Cold Plate Special

by Rob Widdicombe

  “I want to talk to you in here,” I said.

  “Okay.”

  We sat down. He immediately slumped in his chair.

  “What’s with you?” I said. “Why you got your head down, huh?”

  He didn’t move. All the hyper-active Shred energy was gone, completely gone. Vaporized. He slumped more.

  “What happened to your personal electricity, eh, guy? Get short-circuited?”

  It looked like he cracked a tiny smile.

  “That was my thing, dude!” I said. “You had no right to do that!”

  He stared at the floor. “Fuck a buncha perverts.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. World’s a conspiracy of pervs. Fuck ’em.”

  “I expressly told you guys not to mess with my personal deal—and you pull that shit?”

  “You can’t honestly say you didn’t enjoy seeing me jump him with Greenella. Come on.”

  “Mrs. Greenstreet.”

  “Whoever.”

  “I’m not saying he didn’t deserve it.”

  “Well, then…”

  “Dude, for years—for years—I’ve wanted to face that pervert and lay him out with an ice hot death zinger. And right before I was about to, you guys showed up and ruined it.”

  “What were you gonna say to him?”

  “I didn’t get a chance to think of anything. I was just putting it together when the 3rd Cavalry from outer hell showed up.”

  “Didn’t get a chance to think of anything? How many years did you say you were planning this?”

  I just looked down. “It’s a problem I have. And I haven’t been officially planning it for years, just a couple of weeks. It’s been in the back of my mind for years, though.”

  “Two weeks seems like plenty of time to think up a zinger.”

  “Like I said, it’s a problem I have. I have a lot of problems.”

  “You seem pretty together to me. I mean, except for getting drunk and becoming the world’s biggest a-wipe.”

  “Yeah, there’s that. There’s going through four jobs in the last two years. Lost about as many girlfriends in that amount of time. And my nervous stomach problem.”

  “You keep getting hired though, right? Keep getting the girl. That’s saying something.”

  “I don’t need a bunch of positive B.S. right now, okay?”

  “What’s up with the nervous stomach thing?”

  “My guts are a slushy stress pit.” I put my hand on my stomach. “Feels like a rancid death swamp down there.”

  “All the time?”

  I nodded.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t drink so much coffee and tea. You really swill that shit.”

  “You think that’s it?”

  “That would rip up anybody’s insides, cuz-bro.”

  “Mmm.”

  We sat there in a weirdened silence. Shred slumped again. He looked completely drained.

  “So was it Farns’ idea?” I said.

  “What?”

  “Duh. The whole revenge plate special thing—it was his idea, wasn’t it?”

  “I thought it was your idea, dude. Come on—we were only trying to enhance your experience.”

  “Oh, come on.”

  “We were there to support you, Jarvis.”

  “No—you guys were there ’cause you’re crazy. You just wanted to fuck up a child molester. With a mannequin. God, you’re nuts!”

  “Mea culpa.”

  “Can’t you find your own damn child molester to confront?”

  Shred looked down.

  “He’s unavailable,” he said.

  “What do you mean? Who’s unavailable?”

  “He’s dead.”

  “Who?”

  My stomach was churning like a broken food processor filled with raw sewage. Shred took a long time to answer.

  “Uncle Pie-rold. Never got a chance to kick his ass.”

  “What! Uncle Pie-rold? No way!”

  “Yep.”

  “He never tried anything on me.”

  “Count your blessings. He messed with me like ten different times.”

  That creepy feeling of jealousy rose up again, the one I felt when Motorcar said he’d already been confronted by another victim. What the fuck was up with that!

  “When did all this happen? How old were you?”

  “He even did it once on Thanksgiving. It was like, thanks a lot. I guess the first time I was nine and the last time…eleven maybe?”

  “I wonder why he never messed with me.”

  Shred just shrugged.

  We sat there. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t be mad at him anymore. I was fully blown away. Didn’t think it was possible for the weirdest night of my life to get weirder, but there I was.

