Guttersnipe
Page 15
Roger gets done with the Freeman file and to his car by 5:30 pm. Not bad.
Add forty minutes for the commute.
6:10 pm.
Add thirty minutes to eat and change.
6:40 pm.
Call Joe-Bomb and talk about whose B.A.C. will be higher; four or five minutes.
6:45 pm.
Wait twenty minutes for Joe to get to the apartment.
7:15 pm.
All in all, Roger should be drinking by 8:00 pm-ish. That’s about when the game starts too.
-
It’s 7:15 and Joe isn’t here yet. Roger had even called him at twenty to six. That’s five minutes earlier than the estimated time frame.
Roger needs a drink. He mixes a quick one.
Three more minutes.
Finally, a rhythmic knock on the door and in comes Joe. “I’m here, it’s me, it’s Joe. Let’s go! Let’s go! Let’s go!!” That’s Joe’s jolly little pre-drinking saying.
Roger’s happy to hear it. “What time’s the game?”
“Seven thirty. We’ll miss the beginning, but I think that’s okay. I brought a little snack we can have on the way there.” Joe pulls out a .75 liter bottle of Southern Comfort.
“Nice man.”
“Yea, I figured I’d get this and you could get the cab.”
“Sounds good. Let’s get to it.”
Joe unscrews the bottle and takes two gulps. He passes it to Roger. Roger does the same. It’s gone before they even get out of the apartment building.
“See you later, Mr. Kenston. Have a good night.”
“Thanks, Ray, you too.”
“Bye, Ray.”
“Bye, Joe.”
Ray is the old timer who runs the front desk of Roger’s apartment building. He’s at least seventy-five. Roger wants to be retired by fifty. There’s no way he’ll be seventy-five and still working. No way. Roger won’ get to that point. He won’t let himself.
He can’t.
-
Jake’s pub is busy, but not packed. There’s a fair amount of women in the building tonight.
Maybe Susie from work is here. She’d make a good wife. She’s good looking, has great work morals, and would probably get freaky in the bedroom.
That’s just what Roger is looking for, a good all-around wife. He’s at that age where he needs to find someone to settle down with, someone who is fairly independent and keeps busy themselves because he has quite a work load too. He needs someone who respects him and will recognize his stature. Someone like Susie. She’d do just fine.
“Hey! Didn’t you hear me?”
“What?”
It’s pretty loud inside Jake’s Pub.
“I said, let’s sit at the bar. I can see two spots open on the far end.”
“Okay.”
They sit down.
“Four please.”
“The usual, Joe?”
“Yessir.”
It’s the usual bartender.
Joe turns to Roger, “You did that thing again.”
“That what?”
“That thing where you go off into la-la land for a little while.”
“No, I just couldn’t hear you.”
“I told you twice. You looked right at me the second time and still didn’t say anything.”
Roger hangs his head and rubs his eyes. “Sorry, man. It was that shitty day with having to do that Freeman File. Got the mind going and I can’t really slow it down.”
“Man, forget about work already.” The shots arrive. “Here, this should help you forget.” They both knock two shots back.
Two more each.
One more each.
Then it’s on to the beers.
When Roger gets home he thinks for a second about how he’d gotten here. Did he drive? He’s pretty drunk. Did- No, they’d taken a cab. That’s right.
Roger has a tiny drunken giggle at his own forgetful stupidity. That’s when he knows he’s good and drunk. That’s when he knows it’s been a good night.
It’s midnight. It’s time to get to bed.
Roger tries, but he can’t. He just keeps tossing and turning and tossing.
Pissed off about it, Roger goes to his walk-in closet to check if any of his suits could use a good dry-cleaning. He finds three.
In the bathroom he changes his once used towels and washcloths in for new ones. Then he goes back to his closet and straightens and cleans all of his pairs of shoes.
That should be good enough.
Roger goes back to his bed.
Still can’t sleep.
He gets up, goes to his computer, and checks his bank account and emails. He’s just shy of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. He’d probably be over it if he hadn’t bought that new suit.
He needed it, though. But he’s really wanted to get above a quarter of a million dollars.
No more big spending until he hits the mark. One more paycheck and he’ll be over it with a fair amount left over. He’ll get something nice then. Something expensive. Maybe not the new car just yet. Something else.
A watch. Roger hasn’t gotten a new watch for a long while. He could really use a new watch. It’s probably been four or five months since the last one. He’s overdue.
Roger goes back to his bed and lies down. He takes his silver watch off and looks at it before setting it on the nightstand beside his bed.
Yea, he needs a new watch.
-
The alarm clock goes off at 6:00 am the next morning.
Roger had forgotten to turn it off last night. He rolls over, hits the off button, and goes back to sleep for three more hours.
-
Waffles this morning. Waffles and orange juice.
Roger’s so used to hangovers now that he barely notices them outside of his usual morning grogginess. He flips on the television. The big one, the forty-two inch widescreen plasma in the living room. Of course he has surround sound.
