Turds in the Punch Bowl (A Story of No Ordinary Friendship)

by Jen Ashton

  “There’s more lights now,” I exclaimed as we looked off in the distance.

  Some friends had joined the patrol car. It looked like there were three now. We used them as our lighthouse in the sea of darkness and headed straight toward them. It was another hour before we even got close. And unfortunately as we did, we noticed the lights belonged to two patrol cars and a tow truck. And, if we strained our eyes far enough, we could see Joe’s car hoisted up and chained to the back of it. We were officially fucked.

  I heard a big thud behind me.

  “Well,” Joe perked up, “if we’re stuck out here all night, I suggest we take a few of those photos we came here for.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yep. Seriously. How much worse could it get? Now, take off your shoes and pose.”

  Joe was decent at taking charge in any situation. I admire him for that. Though his brilliance often put us in situations that required more of his brilliance to get us out of, he always did a fairly good job of making the best of things. This moment was no different. I took off my sneakers and felt around for a Joshua tree. I knew there were plenty. I had eaten a few when I ran from the donkey.

  I stood as close as I could to the nearest tree and Joe snapped a picture. The flash was blinding.

  “Okay, that’s it. Let’s go!” he said as he put his camera in its case and snapped it closed.

  “That’s it?” I was confused.

  “Yep. There’s no waterfall behind you, but it will do.”

  I put my shoes back on and we hiked the rest of the way to the road without saying a word. I think we were both bummed that we hadn’t found the waterfall. We didn’t have to walk along the shoulder for long before we were picked up by highway patrol. The officer gave us a ride home, apologized for calling in our car and gave us a lecture about the safeties of hiking in the desert.

  FINGER-BANGING JANE

  Joe isn’t the smoothest pickup artist, so how he ended up finger-banging our favorite waitress in the back of the restaurant is beyond me. I wish I could tell you he got laid this time, but unfortunately this story doesn’t have a happy ending. Just when he thought he was in like Flynn, the ghost of a husband’s past came creeping up Jane’s legs and closed them for business. Poor Joe. He ended up with blue balls and Finger-bangin’ Jane was never heard from again. It’s never a dull day trying to wet Joe’s willy.

  It all started on a Tuesday night. Joe was hungry and I was tired. He invited me to join him for dinner at the restaurant next door, a place we frequented for lunch and the bar of choice for his infamous break-ups on my behalf. We waltzed in around nine and the place was dead. That meant quick service and fast food for us, so we made our way to a table with a view of the flat screen.

  Sierra Gold was a local hotspot for the twenty-something crowd. It was adorned with Vegas history, slot machines and gold; gold chairs, a gold ceiling and Goldschlager. It was the kind of place where you’d expect to strike it rich, or in Joe’s case, strike out. They were always playing news or sports on the television, accompanied by an ear piercing decibel of heavy metal blaring from the surround sound. At any given moment you could watch Nancy Grace mouthing the words to ACDC. The atmosphere was quirky, but the food was good. We ate there often and Joey came there once.

  Jane was our favorite waitress. She had been serving us for months during the lunch rush and knew us by name. She was a cute brunette, twenty-ish, with tiny tits and wide hips. She was bubbly and her laugh was contagious. A few of her teeth pointed in the wrong direction, but it wasn’t enough to ruin her smile. She was always happy to see us. We tipped her well and in turn she brought us extra ranch and barbecue sauce, refilled our drinks regularly and made sure we had silverware. You know, all the gratuitous stuff you have to pay extra for. She was our favorite, and we may have also been hers.

  That night Jane was extra flirty; toward Joe, not me. She would say things overtly adorable like “Oh really?” or “You think?” in that cutesy way that girls do when they flip their ponytail and wink at you. Not that women do that to me, but I’ve seen it enough. Most of my friends are men. Anyway, Joe must have struck up a conversation and made plans with her while I excused myself to the restroom because he didn’t stay at the table long after I returned.

  “You cool?” he asked me, sliding out of his chair.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Mind if I gamble for a minute?”

