The Meteoric Rise of Simon Burchwood

by Scott Semegran

  "What can I do ya for, sir?" He used to call me sir when I was a kid. It's true. He looked really good for his age too. He didn't look a day over forty except for his tired, yellow eyes. That's what gave his age away. And he still chewed that cigar like he was a cow chewing cud or something.

  "I used to live in Montgomery when I was a kid ..."

  "Oh really?" Old Tyrone, he never used to let you finish a sentence. He would always butt in with some kind of question about your day or where you were from or where you were going. That's just the way he was. He hadn't changed a bit. And he chewed that cigar like a madman. "When'd you move away?"

  "Oh, about sixteen years ago."

  "It's been a long time, huh?" he asked. "Things have changed quite a bit 'round here, I'd say. Where'd you live? Country Down Estates?"

  "That's right. That was my old neighborhood."

  "That's where all you white folks like to live," he said. He was a real fucking genius. I thought he was going to choke on that cigar, the way he was chomping on it. "That might as well be a country club or some shit, huh? Sixteen years ago, huh? You remember the Browns? They tried living in old Country Down Estates about that time. You remember what happened to them?"

  I remembered the Browns, all right. Who wouldn't? Dr. James Brown and his family moved into Country Down Estates right after we did. They moved into a big house right on the main thoroughfare of the neighborhood. As far as I remembered, they were the only black family in the neighborhood. Dr. Brown was a successful cardiologist and his wife was a family practitioner and they had two kids that were a little younger than I was. But I remembered being relieved that a black family was moving into the neighborhood. There was just too many white families around. But not everyone else felt the way I did about the Browns. Apparently, the Browns were not very welcomed in our neighborhood. Their neighbors didn't welcome them in like they did the other white neighbors. Eventually, I started to hear things like the garbage men wouldn't pick their trash up and the utility men wouldn't come out and turn their utilities on. A big stink ensued and even though I was a little too young to understand the situation, my parents would talk about it at the dinner table. My parents were really upset by it, especially since my dad was a Jew and he said he even caught some flack and stares from some of the neighbors. I don't remember exactly what happened to the Browns but they did eventually move away and there was some articles about their lawsuit in the paper. It was a really big deal back then.

  "Yeah, I remember the Browns," I told him, kind of embarrassed that I was still a white guy. Sounds stupid but it's true.

  "Well, anyway, what can I do you for? Need gas for your fancy car?"

  There was something about old Tyrone I couldn't quite put my finger on. There was something different about him. I mean, he looked the same, what, with the overalls and the cigar and all. I caught myself staring at him. I stopped that pretty quick though. There's one thing you don't do, as a white guy, and that's stare at an old black guy. It's true. They take offense to it. But I didn't want to offend him. I wanted to ask him a question.

  "Is your name Tyrone?" I asked. It was a long shot, I was sure, but I had to ask him if he remembered me. He kind of eyeballed me back, chewing on his goddamn cigar and scratching his head. I could tell he was trying to figure out who I was but he wasn't trying too hard.

  "Sure is. Who are you? Barnaby Jones?" he asked. That was pretty goddamn funny, if you ask me. It really was. I liked it when black men used those kind of racial slurs, just like good old George Jefferson did. It really made me laugh. It's true. I thought it was hilarious.

  "This may sound really stupid but do you remember me? I used to come in this store a lot when I was a kid and I read the comics and ate my ice cream over there by the window. You know, those days of reading Spiderman in your store really inspired me to do what I do today. I can pretty much say that I wouldn't be a published writer today if it wasn't for your store." I thought it might be pretty goddamn neat if he did remember me, especially since I was a writer now and obviously had moved away from this town to actually do something really important with myself. Man, was I wrong.

  "You know, to me, all you white kids look the same. But to be honest, you must be looking for my pops. I'm Tyrone Jr. My pops don't work here no more."

  I knew there was something strange about him. Something just wasn't quite right about old Tyrone but I couldn't put my finger on it. Now I knew why. He wasn't the same old Tyrone at all. He was a cruel imposter. I was really disappointed.

  "Oh really? What's your dad doing these days? Is he retired?"

  "He's dead."

  There it was again, that blunt Montgomery attitude about death. He just blurted it out like it was nothing. It kind of got to me. It's true. And he wasn't affected by it at all.