A glass coffee table sits in front of his black leather couch. The table holds his orange juice and feet as he reclines in the couch while eating his waffles smothered in syrup.
The waffles were made using his top of the line waffle maker. It has a timer built into it which triggers the automatic flipper.
Very high tech. It better be, costing nearly three hundred dollars.
The news is on. Something about the on-going scandal of the Politician, Frank P. Million. It’s been on quite a bit lately, almost a month now.
Roger pays little attention and enjoys his perfectly flipped waffles. Maybe there’s an automatic pancake maker that can do the same thing as the waffle maker. Sometimes Roger’ll burn his pancakes on one side, especially after a heavy night of drinking.
Maybe that’s what Roger should get instead of a new watch. He looks down at his watch. It’s not there, it’s still on his nightstand.
No, no, he really needs a new watch.
Perfect pancakes can wait.
With as much syrup he’d put on those waffles, Roger’ll need to work out today. He’s already starting to feel his body processing the sugar into fat. He’ll do that after while, though. Bust out the Perfect Abs Roller and the Perfect Push-up Rotating Handles.
Designed to perfectly sculpt the upper body.
Not now, though. Soon.
Roger grabs his laptop and starts his usual internet browsing.
Email.
Current news.
Stocks.
Bank account.
Then on to the miscellaneous.
Is there a perfect pancake maker?
New watches.
Newest cars.
Better apartments.
Fancier televisions.
It’s almost noon now. Better get to working out.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven. Set.
Drink of water.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve. Set.
Drink of water.
Two more sets and abs will be done. Abs are first because Roger hates doing them. Get them done and over with. He doesn’t have a six pack, which is a disappointment, but he does have a flat stomach.
Push-ups are better because they’re easier to forcefully do. Save them for last. He likes the ‘pumped’ feeling it gives him.
Roger has a workout album he’d made when he’d first started exercising. He uses it every time now.
Pump Jams One is what it’s called.
The first song goes something like, ‘It’s tricky to rock a rhyme that right on time, that’s right on time, it’s tricky. Get tricky.’ Or those are the lyrics Roger sings when he hears it.
Done with the workout. Back to television.
Roger mixes up a protein shake. Chocolate.
Maybe there’s a good movie on pay-per-view. Roger doesn’t go to the theaters much. He just waits for them to show up on P.P.V.
Sometimes he’ll take a date to some chick-flick, buy her whatever she wants then get laid. It’s pretty much just an accepted version of whoring.
But Roger doesn’t do that anymore, he’s almost thirty. He needs to find a wife, have some kids, buy a house, retire, and travel. There’s not a whole lot of time left. Three months to thirty and Roger isn’t content.
If he could just find a decent, pretty housewife he would be okay. Someone to have dinner ready for him after he gets off work, someone to smile at him, someone to sleep in the same bed as him, someone to appreciate him and all that he’s worth, someone who’ll clean the house and take care of the kids.
Roger wants three kids. Two boys, one girl. The boys’ names could be Eli and Christopher. Roger would let his wife pick the girl’s name.
There’d be a dog too. Just one. A golden retriever. Rex.
The kids could have hamsters or fish or a lizard or something, but there would only be one dog.
Rex.
Maybe, maybe a cat. But only if the wife wants it.
The house will have to be three stories. Roger wants to have a man cave. Somewhere for him and Joe to drink some beer, watch sports, and talk about stupid shit they’d done when they were younger.
A three car garage. One for the van and two for sports cars.
Roger can see it all.
Tree house.
Yellow blouse.
Night lights.
Cribs.
A trampoline.
Basketball hoop in the driveway.
Well kept lawn.
Red bricks.
White trim.
Perfect.
Roger dozes off.
-
It’s four o’clock. Shit.
Roger needs to get those suits to the dry-cleaners. Roger needs to shower first. And shave.
Twenty-five minutes.
Get dressed and get to the dry-cleaners.
Twenty-five to thirty minutes.
That’s almost five o’clock already. It’s going to be close.
-
Roger pulls up just after five. Two minutes past. Lou is flipping the open sign around to show that it’s closed.
“God damn it.” Roger rushes out of his car, slamming the door behind himself.
Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock. “Lou! It’s me Lou!”
Unlatch. “Hello there, Roger.” Lou’s got a heavy Russian accent.
“Lou, I’m sorry, I lost track of time. Thanks so much for taking these so late.”
“Naught a problame. How many du you half?”
“Three suits.”
“Naught a problame.”
“You’re a life-saver, Lou.” Roger goes and grabs the suits out of his car.
“I’ll half dem done tomarrow morning.”
“Okay great. Thanks, Lou.”
“Ey. Eh, don’t fourgit, only open one to three tomarrow. It’s a Sunday.”
“Yep, got it.”
Roger turns toward the door.
“Eh, eh, eh, eh, Roger, you got something aright here.” Lou points at his neck.
Roger feels.
What an embarrassment.
What an embarrassment.
Roger peels off a tiny piece of blood-dot-stained toilet paper. It’s from when he’d nicked himself shaving. How did he forget to take that off?
