Drawing Dead

by JJ DeCeglie

  Yeah, I’ll take that.

  He meant my explanation. Then he put his arm around Daisy and squeezed her squirming close. I weighed up the kicking of him square in the groin. But to be honest my earlier poor choice of terms was still ringing in my heart and ears like a gunshot. And as Daisy handed me the chips and I watched her breasts shift against the yellow material of her stretched singlet, noticing abruptly that her nipples were at the early stages of showing through, I felt that perhaps I should have punched my own ticket already, 'cause life was a sham, a piece of fruit with a rotten core, an éclair with pus in the centre. The only girl I’d ever loved was being eaten by worms, and all I could do was think of the warm intensity of what must have the glory and marvel of Daisy’s delicious vagina.

  I followed her over on a leash, her salacious grin holding off the grim and me tracing in her perfumed orbit. The chip rack in my hand like a boy bringing the Blessed Sacrament to the altar.

  The game is alternating lowball and the jackals leer with their come-in-sucker smiles as I plant my ass in the seat. I can still see the meat in between their teeth from the last time they tore me apart. I give Daisy a hundred worth of chips and tell her to just keep bringing’em, she kneels down before me and whispers what and I look deep into her like she wants me to and say bourbon baby…club soda, bitters, handful of ice.

  What do you call that?

  I call it a ‘Counterbalance’. Made it up all by myself.

  No you didn’t.

  Did too. Put a lot of thought into it. Have one on me. If the Sensation says you can’t tell him I said in advance ‘To go and fuck himself’.

  She laughed real nice at that, thought I was a regular riot. And she kept them coming just like I asked her to. Shimming back and forth in the muted fluorescent card-room light. Getting prettier as the planet spun on, as the night waned into nothing but overspill wax running down the side of a thin cheap candle.

  I was up early on. I felt like shit but I was up. I could play Razz well and that was the game I sat down to. The dealer had a clock and the games switched up about every forty minutes. Apart from Razz, which is a limit game, they were playing no-limit Deuce to Seven single draw, followed by Badugi, which was being played no-limit too. When done in the rotation you went back to Razz. Like I said I could play Razz. And was up about four grand within twenty-five minutes of getting there. Got the wheel twice and had players with me calling my maximum raises to the death.

  Daisy kept delivering the bourbons in a brilliant succession. I kept drinking’em like they were ice tea on a long summer’s day and I was out cruising my yacht on the Mediterranean.

  The depression that had washed over me when I’d spoken those ill-gotten words earlier had taken over. The everything of nothing and the nothing of everything had slowly and relentlessly drilled down into the nucleus of my every cell. I was left sitting at a table playing cards with strangers in a room at the backend of a strip-club, drinking bourbons on a planet dropping through space into a fiery and inevitable destruction. Seeing her blood and wounds and face. Feeling the non-stop hunger and loneliness and suffering of life. The symbols on the cards reading like a noxious tarot, telling me everything will fade into torment –horrible, perpetual torment.

  No not even Daisy’s liberal breasts against my shoulder as she served my drinks could pull me from my desolation. Oh how many times I stared into them firstly, into that savoured vortex and next into her eyes and could tell it was exactly what she wanted me to do.

  I told myself to be a man…a man!

  Buck up and ship out and grow a goddamned pair. Get a better job and a large mortgage and a brand spanking new girl too.

  I had to take stock son and pull my over sized head outta my arse.

  Thing is I’d become cognizant to the fact that to be a MAN, one must head to the Himalayas. I’d realised long ago that few deserved the title MAN, and the more aware I became the fewer were deserving. All that was left to do was climb a mountain and stare into the void for forty days and finally know that man does not yet exist and is in fact waiting to be hatched.

  I could smell the blood before I actually saw her. I knew what she’d done. I knew she’d be dead. I tried to pull her from the bloody gutter and slipped in the dripping slick crashing to my knees. We used to fuck in the backyard on sunny days right under a fragrant lemon tree. Just lay a towel out on the dirt and grass and fuck, the sun booming, maybe drink a bottle of wine and watch the light filter down through the enormous jacaranda tree wrapped in vines whose lilac blossoms would rain soothingly down upon us though the iridescent luminescence. Falling into her hair while we fucked. There was a half dry smear of blood on her mouth and chin, as if she’d tried to drink of herself, or maybe blanch the bleeding back together with her teeth. And Daisy, beautiful, young Daisy, she kept bringing them drinks. And the cards kept landing at my fingertips too. And what I’d won I lost, and what I’d borrowed went too. All in a roaring roll of rumble like a celebration of my fated demise.

  In a sudden drunken reprieve I somehow convinced the Sensation to lend me five more, and I pissed that away quicker than I did the other ten. Reveling in it without a hint of hesitation. Like a champion loser, undefeated in his ability to be overwhelmed.

  Just me, Daisy, many drinks and the bloodstains tattooed on my hands.

