CHAPTER ONE: Waking Up is Hard to Do
“Is that you, Satan?” asked Nick Peltier, as he searched his bathroom for the source of the satanic voice he was hearing.
“Maybe,” said the voice. “Who would you like me to be?”
“You sound like a hooker,” said Nick.
“I could be that – if you’d like.”
“What I would like you to be is gone. Why do you keep screwing with me?” asked an anxious Nick.
“Because you’re such an easy target.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re so much fun to toy with. I like that you are so frightened of me,” said the voice.
“I’m not afraid of you. You just keep pissing me off.”
“You are so entertaining. I can frighten you at the drop of a hat.”
“Oh yeah? Prove it,” said Nick. He was tired of these occurrences. He needed validation.
“Right now?” asked the ominous voice.
“Yeah, asshole. What can you do right now that would terrify me?”
“I can tell you that someone you know was just murdered.”
“So what? Those are just words. It’s creepy, but it doesn’t scare me,” said Nick, as he continued his conversation with this gender-neutral voice.
“You’re right. You can’t see the body.” The voice made a grunting sound and in a split second flash of light, an image of a lifeless body muddled across Nick’s vision.
“It looked like Zipper Down,” replied Nick.
“You know this person, correct?”
“He’s a drummer. He always looks like that when he’s not behind his drum set.”
“You didn’t notice how he appeared to be dead?”
“Sure. Like I just said, that’s normal for him. He may have seemed a little more pale than usual. Probably body make-up. He’s into that sort of thing.” He was proud of himself that he was holding his composure while talking to the Dark One.
“Oh, Nicholas. You are more problematic than usual. Okay. Let me think - I have one. I can make the sound of a telephone ringing so loud, you would think it was actually in your ear.” Nick heard the sound. The voice was right. The volume increased with each ring.
“Make it stop,” cried Nick, as he heard the sound of demonic laughter fade away. All of his composure just flew out the open window. The ringing continued. He opened his eyes and realized his phone in fact was ringing. The early afternoon light resembled a laser as it burst through his bedroom window in a direct path to his eyes. He grabbed the receiver, slammed it down, and then hurled the entire phone across his bedroom, yanking the cord from the wall in the process. His throbbing head was somewhat relieved that he was just dreaming about Satan – again. He pulled the worn out comforter back over his head. The phone in the living room started ringing.
“Shut up, you piece of shit,” he yelled to no avail. The ringing would not stop. He threw back the covers and stumbled to the front room, crunching some stale corn chips and kicking an empty beer can out of the way. He stubbed his little toe on the coffee table, knocking over an empty pizza box. Nick moved his brand new issue of Playboy, which was opened to the centerfold of Miss April 1994, and found his other phone underneath. His subscription to the magazine was the longest commitment to anything he had ever had.
“What?” he yelled, as he clutched the handset. He was unmindful of his position next to an open second floor window, even with the cool breeze caressing his naked backside.
“Good morning, Nick,” said the soothing, sweet voice of his friend, Debbie. “Hope I didn’t wake you.”
“I had to get up to answer the phone anyway,” he said, as he heard the giggles of two Rollins University coeds who were strolling by his open second floor window. Realizing he was naked, he stooped down, turned around to smile at the ladies, then closed the blinds.
“What time do you want us to come over?” asked Debbie.
“What do you mean by us?”
“Tony, Andie, Benny, and myself. You invited us over for gumbo. Don’t you remember?”
“Of course I do,” said Nick. He put his hand over the mouthpiece and mumbled, “Shit.” He took his hand off and said, “Come on over anytime. I’ll have it ready.”
“Okay, we’ll see you in a bit.”
“Oh, wait a second, Debbie,” Nick said before giving her a chance to hang up. “Did I hang out with you and Tony last night?”
“You’re so silly. You know you were too busy to hang out with us last night,” she said. “By the way, how did it go?”
“Uh, fine,” said Nick. He had no clue what Debbie was talking about.
“We’ll talk more about it when we get there. I have some great news. Ciao.” The click of the phone hanging up reverberated in his ears. His hangover intensified as he heard the loud knock at the front door. He moved an empty rum bottle aside with his foot as he shuffled to the door. As he moved his long, wavy brown hair away from his eyes, he opened it wide. Standing there was his best friend, Andie Jenson. Once again, he forgot he had not a stitch of clothing on. Andie was holding two large paper bags of groceries in her arms and could see Nick only from the neck up.