Jesus, everyone had seen that.
Such a stupid, small little thing, but something that makes one look like an ignorant slob.
Dumb.
Stupid.
God, why didn’t he see that in the mirror?
-
Sunday. Football day.
Roger orders Chinese delivery and watches football all day. Sunday is his recharge-for-the-week day.
He eats too much again today and decides he needs to work out. No Pump Jams this time though. He just leaves the football game on instead.
Joe calls.
“Hey, man, what are you doing?”
“Just watching the game, you?”
“Same. I got nachos over here if you wanna swing by.”
“Yea I might.” Roger responds hesitantly.
“Nachos not enough for ya?”
“No, it’s just that I just ate a few hours ago.”
“You don’t have to eat, but I think you better come over. There’s better things then nachos here.”
Girls giggles in the back round.
Roger grins. This is just what he needs to get out of this frustrated feeling. “Oh yea? What? Did you go to the bar today, or something?”
“Yea.”
“What are their names?”
“Girls, tell him your names.”
“I’m Melany.”
“My name is Trisha. Call me Trish, babe.”
“See you soon.”
Roger dresses up in his finest casual clothing, throws on some of his most expensive clothing, looks hard in the mirror to make sure everything is damn good, no toilet paper band-aids, and heads out. He double checks everything to make sure he looks good.
How does Joe do it? How does he always find girls? They’re not hookers as far as Roger can tell. And Joe does it all the time, different girls every time.
Sunday evening is a weird time, though. Especially to be picking up two girls. This doesn’t happen all that often. Usually Joe can score one, but two is definitely much rarer.
Joe could’ve had a threesome. Every man’s dream.
But Joe’s a good guy.
Joe looks out for his friends.
He’s a damn good guy.
It’s a thirty minute drive to Joe’s apartment. He’s got a nice two bedroom pad, which is fourteen stories up. The view from the balcony is absolutely amazing. It’s definitely a lady-killer pad.
A thought of conflict enters Roger’s mind.
What about the life he wants? The house? The kids? The wife? How’s a one night stand fit into that?
The dog?
Roger can’t do this, not this time. He needs to stop this. His future wife might get mad about this someday.
One last time.
This is it. No more after this.
She doesn’t have to know.
She won’t.
Just one last time. And shit, the girl he meets tonight might even be his future wife.
Never know.
Trisha Kenston.
No, that doesn’t sound right.
Melany Kenston.
That has potential.
Roger drives fast on his way over.
-
“Hey! Roger! It’s about damn time!”
“Hey, Joe, how’s it going?’
“Good, man, good. You need a drink?”
“Yea, what do you have?”
Joe leans in and whispers in Roger’s ear really fast. “Dibs on Trish.” He leans back out. “Got some SoCo, or some beers.”
“I’ll have a SoCo and coke.”
“Classy.” Joe laughs. He’s drunk.
“Let’s get you introduced first.”
They walk to within a normal distance of the two giggling girls on the couch.
“Ladies, I would like you to meet the one, the only, the Roger Kenston.”
They laugh a little. “We kind of met on the phone already.”
“I know, I know, but here he is in the flesh now.”
“I don’t think I’m seeing enough flesh.” Trish says. The girls burst into a drunken fit of laughter.
Joe leans in real quick again. “That’s Trish.”
She’s really hot. Great body, dark hair, great face, good tits.
Melany’s good looking too. Not as big of tits, but that part doesn’t matter too much to Roger.
Roger and Joe go through the whole routine with the girls. Talk, talk, talk, flirt, flirt, flirt. What they do, where their from, the usual. And as they do, Roger feels nothing but a growing sadness. He can’t get it out of his mind. It feels like he’s doing something he shouldn’t be doing, something that has begun to eat away at him, something he cannot escape.
It’s not the house, the wife, the kids.
It’s not the dog.
Something else.
Something deep inside. Small yet.
But growing…
Growing…
“Roger.”
“What? Yea.”
“Were you even listening?” It’s Melany. Joe’s taken Trish out onto the balcony to see the view.
“Yes.”
“What did I say?”
Roger hangs his head. “I’m sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind. There’s a possibility of a huge promotion at work and I just can’t get it out of my mind.” He lies.
“Well if words can’t keep your attention, we’ll just have to try something else.” Her hand slides up his leg as she goes to kiss him.
“Mmm, yep, that’s working.” Roger’s body relaxes.
She’s a good kisser. Great with her tongue.
But there’s still some haunting thought lingering in the back of his mind.
The sex helps, though.
-
“Morning, Roger.”
“Morning, Heidi.”
“Morning, Roger.”
“Morning, Rick.”
“How’s it going, Roger?”
“Good. And you, Beth?”
“Good, thanks.”
“Morning, Roger.”
“Morning, Jerry.”
“Oh hey, Roger, how are you?”
“I’m good, Susie. You look good today.”
“Oh thanks. I just bought this outfit over the weekend.”
“It compliments you well.”
“Thanks.”