I went out with the 100 Million Dollar Boys Club last night. It just happened. I was with others who had been with them earlier, then they just showed up. We moved from the bar to a big table where I learned all sorts of things as I sat quietly eating my dinner.
"I can't believe I'm eating this early. I have to come out with this guy who has to get the Blue Hair Special at five. What's the matter, dude, does it take you all night to digest now?"
That from the Black Sheep.
Conversation ensued. These are men who like golf. They really like to talk about golf and golf courses. And politics. One of them is hosting Trump at a fundraiser at their home here in my own hometown. Another fellow said he meets with Biden about once a month.
"He's out of it. He can't remember my name."
Cabbage Head. That's what they call him. I'll tell you, they convinced me not to vote for Biden this time 'round.
One of them won a court case that will allow him to strip mine a western state where environmentalists have opposed him.
"We're sure to win if it goes to the Supreme Court."
There were other deals.
"I'll skull fuck him if he blows this for me, I swear to God."
Then there was talk of Special Ops. Inside information. It seems I'm the only person who doesn't have secret insider knowledge. I am merely a naif who depends on a free and independent press for his information.
They are all younger than I by a couple decades.
Black Sheep, the youngest in the group, refers to me as "dad" to the waitress.
"He's been calling everyone that since he got out of prison. I don't know what happened to him, but he has a prison tattoo that says "Papi" on his lower back now. Show her."
General laughter. I'm not much interested in the conversation going on. I smile and nod at appropriate moments, but there is a table full of flirty girls nearby. These guys are good at picking up the tab, so I send them a round of drinks. They are probably Russian hookers. . . or worse.
The food is good here at my favorite Italian restaurant. I get a seafood stew packed with everything that swims in the sea or sits on the ocean floor. Delicious. Black Sheep orders a clam linguine. When it comes, he is dissatisfied and sends it back. Half the shells didn't have clams in them, he said.
The boys have been drinking since noon, or so I'm told, and soon they begin to leave. I stay to finish my wine. A torrential downpour hits and I pull my chair away from the edge of the awning. Black Sheep wants to go. Tennessee isn't going out in the rain to get the car. Some beauticians from down the street come over. We'd spoken to them earlier when we were sitting at the bar. One of them gives Black Sheep a hit off her vape pen to calm him down. I tell Tennessee we should buy them a drink. Somehow, we end up buying drinks for a whole gang of people. The rain ends. We clear the tab.
When I get home, I look at the clock. Nine o'clock?! I pour a whiskey and turn on the television. Aubrey clips. Jesus, she's funny. When I wake up, it's midnight.
I have been sleeping well, but not this night. Strange dreams about my ex-girlfriend. She is not being nice to me--all night long. I'm not comfortable in my bed, but I never wake up totally. I just seem to be in that ether between waking and sleeping. When I open my eyes and look at the clock, it is six-thirty. I'll be tired, I think, but whatever. I get up.
That is not how I want to spend my nights, my life. I feel a hollow emptiness this morning. I need company/companions, of course. It is good to get out. But I need something more. Life in the company of men is not my vibe. I don't like men much at all, in truth. They bore the shit out of me. I can deal with individuals, of course, but I don't like them in groups. There is too much playing the dozens, if you are familiar with the phrase.
As I come to my senses now, I remember something. Just as I was leaving the bar, I saw an old friend. He is captaining a pontoon boat tonight, his first time through the lakes giving a boat tour. I'm to be there at six. That will be alright.
"And make sure to tip the captain," were his parting words. Yea, yea, yea. But. . . this will be more to my liking.
No comments:
Post a Comment