38. how to vibrate
The Murder Bar was at its best on such hot autumn days. Icky and
Denver had chosen a booth next to the open front door in order to
watch street life slime its way past. Denver had decided to take
refuge from his loneliness and resignation by partaking in a little
social life. Icky had coaxed him into his local where others were
also seeking refuge from their boredom. There was a background
cacophony of music, the local baseball game being broadcast on
television, the clink of the pinball machine and the banal murmuring
of people congregating in circular leather booths.
“Goddamn, Icky. I hate being carded at the bar. How old do you think
I look?”
“You’re not a regular. Yes, I know we are livin’ in a police state.
So we don’t have to start with that.”
“I’ll tell you why nothin’ ever happens around here.”
“Boy, you are in an evil mood. I already know.”
“Did you hear the latest gossip circulating the Grid?”
Icky let him continue.
“You know that project you were telling me about with Roger and
Belinda. Well Miss Kitty was telling me about how their art project
is off and now they are not speaking to each other anymore.”
“I can image what happened.” Icky took a sip of his beer.
“Yeah. Same ol’ in-house fighting. The idea that the Art Diva and Art
Pharaoh could team up together and make art was pretty far fetched
anyway. Belinda has the script and Roger has the camera. But Roger
has ideas of his own. He started running with the idea, getting the
material together, getting people interested in the film.”
“He even asked me to play the sax. I knew she wouldn’t let him. She’s
still one of those exes that doesn’t speak to me. After all these
years, she still hates my guts.”
“So you know what the bitch did? She copyrighted the screenplay and
laid claim to the whole idea. Roger gets a letter from a lawyer and
now the film is without a script.”
“God Denver, same ol’ thang. The bad blood keeps flowin’ in the Grid.
And as usual, nothin’ is going to happen and we hate each other a
little more. Life in paradise.”
“Isn’t that a drag!”
Icky nodded and smiled for Denver to continue.
“You know, it’s not like I care for Roger. He does shoot off his
mouth a bit too much but at least he’s got the balls to do something.
Instead of being a weenie and hoggin’ the property rights to every
little idea she poops.”
“Yeah. Just like the Geniuses,” Icky replied, referring to how they
had co-opted the whole neo-terrorist art movement that he and Denver
had originally started. They had been forced to add anti-
constructivist to the title of their art movement and drop a ’T’ to
get a cool new acronym.
“Hey look. There’s the Art Pharoah now. Speak of the devil.”
They both regarded Roger as he sauntered in, meandered up
to the bar and ordered a beer.
“He doesn’t have to show his ID to get his drugs either.”
“’Cause he’s the Art Pharaoh,” Icky said.
They both laughed at their joke.
“Did you know that his wife got beat up here a couple of weeks ago
for buttin’ in line. That’s how much love there is around here. Shoot
first and don’t even bother to ask questions later.”
“I’m surprised he still comes here.”
“I’m not. Old habits never die. Besides where else would the Art
Pharaoh feel at home?”
Denver Griess sat silent once again overcome with loathing for his
Grid contemporaries. Icky was still enjoying his first beer,
occasionally catching sight of someone he knew outside the building,
loitering or walking nowhere in particular. He watched a woman in
native-american separates run over and hug someone she probably had
not seen since yesterday.
“How are you?” Icky heard her ask, elongating her vowels, so that her
voice screeched like worn car brakes. “Heard your show on the KDVS
the other day.”
“But you know Denver. Good things do occur once in a
while. Remember how I told you that I lost my wallet.”
“You didn’t tell me you lost your wallet. How did you lose it?”
“Geez Denver! If I knew that, I wouldn’t of lost it. 10 points for
stupid question.”
“Did you find it?”
“Another ten points. I lost my wallet and it had everything in it:
address, telephone numbers, license. And you know, if you don’t have
your driver’s license you’re a real non-operator. Plus the money I
earned at the lady’s house.”
“Geez Micky. You had an icky day.”
“Yeah, Icky. That’s my new name. But wait a second, like I said,
there’s a silver lining to everything and yes, my name is Icky.”
“On your license?”
“No. See, I met the guy who made that scandal at the church of christ
and he baptized me Icky Ill. So yeah, you can call me Icky from now on.
“You got baptized at the church of christ.”
“No. But that religious art dude, who slept next to the altar. You
remember. I wrote about it in the Sutters Weekly. I was thinking
about shortening my name anyway, so when he didn’t understand my
name, I became Icky.”
“You met this guy and became Icky?”
“So it is said, so shall it be done. He mispronounced my name.”
“So it’s Icky Ill from now on.” Denver noted. „That’ll be fun to yell
out in a crowd.”
“Do you want to know what happened?”
“About what?”
“About the wallet.”