  "Oh," I said, kind of speechless for a second. I really wanted to change the subject but for some reason, I didn't. "Your dad used to tell me that BGP stood for Beer, Gas, and Peanuts. Is that true?"

  "Nah, it stands for Be Getting Profits. He just used to tell other people that because it didn't sound so greedy. He was real smart like that. He was a smart businessman. And I'm sure he wouldn't remember no white kids reading his comics in no window. It used to piss him off when kids would read his merchandise without paying for it."

  I was kind of getting the feeling that old Tyrone Jr. wasn't as fond of our common past as I was. I decided to really change the subject this time. Young Tyrone was starting to get on my nerves.

  "I was looking for Dan's Watering Hole. Is that place still around here?"

  "I haven't heard about that place in a long time. It's gone now. The owner sold it a while ago. But you can go to the new club now. It's called Cinnamon's. It's in the same building down the street. It just looks different now but it's the same building."

  "Back that way?" I asked, pointing in the direction I came from, back toward my old neighborhood. He was really sucking on that cigar now. It was about to disappear down his throat.

  "Yeah, just turn back and go that way. You'll see it on the left. You can't miss it. It has the real big boobies on the neon sign."

  I got a small bag of popcorn and paid Tyrone for it and my beer. I didn't bother telling him it was nice to meet him and how his store brought back a bunch of memories and all that shit because it was obvious he didn't care about who I was. And I'm OK with that. It's true. I just left and got back in the Mustang. I took a swig from my beer and placed the popcorn between the seats. I backed out of the parking lot to old Tyrone's BGP Convenient Store and dropped the beast into first gear. I peeled out of the parking lot and didn't look back. I decided to leave old Tyrone, young Tyrone, his stinking cigar, the candy, the comic book rack, all the other white kids who didn't pay for their comics, and that goddamn store in my past, where it should be. Sometimes, reliving the past will do you no good. It's best to just leave things the way they were. It's true.

  11.

  I was really starting to miss my son, good ol' Sammie boy. I couldn't stop thinking about him for some reason. I was trying to find Dan's goddamn Watering Hole but Sammie boy popped into my thoughts with his cute smile and infectious laugh. He had this laugh that could make anyone smile (and I mean anyone). It's true. If you got to tickling him or making funny faces or raising your voice a couple of octaves and acting like your leg was broken while you limped around the house, he'd start laughing and giggling all over the place. His face would turn bright red and he'd laugh until he couldn't breathe anymore. Then after a deep breath, he'd laugh some more until his head was about to burst. He was really funny that way, Sammie boy. He was really happy all the time. I don't know where he got it from (probably my wife). He didn't get it from me. I can be a real sad bastard sometimes, especially when I start thinking about how I miss my wife and kids. I was really feeling like a sad bastard and the beer wasn't helping at all.

  Old Tyrone's bastard son was right. Just a ways up the road was a bright neon sign with a couple of big boobi
es on it. The place wasn't called Dan's Watering Hole anymore; it was now called: Cinammon's Big Boobie Bonanza. And on the sign were the biggest boobies I'd ever seen. It was a really funny goddamn sign too. It had a picture of a girl bending over and her breasts were so big that they hung pretty close to the ground. They sagged down like a couple of watermelons stuffed in a pair of gym socks. But the funniest part was that the nipples flashed on and off like a beacon. They were pretty mesmerizing the way they flashed on and off. Whoever thought of making them flash on and off like that was a fucking genius. It's true.

  I pulled into the parking lot to figure out my options for the rest of the evening. On one hand, I really wanted a strong drink to calm my nerves from the really heavy story Jason laid on me earlier, the story about what happened to Darren Reedy. There weren't any other places around close that were open besides Cinammon's Big Boobie Bonanza unless I wanted to drive closer to downtown. And I didn't want to do that because it was getting late and, besides, I didn't feel like getting mugged downtown by some bum. Downtown Montgomery was full of goddamn bums. They were all over the place. On the other hand, I didn't necessarily want to go into a bar called Cinammon's Big Boobie Bonanza either. It wasn't my style to hang out in one of those kind of places. You know, a strip club and all. I never was one to hang out in strip clubs like a dirty old man or something. But as I looked around, and since I didn't want to go downtown, I realized that my options were pretty limited. So, on the strength of the funny sign alone, I decided to go inside. For some reason, I thought it wouldn't do any harm to get one drink in there. Besides, I thought the booze would help me sleep. So I turned off the beast, finished my beer, put the popcorn in my pocket, and went in for a drink.

