Hot Tramp
Page 7
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I’m getting close to Second beach. A few more winding curves along the Seawall and I’ll be at one of the serenest beaches in North America. There’s a large public swimming pool that edges against the ocean. Five hundred year old trees are in the backdrop and the mountains of North Vancouver complete the landscape. It’s hard to beat the feeling of standing at the edge of the Pacific Ocean with your back to the city, and knowing that you are home. This is where I live. It’s why I pay so much for rent. I stand in the sands of Second Beach and call it mine.
I only take a moment to enjoy the idleness. Looking up into the sky, I feel the first drops of rain. I head back onto the Seawall and resume my exercise. The drizzle is short lived. Soon I’m in the zone again, the aforementioned groove. My legs have gone from sore to loose. My body and soul are free from all tension. I am alone in my purist form. A little precipitation strengthens my resolve and cools me down. I check my watch: 7:10. I’m making good time. There is a faint red line in the far horizon. The sun is going to do it’s best to burn away our clouds. I doubt it will succeed, but I’ll root for it. In Vancouver anything is possible.
I scan my mind again for memories of last night. It’s bugging me because I don’t think I drank that much.
Let’s begin from the beginning and see how far I can get.
The night started with a joke:
“A baby chicken is walking in the forest and accidentally steps into quicksand. She calls out for help and a donkey appears. The baby chicken says, “Quickly, I have a Ferrari parked nearby. Tie a string to the rear bumper and drag me out of this trap.” The donkey doesn’t respond. “Hurray up you stupid ass, I’m gonna die here.” Without saying a word, the donkey stands over the pond of quicksand so that the baby chicken can grab hold of his penis. The donkey walks out to the clearing and the baby chicken is dragged to safety. The moral of the story: you don’t need a Ferrari to pick up chicks when you are hung like a donkey.”
I laughed at my own joke, while everyone else remained silent.
Jung Lee explains that the joke won’t get any funnier the more I tell it. She may have heard it a few times already.
Johan, Emily and Bal are not amused. I assume that means that they need more to drink so I go to the kitchen to get more beer.
“That’s one of your weakest jokes yet.” Johan is first to respond.
“I have far worse jokes than that one,” I say. I love bad jokes. “Besides that wasn’t a joke. It’s a parable. Like Aesop.”
“I’m starting to worry about you, Eric.” Emily takes the beer that I offer her.
Emily and my best friend, Johan, were once an item. I don’t see it, but I guess opposites attract. I’ve had a slight crush on Emily ever since Johan introduced me to her. I think it’s her glasses, or perhaps it’s because she is an English lit major at UBC.
When I first moved here, I had intended on studying creative writing at UBC. It was a bad idea, I knew that I would have constantly skipped class and hung out at Wreck Beach, the nudist beach located at the base of the campus. How can a man study, when there were naked co-eds sunning themselves within walking distance? But who knows, if I had gone, maybe I would have met Emily first.
“I don’t see why you love telling lame jokes,” Jung Lee said. “You think too highly of yourself.”
All my friends nodded in unison.
“Oh please, you don’t stay with me because of my personality.” I said.
“Fair enough. Boys and girls, it’s all true. He’s built like a race horse.” Jung Lee accepted the glass of Diet Coke. I could hear the twinge of sarcasm in her voice, but I choose to ignore it.
“Thank you dear. Your testimony is most welcome.”
“Then prove it Eric. Whip it out. Put your cock where your mouth is.” Bal joked. Or at least I assumed that he was joking. He’s fairly funny for someone born in Toronto.
Even though Bal is fun, his life story is sad. He came out to his family when he was just seventeen and they promptly kicked him out. He packed up and moved to Vancouver. That was more than twenty years ago. He hasn’t spoken to them since.
We knew each other from work. We weren’t friends at first; not until we happened to be at the same gay bar and he bought me a drink. He was upset when I explained that I was straight. He didn’t really believe me. To be fair, I was wearing a boa. He stuck his tongue in my ear and I agreed we were now even for the drink that he bought me. Somehow we became friends. For a while we were hanging out at work so much that some people just assumed we were a couple.