  “I can’t believe it. Is that why you were so happy at his funeral?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wow.”

  “I wanted to spit on his coffin, but I never got the chance.”

  “You know what I did?”

  “What?”

  “I skunked that dude’s car.”

  “You what?”

  “After you guys took off, I went to the store and got some eggs and bleach and mixed ’em together and poured it into the vent on the limo he drives.”

  “You did?” Shred smiled and perked up. “That is awesome!”

  “Yeah—hopefully he’ll get fired.”

  “That is sweet, bro.” We fist-bumped.

  “He acted like such a dick—wasn’t apologetic or anything. So I bitch-slapped him and skunked his limo.”

  “It’s called Washing the Car, by the way.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Man, I can’t wait to tell Farns,” he laughed.

  “That Farns. He’s so full of shit. He actually expected me to believe that he welded a giant ‘B’ on top of Lowe’s.”

  “I have a picture of that somewhere.”

  “It’s true?”

  Shred started flipping through a stack of artwork and posters on the floor by his work table. It took forever but he finally pulled out an 11” x 17” photo of the BLOWE’S sign. The ‘B’ looked almost exactly like the other letters.

  That Farns. What a rascal.

  “I guess I stand corrected.” I handed the picture back to Shred. “I hope he’s not too pissed off about me stabbing him in the arm with a corkscrew.”

  “No, he’s not pissed.”

  “That’s good.”

  “He felt really bad about last night, anyway.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Last night at the Ditch.”

  “I don’t remember most of that, which is probably a good thing. I know I got beat up. And some girl kicked me in the face.”

  “You totally don’t remember Farns pounding you like a side of beef? It wasn’t pretty.”

  “Farns was?”

  “Yeah. He was leading the charge.”

  “What!”

  “I kept telling you to stop calling him ‘Farnsworth’ and ‘Farnzington’ and all that.”

  “Wow.”

  “He didn’t get really pissed until you threw the second drink in his face.”

  “Damn.”

  “So I wouldn’t worry too much about corkscrewing him in the arm.”

  “Why’d the girl kick me in the face? Never mind—I actually don’t want to know.”

  “Oh, Lisa Purcell? She always gets into fights.”

  Shred let his head droop at a funny angle. He looked like a mental patient.

  “You okay, man?”

  “Yeah, me?” he said, snapping his head back up. “I’m...great.”

  “I just can’t believe that about Uncle Pie-rold.”

  “Well, believe it.”

  “Did you ever tell your mom or anybody?”

  “You’re actually the first person I’ve ever told.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “It’s kind of a relief.”

  “I’m sure it is. You
should try therapy.”

  “Oh, I’ve had plenty of therapy. That topic just never came up.” He started rubbing his eye, like some green greasepaint was stuck in there. “I guess raping that guy with the mannequin was my way of…I dunno…”

  “Letting it all hang out?”

  We both laughed.

  “You know what, Shred?”

  “What?”

  “Doing that stuff to the guy wasn’t all that satisfying. Facing him, calling him out, bitch slapping him, washing his car—I thought it would make me feel so much better about everything. I actually feel more confused and fucked-up now that I did before.”

  “Dude—chill out. You’ll be all right. You gave that sonofabitch a cold plate special he’ll never forget.”

  “I guess so.”

  “You’ll feel better soon,” he said, with his head still down.

  “Thanks.”

  We sat there. I let out a big, weighted sigh. Shred was looking glum but I had one burning question for him.

  “I hate to ask this, but—what did Uncle Pie-rold do exactly?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  I cleared my throat. “No way, man. That shit ain’t gonna fly.”

  “Nah.”

  “Come on. You owe me that much.”

  “All right. He…um…he dinkled with my…” And he gestured around the area of his pants. “That’s pretty much it.”

  “Huh—that’s what my pervert did to me.”

  We sat there as a heavy awkwardness started rising up. Shred started fidgeting. I looked around the room.

