"My name's Carl. I'll take your luggage for you," he said, pushing the cart like it was the most enjoyable thing in the world to do.
"We'll get it," Jason said, trying to reclaim the cart. But Carl wasn't having it. He held onto the cart like it was his birth right.
"Don't be ridiculous," he said, smiling from ear to ear. "It's my job. But I appreciate the kindness. You boys from out of town?"
"Yep, I'm from Alabama and he's from Texas," Jason said, pointing to me.
"I knew it. I could tell, you know. You two look like southern boys. Like I said, my name's Carl and whatever you need, Carl can get. Dig?" He winked at us and pushed the cart through the entrance into the lobby. We followed behind him, watching him skip along as he pushed. He must have really liked his job, the way he was dancing around like he was the happiest bellboy in the entire goddamn city.
The lobby was just as grand as the driveway, cavernous and posh and flashy and shit, what, with tropical trees and brass tables and leather couches and all. In addition to the limo, I was really beginning to feel like I had finally made it, being there in that grand place. It's true. I felt really important and larger than life. Jason was pretty goddamn impressed too. He was whooping and hollering all over the place, blabbing about how he'd never been in a hotel like this before and how Motel 6's smelled like diarrhea and shit. He was really embarrassing me. Carl motioned for us to go to the check-in counter while he pulled the luggage cart out of the main walkway.
"I'll be here waiting for you, gentlemen," he said. Even though he reminded me a lot of Stanford the thief, he was really starting to grow on me with his kindness and all. He was happy to help us and ready to please. I liked that. I told Jason to wait with Carl while I checked in. There wasn't a line so I stepped right up to the counter.
Checking-in was a breeze. Everything was already setup, the billing, all the information was in the computer and all. I just had to flash my driver's license and sign a form. I think I barely said more than two words to the nice lady behind the counter. It went so goddamn smooth, I didn't even catch her name. It's true. It was a really professional establishment, top-notch. The publishing house did a fantastic job of booking everything. She gave me two key cards and thanked me. I quickly joined Jason and Carl. The two dildos were playing Paper, Rock, Scissors. I think Carl was ahead because Jason looked pretty sore and all. Jason's a really sore loser (if I hadn't told you by now). He really is. There's nothing he hated more than losing goddamn stupid games like Paper, Rock, Scissors or Tic-tac-toe. He got all red and whiny when he started to lose. And Carl must have been beating him pretty bad because Jason's head looked like an overripe tomato.
"Damn it, Carl! You're too good!" Jason said, after his paper lost to Carl's scissors.
"I have seven kids. I have to be good!" Carl said. "Ready for your room? What's the number?"
"We're in room 2506," I told him. He snatched the keys from my hand and started pushing the cart towards the elevators. He pressed the up button and we waited amidst a dozen elevator doors for a vacant carriage. Carl turned to me with his big shit-eating grin.
"You know, I can get you whatever you want." He nudged me a bit with his goddamn elbow, trying to be subtle but not doing a very good job. He was about as subtle as a goddamn explosion.
"What do you mean?" I asked. A vacant elevator dinged and the door slid open. Carl pushed the luggage cart into the rear of the elevator and we all climbed in. He pressed the button for the twenty fifth floor and the door slid shut.
"You know, whatever," he said as the elevator gently lifted us upward toward our destination. He lowered his voice and leaned toward us. "You want girls, I can get 'em. You want some smoke, I can get it. You want some blow, I can get it. Dig?" Turned out that Carl the Bellboy was also Carl the Pimp and Carl the Hustler. He must have had it pretty good, what, with his bellboy tips and his side-jobs doling out prostitutes and drugs and whatever. I mean, he did have seven kids to support, you know. "When I say whatever, I mean whatever."
Jason nudged me in the side and started whispering in my ear like a goddamn idiot. "Hey, I wouldn't mind some blow, just a little. I mean, we're on vacation, right?" That surprised the shit out of me, what, being that he was a goddamn pig and all and now I knew he was a cokehead too. It was un-fucking believable. It's true. Betty had married a real mess.
"We don't need anything, Carl" I said, nudging Jason back. "But I appreciate the offer."
