by Dee Simon
I wanted to offer some words of sympathy or maybe reach over and gently pat his slumped shoulder, but really I didn’t want to touch him, and I couldn’t think of anything to say other than, “You got any more blow?”
All at once, Doug snapped out of his dark reverie and looked at me with an incredulous expression as if he couldn’t believe what he had just heard. I thought he might try to stab me with the fork he was previously using as a pointer. “Fuck it!” he exclaimed triumphantly and reached into his pocket, pulled out the sack of blow, and tossed it on the table. He then snatched the bottle of Dom from the ice bucket, shoved it in his mouth, and downed it, rivulets of expensive champagne trickling down his fleshy jowls. He slammed the bottle on the table, wiped his sleeve across his chin, and once more yelled, “Fuck it!” before dumping a healthy amount of coke onto a plate and furiously cutting four massive rails. With the same rolled up $100 bill, he snorted two lines before shoving the plate over to me. “Let’s do some blow and get the fuck out of here.”
I snorted the two remaining lines and looked up to see our server standing next to Doug with our second course in his hands. I could tell that he had noticed the mound of cocaine on the plate in front of me, but he did his best to seem oblivious. His apparent look of displeasure reminded me of the strippers who had dealt with Doug many times before.
“Gentlemen, you seem to have lost your appetites,” he said, grinning sarcastically while surveying the plates of untouched food on the table. “Are you ready for the next course, or are you still working on the first?”
“There won’t be a next course. We have to leave. Charge the bill to my tab and give yourself a $500 tip,” croaked Doug as he fumbled in his jacket pocket and pulled out his cellphone.
I was nonplussed. I wanted at least one bite of the lobster. This was probably the only time I’d ever dine at Gary Danko, and I didn’t even eat anything. But it was too late. The server nodded and walked away carrying our dishes back to the kitchen. “So, where are we going?” I asked.
Doug ignored me and barked into his phone, “Hey, what the fuck are you doing? Pull the car around. We’re going to the Paradise Club.” He looked agitated as he shoved his phone into his jacket pocket. “That faggot was probably jacking off to gay porn. Not on my dime.” He angrily shifted his electric wheelchair into reverse, backed up about three feet, and sped down the corridor toward the foyer of the restaurant. I was still seated when he suddenly took off, and I had to run to catch up with him. The blonde hostess with the gummy smile waved a half-hearted goodbye, obviously relieved that Doug was leaving the premises.
As soon as we walked outside, Doug’s nurse drove up in a black Mercedes Benz van. He hastily exited the van, walked around to the right side, and slid open the door to reveal a folded, upright black metallic wheelchair lift. I noticed he was the same nurse who looked like John Waters, and waved “hello,” but he ignored me or at least pretended not to notice the gesture. The van was missing the front passenger seat and one of the bench seats in the cabin, leaving a large open area for Doug’s wheelchair. The nurse pressed a button on a remote control that lowered the hydraulic lift, and waited for Doug to safely maneuver his chair on top of it before elevating him into the vehicle. I climbed in behind Doug and sat on a black leather bucket seat in the back. The cabin area of the van was surprisingly spacious, and the walls were covered in soft black leather and adorned with a dark mahogany trim. It was definitely the most luxurious handicapped-accessible vehicle I had ever been in, but truth be told, I hadn’t been in many. There was a full bar and small refrigerator where the passenger seat should have been, and a large flat-screen television hung above the driver’s seat. The nurse locked Doug’s wheelchair into position and handed him the remote control. Doug lifted his chubby arm towards the screen, turned on the television, and flipped through the channels before stopping at a movie.
“You know this one?”
It took me a minute to realize that we were watching the eighties movie Porky’s. “Yeah, isn’t this Porky’s? It’s been a long time since I’ve seen it.”
“I love this fucking movie. I can watch it repeatedly and still be amused. It’s the subtleties that people tend to gloss over,” he said, smiling up at the screen for few seconds before shifting his attention to the nurse and frowning. “Hey, faggot, get me and my friend here a fucking drink.”
