NaNoWriMo

Well, I am officially taking part in National Novel Writing Month. My story is called "Benjamin Curry's Halloween Spectacular" and it's pretty fucking awesome. Anyways, I'll be throwing chapters up here on Blogger (and I guess facebook too cause my blog automatically goes to facebook notes) as I finish them. As of right now, I hammered out 2,394 words today, which still leaves me well behind the 1,500 per-day pace it takes to complete the 50,000 word requirement, but as I started on the 4th, I can't really complain, I'll have to slowly hack my way back. Hell, I may even get a little more writing in tonight after Tennessee spanks LSU. Either way, the first chapter is done, so if you have a load of free-time on your hands, enjoy.

Chapter One – The Bat Mitzvah

I awoke to the euphony of Fall Out Boy coming from my clock-radio, and died a little more inside at the realization that another of my favorite classic-rock stations had changed format to pop when I wasn’t paying attention. I guess that’s just one of the downsides of living in California.

When I say “one of” I suppose I’m contrasting it with the other unique things about life in California which are really rather… who am I kidding? They’re all fucking downsides. In truth, I’m only out here because I couldn’t stand the thought of staying with my parents after graduation, and my main man Justin wanted to move out here to fulfill his life-long goal of being an actor. Two weeks after we got here his life-long goal was lion tamer. Now I’m pretty sure it’s sea pirate.

With a stretch that would put a kitten to shame, I sat up in bed and torqued my head left until I heard a sharp crack, a morning ritual I’ve had for as long as I can remember, which combined with my luck should probably have left me paralyzed several times by now. Throwing my covers off, I swung my right leg off the bed and placed it down, directly into a cold pizza. By feel, anchovies if I had to guess. Following suit, my left foot came down on what felt like a house cat. We don’t have a house cat.

Shooting up, Justin seemed angry at me. “What the fuck Pete? Don’t you look where you’re walking? I was having a great fucking dream too.”

“Well, Justin,” I said as I attempted to rub some focus back into my eyes. “You were getting up anyways, we’ve got work.”

Justin trudged poutingly out of my room and I heard the tell-tale sound of our coffee machine sputtering to life as I shut off the alarm with a glance. 1:30.

Justin and I had been working the same job since we moved out here. We’re professional entertainers.

Okay, that might be overselling it a little. We worked for a party planning company, usually as caterers. But, if the party didn’t hire a separate DJ, sometimes we would rock the mic, which was always fun. Plus, our boss is a big name in the industry, so we sometimes get to work some nice celebrity bashes, and laugh at the drunken famous people. Most of the time though, the jobs are much more mundane things. Wedding receptions, spoiled rich kids’ birthdays and the occasional Christening or Bat Mitzvah.

Oh, fuck.

“Justin!”

“Yo, man,” he called from the kitchen. “What’s up?”

“Did you change my alarm?”

“Yeah man, after last night we needed it.”

We did, but that’s not the point.

“Relax Petey, eleven is way too early to wake up when work’s at three.”

“We were supposed to be at the Bat Mitzvah at noon asshole!”

“Oh. Well, let me finish this coffee and I’ll find my shit,” he muttered before taking the loudest pull of coffee I’ve ever experienced.

As for me, I was busy frantically running about my room in an attempt to find my keys, phone and wallet.

After fishing my cell phone out from behind the bed I checked the display to see just how many missed calls I had from my boss. Turns out a giant crack in it will make your display not work. Add another item to the list of broken things I can’t afford to fix, just ahead of the TV, but still behind Mr. Biggums the Cuddlebear, the victim of what Justin called “a love tear.” I’d like to think he was messing with me.

Throwing my stuff on the bed, I went to the closet and grabbed my outfit from its hanger. I’m not exactly proud of the outfits we wear for things like Bat Mitzvahs, the whole faux-suit and bow-tie thing doesn’t really do it for me, but I’ve got to admit it makes me look good, and since that means looking good around Misty, I guess I can’t complain.

As I did my final button and slapped on the bow-tie I checked the clock. 1:45. Okay, not too bad. With a final look in the mirror I left my room and popped my head into Justin’s. Nothing. Maybe he was in the bathroom just fixing his hair. Sure, I sacrificed the finer grooming for time, maybe Justin couldn’t. Door open, bathroom empty. With a resigned sigh I slumped into the kitchen.