  Joe didn’t gamble with money. Women, on the other hand, he always had to. He never knew what he was going to get. His ex-wife was a clinical borderline personality; a certifiable Me Monster who threw telephone books at his head if he didn’t say what she wanted to hear. There was a bipolar stripper who once accused him of knocking her up after she told him she was married, even though she was ten weeks pregnant and Joe had only met her two days prior. There was the girl around the corner who lived with her nympho mother, one who pretended her uncle died to get out of a date and another who lied about being of age. Although Joe should’ve seen that one from a mile away; she still slept with her stuffed animals. There was a time when Joe would screw anything just to get laid. This night wasn’t much different; he was willing to do anything, including wet the waitress’s whistle at work in hopes to take her home at the end of her shift.

  “Go ahead,” I said reluctantly, noticing that Jane was waiting for him at the bar. She waved and I smiled. I hoped she would return him one piece.

  “Watch this!” he boasted.

  I half expected they would run off to the men’s room or the pantry or something. I figured Joe had it all planned out. The look on his face as he scooted in his seat and high-fived me before leaving made me think he had it in the bag. How wasn’t really of any consequence. I watched as he walked over and met her at the bar. Then he did it; the unthinkable. He actually sat down and gambled. He put money in the slot machine instead of where his mouth was. I was so disappointed.

  They ordered drinks and I prepared myself for a long night. Maybe an all-nighter. Joe was lousy at closing the deal. I kept one eyed peeled in case he needed my help. The other, unfortunately, watched two full episodes of Storm Stories on The Weather Channel. Once I realized a third one was about to start, I turned my attention back to Joe. I was about to get up and join him when I saw something suspicious. His hands were under the counter and his shoulder was gyrating. It was peculiar and I was curious. So I stood up and walked over.

  Joe and Jane were seated at the end of the bar near the back of the restaurant. Jane had her head down on the bar and never saw me coming. Joe’s eyes grew wide as I approached and he kept nodding his head at me to scram. I took the hint and sauntered on by, but not before I caught a glimpse of him finger-banging Jane under the bar. Part of me wanted to cheer him on like rooting for my favorite team. “Let’s go Tiger, let’s go!” or “He will, he will, rock you!” while clapping and stomping on my way past them. But like the wonderfully considerate best friend I am, I refrained. Instead, I pretended to trip over his bar stool.

  “Ooops!” I gasped. “Don’t worry, I didn’t see anything.” Then I hurried off to the ladies room.

  Jane never saw me coming because she was. She jolted up quicker than lightening, pulled Joe’s hand from her crotch and zipped up her leather pants. When she lifted her head, her face was beet red. I would’ve guessed from embarrassment, but I think she was just flushed from her orgasm because she seemed pretty comfortable on the car ride back to our place after she clocked out mere moments later.

  “This is so cool!” she squealed from the back seat. “I’ve always wanted to hang out with you guys. You two always seem like so much fun!”

  She had clearly been drinking. There was no we in this party. We weren’t bringing her home, Joe was. I just happened to be driving.

  “This is so exciting!” she exclaimed, still a little too enthusiastic for my taste. “Oh my God, I didn’t know you guys lived so close,” she continued as we pulled into the neighborhood. “We could’ve been hanging ou
t this whole time!”

  “I know,” I responded, “like totally!” Joe kicked me for mocking her. “What?” I whispered, nudging him back. We engaged in a brief stare down. I was almost proud of him, but still a little disgusted by what I saw at the bar. “I hope you washed your hands, young man.”

  Joe chuckled and slid his fingers in his mouth to make me puke. I shouldn’t have said anything.

  “Seriously,” she interrupted, “I could just walk over after my shifts, or we could all drink at my bar and walk home without driving.”

  She was getting on my nerves already. What happened to my favorite waitress?

  “Last time I drank and drove,” she kept on, “I got pulled over and the cop was such a jerk to me. I was just driving home from work. It wasn’t like I was going out to party or anything.”

  “Wow,” was all that escaped my lips as I looked at Joe and gave him the good old you picked a winner look.

