Reeve would hardly do it consensually,” Lupe quips.
“Deception is his only hope,” Reiko adds.
“Hence his story,” Lupe concludes, and the two of them smile somewhat cruelly.
I don’t know how Reeve can hear all this without shriveling up and dying.
He raps the clipboard with his pen, rat-tat-tat. “So, let me get this straight. You guys can pull pranks, and it’s fun, but when I do, it’s vindictive and evil and sexually aggressive. What a bunch of BS. The truth is that you’re scared of my intelligence, because if I chose to use it against you, you wouldn’t stand a chance.”
Things are about to take a nasty turn, when Alison speaks up. “There’s one good thing about this story.”
Her eyes twinkle with mischief that is actually not at Reeve’s expense. She might be the only person on the whole bus not ganging up on him.
“Two words: ‘musical beds.’ That is something I need to try.”
Most of the girls are skeptical, but the guys can’t help but want in on that game, especially if Alison is playing.
Suddenly people are whispering “musical beds” and swapping seats. They pair off quietly while Mr. Bailey gets into this big sexism debate with Cece up front.
Changing seats to ditch Pard sounds terrific, but I don’t know who would sit with me. I don’t even know how to ask someone. I turn around to find Bryce, but he’s already out of his seat, sliding in with Rooster like that’s a done deal. I look over at Reiko, but she’s already leaning over Frye to get Lupe’s attention.
“Over here, goddess,” Pard says softly.
Alison grins and squeezes in with him. With us.
He’s got this smug smile on his face, meant for me to see. I can’t believe Pard has beat me to it . . . with her. Now I have to leave or be a complete loser in front of Alison.
I see Cookie slouched in the back corner and pounce.
“Cookie!” I have to raise my voice, because he is
that zoned out, and Mr. Bailey turns his head, but he’s not really looking. Cece is still ranting in full swing.
Cookie flashes a peace sign. I take that as a yes to the question I didn’t ask, then crawl over Pard and Alison and hustle to the back. Alison slaps my ass as I rush down the aisle. Unless it was Pard.
I sandwich myself in the back row between Saga and Cookie. Instantly, I know the smell of pot and cigarette smoke will probably trigger my asthma, but there’s no other option. I can last until the first pit stop.
“I’m thirsty,” Cookie says, and he looks at me like I might have a tall glass of milk.
“What the heck is going on here?” Mr. Bailey cranes his neck. “You all changed seats?”
“Sir, I did no such thing,” Reeve says, clicking his pen. “But I have it all here, exactly what happened while Cece distracted you.”
Cece slaps her seat like she’s had it. “I wasn’t distracting him! I was pointing out that these tales are offensive.” She faces the whole bus and looks a little lost because Rooster isn’t in his spot, Saga is, but she finds him two rows ahead and narrows her eyes. “These stories all objectify women. First they are forced into marriage, and then they are an object for a man to use. It’s disgusting.”
“Aw, it’s just fun,” Rooster says.
Cece leans out like she wants to crawl over the seats and smack him. “Using women for your own sexual gratification is not fun.”
“Yeah, it is,” Rooster says, but quietly to Bryce beside him.
Knees jutting into the aisle, Mr. Bailey props his chin with his fist, like a perkier version of that statue The Thinker. “I expect all of you to be offended at least once today. It’s unlikely we could have this many people telling this many stories without finding some of them very problematic.”
“Then let’s make rules to keep that from happening,” Cece says.
Mr. Bailey frowns. “I don’t think that’s possible. And I don’t think it’s appropriate.”
Cece retorts, “You think it’s appropriate to tell inappropriate stories?”
“I think it’s appropriate to let everyone tell their own story. That doesn’t mean people are universally praised for the tales they tell. We’re all listening and reacting to what we’re hearing, and we’re all talking, all learning. That works for me. Now, let’s get on with it. I already drew out Cookie’s name.”