“God, you look horrible,” said Andie, as she peeked over the top of the grocery bags she was carrying. Nick’s swollen eyes, draped by puffy bags, were in her view.
“Good morning to you, too,” said Nick.
“It’s not morning, it’s – would you please grab these bags? These chickens, sausage, and onions you asked me to pick up are pretty heavy.” Nick grabbed the bags and turned towards the dining table, exposing his naked backside to Andie. She turned away in awkwardness and saw a sight even more disturbing.
“My, God, Nick. Just look at this place. It’s repulsive. You promised me you would have it cleaned up by the time everybody got here.” She turned to Nick, who was now facing her. “And please put on some clothes.” She tried to remain focused on his puffy, bloodshot eyes. Nick looked on his kitchen floor and found his robe, lying next to an almost empty box of fried chicken. He put it on and walked over to Andie.
“You don’t have to get your panties in a knot,” he said. “I’ll have everything picked up by the time everybody gets here.”
“That’s what you said last time. Don’t you remember? I was stuck cleaning your apartment for your guests while you were passed out in the bathtub.”
“Whose idea was it to have this stupid dinner, anyway?”
“I do believe it was yours.”
“I must have been really messed-up at the time.”
“Is there a time when you aren’t?” asked Andie, as she began surveying the damage of what appeared to be a simulated war zone.
“Come on, Andie. Give me a break,” pleaded Nick.
“I’m sorry, Nick. I don’t know why I even bother to stay friends with you. My father warned me to never trust a musician.”
“Hey, I’m not just a musician. I’m a talent scout, recording engineer, and…”
“Always wasted. I really don’t have time to be here. I have to get ready for my first case on Tuesday.” She reluctantly picked up an almost empty wine glass with two fingertips and noticed a lipstick stain.
“I thought you’ve been practicing law for a whole year,” said Nick.
“It’s my first case to actually be the first chair attorney for Wainwright and Grimes. I’ll be heading an entire team.”
“So that’s why you’re so uptight right now. I thought it had to do with you not getting laid in such a long time.”
“Come on, Nick. I don’t have time for your smart-alecky remarks. I can hear you already have your shower water running, so go in there and get yourself cleaned up. I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”
Nick turned towards the bathroom and replied, “I didn’t turn my shower on this morning.” The harsh reality of soberness was starting to kick in. Andie looked down on the floor and picked up a pair of cherry-red, lace panties.
“I supposed you started wearing these now,” she said.<
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“They’re not mine,” rebuffed Nick.
“I sure hope not.” Andie and Nick turned their heads towards the bathroom door as it opened and released a beautiful blond vixen. Her long hair was towel-dried as she slithered into the room in her wrinkled, black party dress. The halter design did its best to cover her well-endowed chest. The tightness revealed the fact she was wearing no underwear, which Andie noticed.
“Oh, there they are,” said the cheerful blond. She walked over to Andie and grabbed the panties from her hand. She strolled to Nick and handed him the panties. “I want you to have these as a reminder of the wonderful night we had,” she said. She kissed Nick right on the lips, oblivious to the fact that his breath could kill a cactus at twenty feet. “I left the shower running so you can get yourself cleaned up, you nasty boy.” She sashayed to the front door and turned around before leaving. “You were awesome, Nick. Call me.” She closed the door, leaving an astounded look on Andie’s face.
Nick looked at Andie and said, “See. I told you they weren’t mine.”
“Well, they are now,” replied Andie. “Who was that?”
“Her? She, uh – oh, yeah, she’s my maid.” It would take a better performance than this to convince the analytical Andie. Andie took a step back, crunching some potato chips in the process, and looked around the apartment.
“You expect me to believe you have a maid?”
Nick shook his head. “She’s not a very good one?”
Tired of Nick’s usual procrastination, Andie bluntly asked, “Nick – who was that girl?”
“I have no idea,” he answered, shaking his perplexed head.
“Is it possible you picked her up at the party last night?”