“Oh yeah. You’ve got my interest perked. You had a real icky day.”
“I looked everywhere. I tore apart the Galaxy and retraced my steps.
I went back to June’s where I tried to buy some ice cream but
couldn’t because she thought my five-dollar bill was counterfeit.”
“Run that by me again.”
“Ah. It’s not really important. Let me tell you what happened. After
I have exhausted all possibilities, I resign myself to get a new
license. I decide to take the bus to DMV. I still got enough change
for a bus trip and I decided for convenience, ’cause the bus takes
you right there and it’s so far out. So, when I get on, I go smilin’
down the aisle and sit by someone, as is my custom, even though the
bus isn’t crowded. You know how people get annoyed when their
personal bubble is invaded. Next stop this bum gets on and of course
he’s got a twenty-dollar bill. So the busdriver says he doesn’t have
change but the guy is adamant and he is not getting’ off the bus.”
“Yeah. I’ve had that before where you have to have exact change or
you don’t ride the bus.”
“Exactly.” He wiped the beer foam from his lip with his sleeve. “The
bus won’t move till the bum gets off. But this bum is feisty. There’s
this long stand off between driver and bum and the few passengers are
getting annoyed that the bus is not movin’. Of course, no one offers
to break the twenty for him. That would be too social for our fellow
sacramentans. I don’t have change for a twenty, so I don’t make an
effort. So, we are all starin’ at this guy and then we notice that he
is peein’ his pants.”
“Not.”
“Yeah. Peein’ on command. I’ve got to learn how to do that. Boy, you
should of seen these bubble-head teens in front of me squirmin’ in
their seats. So after his piss statement, the bum gets off and we’re
there to relish the aroma. At the next stop, the driver tells us we
got to get out and take the next bus and we’re not even out of the
Grid yet.”
“Look who just got out of her SUV.”
“Where?”
“Across the street. It’s the Art Diva.”
“I hope she doesn’t come in here. I don’t want her spoilin’ my day
with her negative righteousness. ’Cause I’m not takin’ sides in their
petty quarrel.”
“If you don’t take a side, you’ll wind up having both of them hating
you. Can’t win for losing.”
“You know, that’s why she hates me. So listen, at the bus stop.”
“I thought you were finished with the story.”
“I haven’t even gotten to the DMV yet. I’m at the bus stop across the
street from Bum ‘n Burn wanderin’ around with the rest of the
abandoned bus passengers and I start talkin’ to this guy. Well, he
keeps on lookin’ at me. So I smile and we strike up a conversation.
We both agree that the incident in the bus was pretty disgustin’. But
I’m talkin’ about the way the bus driver reacted and he’s referrin’ to
the bum. And then we start talkin’ about why we are on the bus and I
tell him my sob story about losin’ my wallet. Then he asks me my name
and what color the wallet is. At first I thought weird, but low and
behold, he pulls out my wallet from the briefcase he’s carryin’ and
hands it to me.”
“I can’t believe that.” Denver huffed.
“It’s true, man. My wallet. I couldn’t believe it either. I mean,
nothin’ like that is supposed to happen in the real world. People
don’t return wallets.” He took a slug of beer. “He said he found it on
the sidewalk. I must’ve lost it when I got up from sitting with Juan.”
“What Juan?”
“That latino guy at Power. He said he also got fired.”
“Juan. I thought he would. He already had a criminal record for his
temper. I knew he couldn’t last long. Those bitches at Power just hired
him to collect the state benefits for hiring an ex-con.”
“Shit.” Icky snapped his fingers. “Damn. What a coincidence. I just
realized why he seemed so familiar. I was with him in prison. He also
makes excellent cacao. Is this still interesting you?”
“Of course it is. Go on.”
“Anyway, this guy said he was goin’ to try to get it to me, but I
don’t see how. My license has my old address on it. It was a miracle.”
“Wow. Wonders never cease,” Denver cynically replied, and took a sip
of his beer.
“So I stuff the wallet in my pocket and offer the guy a cup of coffee
but he says he got to go to work. I try to offer him some money but
he won’t take it. The bus pulls up and he takes off with the rest and
I stumble over in amazement to B’B’s for a cup of coffee and to
digest what has just occurred. But you know. It didn’t stop there.”
He tapped Denver to pay attention.
“You can have a real good day once in awhile. I’m all happy and
feelin’ lucky. So I decided to be generous, ’cause if I had to get a
new license it would of cost me a lot of money. I order my cup of
coffee and sit down lookin’ at obese Avon who is chompin’ down a
plate of mini jelly donuts for her mornin’ snack, and I know she
hates me for takin’ that Fotoroid of her.
“Poop donuts. I think that would be a good name for a band.” Denver
interrupted.
“So, you know who walks in?”
Denver shook his head.