  “I think I’m gonna go over to Summer’s and say goodbye to her,” I said. “She told me to come by.”

  “Cool, I’m gonna hit the sack. Way burnt.”

  “Later.”

  “Later.”

  And I walked out into the yellow, steam-soaked night, keeping a sharp look-out for miscreants. All clear for the moment, so I headed up the street toward Summer’s.

  24

  Her giant boat of a car was parked out front. Mrs. Greenstreet was still there on the porch. She looked tired. I knocked on the door, but for some reason the dogs didn’t go crazy. Maybe they were getting to know my knock.

  “Hey. Come on in.”

  We went down to her living room and sat on the couch.

  “This has been the single weirdest night of my life. Ever.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “You ready to hear the rest of it?”

  “Of course. Tell, tell.”

  One of the dogs, Vertigo I think, decided to join us. He started sniffing my crotch with great force.

  “Verty!” Summer scolded.

  “I am completely freaked out right now. Shred just told me something really fucked up about one of our family members.” I shook my head. She was so gorgeous in the soft light, I just wanted to forget everything and forget the world and swim in the dream lake of my new punk rock girlfriend. I wanted a sandwich. I wanted coffee and sandwiches real, real bad.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “No, yeah. Yes. I dunno.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Kind of, but…I was pretty pissed at Shred for telling everyone in Richmond about Motorcar. Now the situation is kind of reversed, so I don’t really…I shouldn’t say anything.”

  “That’s okay. You don’t have to.”

  “But it’s like, man…our uncle totally molested him when he was little.”

  She put her hand over her mouth. “That’s horrible.”

  “Yeah—it’s messed up.”

  “Poor Shreddie!”

  “What is wrong with people?”

  “They should round up all those pervs and shoot them.”

  “I guess it explains his whole deal with going nutzo tonight.”

  “Well, going off his medication didn’t help much.”

  “What? What medication?”

  “His bi-polar meds. You didn’t know Shred was rabidly bi-polar?”

  “No. Jesus.”

  “I told him not to do it, but he said they were holding him back lately, messing with his personal electricity. So he went off it last week.”

  “Damn.”

  “That’s fucking horrible about your uncle. Maybe Shred could go have a confrontation too. That would be really healthy for him.”

  “Too late. He’s dead.”

  “Oh. Well, maybe that’s for the best.” Then she started sniffing at the air. “I think I smell it.”

  “Smell what?”

  “The bleach and eggs.” She popped up and headed down the hall.

  I smelled my hands. Nothing. Maybe I was acclimated. Summer came back with some incense sticks.

  “Is that bleach’n’eggs flavored incense?”

  “No. Gorgonzola and dirty socks.”

  “Yum.”

  She lit the stick and let it burn for a minute and blew out the flame. Then she perched it in its stand like an incense pro and sat back down. The room started to smell like a Shanghai opium den, not that I knew what that smelled like. She scooted up right next to me. It was way nice.

  “Crazy-ass night,” I said.

  “Wacky.”

  “Kooky.”

  “Outta control.”

  I thought we were going to kiss, but we just sat there. The moment wasn’t right. Then something started to hit me, something I’d never felt before. My body became flooded with an exquisitely painful feeling of complete, raw exhaustion. Deep inner-bone exhaustion. Every bruise, cut and scrape started hurting like a way mad beeyotch. I felt like a bag of rotten groceries that had been dropped down several flights of stairs and then lit on fire. I weighed eight thousand pounds all of a sudden. I was paralyzed.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Not feeling too good. It’s been a rough one.”

  “You want some orange juice? That might make you feel better.”

  “That would be awesome.”

  The juice went down like liquid sunshine. She stroked the back of my head. It was kind of like being in heaven and hell at the same time. I don’t remember much after that. I don’t even remember if I finished my orange juice.