Nick thought for second and answered, “What party?”
“The one you were supposed to attend for your record company last night. Don’t you remember?”
Nick woke up another notch as he recalled the party. “Oh yeah, now that you mention it, I think I did go to a party last night.”
Andie stared at Nick in anticipation. “Well?”
Embarrassed, Nick replied, “I don’t remember a thing about it.”
Andie mounted her high horse. “You know, Nick, I’m really getting worried about you. You go out and drink your beer, your wine, your bourbon, your rum, your vodka, your tequila, your…”
“Whoa, hold on right there,” interrupted Nick. “You know damn well I never – ever- drink vodka.”
“Well, thank God you don’t do drugs,” said a concerned Andie.
“You’re right, there. That was so seventies.”
“Hey, the seventies weren’t that bad. That’s when disco was born,” Andie replied about her favorite guilty pleasure music.
“You didn’t have to live through it. It was total hell. That’s the crap that was playing when…” Nick suddenly stopped talking. His eyes glazed over for a couple of seconds than he came back to the moment, “Never mind,” he mumbled.
“When?” asked Andie.
“When what?”
“You said it was playing when – then you said to never mind.”
“Right – like I said – never mind.”
“I really hate when you do that, Nick. You start to tell me things, and when they get too personal, you stop – or change the subject completely.”
Nick stalled for a few seconds, then added, “Is that a new hairstyle?”
“No. It’s the same hairstyle I’ve been having for two months. This is exactly what I’m talking about. When are you going to straighten out your life?”
Nick lost control. Being questioned about anything in his condition was too much to handle. He reached to the bookcase to pick up the nearest thing to him. It was a half-empty beer can. He threw it down as hard as he could to express his anger. A drop of beer shot across the room and landed on his Stratocaster, his prized guitar that was signed by Jimi Hendrix. He dashed to the guitar to wipe off the beer drop. He was still holding the lace panties, which he used to clean his beloved possession. It was the only object in the apartment that was always kept clean. He let out a sigh of relief as he threw the panties on the couch.
“That was a close one,” he said. “Oh, yeah,” he remembered. “I just got pissed-off at you - why?” As he turned around, he noticed Andie wasn’t there. Andie had gone in the bathroom to turn off the shower. It was driving her crazy.
She came back out and asked, “Seriously, Nick - when are you going to straighten out your godforsaken life?”
“Look, Andie. I like my life. I don’t need anybody telling me how to live it. I’ll take suggestions, not orders, from Benny - only because he’s my boss. Okay - maybe sometimes I get so wasted that I can’t remember some of the things I do. Who cares? I have no worries, little responsibilities, and I like it that way.” He thought for a second as he cooled down then mumbled, “Well, maybe I have a couple of worries.”
Andie was afraid to ask. “What are they?”
“They what?”
“What are your worries?”
“I just told you. I don’t have any.”
“But, then you said you had maybe a couple.”
“Wow,” said the amazed Nick. “I guess you really do listen when I talk.” He took a deep breath and mumbled, “I think somebody is out to kill me.”
“What on Earth are you talking about?” asked a baffled Andie.
Nick was hesitant, but went on. “Well – okay. Here it goes. Last month – during one of my moments of – how would you say it?”
“Weakness, bewilderment, confusion, being in a drunken stupor…” Andie could go on for days.
“Let’s just go with weakness,” interrupted Nick.
“Which is about ninety-percent of the time.”
“Will you please shut up for one minute?” Nick was having a hard time with this and Andie wasn’t going to make it any easier. In fact, he always had trouble talking to Andie about anything personal. She would talk to him about everything going on in her life. He was a great listener, if not just a good sounding board. Through his silent responses, Andie felt like she got to know him better than if he would verbally open up to her. He was also always there for her. “Okay, last month, I was strolling downtown and happened to come across some kind of health fair. I got talked into signing an organ donor card.”
“Was she cute?” asked Andie.
“Who?”
“The girl who talked you into signing the card.”
“I never said it was a girl.”
Andie crossed her arms and gave Nick her best stare. “Nick – I know you.”
“Okay – You do know me. She had nice, uh, hair. Anyway, I signed this card – which, by the way, was pretty stupid considering I didn’t even get her phone number. You know what? I don’t have a clue why I signed it. Oh, well - it’s too late now.”