  “I had to take a breathalyzer and say my ABC’s. It was so stupid. Then he made me walk a straight line. When I fell, he tried to help me up and I punched him. I got arrested for DUI and assaulting an officer. Jail sucks.”

  I thought she was joking, but she just kept on blabbing. While I tuned her out and pulled into the driveway, I recalled a couple weeks when we didn’t see Jane at Sierra Gold. We had asked about her a few times, but all anyone would say was that she was on sick leave. I even remember asking her when she returned if she was okay. That explained the look she gave me. No one is okay after spending two weeks in jail.

  She was quick to hop out of the car once I put it in park. I took my time pulling the keys from the ignition and grabbed Joe’s elbow.

  “She’s a criminal, Joe. Keep an eye on your valuables.” I glanced down at his nipples and reminded him about the last time he let someone he didn’t know near his diamonds.

  I let them walk in ahead of me so that I could keep my own eye on her. She never admitted to being a kleptomaniac, but a criminal is a criminal as far as I was concerned. They didn’t linger long downstairs. I made sure my purse was hidden, smiled and bid them adieu. I was off to bed. They weren’t far behind me, laughing their way up the stairs.

  “I like your paintings,” she called up to me, admiring the art lining my staircase.

  “Thanks,” I said, kicking off my shoes at the top of the steps. I hoped she wasn’t into fine art. She might mistake my Monet knock-offs for the real deal and leave with a couple hundred in stolen paintings.

  Suddenly, the laughing stopped. She stood still in the middle of the stairs for a moment seemingly stunned, but she didn’t speak. She swallowed hard and her eyes widened.

  “What’s wrong?” Joe asked her.

  “Nothing,” she answered. “Nothing,” she repeated again, shaking her head. She finished her ascent in silence. They shot past me in the hallway, went into Joe’s bedroom and closed the door.

  As long as he kept her contained in his room, locked the door and constantly supervised her, I would be able to sleep. But I wasn’t holding my breath. I threw my shoes on the floor and slid under my sheets. I decided it was best if I slept with my clothes on, just in case she tried to burglarize us and I needed to chase her out. The thought of my neighbors witnessing me running outside in my chonies didn’t necessarily thrill me.

  Just as I was getting comfortable and beginning to trust the situation, I heard Joe’s door open quickly. That was quick. I didn’t take him for a two-pump chump, but apparently he had already cuddled and snoozed too. I perked up. I knew it! As soon as he fell asleep, she would sneak out and rummage through our valuables. There was no doubt in my mind I would also catch her clinching his diamond nipple rings in her thieving little hands.

  “I just can’t,” I heard her say. “It’s too weird.”

  I was wrong. Joe was still awake, and worse, hadn’t gotten laid. And by the sound of things, he also wouldn’t be getting laid. I quickly rose to my feet and peered through the crack in my door to witness what was happening in the hall.

  “I’m fine with it,” Joe assured her. “It’s really not that big of a deal.”

  “To you maybe,” she argued back, “but it’s a big deal to me. Take me home.”

  “Home?” he asked. “You mean back to Sierra Gold?”

  “No, I want to go home.” She crossed her arms and pouted like a little girl.

  “But what about this?” Joe rightfully inquired, pointing to his boner. She ignored his raging hard on as it protruded from his pants like the low branch of an old oak. I regret this moment because this was when I found out that Joe was well endowed; something I neither wanted to know, nor cared to have seared into my eyeballs. On a side note, I used to swing from the low branches of old oak trees, upside down even, while growing up in the Midwest; a thought I would later share with Joe as a suggestion to try as a new sexual position with his conquests. I do what I can to help.

  “Okay, but wouldn’t it be easier if I took you back to work to get your car instead?” he hoped, trying to save himself a trip across town.

  “I got a ride to work,” she answered too proudly. “I don’t have a license anymore. The cop took it when I got arrested. Just take me home.”

  She turned to walk down the stairs and saw me in my doorway. Now she was standing between his peeping tom roommate and his giant stiffy. Not the best place to find yourself.

