Turtle Boy (Part IX)

Peking, Michigan, May 18, 2006

            “LaMohammed,” asked Brandy worriedly, her face ashen, under the spray tan, her perm wilted, under her hairnet. “You didn’t call me last night- or the night before.”

            “Yeah,” said LaMohammed, avoiding eye contact and putting a plate of chicken a la king on his red plastic tray. “I…I got a new girl. Mountain Dew, please”

            “What?” asked Brandy, handing a liter bottle of the popular yellow-green soda to her current soul mate. Her lower lip trembled; “What?!”

            “Hey, baby, don’t worry about nothin’. I’ll give you a call, sometime.”

            “But what about me?” asked Brandy, tears welling up in her eyes. “What’s her name?”

            Ruth, sensing drama, moved up to the counter from her job of breaking up the gelatinous chunks in the cream of tomato soup, which was destined for the teacher’s lounge.

            “What’s going on here, Brandy?” asked Ruth, stroking her mustache, looking askance at LaMohammed. “Is he dumping you?”

            “Y-y-y-yes, Ruth,” whimpered Brandy. “He’s got a new girl.”

            LaMohammed winced. “Baby- I’ll tell it to you straight- you a flatback now- you don’t have that ass I loved no more. You’re skinny. I’m sorry- I need a woman with a big booty. Flat ass don’t work for me. Fuckin’ bones don’t feel right. I got needs, baby.”

            “Who…who is she?” asked Brandy, trying not to bawl. She didn’t want to know, but at least she’d have someone to hate.

            “Dolores…in the guidance counselor’s office,” said LaMohammed, scratching his neck and looking away.

            Dolores- who drove a Mustang GT? Brandy couldn’t hold back anymore. Ruth gave an evil look to LaMohammed and putting her pink sweater around Brandy’s shoulder, led her to the back of the kitchen where institutional-sized cans of Cream of Mushroom, Tomato Soup, Pizza Sauce, and Chicken a la King lined the shelves.

            Brandy told Ruth everything- the clubs, the sex and the crack. The union provided counseling, which led to rehab, where Brandy rediscovered her childhood sweetheart – a Jewish carpenter with the name of Jesus Christ.

Mayflower, Michigan, September 17, 2015

            A tall teenaged girl sat on the examination table in the small school health office. She had her ankle wrapped in gauze and a man in a coach’s jacket and a track suit was looking at her foot.

            Coach Stallion stood 6’4’, muscular with a square jaw. His black hair was gelled into a pompadour and he wore a red Armani tracksuit. His red Nikes glowed garishly red. “How does that feel?”

            “I guess that hurts a little,” said the girl who was dressed in the red and white volleyball uniform of the Peking Indigenous Warriors.

            “How about that?” The coach rubbed the girl’s calf up to her knee.

            “No. That kinda tickles.” The teenager laughed.

            The door opened and a beautiful blond woman in a white tennis outfit looked at the coach. “Coach Stallion, I didn’t know you were a licensed health care worker?”

            The coach stood up straight. “I know first aid. Chardonnay twisted her ankle and I was examining it. What’s the problem?”

            “Well, there is a clinic across the street.” Burberry Sage raised an eyebrow.

            “I can probably play. My foot doesn’t hurt that bad,” said the teenager, who began to get off the table.

            “We can’t take chances.” The coach motioned the girl to remain and looked at Burberry Sage. “Aren’t you the new TV teacher?”

            “Yes, I am. Miss Burberry Sage, TV and Reading teacher.” She put out her hand to be shaken.

            “Coach Stallion, pleased to meet you.” He smiled, displaying his dazzlingly white smile full of perfect teeth. Micro-LEDs lit up the teeth from behind. “Someone told me we had new talent on the team.” He shook Burberry Sage’s manicured hand and winked.  “Let me get Chardonnay back on her feet and let’s see if I can show you around campus.”

            “I think my ankle is okay, Coach Stallion.” The girl waved at Miss Sage. “Hi, Miss Sage.”

            “Get on your feet and take it easy until tomorrow. Come into my office before practice and we’ll see how you’re doing.”

            Chardonnay got off the bench and Coach tapped her on the rump. “Don’t be too late for class.”

            The girl giggled and put on her shoes.

            Burberry Sage looked at Coach Stallion. “What? Is that acceptable around here?”