“Hey man. I wanted another cup.”

*****

We rolled out of the house just shy of 2:30 and I headed for my Cavalier.

Behind me Justin whistled. “No dice Petey, we’re late. Gonna need a car that goes zero to sixty in under an hour. We’re taking mine.”

Nice. I loved when we got to take the Jag to work. You see, the thing about Justin, and the reason I can’t really get mad when he doesn’t take work seriously, is that he really doesn’t need it. He saw poker on TV a few years ago, and in true Justin style, he proved to be really good at it with really little effort. He’s never told me just how much he made off of it, but I know he bought our current apartment and his Jaguar cash. So every time I’m ready to yell at him, like when he really needs that second cup, I realize he’s only even at that job anymore because I need him there to make it bearable, and because I’m too proud to quit and let him support me while I look for a better one.

As we got into the car Justin turned to me. “I’m gonna need you to navigate me, don’t know where we’re going.”

“It’s the Kensington, Justin. Half our jobs are there.”

“I stand by my words.”

I have to give him credit. Maybe it’s only because he likes to go fast when he’s in the Jag, but Justin does a great job of making up time when he drives. We arrived at the Kensington at quarter-to, a good ten minutes faster than I would have gotten us there.

Pulling up to the valet parking, Justin tossed his keys to the valet, a teenager named Tommy. “Take good care of her Timmy; I don’t want you picking up more than three ladies with that while I’m gone.”

“You got it Mr. Donaldson,” Tommy said with a smile.

Heading inside, Justin looked back at me. “Let’s go Nancy, we’re late.”

With a jog to catch up, I looked to Justin to shore up our story. “So, what are we going to tell Mr. Drake?”

“Well, I’m thinking we tell him about how we met these two really hot girls, got shot down and went home to drown our sorrows in beer and the bouncing ladies of Dead or Alive.”

Not having the benefit of a mirror I can only imagine I looked non-plussed.

“I’m fucking with you Petey. We had a car accident, that’s how your phone broke. How can he blame us?”

“But we didn’t have-”

“Yeah, we are going to have to crash your car later. I’ll buy you a new one, don’t worry.”

“But-”

“So, is today the big day?” He asked while delivering some overly strong elbows to my side.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. Is today the day you actually tell Misty how you feel, you know, all that sissy shit you whine about when you’re drunk?”

“Don’t you dare say-”

“Yeah, I know. Not a word. Got it. After you ma’am,” he offered while holding the door for me.

Down the Kensington’s long hall we saw the main ballroom, and next to its oak double-doors stood Franklin Drake, a bear of a man. A noticeably unhappy bear of a man.

Laughing at some internal joke, Justin turned to me, “It’s like he knew we were coming at this minute.”

“Or more likely he’s been standing there for three hours waiting for us.”

“Yeah, probably that one. But, what if instead, no? What if he actually had super powers, telekinesis, and he knew? That’d be wacky.”

“Yeah, Justin. Real wacky.”

As we got near, Drake drew himself up to appear even bigger and opened his mouth to speak.

Justin beat him to it. “Mr. Drake, you have no idea how great it is to see the face of a friend. We’ve had quite a day. Pete here was trying to wave at some girl he saw and we crossed the median. Then, the idiot panics, whips us back, we flip like, three or four times, and just total the car. I cut my leg pretty bad, but otherwise we’re okay though, so don’t worry.” Pulling up his pant-leg, Justin displayed the bandages around his ankle, in the center of which was a small red stain. I didn’t know when he had found the time to bandage himself, or what the red was, though I was pretty sure that I didn’t want to know. “Oh, and Petey broke his phone. Show him Pete.”

Sheepishly I held up my cracked Nokia for Drake’s inspection. He looked ready to ream us out still, before deciding it wasn’t worth it. “Get the Hell inside, help Misty out. She’s been working the meats all by herself because of you two.”

As we entered the hall Justin gave me another elbow to the ribs. “I bet you’d like her to wo-”

I stopped him with a glare and pointed across the room. “There’s the meat buffet let’s go.”

