I was quite drunk by the time I left to meet Vintage. I half walked, half stumbled my way through the bustling Valley nightlife, the majority of whom only just beginning their messy night out. Cabs were dropping off payloads of provocatively dressed women, and the men who hoped to get a taste of what lay underneath. I wondered what the time was, absently looking at my wrist for a watch that, it turns out, wasn’t there at all. Damn it! When the hell did that happen?
As I was looking around for somebody to blame for my missing timepiece, I heard a car horn hooting wildly as a red sports vehicle tore up the road towards me. I realised I was actually standing in the road as the driver stuck his head out the window and screamed at me.
“Get off the road, you fucking idiot!”
Hastily I jumped back to the kerb, as the car screeched to a halt where I’d been moments before. I stepped forward, fists clenched, about to hurl abuse at the maniac driver, when I realised who it was.
“Vintage, you bastard! You could have killed me!”
“Shut up, idiot. Get in the car already.”
I’d barely planted my arse in the passenger seat when he hit the gas. I yelled in pain as the momentum slammed the door on the leg hadn’t yet made it into the vehicle. The crowd outside was leaping desperately out of the way as the car sped murderously through the busy intersection. All the while, Vintage was wailing on the car horn, yelling obscenities out of the window at them.
I was cursing as well, yanking my shin inside and slamming the door after it. “What the hell, you are trying to kill me!”
Vintage was laughing as I rubbed my leg, pain shooting furiously through it.
“Relax, man! It’s a Friday night.”
I glared at him. “I was relaxed! I was very fucking relaxed until somebody nearly hit me with a car!”
“Yeah, yeah. It’s all good, man.” He reached into the centre console and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Smoke?”
I pulled one out and reached in my pocket for a lighter. Great, that was missing too. Did I get mugged somewhere between the beer and the road? Surely I’d remember something like that.
Vintage stuck his own lighter in my face and sparked it. I flinched momentarily, before lighting up; the turn this night was taking, I half expected my eyebrows to catch fire.
“Kick back, Jake. Relax already.”
He leaned suddenly across the console and started groping the floor around my feet. At that point, I was acutely aware that I was the only one watching the road.
“Dude, come on! What are you doing?”
“Just grabbing some music.” He came back up, holding a black CD wallet that looked like it had seen better days. Planting it in his lap, he started flipping through the contents. “What do you feel like?”
“What I feel like,” I began, “is surviving this god damn car ride! Do you mind keeping an eye on the road?”
“Pantera it is.” He’d obviously ignored everything I’d just said. “I love these guys, they’re such rednecks!”
“Sweet fuck, I should have stayed where the beer was.”
“Beer? Awesome idea man, grab two from the back will you?”
“Are you kidding me?”
“In the cooler, just behind your seat.”
I stared at him for a moment, then looked behind my seat. Sure enough; a cooler, filled with ice and Coronas. I sighed, shrugged, and popped the tops on two. Vintage grabbed one from my hand and tipped it back. I necked the other, and then kicked back in my seat. Well, I thought to myself, if shit gets crazy, at least there’s beer.
Looking around the interior of the vehicle for the first time since the trauma of being picked up, I realised it was entirely unfamiliar.
“New ride?”
“Ah, kind of..” Vintage grinned at me. “Borrowed it for the night.”
By ‘borrowed’, I knew he actually meant ‘took the keys from the safe at work’. You see, Vincent “Vintage” Knoxville was manager of a boutique car dealership, and as a result, he hadn’t needed to actually own a car for years. He just drove whatever took his fancy at the time, courtesy of the showroom. This was, of course, against every code of conduct in the industry, but Vintage would assure you that anybody who sold anything always took such liberties with stock. Gotta test run the goods, man. Really, I’m doing the customer a favour. I really didn’t see how that was any comfort.
Nonetheless, if you ever saw him during business hours, you’d swear he was a consummate professional. Sporting expensive suits, immaculately presented, and with his typical Italian charm, he could talk a customer into buying anything. Especially women. Vincent Knoxville was also very much a ladies’ man.
“So where are we headed, anyway?” I realised I hadn’t asked him what on earth we were doing yet, and it dawned on me that I’d rather not be surprised when we did it.
“Mmm.” Halfway through a swig of booze, he wiped his mouth, before continuing. “Meeting some guys to pick up some merch.”
I was silent for a moment. “This isn’t for work, by some miracle?”
He shook his head. “Nope. Nothing to do with cars.”
“Ah.”
Vintage was also a bit of a wheeler and dealer, with fingers in more pies than seemed entirely feasible. I found myself immediately regretting my decision.
“I’ve dealt with these guys before, but I’m shifting a fair bit tonight, and to be honest, I’d feel much better with someone at my back.”
“Yeah, thanks for thinking of me.”
“No worries, man.” Apparently the sarcasm had been lost on him. “I’ve got your back.” Grinning, he knocked back the last of his Corona. I cracked another open for him.
“Cheers,” he offered, clinking bottles with mine.
“Cheers.”
I polished off the rest of my beer, and reached for another. It was looking like I’d need it after all.
“So where were you before I picked you up?” Vintage lit a cigarette to go with his fresh beer.
“Oh, just over at Rick’s.”
“Nice. You asked that bar chick out yet?”
