I loved having her small perfect breast in my mouth...
But I'm starting this story at the end (or close to the end), instead of the beginning. Beginnings are always so imperfect, though endings can be messy as well.
Anyway, in the beginning there was light...
Shit. That's probably too far back.
Well, unless you count the morning sunlight streaming in through the fucking crack in the hotel blind and piercing my tightly shut eyelids and starting a ferocious headache somewhere between the second and last nerve on the left. I shouldn't be too hard on the sun though. After all the sun did not come to me last night (see, I could have started the story there, or then, whatever) and make me drink all those dry Bombay Sapphire martinis while puffing down a pack of Reds. That was really her fault. Or like Jimmy says, "it's my own damn fault." Or something like that. Too damn early and too hungover to properly quote a line from a song that I barely remember.
I thought that the divorce was finally behind me (us? a marriage is for two, but divorce is single right?), but no. Shit had to get stirred up. But I think last night was finally the end (see, endings are messy and imperfect, what did I tell you?). It had been a long time coming. Had to work hard to ruin that marriage. But with perseverance, I (we? once again, what the fuck) managed to do it. Papers were final the year before last, but sometimes this shit just drags on (see, I could have had that be the beginning, but no one wants to hear that shit).
This is how it is. I'm a happy go lucky type of guy. Fun to be with, but shit for long term. Just treading that fine line between confident man and arrogant asshole. I fall off that narrow beam on occasion (now that's a fucking Olympic event that needs to be held).
So there I was, relaxing while on travel for my job (well fuck, I guess I am starting it the night before sunlight gave me a cracking headache. Funny how these things happen. Bear with). Just unwinding in the hotel bar. Never should have answered the damn phone. But with a kid in college, and being out of town, emergencies do happen (and how come they always happen while out of town huh? riddle me that). So I answered. You would think I would know better (but see above - happy go lucky, not really a fast learner). Just the ex. Bitching about something going wrong in a house that wasn't mine and how it was my fault (for fuck's sake, I changed that water line 5 years ago and nary a problem till now? fuck woman, hire a damn plumber). So that's what I told her. To be more precise (and precision is a good thing right?), I told her that maybe if she hired a plumber to fix the line he could also snake a line up her ass and clean out the clog that was causing her so many problems.
Well, let me tell you. That went over like a turd on a filet (yeah, that's gross, but you got the point right?). Shit, she was screaming so damn loud you could hear her shrill voice coming out of the phone over the music in the hotel bar (might have been that Buffet song playing, perhaps that's why that song was stuck in my head). I remembered then that the city was fixing the sewer line in front of the hotel. So I walked out of the bar (didn't see that coming, doesn't every joke start with "I walked into a bar"?), excused myself to the guys working late, asked them if anyone was down the hole currently and tossed the phone. I could still hear her voice as it dropped down to the muck below. Fitting end (messy though - need I remind you of the second sentence up above?). Dudes just looked at me. Looked at the hole. One of them raddled off some Spanish and the others laughed. I just gave them a thumbs up and went back inside.
I was feeling rather light hearted at this point. A great weight off my chest. Figured I'd just get a new phone the next day, new number, new start (maybe not perfect, but definitely less messy than what I threw down the hole, beginnings remember?).
Anyway, to make a short story shorter, several more martinis later found me passed out in the room. So back to the beginning. With the light. No, not THAT beginning. The other one. Morning sunlight through the crack in the blinds, causing the throbbing (no, not that throbbing, get your mind out of the gutter, I'm trying to tell a story here) in my head that felt like 42 midgets were having a wild party in there and someone was screaming at them to turn the music down but they just waggled their ears and thumbed their noses in my general direction (why 42? it's the answer to everything that's why. Why midgets? Do you think 42 giants could have a party in there? My head isn't that big. Shit, now I'm thinking about that song, "short people got...").
I crawled out of bed, threw up a little in the sink, brushed teeth, hair (still there, good to know), downed some aspirin with a small bottle of gin I found in the frig, lighted up a cigarette and slapped some shoes on feet (now that's a good song). Oh yeah, and some pants. Got to remember the pants. They play a pivotal point in this story. Later though. Not at the beginning. Other than the fact that I had them on. That was important. But not pivotal (though really, if I hadn't put them I suppose this would be an entirely different story about how I got to spend some time with the fun fellows down at the local slammer. Not the story I'm telling now though. I bet some of you pervs would like to read that one).
The gin had taken a little of the edge of but I needed some food to hold it down. Maybe a bloody mary as well. It has veggies in it. Good for you. As this was a resort that the meetings were being held in (which they finished last night, but I was staying over for a few days, why not? It was winter back home and this was warm and sunny), they had an open bar area facing the ocean. Called the bartender over, ordered the Bloody Mary and sat back to relax.
He was gone for a while. When he came back I realized why. He had the most fragrant aroma of skunk about him. That's what I really needed.
"8.50"
"Just put it on the room. How much for some of what you're smoking?" (cause being direct is the only way to go).
"What you talking about?" (I added the "Willis" only in my head).
"Dude, I'm hungover and you're stoned. I'd like to be stoned. Can you help me out with that?" I slide a 20 over the bar, "That's for the drink, keep the rest."
He just looked at me with the long term pot head look (ain't it cute?), took the cash and left. I sipped the Bloody Mary, ate my veggies and watched the wind play with the waves. I noticed him on his phone, which reminded me of where my phone was. Messy ends. Imperfect beginnings.
He came back over and said quitely, "how much you looking for?"
"Enough for two nice joints. Some papers would be good to since I'm not from here and I'm too damn old to hollow out an apple."
He laughed at that one and I reminisced about days long past. He came along later and dropped off some munchies. They helped hold down the alcohol. Which was doing a fine job of keeping my head from splitting. Just a happy series of events all coalescing into a recuperating me. I got out a smoke after finishing the drink and walked down to the beach to enjoy it. Kicked off my sandles (I didn't really "strap shoes on my feet, though I suppose the "strap" over the sandles fits the description, but aren't we getting a bit picky at this point?) and waded in up to my knees. Warm water, light breeze, good buzz and little jewel colored fish investigating my toes. This day was getting better and better.
"Hey mister."
I turned around to see the friendly neighborhood bartender. "I've got enough for two fatties if you have $100."
Sure. Why not. Probably three times the going rate down here, but I didn't have to go anywhere or see anybody else.