  It happened as fast as a stinging slap across my unsuspecting face. Left me breathless in the daze of the staggering blow and furthered the one I’d been reeling from even before I even sat down to receive this. When I’d run one outrageous bluff too many, when every chip was gone and I’d shot my mouth off just that little bit too much. I tried to walk out but was thrown. Jimmy, in his haste, spilt my godforsaken drink all over the fucking floor. Malicious threats drumming in my ears as I hit the street. I wandered about outside smoking and raging, calling on the Sensation to bring me one last drink. It was still dark, and was an idiotic request in light of all that had happened but I felt I was owed it.

  All Jimmy kept talking about was the twenty- five grand I owed and I told that fat fuck that I was quite aware of the situation and could he bring me one more fucking drink. After he popped me in the gut I shut up about it. Went and sulked round the corner smoking my mostly mashed cigar sitting like a hobo in the dim alley, plotting on how best I could put the stogie out in Jimmy’s eyeball. I continued on talking loudly enough to myself so as he could hear ever word of it.

  When she came round the corner I figured it was Jimmy was coming back to show me what’s what. I was hoping he would and had kept on like an asshole to make it so. This time I was gonna fight back, by then I’d said goodbye to all consequence. It was gonna be a fight to the death. Most likely my own.

  It wasn’t Jim though. It was Daisy. Lovely, leggy Daisy.

  Tough night.

  She handed me a drink, and asked me for a light. I didn’t say anything except for thanks and she went on talking.

  What are you gonna do?

  What can I do, but take a longer, harder suck on my cigar.

  I drained the drink for effect. She spoke again, the smoke from her cigarette easing out her mouth with the words.

  You could come home with me.

  Now what good could that do?

  She smiled, then took a deep draw and blew the smoke my way.

  Couldn’t do any harm.

  I stood up and threw the glass with a snap from my wrist into the brick wall across from me. Jimmy poked his head round the corner like I wanted him to and I told him he was overweight and should start a diet tomorrow. At least that was the sentiment.

  He’s a real asshole.

  So am I.

  Yeah but you’re really, really good looking.

  I told you didn’t I? She sidled up to me hip to hip and lifted her knee into between my thighs. Her skin was warm as something just out the oven and she smelled like mangoes and coconut. I kissed her hard and she responded with a hand up my shirt and the other with a fistful of my hair. I died some in t
hat kiss. Just let myself descend in a rapid free-fall hurtling down into its pure drunken lusty chaos. We pulled apart and off the wall I’d pushed her toward in a trance.

  You got a car, I asked.

  Yeah.

  Let’s go to your place, I said.

  Yeah.

  How many guys you know get laid on the biggest fuck-up of a night in their life?

  CHAPTER 3

  I was long gone before Daisy woke in the morning. Escaped by cover of night. We’d drank some more when we got back to her place. Gin and juice baby. I left her naked atop the bed snoring, face first with one knee tucked up and that masterpiece ass of hers jammed slightly up and into the air, those dynamic breasts squashed out sidewards from beneath her beautiful ribs. The way I’d fucked her she wouldn’t be waking up before sunlight. I was pretty sure of that. I switched out the bedroom light and crept around the darkness of the house as best I could, the world was still spinning some, what with all the booze.

  As is my common practice I almost broke my neck on three to four separate occasions. I cursed God on each occasion, spat in his mother’s milk. Dazzling Daisy just went on snoring all the same. I found the fridge and slammed as much water as I could hold. Went on to the toilet and vomited my vital organs out soon after. When that horror had past I realise I’m naked and have go back into the bedroom. Pretty much nearly snap my ankle on the way back. Tell God he’s a homeless vagrant again. I made it though and the moonlight through the window lit up Daisy’s back and butt like a homing beacon shaded indigo blue. She hadn’t move an inch since I’d climbed off her, and I knew she wouldn’t 'cause I’d fucked her that good you see. She’d be lucky if she could get out of bed in the morning. Even in the rotten state I was in I almost slid back onto the bed and added an afterward to what I’d already written. It didn’t bother me much that she was comatose. I’d shake her outta that as easy as I put her in it. The problem was that she disgusted me a little bit. I couldn’t put my finger on it exactly but she did. I stood there watching over her, half-mast and only needing a whiff to set sail. I ran a hand along her back and down her ass feeling the bristle of her magic at the base of the mountains. She passed wind and it startled me like an explosion had just gone off. A pall withered my heart, my blood turned sour. No, she was disgusting. I was too. I bundled up my clothes and eased on out, shut the bedroom door, shuffled down the hall and dressed in the kitchen.

  I let myself out the back way and jumped the front fence. Daisy lived just north of the city and I was just south. If I walked it was gonna be about an hour or so. I figured I had about two hours of darkness left and this seemed important at the time. Plus I could use the exercise. After about twenty-five minutes hauling ass I’d just swept in sweating under the skyscrapers and thought well fuck this. I got the first cab I could and said take me as far a ten dollars will allow. He nodded and followed my directions. We skirted down through the empty streets of the city and then went left at the river. It got me to about five hundred metres from my place. He pulled up to a highway bus stop and I told him as I got out the car ‘Muchas Gracias motherfuckwit’. He was an African guy and I flung the tenner at him like so much shit and he just looked at me like I was crazy. A madman. And maybe I was. I know I laughed my balls off about it the whole walk home and I wasn’t and still ain't even entirely sure why.