  I woke up on the couch with a blanket over me. It was covered with dinosaurs. A kid’s blanket. Light was trying to get in through the purple curtains. I took a deep breath and it hurt. Then I threw the blanket off and sat up. I felt like twelve different kinds of death. Checked my pockets and had a grand total of eleven cents. That wasn’t enough for coffee and it really wasn’t enough for gas to get home. I couldn’t wait to leave Richmond in the dust and get home and take a hot shower. The NEWTON CHEESE FARMS shirt smelled more like a pig farm.

  Summer must have been down in her room asleep. I felt like I should go in and kiss her goodbye and thank her for all the moral support and orange juice and everything, but for some reason I was afraid wake her up. I thought maybe I should write a note. Started looking around for a pen and paper. Nothing. She probably had something in her mannequin studio, but I was afraid to go in there as well. I was probably going to be freaked out by mannequins for the rest of my life. Oh well, I guessed there were worse things. I decided to just wake her up. I stood in front of her door and got ready to knock. I raised my fist and then stopped. What if someone was in there with her? What if it was Klavin? If so, he probably still had on his trench coat and boots. I didn’t really think anyone was in there but I just felt nervous. Cosmically nervous. Then a voice in my head said: Jarvis, you’ve got some getting the fuck out of here to do. So I did.

  It was early. Oregon Hill seemed very peaceful. Innocent even. Except for me. I was a desperate loser and I needed money. At least a twenty to get coffee and gas. I slipped into Shred’s like a ghost. Kenny was asleep with his mouth open. His breathing sounded like a broken vacuum cleaner. I scanned the table. There was a dollar bill and some change amidst all the other junk. Not enough. Then I saw Kenny’s wallet.

  I was already a psycho stalker weirdo freak
who sucked, so why not add thief to the list? Besides, I could mail him a check as soon as I got home. So it was really borrowing not thievery. Yeah. His wallet had a twenty, a ten and three ones. I took the twenty and stuck it in my pocket and put the wallet back. All too easy. He’ll never notice, I said to myself. He’s too high. He’ll wonder why he got a check from me for twenty-five dollars. Maybe thirty. You should always pay extra interest when you steal-borrow something. I turned and headed down the hallway and felt like a complete asshole. Fifty. I’ll send him a check for fifty. Actually, I should send him cash, that way he won’t have to gimp himself to the bank. See? I was thoughtful.

  No, I wasn’t.

  Yes, I wasn’t.

  Within fifteen minutes I was fueled up and on the highway with a giant hot coffee. For the first five minutes of the drive, I felt incredibly free. The wind was blowing through the car. The zushing noise the motor was making sounded like music. Then the feeling faded. It dropped to the bottom of my stomach like a load of death bricks. I felt weird about Motorcar, weird about Shred, about not saying goodbye Summer, about stealing twenty bucks from Kenny. I felt embarrassed, compromised somehow, dragged down. This whole thing was supposed to be catharsis but it just made things murkier. The feeling was pulling at me. Each encounter I’d had back there was like a sandbag tied to my ankles. Everything about my life was a sick mistake and I was paying the price.

  I dreamed of my hot, soapy, luxurious shower the whole drive home. It kept my mind off of life.

  I wondered if Motorcar’s limo reeked yet.

  I sure as hell hoped so.

  PART 3

  25

  IT FELT LIKE I’d been gone for fifty years. The beige hadn’t changed a bit, though. My piles of dirty laundry were still in the same places on the floor. My innards were still a rancid swamp. Made coffee. I was still a loser. I made the coffee extra strong.

  I threw the NEWTON CHEESE FARMS shirt onto one of the piles and took the hot shower I had been dreaming about. It hurt. Then I put on some shorts and turned on the TV. Nothing was on, so I threw the remote as hard as I could at the wall. I needed to call the credit card companies and report my lost cards, which I should have done already, but I had no phone. I had to go to DMV and get a new driver’s license, but I wasn’t feeling it. So I went down to the rental office and used their phone and called Ben. We made plans to meet. Cogbill’s. Went back and took a power nap, but when I woke up I wasn’t feeling much in the way of power.