Doug’s nurse sighed audibly and turned around in the driver’s seat. “What would you like to drink?”
I was about to mention to Doug that the reason he might have difficulty with relationships is that he acts like an asshole to everyone, but I really wanted to do some more of his drugs, so I decided to hold my tongue until I was about to leave. I did make a mental note, however, to tell Doug to stop being such a supreme prick. “I’ll have some whiskey, please.”
“Whiskey, good choice, sir,” Doug said gleefully. He seemed giddy, like a little kid at an arcade with a pocketful of quarters. “Faggot, pour us some Balvenie.”
The nurse rolled his eyes and removed two tumblers from the bar. I imagined he must be well compensated because I couldn’t believe any self-respecting individual would put up with this abuse on a daily basis. He filled the tumblers with the high-end Scotch, handed one to Doug, and then walked over and handed the other glass to me. Before he returned to the driver’s seat, he asked dryly, “Will that be all?”
“Yes, now take us to Paradise.” Doug’s nurse started up the car, and we headed southbound towards Polk Street. “‘I got some tickets for paradise. Pack those bags and let’s leave tonight.’ Isn’t that how the ‘Paradise’ song goes?”
“Well, actually, the song’s called ‘Two Tickets to Paradise,’ but I understand your reference.”
“Yes, I’m sure you’re quite familiar with the works of Eddie Money and his contemporaries. I hear that music every time I walk into your den of iniquity.”
“Who doesn’t like classic rock?” I asked rhetorically, thinking about how I’d never spin that song unless a dancer refused to tip me.
“Well, it’s certainly better than that nigger shit. How ‘bout a toast?” Doug raised his glass high up in the air. “Here’s to those who sit when they pee. We love ‘em in leather. We love ‘em in lace. But we love ‘em the best when they sit on our face!” He laughed out loud, knocked his glass against mine, and took a large swig. “Good stuff, eh?”
“Damn fine whiskey.”
“Have you ever been to Paradise Club?”
“No, I haven’t, but I imagine it’s a bit early to go to a dance club,” I replied, looking at the clock on the van’s dashboard and noticing that it was only 8:15 PM.
“I’m sure you can dance if you want to, but I like to do more than dancing, if you know what I mean.” Doug laughed a creepy, guttural laugh before lifting his drink to his mouth. He set his glass down on the wood table to his right, then fumbled in the leather pocket behind the driver’s seat and pulled out a round mirror. “You want more booger sugar?”
“You don’t have to ask me twice.” Though I was sufficiently buzzed, it was my credo never to turn down free drugs.
Doug poured a mound of coke onto the mirror and used a credit card to cut six large rails. He quickly snorted two before pausing and pointing up at the television screen. “Look. The kid’s got his dick in the peephole, and he thinks those hot young things are gonna suck it. But they got the hell out of there.” He was snorting and chuckling, which made it difficult to comprehend what he was saying. “It’s only Balbricker in the shower now. He has no idea. Ha ha. I love this part. Look, she’s got his dick in her hand and she’s not letting go.” Doug laughed so hard that I thought he was going to drop the mirror. I lunged forward to catch it, but he recovered his grip at the last second. “God, I love that scene. So fucking funny,” he said, still chuckling. He snorted one more line before passing the mirror to me. I snorted the three remaining lines and realized that if I did any more of his blow, I was probably going to have a heart attack.
We drove for about twenty minutes before the van came to a stop and the nurse turned around in the driver’s seat and said, “We’re here. Are you ready to go in?”
Doug looked at him and replied curtly, “I was born ready. Now open the door, you pillow-biter.” The nurse shook his head, exited the car, and walked around the vehicle to open the sliding door. He lowered Doug out of the van, and I hopped out shortly behind him. I couldn’t exactly pinpoint the neighborhood we were in, but it looked like the west-side avenues off of Geary Street. We stood before a nondescript, grey travertine tile-covered storefront underneath a massive yellow plastic marquee that read, “Paradise Club. Oriental Massage. Private Bath.” A neon sign that flashed the word “OPEN” hung alongside a thick grey metal door with a sliding peephole. It all made sense now. Paradise Club wasn’t a dance club. It was an Asian massage parlor. I should have known that he’d take me to a “rub and tug.” Doug maneuvered his wheelchair towards me and slapped my ass. “This is where the fun begins. Come on,” he shouted as he rode towards the foreboding grey metal door.