Andie was confused. “So some random girl got you to sign an organ donor card. What has all this got to do with you thinking somebody wants to kill you?”
“Think about it,” said Nick. “After I did it, I started thinking that there’s some rich kid out there, who needs some kind of organ - whose dad is in the mob, or IRS, or the CEO of Wal-Mart, or something like that. They probably have connections with organizations that get other people to sign cards so they can arrange them to die some kind of untimely death. This is so his stupid, lazy-ass kid can get a kidney, or heart, or liver, or – you know – anything they can get from a newly deceased corpse. And to make matters worse…”
Andie was dumfounded, “What?”
“I signed it on a full moon.”
“That is – by far - the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard you say,” said Andie. “The whole premise is crazy enough, but what would a full moon have to do with it?”
“You’re not a superstitious woman, are you?”
“Not usually.”
“Well, if you make a commitment on a full moon, breaking it would mean certain death.”
“Nick,
if somebody was taking your organs, wouldn’t you already have been dead?”
“Exactly. You see my point?”
“Wow,” said Andie. She prepared herself for another long, preposterous, remark. “What is the other worry you have?”
“It’s the fact that Satan lives next door,” said Nick, without hesitation.
Andie was surprised. “You mean Tony?” she asked.
“Antonio Satanelli. The name says it all.”
“Nick, Tony graduated with a masters degree in Theology at a Christian university.”
“Exactly. What a perfect cover.”
Andie went to Tony’s defense. “Are you out of your mind? Tony happens to be one of the sweetest, most sincere men I have ever met in my entire life.”
Nick justified his fear. “Look – only the Devil himself would go through eighteen years of private school, only to work the late shift at a 7-Eleven, and charge three dollars and fifty cents for a loaf of bread while he’s earning his doctorate in Theology at a university whose mascot is the Demons.”
“Well, if you’re so afraid of Tony, how come you always hang out with him?” she asked.
“He lives right next door and dates Debbie. She’s my friend. If you were dating Tom Hanks, I’d probably hang out with him, too,” said an embarrassed Nick.
Andie stood there, mouth agape, then shook her head with the reply, “Of all the names to come up with, why Tom Hanks?”
“I’m just saying it doesn’t matter who my friends date. If they are with that person, I’ll accept that and treat them like a friend, too.”
“But what made you say Tom Hanks in the first place.” Andie was amazed by Nick’s unpredictability.
“I saw the way you looked at him when we saw the Forrest Gump trailer last week. You went on and on about how much you loved Tom Hanks. That preview creeped me out.”
“I’m just dumbfounded here,” said Andie. “I thought you liked it.”
“I only said that because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. I meant to say that it looked like a movie you would probably want to see.” Nick and Andie were movie buddies. They went to one with each other about twice a month.
“Why didn’t you just say so in the first place?”
“Like I said, I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”
“Well, it wouldn’t have, but you have no problem telling me this now.”
“Look, I didn’t think he’d win the Oscar for Philadelphia. Now he’s just pissing me off.”
“So your problem is with Tom Hanks?” asked Andie.
“I have no problem with Tom Hanks. I’m sure he’s a nice guy.”
“But if he would get nominated for Forrest Gump and win again, you would be even more upset, right?”
“Like that would ever happen. No. I would be happy for the guy,” chuckled Nick. “Life is like a box of chocolates,” he said, trying to imitate Tom Hank’s southern drawl used in the movie. “Give me a break.”
“You – are – so - weird,” replied Andie.
“Whatever. Hey, what’s in the bags?” He wanted the subject changed.
“Like I told you when I walked in, it’s the chicken and sausage you asked me to pick up for the gumbo – which you were supposed to have half-way cooked by now. Do you realize everyone will be getting here soon?” asked Andie. Nick knew when he was beat.
“What the hell,” said Nick. “Let me put on a pot of coffee so I can get my act together, so we can party on.”
“Oh, no, my friend. I’ll make the coffee and you can start cleaning this pig sty.” Andie, as always, took control of the situation. Nick looked around at the monumental mess. This was not going to be an easy job.
The Devil's in My Bathroom Page 2