            The volleyball player got her backpack and left the office, limping slightly. “See you tomorrow, Coach.”

            “Hasta manana, Chardonnay!” Coach Stallion turned to Burberry Sage. “I’m the best coach this school has ever seen. Are you arguing with my coaching techniques?”

Burberry examined him, slightly annoyed.

“Why did you come into the nurse’s office anyway?” He looked at her ample cleavage. “Not that I mind.”

            “In some schools, that would get you kicked out for harassment.”

            “This isn’t some school. I’m not some coach, either. What are you doing down here?”

            “I was looking for some Vicodin.” Burberry Sage replied. “I have a headache.”

            “Well, I can help you out.” The coach walked over to a combination locker next to a first aid kit and typed four numbers into the keypad. “This is my own stash.” He held up two bottles for the blond woman. “I have some morphine, too.”

            “My goodness! One Vike is enough.” She held out her hand. “Why on Earth would you have morphine?”

            “I have more than that. Listen, Miss Sage. I am the winningest coach Peking Michigan has ever seen. I play to win and the school board likes me. They leave me alone. They don’t mess with success. I get what I want.”

            Burberry Sage took the pill and swallowed it.

            “Dry swallower? Well. Most chicks take a Motrin for a headache.”

            “I’m not most chicks.” She tossed her long blond hair back.

            “I can see that.” He smirked a bit. “This year is looking good already.”

            She shrugged. “They warned me about you.” She turned toward the door.

            “Who is ‘they’?”

            “Third person plural.” Burberry Sage spun on her white heel and shut the door.

            “Watch me coach. You might learn something!” The coach yelled at the departing woman.

            “The thrill of the chase. I like it.” He chuckled and checked out his hair in the mirror. Perfect, as usual.

Peking, Michigan, September 17, 2015

 

            As Budweiser Miller drove home in his Ford Squirrel in the slow moving traffic, he started to get sleepy and the autopilot took over. Just as he was about to fall asleep, he got a call.

            “Bud.” Burberry Sage looked bored and rolled her eyes. “Listen, there’s a meeting after school and I don’t know how long it’s going to be.”

            “Huh?” Bud shook his head. “But, uh, I made reservations at Le Sal Arabe. Remember? It wasn’t easy to get out of work early.”

            “Of course I remember. It’s just…it’s out of my hands. It’s a new school and I can’t rock the boat.”

            “The reservation isn’t until six o’clock. How long is that meeting?”

            “I don’t know. It might be really long.”

            “Uh, why don’t you call me when the meeting is over and we can go then?”

            “I’ll try, but I don’t want you to get your hopes up. This isn’t Skoal Bandits Middle School- this is the big time.”

            “Another three hour meeting in the first week of school?”

            “There’s that anger surfacing. Get that fury under control and we’ll talk about this later.” Burberry Sage looked annoyed and the screen turned black.

            A cartoon squirrel with a crash helmet appeared on the screen. “Hey Bud! Did you want to call someone? Check your stocks? Order your meds? Get analyzed? You sound a little down. How about a pick-me up? Happy Time 6.2 is on sale at Genefix! How about a gourmet bushmeat pizza?”

            “No.” Bud looked down. “Just wake me up when I get home.” “

            The seat vibrated as the car pulled into the carport.

The Ford Squirrel appeared on the dashboard monitor and Bud shook his head. “I’m still tired,” he muttered.

            “It looks like you can use some Up and At Em 2.5! Get one fix at Genefix and get the second one for half off!”

“I just need some sleep 1.0.” Bud tapped the screen. “Take yourself to the car wash and don’t take the scenic route.”

“Okey-dokey, Bud!” The squirrel saluted and the door opened. “Catch some zees, buddy!”

 “What up Bud?”

            On the other side of Burberry’s carport spot was an enormous, truck, the Ford Mammoth. Getting into it, was a very short, but muscular man, dressed in black, very tan and gold chains hanging from his thick neck. The shirt was so tight his nipples were visible. His blond hair was cropped short and his tan was radiant.

“What up Bud?” The shorter man ambled over to Bud and held up his fist to be bumped.

“I got out of work early, Chuck” Bud half-heartedly fist bumped his neighbor and walked to his door.

“I hardly ever see you in the daytime, boss. You must be bankin’ some serious Oh-tee!” Chuck smiled brilliantly. Not only were his teeth bright, but the tiny LEDs implanted between his teeth made his smile bright enough to read a book in the dark.