"What? You boys aren't ...you know?" He pointed at the two of us and gave us that look. He stuck out his hand in a limp fashion like he was a girl or something. I immediately knew what he was getting at.
"We're not gay!" I said, really annoyed and all. Who the hell did he think he was?
"I didn't think so. Anyway, everyone eventually needs something. They always do. I'll be waiting, just so you know. Call the front desk and ask for me. Like I said, my name's Carl."
Our elevator arrived at the twenty fifth floor and we followed Carl the Pimp down the long hallway to our room. He opened the door with the key card and we followed him in. He briskly unloaded the luggage cart and stuck out his hand for a tip. And for a quick instant, I really thought I was standing in front of Stanford. He looked just like him. It's true, what, with the bowtie and the goddamn big glasses. The only difference was that Stanford was a thief and Carl was a pimp. But that was a minor detail. It really was.
"Anything else for you, sir?" Carl the pimp asked.
"No, that will be all." I gave him a dollar and a business card. He looked at the card like it was a crusty dog turd.
"Thank you, sir," he said, really sarcastic and all. He pushed the cart out of the room and slammed the door behind him.
Jason jumped on one of the king-size beds and started bouncing all over the goddamn place. He was acting like a little kid, a drunk little kid. He was really getting on my last nerve.
"This room is great!" he said, jumping so high he almost slammed his head into the ceiling. "I've never been ..."
"I know, I know. You've never been anywhere. I get it," I told him. I was really irritated with him by this point. He was acting like a goddamn idiot. He climbed down from the bed and placed his hands on my shoulders. He leaned in really close, like he was going to kiss me or something. His breath wreaked of cigarettes and booze and Cokes.
"What's wrong? Are you mad at me?" he asked.
"No, I just have a lot on my mind. And I don't want to be bothered with girls or drugs or anything. I just need to get ready for tomorrow. Is that all right with you?"
"Of course. Sorry," he said, kind of sulking. I felt really bad for yelling at him but it had to be done. It's true. He was acting like a goddamn fool with his bed-jumping and bad breath and coke cravings and drinking everything in sight and all.
He started unpacking his duffle bag and placing his clothes in the dresser. All he had were a couple of t-shirts and a couple pair of goddamn Bermuda shorts. I unpacked my suitcase, placing my clothes in my side of the dresser. When he was finished, he inspected the room, looking in all the closets, checking the bathroom and balcony. He opened the refrigerator and discovered the miniature bottles of booze and wine and the cans of beer. He got all excited and shit, like he found sunken treasure or something. He pulled a couple of beers out and handed me one.
"I'm ready for action," he said, chugging his beer. "What's next?"
"Give Samuel a call and ask him if he can come back and pick us up. I want to go by Barnes & Noble before it gets too late. Also, make sure he isn't busy beating somebody up or something."
Jason called the number on Samuel's card and got in touch with him. Turns out Samuel's brother-in-law wasn't dead after all. He was helping his sister put her beaten husband in her car and said he'd be over in ten minutes. So I washed my face and changed shirts (I have to feel clean) and we headed back down to the lobby. Jason had stuffed a few beers in his pocket like a goddamn thief even though I told him he wasn't taking anything, that I had to pay for them when we ch
ecked-out. He still seemed really nervous and all, worried that some hotel employee would tell him he couldn't take the beers out of the hotel or some shit like that. He really was acting like a big dope.
Outside, Samuel was waiting for us in front of the limo. He was holding the door open like we were big shots, big stars. And I guess, in my own way, I was. We got in the car and he closed the door behind us. When he got in the front, the Lincoln sagged to the left again like it was going to tip over. He rolled down the barrier window and turned around.
"To the Barnes & Noble on ---th & ---th Street?" he asked.
"Samuel, you can keep the window down. There's no point in rolling it up and down when it just might as well be down," I told him. He looked kind of surprised that I asked him to do that, like no one had asked him to do that before. "And yes, that's the one we're going to."
"Thanks."
