“That’s right.”
“Who many of our viewers may not even realize is part of The Family.”
“Yes.”
“And how is he?”
“My youngest brother?” Junior jostled and cleared his throat.
“Yes, what’s he up to these days?”
“Well actually, you know my youngest brother died.”
“Yes, yes. Of course. The Tragedy.” “Yes.”
“But there is another brother who is now the youngest.”
“Oh, he’s good,” Junior said, keeping in line with The Family’s official comment re: me. “He’s good. Happy and healthy.”
“OK, well good then,” The Personality said, pleased with himself for having asked the tough question.
“Well,” The Personality followed as an afterthought, “we have to have our producers contact him. It’ll be interesting to get his thoughts on the issues this eleccion season.”
Le 24-Hour-News Channel had so much time to fill that suddenly even I became worth interviewing.
I did very much consider it finally time to bite down on my cyanide capsule.
CHAPTER 2 Bringing Barbarians to Box Seats
At first, the big variable that night was that my ChapStick had melted in the dryer, and I spun its spine up the middle of an empty plastic tube.
O’Malley and The Greek and me had The Other Greek Place to ourselves when six or seven dusty Barbarians in ill- fitting camouflage and patterned face paint moseyed in.
With big voices intended to be overheard, they spoke of escape to a silent seaside town, its tall walls bricked with irregular stones.
I gnawed mutely on my dry cut of steak and worked my focus with purpose to make out the shape of one particular Barbarian’s jawline under his face paint.
He never said a word.
Intently, he watched the others.
His jagged face paint covered the shallow slope of a soft chin.
His worried eyes—terrified—lasered on what the other men said.
They all cut each other off and dared each other to one up each other’s bad taste.
And this one that I watched closely, he always laughed first and loud and awk to demonstrate approval.
None of his friends noticed him, like they saw him only as their necessary audience, like a guy that asks everyone else what they’re wearing before he ever leaves the house.
He began to squirm, and I got bold, fixed my stare and stopped glancing away for even a second.
I cut thru my tough steak.
He peeked at me quick and stood up straighter, laughed louder, and drew tighter to his friends.
That Mike leaned toward me from behind the bar and stared at me.
Digging a finger up deep into my cheek, I pulled out a wad of chewed gristle and dropped it on the plate.
I wadded up my napkin.
I got up, pulled on my coat, and announced that I’d be retiring punctually.
O’Malley and The Greek protested.
“Don’t you want to dance with Diana?”
“Eh, Diana, eh? We know how you love Diana.”
My Diana.
O’Malley and The Greek wanted to dance.
And of course That Mike said, But you guys only just got here cuz there went his tips.
Accepting my seriousness, O’Malley and The Greek both ordered tall double shots, needing to reach a particular spiritual apex they’d assumed they’d have more time to creep toward.
Then, it just happened like it does when I’m explaining one of my ideas for a movie, the words popped out of my mouth before I knew I’d even had the idea.
I insisted I’d take everyone to The Game, my treat, box seats.
O’Malley cheered, and The Greek slapped my back.
I approached The Barbarians in their camouflage and face paint, looking only at the slopey-chinned quiet one who could only nod along, I addressed them, good sirs, mayhaps I request the honor of their esteemed company.
I said: “Duh, unga-bunga.”
A couple of them hemmed and hawed, didn’t think their wives would let them stay out that late.
The others mocked them, and it was all agreed: the big bunch of us—everyone that happened to be at The Other Greek Place that night—would all head over to The Game together, my treat, box seats.
I spun to move toward the door and one Barbarian nodded toward Aaron and asked, “Hey, what about Secret Agent Man over there? You inviting him?”
Behind the bar, wiping a glass, That Mike smirked.
Our reunion at the stadium gates was awk.
With their face paints smudged cleanish, darkening their seams, The Barbarians looked like kittens waiting to be eaten.
Especially the quiet one I’d been eyeing, he could’ve so easily been anyone else.
We all made Aaron—standing aside and silent of course— into an object we could all focus on as outsider to break the ice and solidify our blossoming bond.
Our crowded box echoed chatter and The Game boomed directly below us.
It took The Barbarians a minute to comprehend that everything was on me, they were all free to order whatever and everything.
They finally got it when the girls arrived.
Offered iced oysters, the girl on my lap explained she felt queasy, estimating she’d eaten $2,000 in oysters that week.
She ranked the men by spending to the girl on The Greek’s lap, who nodded with sympathy between indiscriminate cheers thru halftime.
The girl on The Greek’s lap was cute like cute meat.
Some machinist’s daughter, undoubtedly a monster, cruel like only beautiful people know how to be, I wondered how much had been spent on her oysters that week.
I could never tell anyone’s age until she started talking about her major.
A swarthy, chiseled waiter and the girl on my lap kept eyeing each other.
All the different adult smiles at night, there must be a brief window in each dimly sentient blob’s life, maybe 26 thru 29, that one knows how to time all those smiles.
The girl on my lap’s skin was glossy like a British hot dog.
I sat up to tilt her off and nodded to the girl on The Greek’s lap.
She looked to The Greek.
He nodded to her.
She moved to my lap.
The Greek walked off to pee.
Clearly this one, with her hot teeth, told time according to her lipstick.
The largest pizza in the world might be an accomplishment to look at, but it’s useless without the largest mouth in the world.
And however