*
"Whoa," Pete said. "This is strong stuff."
"Sure is," Dale replied. "My guy knows his shit."
They had met up somehow, at a bar somewhere, each on their own private pub crawl, and come to the Commodore in search of dope. No problem, Dale had insisted. We'll be in and out in no time. But they hadn't. Pete had had to pass a very nervous hour or two before Dale's connection finally arrived and they were able to get their weed. The question now was where to smoke it. The washroom was the natural place but Pete was worried about his safety and Dale didn't want to share. Fortunately, Dale was friends with the clerk. He lets me crash here when I'm wasted, he explained. And I let him into the peep show for free.
"It's kind of hot," Pete said. "Can we open a window?"
"Fuck no," Dale answered. "They're nailed shut."
"Why?"
"Too many jumpers."
"But it's only the third floor."
"So?"
Leaping up, Dale took off his shirt and tossed it onto the bed.
"Look at this," he said, flexing his muscles. "You like that?"
"Yeah, sure."
"Bet you do."
Stepping forward, he stood in front of Pete and unzipped his fly.
"Hey!"
"Come on," Dale said as, grabbing Pete's hair, he pushed his head into his crotch. "Don't fight it."
No, Pete thought, his heart pounding with panic. But then his lips opened and he took the cock in his mouth.
"Good boy," Dale said. "Always knew you were a fag."
*
"Down the hall," the nurse said, "and to your right."
"Thanks," Myrtle replied, and continued on.
Outside the door she paused.
Propped up by a pillow, Oscar lay in bed watching TV; sad and swollen, he stared blankly at the screen.
She went inside.
*
The bus driver, a burly guy with a crew cut, stepped aboard carrying a coffee and deposited it in the drink-holder. Then, having adjusted his seat, he closed the door and backed out of the garage.
Same old city, Pete thought, looking out onto the quiet streets.
His father, now divorced for the second time and seeking to undo some of the mistakes of his life, had invited Pete to spend the summer with him. This Pete had accepted, the anger of many years washed away by a few words. He was even on better terms with his mother, having shocked her by apologizing for ruining her romance. That she and Oscar were back together eased the path of forgiveness. Not that he was planning on coming back. School was a washout. Failure may be glorious but you had to do something after and he didn't see a future for himself in Kastasoon. Not after what happened with Dale. No, he needed somewhere bigger and a lot more anonymous.
A few people, mostly elderly, stubbornly strolled the otherwise empty sidewalks. Shops, although open, looked sad and sleepy.
So this is how it ends. No big goodbyes or fond farewells. Just a few isolated strangers, too busy with their own lives to notice mine.
Just as well.
*
"How about some ice cream?"
"Sure."
"Be right back."
Oscar watched Myrtle walk away. Slim and sexy, she drew more than her share of stares.
In the center of the park was a jazz band whose cheerful music celebrated summer. Children played. Girls suntanned. A group of teenagers in shorts tossed a Frisbee around. Flung too far, it landed in the lap of an old man who, sound asleep, was missing all the fun. Retrieving it, the teen returned to his game.
Only then did Oscar see the blind man. In front of him was a dog whose face he had seen a thousand times before. Attached to his harness was a sign that read: Please Don't Pet Me. I'm Working.
He smiled.
###
Thanks for reading my book. I hope you enjoyed it. I'm not a prolific writer. On the contrary, it took me decades to write this. It started out as a farce but, as my life became more serious, so did it. It's hard to know when something is truly finished but I don't think I can take this story any further. I do, however, intend to continue on with many of the same characters. The ones who interest me the most right now are Mabel and Dale. Maybe you can see that. It'll be a long time before the next installment is ready but, in the meantime, if you enjoyed this, please leave a review at the site where you downloaded it. Thanks again.
About the author: William Schrader is an English teacher living in Japan
Connect with me: mailto:[email protected]
The Doorman Page 12