  I spent the next three days in a drunken stupor watching old Cagney gangster flicks and reading books by men who had been dead a very long time. I didn’t shave or shower. I threw in a couple of Bogart films too. Why the fuck not? That first morning after I had snuck away from Daisy I waited up until about ten and then went down and stocked up for what I knew was coming. The fix was in and I was just waiting for the result. I bought two cartons of cheap but very good Chinese beer. Two bottles of vodka. Enough juice to last me, and a bunch of potato and corn chips to fill in any gaps. Add to that a box of cheap cigars and some grapefruits. After this on the way back home I got a couple of hamburgers and a large fries and ate them at the place I bought’em. I was actually starving by then and the food went down a treat. I got a coffee when done and read the paper for awhile.

  Guess what, people were murdering and raping one another.

  Driving home at about midday it was a fresh sunny day and I’d be lying if I said I understood a damn about it. All I knew was that hell was what you made of it and that I could use a drink to ward off the restrained encroachment of my missing hangover.

  When I got home I mixed a large beer and tomato juice and drank that sucker down in about a minute flat. I swore about what a mess the place was in and then went out the back and swore some more about all the leaves that had fallen. I smoked a cigar squinting in the sun awhile. When I started having visions of her tanning naked on that towel under that lemon tree I knew I was washed up. I spat the cigar in the dirt, heeled it inside and took a jolt of vodka.

  Her smile in the sunshine and her spitting white wine in my mouth while we kissed.

  How good she’d said the sunlight felt on her bare breasts and pink nipples and how good I knew it felt on my exposed balls and penis.

  I took another jolt of vodka, a bigger one, and then chased it with a beer.

  I could hear her voice in my ear I swear.

  Whispering all the things she wanted me to do to her, all the things she hoped for after that too.

  I grabbed the vodka bottle and went to bed. The fucking sun blazing through my shitty cotton curtains. It didn’t matter much. Just the one more jolt smacked me out like a light bulb.

  I awoke to the sound of my mobile phone blaring like a siren. I grabbed for it and threw it firmly into the closest wall. It was night by then and getting out of bed seemed the equivalent to facing the blank barrier I imagined one found screaming in silence at the end of the universe. After an hour or so I got up confused and aggravated and put my phone back together. I took a long, long shower and never got dressed when I was done. I drank some more beer and read some Nietzsche and when that burnt out I threw on some Cagney and followed it with Bogie. I scratched my balls for a fair amount of time and watched my yard turn grey blue with the sun’s light creeping up over the hills in the east. The black shadows swinging slowly with its unavoidable rising solar angle.

  Anytime I felt the creak in my bones or head of a hangover trying to play its hand I drank more and drank fast. Mornings seemed fine for beer and the afternoons and evenings just splendid for vodka. I pissed a lot. When I got hungry and needed more than corn chips I went down the street for burgers dressed like a bum and cowering at the freshness of the air. When I got sick of old time gangsters I threw on some Corbucci westerns and even a couple of old Romero and Fulci zombie flicks to pass the dread and muck of time. I watched Romero’s ‘Martin’ back to back. Love that fucking movie. I didn’t sleep for two days straight then. No matter how much I drank. The phone rang but I never answered it. The whole thing was ridiculous but then again what about life isn’t.

  Think about how many times in your life you’ve wiped your ass…it’s pathetic, it’s repulsive, it’s just plain stupid.

  The gig was up when I ran out of liquor. I drank the last two bottles of the beer naked on my back step smoking a cigar at about eight am of the third morning. The sun was already up and was making nice with me for once. I had some Schubert playing smooth on my record player and it eased all consequential out the door and was settling over me like a much needed anesthetic. I drained the last mouthful of beer and then upped myself and went immediately to the shower. When out I shaved and drank three cups of coffee with milk and sugar. I dressed like a human and got in the car and started the twenty-five minutes driving toward my office. I picked up some grub on the way, egg and sausage sandwich, two hash browns and one more coffee to smooth out any rough edges. To be honest I was a fucking mess. Fried as the eggs in my breakfast.

  But something had clicked and I went with it as much as I had the other click which had told me to hole up and die alone. In hindsight it would be e
xactly where the goons collecting the money I owed would be looking for me, but I think the off chance that I might expire that morning actually cinched the subconscious deal. That and I had paid rent on the place for two and half days a week and I’d be fucked if I wasn’t gonna get my money’s worth. Oh and yeah, the fact that there was a full bottle of bourbon in the bottom drawer of my desk. There are no coincidences where dealing with percentages.

  CHAPTER 4

  You’re probably wondering what a drunken fatalistic asshole like myself requires an office for. You could argue that I don’t. Calling it an office is a stretch really. Sure there’s a desk and a filing cabinet and even a computer. It has four walls and a door too. And lucky me the window looks out onto the ocean so I can drown myself if I ever feel the need. At best I’d call it a shack. Like I said I have it for two and a half days a week. Sometimes I’m here more and sometimes less but most of the time when I’m here I’m drinking, reading, or eating lunch.