Samuel the Giant slowly pulled the limo away from the hotel and we nestled in with midtown traffic. For once, Jason didn't say a goddamn thing. He was mesmerized by the great city, just like I was. Even though I had been to New York several times before, it still never ceased to amaze me just how dense the city was. I mean, everything was on top of everything, literally. In Texas, everything is spread out, even in the big cities like Dallas or Houston. There is a lot of space in between everything and you never seem to feel cramped, no matter where you went. But in New York, everything is on top of everything and there isn't a horizon anywhere to be found, just sky up above tall buildings. The late afternoon sky was slowly fading into darkness and it was strange not seeing a pink and purple horizon in the distance, one like you'd see Austin or out on Lake Travis. I was really starting to miss my family. I hadn't spoken to them in quite some time and thinking about the Texas sunsets made me think of my wife, Jessica. She and I used to watch the sun set almost every day when we were dating. That was something we really enjoyed doing together, going to Lake Travis, getting a table at the Oasis, and watching the sun dip behind the horizon at the edge of the lake. The water reflected the pink, orange, and purple streaks in the sky and shimmied the reflection into a million tiny, liquid explosions. It was all very romantic and enchanting and intoxicating. It's true. I asked her to marry me out there, overlooking the water. How could I not with all that beauty around and my beautiful woman sitting across from me? And I wasn't even high when I asked her to marry me. It's true.
Jason crawled toward the front of the limo and handed Samuel a beer and a cigarette. The two of them started drinking and smoking and whooping it up like a couple of old buddies, telling jokes and laughing like a couple of goddamn hyenas. They seemed perfect for each other as friends, you know. Jason and I were a lot different from each other. I was surprised sometimes that we had remained friends through the years. But we had a childhood bond that wasn't meant to be broken. I guess we were lucky that way. A lot of people lose touch with their childhood friends and that's unfortunate. When you lose touch with them, you lose touch with a part of yourself, in a way. And that's a goddamn shame. It's true.
After a couple of near-fatal collisions and a few potential pedestrian accidents, we arrived at the Barnes & Noble where I would be reading the next night. Of course, there wasn't a place to park on the busy street so Samuel told us to get out and he'd circle the block until we called him to come get us. So Jason and I hopped out of the limo and made a mad dash for the sidewalk.
Inside, the store was busy with throngs of eager patrons searching for their next favorite read or looking for the book with answers to their unanswerable questions. This Barnes & Noble was no different than any other I had ventured into, the sections categorized and positioned in a similar fashion to any other store. The only difference I noticed was the actual amount of patrons compared to the ones that went to these stores in Texas. I guess since New York is the cultural center of the world, there are quite a bit more avid readers than anywhere else. I mean, the store was so full that I could barely make my way around. It made Texans seem like a bunch of goddamn illiterates. It's true. But before we got too far in the store, Jason noticed the calendar of events hanging from the ceiling. And wouldn't you know it? My name wasn't on the goddamn calendar for tomorrow night. It seemed that something else was scheduled.
"What's an open mike?" Jason asked, scratching his head. "What does that mean?"
"It means that I'm pissed off! My name should be up there in fucking neon!" Jason looked shocked when I said that. I mean, I wasn't one to cuss out loud. It was something I just didn't do very often, unless I was really mad. But tonight, I was livid. There should have been signs everywhere with my name on them. They should have had banners announcing the release of my book. They should have had my picture plastered all over the goddamn place. But as I quickly discovered, there wasn't a sign of me or my book anywhere. And that just wouldn't do. "I need to talk to someone about this right now!"
Jason followed me to the Customer Service counter and I waited as the employee scanned in returned merchandise and looked utterly pathetic in his apron and name tag and wrinkled shirt. He didn't even look at me while I impatiently waited, purposefully ignoring me as if his duties were more important than the feelings of this pissed-off customer. I started to glare at him in hopes that he'd see my fury and frustration but he didn't look up. He didn't move his goddamn beady eyes. He was completely engrossed in his minor duties even though my glare was burning a hole right through him. I guess Jason noticed my frustration and he tried to appease me. But it didn't matter to me. I was going to take things in my own hands.
"Excuse me," I said, continuing to glare at him. His name tag said: CHIP. He still didn't look at me. "Excuse me, Chip."
"Yes?" he asked, still not looking at me, still with his eyes on the returned merchandise, his greasy hair tied in a bun, his sideburns growing like unkempt carpet grass. He had the phrase eat me tattooed on the knuckles of his left hand, each letter occupying its own finger: E-A-T-M-E.