“Doug, I totally appreciate this, but I’m good. It’s getting late and I gotta work tomorrow.” Though I had never been to a massage parlor before, I wasn’t interested in visiting one that night, especially accompanied by Doug the Retard.
“What do you mean? You’re not fucking going home. This is where the fun begins. What? Are you scared? Do you want to wait in the car with the homo? Maybe you two can give each other reach-arounds.” Doug’s nurse rolled his eyes and returned to the van.
“I guess I can go.” This reminded me of high school. Here I was being peer pressured by a middle-aged man in a wheelchair. I almost expected him to make chicken-clucking noises. Reluctantly, I followed Doug to the entrance. He pressed the doorbell, and several seconds later the peephole door slid open and two eyes peered out.
“Hello, may I help you?” asked a voice with a thick Asian accent.
“Open the fucking door. We want a massage,” Doug answered.
“Okay. Hold on.” The peephole slid shut, a deadbolt was unlocked, and the grey door swung open to reveal a paunchy, balding Korean man in a dark blue suit standing in the doorway.
“Hello, Mr. Doug. Very good to see you again,” he said, bowing slightly.
“Well, hello there, Wang.” The man stepped aside and allowed us to enter a small room lit by harsh florescent lights hanging overhead. I immediately noticed five young Korean girls—who couldn’t have been older than sixteen—wearing pink lingerie and sitting on metal folding chairs against a faux wood-paneled wall on the right. They were silently staring at a dance program on a small television in the corner of the room. To our left was a massive aquarium containing a variety of colorful fish, and oddly enough on top of the tank was a boombox playing the Madonna song “Like a Prayer.” An older Korean woman wearing a rose gown stood behind a glass counter in the back of the room next to a younger Korean man in a dark suit who was furiously typing away into his cellphone. The woman whispered something in the young man’s ear and he instantly shoved his phone into his jacket pocket. She gingerly stepped around the counter and greeted Doug with a small bow.
“Hello, Douglas. As always, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” the woman said demurely and with barely a trace of an accent.
“Hello, Sang-mi. You look exquisite. Who do you have for me today?”
Sang-mi gestured to her left to the five young diminutive girls staring at the tiny television. She screamed something at them in Korean, and the girls at once directed their attention towards us. “Mr. Doug, I have only the most beautiful girls for you today. Who do you fancy?”
Doug looked the girls over for a minute or two before returning his attention to Sang-mi.“Is Joy here?” he asked, almost pleadingly.
“I’m very sorry, but Joy is no longer with us. We have many other beautiful girls here to please you.”
Doug seemed perturbed. “I don’t give a fuck. I’ll take those two,” he said, pointing dismissively at the two youngest-appearing girls of the five.
“Excellent choice, Mr. Doug. You will not be disappointed.” Sang-mi walked over to the two girls he had selected and whispered something in Korean to them. Both girls immediately stood up, and Sang-mi adjusted the straps of their lingerie so that they hung perfectly off their tiny shoulders. With her hands on the small of their backs, she gently guided the girls towards Doug. Again she said something in Korean to them, and they both greeted Doug with a small bow.
I was still standing in the doorway trying to comprehend the weirdness of the situation. Doug shifted his wheelchair into reverse and circled around so he was facing me. “Which slope are you taking?”
“Excuse me?”
“I said which slope are you taking?”
“Uh, okay. You’re talking about the girls. I’ll take that one, I guess,” I said, pointing to the girl nearest me. The young girl obediently stood up from her metal chair and walked toward me.