  Once inside, I realized why the nipples on the sign flashed on and off. It was really cold in there. They must've had the thermostat set to fifty degrees because even my nipples seemed to flash on and off too. It's true. I paid the hostess ten dollars (ouch!) for admission and was led to my table by my cordial waitress. She said her name was Ginger and she asked me what I wanted to drink. Her nipples were flashing too, I could tell. It must have been hard for her to work in those conditions, what, with the thermostat set to fifty degrees and her nipples sticking out because it was cold and all. I bet she could file some kind of complaint with the local workforce board or something. She definitely had legitimate grounds for a complaint. I know if TechForce made us work in those kind of conditions, I would have filed a complaint. Who can work with their nipples hard all the time? A real idiot who puts up with that, that's who.

  I told Ginger that I wanted a whiskey and coke and she flashed me one of those fake, sugary smiles like the flight attendant on the plane gave me earlier. It must be a mandatory part of the service industry or something, those kind of fake smiles. I would make a great waiter because I had those fake goddamn smiles down like nobody's business. I flashed her my fake smile and she took off for my drink. She was fast as hell too, the way she took off. And before I could bat an eye, she was back with my drink. She sat down next to me like I had invited her for a drink, crossing her legs and giving me that fake goddamn smile. She was really putting it on too, like she had a thing for me or something. I looked around and noticed that I was one of only a few patrons there. She must have been desperate for a tip. Since she was so fast, I gave her a buck. I always tip based on the quality of service and since she was so fast, I felt she deserved it. She seemed grateful. She put the buck on her tray and set the tray on my table. Then she leaned over and started talking to me, all loud and shit because it was too loud in there, what, with the heavy metal music blaring and bells and whistles all.

  "What kind of girls do you prefer?" she asked, practically screaming in my ear. It was pretty goddamn unattractive, if you ask me, all her screaming and sitting at my table uninvited. "Do you prefer blondes or brunettes?"

  I thought that was a pretty bizarre question to be asking a married man. I mean, my wedding ring was big as hell and since it had a few diamonds on it, it flashed like a band of stars on my hand in that dark lounge. But for some reason, the question got me thinking. I really started to wonder about it, the question and all. What kind of girl did I prefer, blondes or brunettes? My wife was a brunette so I thought it must be brunettes, considering that I married one. But it also seemed like most of the women I had dated before my wife were brunettes too. So that must have been the answer: I preferred brunettes.

  "I guess it would be brunettes," I told her. I had to really scream it too because it was so loud in there. She kind of backed away because of all my screaming.

  "Why did it take you so long to answer?" she asked. I thought that was kind of a stupid question. She was a real fucking genius, I could tell.

  "Because I'm married to a brunette," I answered.

  "But that doesn't necessarily mean that you prefer brunettes because you are married to one. Don't you ever have fantasies?"

  Now that was a really stupid question too. Ginger was really starting to get on my nerves with her stupid questions and fake, sugary smile. I really wanted her to just leave me alone.

  "Sure, I guess I have fantasies about blondes. Can you come back later? I just want to drink my whiskey in peace."

  "Is something bothering you? You seem kind of stressed out. How can you be stressed out in a place like this?" Ginger was really getting to me now with all her prying questions. But you can't just ask a woman to get the hell away from you. That would be rude and not gentleman-like. It's true. I had to be cordial about it, even if I did just want her to fuck off.

  "Look, Ginger. I have a really important reading coming up in New York in a few days and I just want to rest and reflect and drink my whiskey and be left alone right now. My new novel will be out in a couple of weeks but an old friend of mine has died unexpectedly and it's really thrown a wrench into matters." I was really letting the lies fly. I mean, she didn't know that Darren died a few years ago. How would she know? I wasn't really one to lie but this was an exception. I had to get her away from me. "It's been hard."

  "You're a writer?" she asked. "What was your name again?"

  "My name is Simon. Simon Burchwood. Do you like to read?" I asked. I thought that was a funny question to be asking a waitress that worked in a place called Cinammon's Big Boobie Bonanza. But as soon as I asked it, she started to lean in really close again. She was making me nervous and shit, what, with all her leaning in and her fake interest in me. I didn't know what to do. I was sorry I asked her if she liked to read.