"I'm supposed to be reading here tomorrow night and my name isn't on the calendar of events. Can you tell me why that is?" I was completely livid by this point, beyond the limits of my control. I wanted to grab Chip by the throat and rip his esophagus out. I wanted to jab my index finger in his eye and twist it around in the goddamn socket. I wanted to grab his testicles and yank them with all my strength. I wanted to do lots of horrible goddamn things to him. But he didn't seem to care at all.
"You'll have to speak to the manager about that. I'm kind of busy right now," Chip quipped, giving me a quick, uninterested glance. He picked up the phone and called his manager. "Jim? There's a customer here that needs to talk to you." He hung up the phone and went back to his duties. I wanted to scream.
"Hey Simon, why don't we come back later?" Jason asked. But I refused. I wanted this handled and taken care of that very minute. How were my fans supposed to know if this was the correct Barnes & Noble? Where was any promotion whatsoever of my impending book release? It was all unforgivable. It's true. The manager eventually made his way out the door behind Chip. He was a tall fucker with an unassuming face, broad shoulders, a pencil neck, and sunken eyes. He looked a little jaundice as well, like Frankenstein's monster with a name tag. The tag said: Jim, Assistant Manager.
"Can I help you, sir?" he asked, in his benevolent yet ambiguous, corporate tone. He looked just as pathetic as Chip did.
"I want to know why my name isn't on the calendar of events for tomorrow night?" I pointed to the calendar hanging from the ceiling behind us.
"I'm not quite sure, sir. What is your name?"
"Burchwood. My name is Simon Burchwood. I'm reading from my new novel, THE RISE AND FALL OF A TITAN, tomorrow night," I said, the rage building in me. "At least, that's what I was told by my publisher!"
"Sir, you don't have to raise your voice at me ..."
"I CAN RAISE MY VOICE AT WHOMEVER I PLEASE! DON'T YOU KNOW WHO I AM?!"
"Mr. Burchwood, I'm going to have to ask you to leave if you're going to continue to speak to m
e in that manner."
"WHO THE FUCK ..." And that was all I could get in edge-wise before a security guard came and swept me off balance and whisked me out of the store by my arm. I don't know where Jason was in all this but all I remember was my face hitting the sliding-glass door and being shoved out of the store. The guard followed me out and stood in front of the entrance with his hands on his hips, blocking any way for me to return inside. Luckily, Samuel the Giant was waiting outside and witnessed the whole goddamn thing. He stomped up behind me and placed his hand on my shoulder. I could hear him breathing and snorting like a raging bull waiting to pounce.
"You gotta problem buddy?!" Samuel demanded, his mountain-sized fists clinched. The security guard put his hands up as a sign of forfeiture. He looked like he was about to piss his polyester pants after he got a good look at Samuel. I thought for a moment that I should have taken Samuel in with me in the first place but I didn't want to beat anybody up. I just wanted to know why my name wasn't on the calendar. The trip was starting to feel like a bust already. "Because if you got a problem with him, then you got a real big problem with me!"
"No problem here," the security guard replied, scared out of his goddamn wits. He had a gun at his side but I knew he wouldn't even think of pulling it on Samuel. What was shooting Samuel going to do but really piss him off? It's true. "I'm just doing my job."
"Me too so fuck off!" Samuel said and the guard retreated back into the store. Samuel led me to the limo and opened the door for me. And guess who was inside? Take a goddamn guess.
"What are you doing in here?" I asked. Jason was lounging in the back of the goddamn limo, smoking a cigarette and drinking a beer. "I thought you were going to help me on this trip?"
"I was trying to help you but you didn't want to listen to me. What did you want me to do? Start yelling at people or something?"
I sat down and grabbed one of Jason's cigarettes. I figured there wasn't much else I could do that night anyway so I conceded to my defeat. I decided right then and there that I would call my publisher first thing tomorrow and demand that something be done. I didn't know for sure what exactly I wanted to be done. But I did know for sure that some heads were going to roll. I was positive about that.
The Meteoric Rise of Simon Burchwood Page 19