  “I see you, Jen,” she announced, shifting her weight to one side and placing her hand on her hip. “You probably think I’m the biggest whore now. Great!” she exclaimed, whipping her hair around and high-tailing it down the stairs. Joe followed abruptly, huffing in defeat.

  I sat back down on my bed for what seemed like eternity playing scenarios in my head. What had gone so terribly awry in those few moments alone in Joe’s bedroom? Had he shown her his ladder? (The three barbells pierced into the shaft of his penis.) Had he told her about the time he got crabs from borrowing his friend’s Speedo in Texas? Maybe he tried the one-eyed dolphin or told her to put a bag over her head and turn around. He’s been known to fantasize about that from time to time. Maybe something was wrong with her. Maybe she had an STD. Maybe it was a big deal to her, but wasn’t to Joe because he had one too. The list of possibilities went on and on.

  Just when I was fresh out of bad ideas, I heard the front door slam and Joe’s footsteps running up the stairs. He tapped on my door softly and whispered my name.

  “I’m up,” I told him. “Come in.”

  He sat on the edge of my bed and held his head low.

  “How the hell did you manage to fuck that one up?” I asked, dying to hear the story of how one minute you could be finger-fucking a girl while she’s on the clock at work and somehow screw up your chances of getting back in her pants once you have a little privacy.

  “Fuck Steve,” he said sarcastically.

  “Steve?” I was confused. “Steve who?”

  “Your ex-husband, Steve. That’s who!” Joe blurted.

  “Why fuck him? What did he do?”

  “He fucked Jane last night!”

  There was a moment of silence before we both busted up laughing uncontrollably. No wonder she thought I would think she was a whore. She had gone home with my ex the night before and wandered home with my roommate less than twenty-four hours later. A normal woman would’ve been pissed hearing that her ex-husband did the dirty with her favorite waitress, and would probably swear off Sierra Gold forever in hopes of never having to face the girl or the jealous memories again. Not me. I was more amused by the fact that the unassuming brunette who remembered I prefer my iced tea without lemon had somehow picked the two men closest to me at random and tried to screw them both in a rather short amount of time.

  “How did you find out?” I was innately curious and had to know what transpired.

  “She got really quiet after she saw the pictures in the hallway,” he told me. “I kept asking her what was wrong, but she wouldn’t say anything. When we went in my room, we laid on my bed and s
tarted kissing. She didn’t really seem into it. We were making out and I unzipped her pants, and then she pushed my hand away. I asked her what was up since she didn’t seem to have a problem with it at the bar. Then she asked me who the kid was in the pictures by the stairs. I told her it was your son and she turned white. Almost a greenish white. I thought she was going to puke. I asked her if she was okay and then she turned red. It was weird.”

  “Sounds like you got yourself a Christmas ornament there, Joe. Then what?”

  “Well, she said she knew him.”

  This piqued my interest in a way that only a protective mother could be intrigued. “Excuse me? She knows my son?” I asked redundantly, urging for a continuation of his story.

  “Yeah, she said she met him this morning when she was leaving Steve’s house.”

  “She met my son on her walk of shame this morning?”

  “Apparently,” he continued. “And it took her a minute to put two and two together after she saw his picture. She couldn’t figure out why his picture would be in our house.”

  “Well, we both know she’s not very smart,” I interjected. “But she does seem to get around. What are the chances?”

  “Slim to none for me,” he joked. “After I explained that Steve was your ex-husband, she said it was too close for comfort and didn’t want us to think she was a hooker.”

  “Us, as in you and me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Too late,” I chuckled.

  “She felt stupid,” he defended her.

  “Well, in case you didn’t notice after the cop story, she is stupid,” I reminded him.

  “I know, but she was going to let me put a bag over her head,” he said proudly.

  At that moment I felt sorry for Joe. He had finally found someone as sick and twisted as he was (which was confirmed by her violent nature toward a police officer), but had sadly been blindsided by a second-degree cock-block from none other than my ex-husband. I needed to lift his spirits.