  "Oh, yes. I love to read. In my free time, that's all I do is read. I belong to several book clubs and I read at least a few novels a month. What kind of novels do you write? Mysteries? Romances?"

  "Well, to be quite honest, I write in the literary tradition of Vonnegut or Bukowski. I don't like to classify my work in terms of genres. For example ..."

  "I understand. You know, I always wanted to write when I was a little girl." Man, it was starting to happen again, what, with the interruptions and the dreams of being a writer and all that shit. But like always, I was prepared for it just like before. You always have to be prepared for someone who is about to tell you about their goddamn lost dreams. I pulled my wallet out and started looking for one of my business cards. "But that was just one of my little-girl dreams, like being a princess or a ballerina or something like that. It was never something I actually thought would come true. Hey, do you know what my favorite book is?"

  "No, what is it?" I asked, pulling out a few business cards and setting them on the table.

  "To Kill a Mockingbird. I absolutely loved that book, especially since it took place in Alabama. I really could relate to Scout. She's the main character, you know."

  "That's really great and all. But to be honest, Ginger, I don't prefer blondes or brunettes or any genre of books or whatever. I just want to be left alone and grieve for my friend and get ready for my reading in New York. Is that OK? Would you mind? If you're curious, here's my business card. You can read
some of my work on my website and leave me a gratuity if you like it. How's that?"

  And in an instant, that fake, sugary smile was gone. She took my card and looked at it like I handed her a rock-hard turd. That was the first time the card didn't impress someone. I was in shock. It's true. It really caught me off guard. She sort of scowled after she looked at the card.

  "Why would I want to leave you a gratuity? Why would I want to do something like that?" And then she walked off. I felt really bad for being short with her but I had to do it. I mean, she wasn't going to give me any privacy, what, with her blabbing mouth and her favorite book and her hard nipples and her dreams of being a writer or a ballerina or some shit like that. She was really getting on my goddamn nerves. What did she think? That I wanted to be catered to like a goddamn invalid or some dirty old man that doesn't know any better? I was really starting to regret going into Cinammon's Big Boobie Bonanza, even if the drinks were strong and the service was good. That's what the sign said outside, right under the big, sagging boobies: Cinammon's Big Boobie Bonanza, where the drinks are strong and the service is great! What a farce. What the sign should have said was: Cinammon's Big Boobie Bonanza, where the drinks are strong but the waitresses bug the shit out of you about how they want to be goddamn ballerinas! I decided to move to another section and finish my drink. I figured that if I was bothered by a different waitress that, at least, my odds were pretty good that she wouldn't be an avid reader and that her dreams as a little girl mainly consisted of working in Cinammon's Big Boobie Bonanza as a waitress. I found an empty table in the back and sat down.

  There were two young ladies dancing to the song You Shook Me All Night Long by AC/DC on the stage at the other side of the club. One thing was for sure, no one could claim false advertising against Cinammon's Big Boobie Bonanza because the two girls' boobs drooped just like the woman pictured on the sign out front. The only difference was that they didn't have the ecstatic look on their faces that the woman on the sign had. The two dancers looked pretty bored and kind of annoyed actually. They only had two old guys sitting up front watching them and they were two cheap bastards too. They weren't giving them dollar bills for tips; they were giving them coins for tips. But they weren't handing them the coins. They were flicking the coins at them (kind of hard too). I felt kind of sorry for the two young ladies. I mean, what kind of career was that? Having two dirty old men fling coins at them while they danced and gyrated and all? I was feeling pretty down about everything, the Darren Reedy story, my Sammie boy, old Tyrone's death, Ginger and her goddamn ballerina dream; it was all depressing the shit out of me. I decided to change seats and face the bar instead of the two sad dancers. So I moved to the chair across from where I was sitting and faced the back of the club. I was almost finished with my drink by that time. I decided, that once I was finished, I would go back to Jason's house and get some rest. Tomorrow was going to be my only day in Montgomery and I was going to take advantage of the day to the fullest before leaving for New York. My schedule in New York was going to be hectic, what, with the reading and the book signing and the publicity spots and all. I was getting tired just thinking about it. And then I was interrupted by another waitress.