Doug laughed. “Good choice. She looks like a virgin. Go easy on her, buddy.” He lifted his hand up in the air to give me a high five, but I pretended not to notice and walked towards the girl I had selected. Doug grabbed the hands of the two young girls he had picked and with a broad smile said, “Come ladies, let’s have some fun.” I watched him ride past the glass counter and through a plastic rainbow-beaded curtain in the back of the room. Sang-mi followed behind him, leaving me alone in the room standing awkwardly next to the teenage girl, the young man in the dark suit, and Wang, the older Korean man, who was now leaning on the glass counter smoking a cigarette.
Wang looked at me and smiled. “What are you waiting for, Doug’s friend? You take the girl to a room.”
“Uh, okay. Can I choose any available room, or do you have a particular room for me?” I had no idea how this operation was supposed to work.
Wang laughed and said something in Korean to the younger guy in the dark suit. Now both men were laughing. After a few seconds, Wang looked at me again and said, “Doug’s friend, you take the second room on the right, okay?” He shifted his attention towards the young girl I had picked and barked something at her in Korean. She yelled in Korean back at him, and he slapped her hard across the face. The girl burst into tears.
I was shocked. “Whoa, man. Take it easy.”
Wang pointed his index finger at me menacingly for a few seconds before slowly moving his finger towards the crying girl. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the younger man in the dark suit move a few steps closer to us. Wang barked another command in Korean, and the crying girl stood up obediently, walked over to me, and grabbed my hand. Wang looked back at me and said,“Doug’s friend, you go have fun now, okay?”
The young girl, still crying somewhat, pulled me towards the beaded curtain. I followed her down a hallway lit only with red Christmas lights to the second door on the right. She opened the door and motioned for me to enter. The room was barely larger than a walk-in closet and contained only an old massage table with gaping holes in the red vinyl covering and a small stereo sitting on top of a metal folding chair. The girl had stopped crying and sullenly handed me a towel that was lying on top of the massage table. She dutifully walked over to the stereo and pressed the play button. The Lionel Richie song “Ballerina Girl” began to play softly, which only served to make this exceedingly unerotic situation that much more unerotic. I strongly considered handing the girl fifty dollars and leaving, but I was worried that the old Korean man might do something horrible to her.
“Hi, my name’s Dave,” I said, trying my best not to sound nervous. She looked at me blankly. I tried again. “My name’s Dave,” I said, pointing at my chest. “What’s your name?”
The girl smiled politely and moved towards me. She began unbuttoning the top buttons of my shirt. I gently pushed her back and held her by her shoulders and said once again, “My name’s Dave. What’s your name?” She obviously did not speak English. The girl stepped back and pulled the straps of her lin
gerie over her shoulders and let the entire garment fall to the floor, leaving her standing there completely nude. Though she was incredibly attractive, I felt unnerved being aroused by a girl who had to have been several years short of the legal age in this country. And she had one of the largest bushes I had ever seen. For some reason, I was surprised that Korean girls were so hairy down there. The naked girl again approached me and started unbuttoning my shirt. I stepped back with my hand outstretched, motioning to her that I could remove my clothes myself, and she stood there motionless, watching me disrobe. I wrapped the towel around my waist and carefully placed my pile of clothes next to the stereo. She pointed to the table, and as I lay across it on my stomach, I struggled to dismiss the thought of how many men that day had ejaculated on that same table. She straddled my ass and kneaded my back with her tiny but powerful fingers. It felt amazing, and I closed my eyes and for the first time that day began to feel somewhat relaxed when suddenly I heard a man shouting in one of the other rooms. It sounded a lot like Doug’s voice but it was hard to tell. I arched my back up, but the girl pushed me down, shaking her head from side to side. The shouting soon subsided, and she continued to massage my back for the next ten minutes before sliding off of me and urging me to flip over. I complied and rolled over onto my back, noticing that the Lionel Richie song “Say You, Say Me” was now playing. The girl massaged my thighs and slowly moved her hands upwards toward the towel. Without warning, she reached under the towel and firmly gripped my tumescent penis. Not anticipating this sudden grope, I sat up and held the towel firmly over my crotch.