“Well, dude, it’s busy at work.”

“Yeah, man, at least they haven’t sent your job to India.” Chuck climbed up the short ladder into the cab. “I’m busy as fuck, myself. After this gig in Dee Troit, this hot-ass fire crotch is waiting for me with a bottle of Krystal at Taboo.”

“That sounds fun. Have a good time.” Bud looked into the camera by the door, which winked and the door swung open.

“It’s all about bein’ a playa. You should watch me spin sometime.”

Bud entered the townhouse and the door shut behind him.

“I just got Ripped 7.4 and the ladies can’t keep their hands away from my abs! You should get it, dude!” Chuck shut his door and the huge truck simulated the sound of a gas engine through speakers mounted underneath the vehicle. Backing up quickly, the truck sped out of the cul-de-sac of townhouses.

“It sounds expensive, maybe later,” mumbled Bud.

Bud kicked off his brown work Nikes onto the Mexican beach blanket which served as a welcome mat.

His red PhoneBoy vibrated on his belt. Bud picked it up and saw Dr. Mario shaking his head. He wore a speculum over his painter’s cap and a stethoscope hung over his red overalls.

“I’m-a-sorry, Bud. You need-a new prescription to Calm 2.4 and your-a subscription to Fit 8.9 has already-a expired.”

“I can’t afford it right now.”

“Why not-a?”asked Dr Mario. He seemed concerned.

“Burberry just got Barbie 6.8 and Acrobat Abs three point whatever and that’s all I can afford for this month. I’m still paying off that Globo-Bio bill, whatever that was.”

“What-a about Calm 2.4?”

“I’ll blow up without that. Or start drinking again. Okay, get me that.”

“Too bad for you-a, that-a we won’t-a have more until next-a week.”

“Great. Can you rush it?”

“If you-a want to spend the extra money, yes-a.”

“No, I don’t think so… just send it when it’s available. I don’t even know how much Acrobat Abs cost.”

“Oh, no! You are under court order-a to have Calm 2.4 or something-a similar or I must-a notify the court.”

“I guess I don’t have any choice. Okay, then put in an order of Calm for me.”

“Grazie mille!” Dr. Mario waved and spun around. Gone was his speculum and his stethoscope. “Do you want-a to buy something? How about-a some flowers for your girlfriend, eh?”

“No thank you. Bye, Mario.” The screen went black and Bud put the bulky red plastic phone on his belt.

The PhoneBoy rang again, with the familiar theme song of Super Mario Brothers.

“Yeah?” Bud saw Dr. Mario wagging a white gloved finger at him. “What?”

“Hey-a! You don’t buy-a a subscription to Fit 8.9, you’re a-going to be-a a fat unhealthy pig! Your girlfriend-a will certainly leave-a you and I won’t blame-a her.”

“I don’t want to get fat, Dr. Mario, but I am so strapped right now. Just ask Banker Mario. Burberry drives that car like gas is free”

Dr Mario shook his head.

“I had to take a second mortgage to buy that Russian car. I’m still paying for that sweat gland mod. I don’t even know what it does!”

“You don’t want-a a belly!” said Dr Mario.

“Mario-“

Dr. Mario cocked an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Mario.”

Dr. Mario nodded. “I forgive-a you.”

“Listen- they don’t pay us overtime anymore” Bud shook his head.

Dr. Mario rested his chin on his fist and looked upward. “How-a about a third-a mortgage?” He spun around and now wore a monocle, a bowler and a black bow tie over his overalls.

“I’ll think about it. Let me sleep on it, Banker Mario.”

“Okay. I will-a talk to you later.”

Bud walked slowly to the kitchen and took a Keystone Light out of the fridge. “Man!” He muttered and flopped on the blue plastic couch.

He squeezed the plastic bottle and drank half in one gulp.

“House- put on lite porn, please.”

The beige walls flickered and ‘Dorm Room Shenanigans’, in white letters, appeared on the bottom of each wall, while the image showed a camera entering an ivy-covered red brick New England private college, where all of the students were nubile and naked young women. As the camera went from room to room, lingering for a minute or two in each, the women were either pillow fighting each other in the nude, wrestling, soaping each other up or a combination of the three.

Bud put his hand down his pants and masturbated. He came on his hand, wiped the cum on the couch and grabbed another beer. He fell asleep before it was half finished.