“That bum. Still wet between the legs. And I am thinkin’ this is
goin’ to be a showdown, but before Avon throws him out, I offer to
buy him a cup of coffee because, indirectly, he was the one
responsible for me findin’ my wallet.”
“Avon wants nothing to do with it and, to tell you the truth, I just
offered him the cup to bug her. I didn’t want this guy hangin’
around me smellin’ all funky. But with the good comes a little bad.
He manages to linger on. One whiff is unbearable and makes coffee
drinkin’ disgustin’. Avon keeps insistin’ that he leave. Finally, he
buttons up his sport coat, nods to me, and walks out. So I sit in
peace and read the Sutters Weekly. When I get ready to go, I collect
my things and what do you think I find?”
“You’re not serious.”
“Yep. The twenty dollars. Smack on the floor. And that’s why you are
the beneficiary of my luck.”
They knocked beer bottles in salute.
“You want to hear about the third lucky thing?” Icky nonchalantly asked.
“What? You won the lottery?”
“Nope,” Icky replied. “Listen. Good things only come in three, like
the bad. I’m thinkin’, hot dog, this is my lucky day. I start
thinkin’ about where and when it will arrive. Of course I think of
the lottery god but I also think about the bum and about givin’ him
his money back. So I take off and search the streets but he is
nowhere to be found. I guess you can call that lucky too. On the way
back to the Galaxy, I play a few scratchers but I don’t win. So, I
think my luck has run out. At the Galaxy, I remember the box that
that woman gave me when I cleaned out her cellar that I haven’t
gotten around to openin’. I think this must be the luck that I am
waitin’ for.”
“I pull it out and rip off the tape, and in the box is a gideon
bible, a couple of wigs, some bath towels, CD’s from dead popstars
and a whole bunch of unused shoelaces. When I delve deeper, I find a
tooth brush, a jar of Vaseline with a couple of pubic hairs in it, a
sample of hair in an envelope, and a razor for shaving legs.
“Then I find this pink thing. Puzzled the shit out of me. I had no
idea what it could be. First, I think it’s a lady’s purse flashlight,
being pink and all. I twist it around to see how you turn it on. And
low and behold, the thing starts to buzz. It scared the shit out of
me and I tossed it and had to go lookin’ for it. Found it under the
car, still buzzin’ away.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out
the pink device. “Here. Have a look.”
“No shit.” Denver took a look at the pink phallic object. “Wow Icky,
you found a dildo.”
“Yeah, and look at this.” Icky twisted the vibrator and it started to
buzz. “This is just what we need to incorporate into any art action
we undertake.” He handed Denver the vibrating dildo.
“Geez. You don’t know whose pussy it’s been in.” He took a whiff.
“Who cares? Maybe for you it’s a little weird. I think it’s rockin’
to find a chick’s dildo.”
“Hello Scotty. Do you think the engines can maintain power? We are
about to enter a worm hole.” He put the dildo up to his wide-open
mouth before handing it back to Icky and starting to laugh, picturing
how it must look, two bald men examining a dildo while discussing its
virtues. He changed the subject. “So, What else did you find?”
“Yeah. Well. I’m really excited.” Icky turned off the vibrator and
stuffed it back into his pocket. “I’d just found a few pretty good
things. The vibrator was the best. But you know, I am startin’ to
feel kinda creepy now, like maybe a woman has died recently and her
life has been put into a box. But it doesn’t stop there.”
“What? What could be better than a dildo? Um,” Denver thought for a
second, “I know, her address book!”
“No. Think harder. What would make it all worthwhile?”
“You found money.”
“I wish. No. Love letters. From this guy called Jack. Pretty soppy
stuff with pictures. Apparently he was into shaved genitalia.”
“God Micky, I mean Icky. I hope you saved the stuff, to use in an
installation, documentation of a woman’s life, including toothbrush,
vibrator and love letters.
“Actually Denver, that does sound like a good idea.”
“Yeah. And we can get animal protection agencies involved by having
kittens running throughout the gallery space. I’ve always wanted to
use real animals in an art project. And as a performance, I shove the
dildo into my ass and poop it out on the american flag.”
“Why stop there? We’ll put the vibrator into a pussy and the pussy
into you. That is sure to get everybody all riled up.”
“Oooh, sometimes Icky you do go too far. This time you have gone too
far.”
“And neon. And tomatoes, and 9-11.”
“And all the religious symbols we can get our hands on. They’ll riot.
I can see the headlines. ‘Art kills. A.C.N.E artists stoned at
opening’.”
“It is so pathetic. I don’t know whether to laugh or to cry.”
A few heads turned as Belinda walked up to the bar. Others continued
their conversations while keeping an eye out for any
imminent melodrama.
“Icky, why don’t you show Belinda how you vibrate?”
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