Actually, I’d already forgotten about that debacle, but the humiliating memory came flooding back as soon as he mentioned it.
“Er.. I think so?”
“What do you mean, you ‘think so?’”
“Well, I went to, but there was this fucking guy, and then I was talking total horseshit, and I didn’t have a pen.. it was all so complicated, you don’t even know.”
Vintage looked at me for a moment, incredulous, then burst into laughter.
“Jake, you’re an idiot. Seriously, what actually happened?”
So I filled him in, on as much as my booze addled mind would allow. I found myself wishing I could block the offending memories from my recollection. Vintage was chortling the whole way as I confessed my shame.
“Dude, seriously, you crack me up. This shit actually happened?”
I nodded, going red from embarrassment, and making a mental note to always carry a pen in future.
“Yeah, that’s how I roll, apparently.”
“You know what your problem is?” He pointed at me, swigging his drink, and continued. “You put too much pressure on yourself.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, just relax, man.”
“That’s easier said than done.”
“No, seriously. You know the secret to talking to hot women?”
“I believe I’ve just made it abundantly clear that I don’t.” I shifted uncomfortably.
“Just talk to them like they’re anybody else. That’s it.”
“That’s not fucking advice.”
“Sure it is. Look, if it helps, just pretend that you’re better than them. Don’t be a dick about it, though,” he added helpfully.
“Yeah, but every time I open my mouth, dumb shit comes out. Or nothing at all. How do I fix with that, genius?”
Vintage smiled. “That’s the easiest part, man. Seriously. Here’s what you do.” He had another mouthful of beer, and flicked his cigarette out of the window before carrying on. “So. Here’s what you do, right? Ask her how her day was.”
“What?”
“Yeah. Then pay attention, because you’ll need to know the details. When she’s done, and she’ll probably be a while, ask her about the specifics.”
“You’re fucking with me, aren't you.”
“Not at all, man.”
“I don’t know, man. That sounds like a lot of work to me.”
“No, seriously, easy as piss.” He finished his beer and threw it out the window as well. “You barely have to talk at all, and when you get good at it, you don’t even have to pay attention! Just keep an ear out for key words and phrases. It’s brilliant!”
I sipped my beer in thoughtful pause, then suddenly remembered I’d agreed to meet Ally when she knocked off work. I went to check my watch, panicked momentarily at its absence, before remembering I’d lost it earlier. “What’s the time?”
“Not quite eleven. Why’s that?”
“I said I’d meet her when she finished work at three.”
“All good, man. I’ll make sure we have you back before then.”
I breathed a sigh of relief, and went to drink the last of my beer, just as Vintage slammed on the brakes. The glass bottle smashed into my mouth in a moment of blinding pain, spilling the remnants down the front of me. I cursed a string of profanities, eyes watering, salty taste of blood filling my mouth.
“Dude, what the fuck?!”
“Red light.” He was suddenly looking at we weird. "Jesus man, are you alright?”
“No I’m fucking not alright!”
“Shit, you’re bleeding.”
“I know I’m.. look, forget it. Do you have any tissues, or towels or anything?”
“Look in the glove compartment. Seriously, I’m sorry, man.”
I waved his concern away. “Forget it, I said. “Glove box, you reckon?”
“Yeah. Try not to get any blood on the upholstery.”
I could feel mixture of blood, beer and saliva dripping down my chin while I scrambled about the compartment for anything that I could use to stem the flow. Registration papers, logbooks.. What was I thinking? It’s a brand new car, of course there’s nothing in ...
“Oh come on!”
I stared at the women’s underwear in my hands.
Vintage chuckled. “Wow, I forgot about those. Cheers man, I could get in some serious shit if they were still in there when this car sells.”
“Sure, glad to know you’ll be fine.” I shook my head and took a suspicious whiff of the crotch. I recoiled, and glared witheringly at Vintage. “Seriously, Knoxville? Seriously? These things fucking reek of sex!”
“Well, yeah,” he responded, looking at me like I was the moron. “What were you expecting?” He shook his head at me. “Honestly, man. What do you think we were doing in here?”
His point, I was grudgingly forced to admit, was solid, even as it left me struggling to shut the thought out of my mind that I was more than likely sitting in some stranger’s fluids right now. I took a final look, making up my mind, and pressed them to my mouth to stop the blood.
“I swear, if I get herpes or some shit from this, I’ll kill you.”
“You’ll be fine.”
"Seriously. I'll fucking kill you."
I spat the blood in my mouth out of the open window as Vintage accelerated away from the intersection. Running my tongue across the split in my top lip, I suddenly stopped dead. Something wasn’t right.
Pulling the sun visor down, I bared teeth in the mirror, bloody grimace grinning back at me. It was unmistakeable. The bottom third of one of my front teeth was missing. Son of a bitch bastard. Why me? Why tonight, of all nights?
Collapsing back in the car seat with a broken tooth, split lip, stemming the blood flow with the lingerie of a woman I’d never met, the musk of her nethers in my nose, I let out a thoroughly defeated sigh.
Some nights, you’re just shit out of luck.
Absolutely. I'm just trying to make it work somehow, at the moment. Any helpful hints are always appreciated.
Posted by: Mannon | 12/06/2009 at 12:56 AM
Can I suggest that you post the most recent so it appears on the front page?
Posted by: K | 12/05/2009 at 08:04 PM