“Fine, be that way,” he moaned as he followed me. “Like her to work your meat.”

“You know what Justin? I fucking hate you.”

“Sure you do shmookums,” he said as he headed around the buffet table. “Hey Misty, how’s life?” Justin slapped her on the ass as he walked by, and she laughed. That bastard.

“Hi, Justin. Today’s been Hell.”

“That’s because my main man Pete wasn’t here,” he said patting me on the back vigorously.

Likely blushing I gave a meek wave. “Hey…uh…hi, Misty.”

Misty smiled at me, and looked away, before turning to Justin. Bastard I tell you.

Grabbing a sausage patty and taking a bite, Justin scanned the room. “So, who’s on today?”

“Oh, it’s a winning crew,” Misty said rolling her emerald eyes. “That new kid’s working, what is it Derrick?”

“David,” Justin corrected her, even though the kid was named Derrick.

“Armando’s working the bar. Shelly is around somewhere, and Matt too. And, of course, the wonder twins.

The wonder twins were Drake’s kids, Rachel and Raymond. Drake didn’t want to be accused of being one of those wealthy parents who spoil their kids so he made them work. The fact that they had salaries four times as big as ours and did pretty much nothing didn’t seem to matter much to him.

“Huh, they are useless aren’t they,” I laughed. “Lousy… do-nothingers.”

Misty gave a polite giggle and looked at her feet. Smooth Henderson, very smooth. I looked at Justin for support and saw him laughing at me. Catching my eyes, and glare, he stopped and threw an ‘OK’ sign with his hand. I sensed sarcasm.

I’d love to tell you how this situation improved in the time that followed, but two hours later, when the food traffic had died down, I could still count two moments of eye-contact and a three response conversation as the highlights of the day.

Like I said before, we aren’t strictly a catering company; we’re hired for entertainment, which gives us a decent leash to play with. It was with that leash that Misty left us to go out to the dance floor during the lull.

“Things have sure died down over here,” Justin said to me.

“Yep.”

“Probably only need one of us here.”

“Yeah, you can go have fun if you want.”

Shaking his head, Justin turned to me. “How many times were you dropped on your head as a baby?”

“What?”

“Okay, I’ll go slow. Now would be a good time for you, Pete Henderson, to go on that dance floor, and dance with Misty. Go now, or hand in your balls.”

“I don’t know Justin, I mean, she doesn’t seem to like me very much, and-”

“Okay, there’s a bin outside where you can place your testicles for forfeit. While you’re doing that, I’m gonna go dance with Misty and talk about how great you are, because she does not deserve to be dancing all sad and alone. If at some point you feel the urge to break in, that’d be cool.”

I watched them dance for an hour and a half. That girl-stealing punk. The party goers seemed to enjoy them. Justin always has been able to win people over. They came back to the table to help me break everything down laughing. After a couple mood-killing, eye-aversion-causing comments I decided I was done talking for the night.

As we loaded the last of our pans into the back of Drake’s truck, we saw his imposing figure barreling down on us.

“How would you boys like to work a little over time?”

“Define overtime,” Justin stated flatly.

“Just got a call. Crew dropped out on a big-shot’s party and he needs us to take over. I can’t get a new unit called up, so it’d be best if you all took it.”

“Do we have to wear these faggy suits?”

Drake looked taken aback, but he also needed us tonight. “No. Halloween party; you’ll have to get costumes.”

“Shotgun ‘the Forsaken.’ We’re in. Who’s the host?”

“Benjamin Curry.”

“Oh, Hollywood party. That’s all you had to say Drakey. Let’s go Pete, we’ve got costumes to buy.”

Following Justin inside, I turned back to Mr. Drake. “Where are we going and when?”

“Ah, that’s the best part. A limousine will be picking you all up. I just have to give him the addresses of my crew. He said to be ready at eight.”

“Hey, did you hear that Justin, we’re getting a limo. Justin?”

Justin was nowhere to be found. I stood confused there for a second before Justin came back out with Misty. “She says she knows a great place. We’re gonna follow her and go shopping together.”

Get a room.