I live in the West End of Vancouver and have many gay and lesbian friends. Jung Lee suspects that many of my acquaintance are trying to get me drunk and then proceed to have their way with me. I accept their free drinks and take my chances. Men often liquor up women in order to loosen them up. Why should gay men be any different? By accepting a gay men’s drink I am better able to understand what it’s like to be a woman. Either way, Bal is cool. He doesn’t have that annoying stereotypical lisp and he long ago stopped buying me drinks. He knows that I am full of shit and he likes to egg me on.
Johan, who hates it when I get drunk and start rambling on about my penis, knows that I am quickly diverted. “What do you think of all the stoned people swearing that they have seen zombies?”
Another of my loves is zombies. My future screen play is titled “Sex Zombies Bite.” It’s a mix between “Night of the Living Dead” and “Faster Pussycat, Kill, Kill.”
Emily responded quickly, “I think we should get blazed and go out hunting.”
I am so easily distracted.
“As a Zombie Infestation First Responder, it is my duty to investigate these claims,” I said. Don’t laugh. I have had business cards printed with this as my title, so it must be true. I may be all that is standing between you and a full-blown undead apocalypse.
“You have been preparing for this for years, Eric. I can hear you screaming late at night at the TV,” added my lovely girlfriend. Don’t laugh; survival horror video games are very scary. Especially when you are sleep deprived and liquored up. Damn you Resident Evil franchise.
“Seriously guys, what are we up to tonight?” Bal asked. As if getting stoned and hunting down zombies wasn’t a viable plan.
“I’m kinda tired. I won’t be going out tonight.” Jung Lee said on queue. We all knew she wouldn’t be coming. She has to work early tomorrow and dislikes hanging out with us drunks.
“Let’s head out to Celebrities.” Bal suggested. Celebrities is a gay bar that has been overrun by straight people. Bal compromises well, knowing that we don’t go to the gay bars that haven’t been overrun.
“I’m tired of Celebrities.” Emily said. “I get hit on too much there.”
Me too. Just kidding, I like the attention.
Celebrities used to be one of the best gay dance clubs in Vancouver. Straight people wouldn’t have set foot in there, for fear of witnessing an abundance of gay sex. Over time, more and more straight girls ventured through its doors. It was their little secret; girls like Jung Lee and Emily, enjoyed dancing the night away without the constant harassment from guys. But straight guys always follow where the girls go. Guys like Johan and I went to Celebrities to harass the single girls. Gays don’t hang out in Celebrities much anymore, they’ve moved on. The breeders have once again ruined something that was fabulous.
My friends discussed the plans for the night as I poured us some more drinks. I didn’t feel like sharing my rum or tequila, so I dug out a bottle of vodka, which I didn’t even remember buying. Vodka is the only drink in which I break my no-mix purity rule. It tastes bland and boring. I poured four Eric highballs: 3 parts vodka, 1 part orange juice, 1 large ice cube (small ice cubes melt too quick, proper ice cubes are essential).
The haze starts to spread from that moment.
I recall Bal opening his big mouth and announcing that I have been seated adjacent to Mila at work. Damn Bal, you don’t talk about other girls in front of
my girlfriend. Both Jung Lee and Emily were keen to hear more about this Mila chick.
“Really big boobs,” Bal described Mila. To stir the pot even further he held out his hands and mimicked as if he had a pair.
“I didn’t even notice.” I said, in a dignified manner.
Even Jung Lee laughed at my blatant lie. She’s not the jealous type. I’m half Indian, and half French and 100% perv. I can’t help myself and Jung Lee knows it. My eyes can stray, as long as my penis doesn’t.
Luckily the subject changed. Bal was anxious to go out somewhere. Everyone agreed on The Oasis. I collected our glasses. The drinks were a little too stiff for Johan and Emily. Johan is more of a beer guy and Emily prefers wine or a more traditional high ball. Johan gulped his down anyway but Emily declined to follow suit. I drank hers on the way to the kitchen.
I remember leaving the apartment and walking to The Oasis Lounge. I remember more drinks and more laughs. I don’t recall getting home. I hope Derek wasn’t out of control last night.
About the Author
Erik D’Souza is a stay at home father, who ignored his kids just long enough to write his first novel. He has penned half a dozen uncompleted manuscripts and hundreds of short stories.
Erik once studied philosophy and poetry, but he switched his major to fashion marketing. His poetry teacher took it very hard, but his philosophy professor was unaware of his