Shakespeare’s Dead: Chapter Two

Chapter 2

“Yeah, nothing,” said Nature. “I seen all this shit before, uh-huh. Whose pick is it this week, anyway?”

“Dingo’s,” I told him. “And don’t get any ideas. You had your pick last week, dude.”

And what a pick that was. Nature had chosen Driving miss Daisy because he thought it was a miss-shelved porno. Hell, I was kinda curious myself, but nothing, zilcho poonage—not even a little old lady tit.

Even after finding out it wasn’t a skin-flick, we at least thought that having Morgan Freeman in it was going to be enough to make the movie halfway enjoyable—he’s been in some pretty sweet movies and his voice is cool as shit—but no. Not even the voice of God himself could fuck-start that turkey. All he did was exactly what the title said: Drive Miss Daisy’s grumpy ass around.

After all the crap-movies he’s put us through over the years, I don’t even know why we let Nature take a turn on Movie Night.

Just between you and me, Nature’s not exactly on Mensa’s mailing list if you know what I mean. And we just let him hang with us because he’s the only one we know who doesn’t drink. Great guy to have around on bar night—saves a shitload on cab fares.

“Speaking of turns,” I said. “Where’s Dingo? I wanna make sure he doesn’t get anything that tries to touch my inner lesbian.”

I followed Nature’s grinning nod to the front of the video store. Then he said, “I don’t even know why he gets a pick this week. He’s gonna be taking off at nine anyway—got a date or something. Meeting up with this new chick he’s been seeing, uh-huh.”

The “Uh-huh” thing used to get on my nerves, but then I came to realize it was kind of like his own personal punctuation mark—his way of ending a sentence, you know? Now, I don’t even notice it…mostly.

“New chick,” I said. “He never said nothing to me about any new chick. What’s her name?”

“Sarah, I think. He said she was some kind of gypsy or something.”

Boing! It was then that I understood why Dingo hadn’t told me about his new girl. Being my best friend, Dingo would know that I’d think that her being a gypsy was just about the hottest thing ever. And—God bless the black-hearted bastard—he wasn’t wrong.

I didn’t want to seem too interested, so I picked up a movie jacket and pretended to peruse some chick flick. “Really? So, what does she look like?”

“Never seen her, but Dan number two says she’s a real honey.”

Leaving Nature to do whatever it was he did when we weren’t there to tell him to do it, I went to the front of the store to continue my investigation into Dingo’s new tang. It seemed that Dingo Dan and I had some trust issues to work out that had been hanging between us since back in school.

He seemed to think I cock-blocked him on a girl he was trying to get with. Lingering on a perceived past injustice like that was just gonna constipate him again. He liked to gorge on bricks of cheese when he brooded.

What? You looking at me ‘cause you think I know why? It’s his thing. Move on.

Besides, that girl back in college was so long ago—not to mention the fact that she wasn’t really his girlfriend, anyway.

At least that’s what she told me right before I threw her into my patented “Bus driver” position. Couldn’t even remember what that chick looked like. Like I said, ancient history.

I stepped up behind Dingo and waited for him to finish with the piss-poor job he was doing at flirting with the girl at the counter. Chick couldn’t have been more than eighteen.

When he saw me standing there, he held up the disc he’d picked out and shrugged. “I heard it was a flop, but I thought I’d get it anyway. Can’t be any worse than that Killer Clown snuff movie Dan number two picked out that one time. Remember that? Big Top Chop?”

I chuckled. “Actually, I kind of got a kick out of that one. Say, listen: I heard you got yourself a date tonight. That you were gonna drop that clunker of a movie on us and take off at nine. Were you planning on partying without me, amigo? How are you gonna have any fun without the Bard there to bring the good word and good cheer to the masses?”

After so many years of being friends, Dingo knew exactly what I was saying.

“She’s special, Shakespeare. I really like this girl and I don’t want you guys to fuck this up for me.” He brandished his movie choice, Waterworld, and said, “Besides, it’s movie night and you know how much Nature hates change.

“Yeah, sure,” I said, brushing his misplaced concern off like it was dandruff. “No biggie. You go ahead, man. Go shine on you crazy diamond.” What a dick. Last time I play copilot for him.

Who needs to guzzle beer and party? Who needs to ogle hot gypsies while tossing back shooters of tequila? Who needs to forget that he’d been dumped for the very first time in his fucking life just two weeks before by a girl he thought just might be the one to make him burn his booty call book?

To answer all three, I need only to single out one man. Me, Shakespeare, that’s who. Now, I went and started thinking about her again and how she dumped me.

Fucking Sheila. For some dude named Cary, of all people! How could she leave me for a guy with a chick’s name? Who names their little baby boy Cary?

Maybe he’s British.

Even Dutch, maybe.

* * *

Meet the crew. You already know about Nature and Dingo Dan, but I haven’t told you very much about Dan number two and Willie Cha-cha. They were playing double-duty tonight, all of them. It was movie night and they were there to lend whatever moral support they could to yours truly; being two weeks since my girlfriend had left me, I was still reeling from the alien feeling of being the dumpee for a switch.

The thing I can liken it to most would be the time my old man had Napoleon, my twelve-year-old bull-dog, put down. God, I still get an ache in my gut from that.

They tried. I could see they were trying, but they sucked at the Dr. Phil thing.

In the midst of stuffing a fistful of popcorn into his mouth, Dan number two said, “You’re a cop. Why don’t you stake her out or some shit—follow her around, see where she goes.”

I didn’t want to tell him I already did all that stuff and got exactly nowhere. All I got for my trouble was her father punching me in the gut when he caught me under one of their windows at three am, and Sheila meeting some chick at a restaurant.

Nature’s contribution to the healing of my bruised ego was just plain sad.

He said, “I wouldn’t let it bug you, Shakes. It ain’t so bad getting dumped, uh-huh. At least you got us, right?”

I tried not to look constipated while he was talking, but listening to him was just about as painful as a baby-sized shit.

They went on for a while—and they even looked like they were being sincere—but I don’t think one of them could understand what it was I was actually going through. Shakespeare Poole doesn’t get dumped. Ever.

What I really needed was distraction, and not some “Welcome to the sissy Club” hug-fest. I needed noise—and plenty of tail to sniff at; I needed the tang the astronauts weren’t allowed to take with them into deep space. There was nowhere better to lose yourself than in a bar full of drunk women.

Dingo and his new chick would be there, but it’s not like I was planning on moving in on him. But a man can look, can’t he? I just wanted to see what kind of gypsy chick would be attracted to a fella like Dingo.

I gave the boys’ best intentions—miserable as they were—a nod for effort and, right after Dingo left, I said: “You pussies wanna sit around here stroking each other and watching this piece of shit, or do you want to do what Dingo’s gonna be doing by the end of the night?”

Nature gave me a look like he was answering a question on Jeopardy. “You mean barfing in the back of my subaru?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I meant, Nature. Shut up and watch your movie.”

Always the mayor of a little village known as Obvious, Willie Cha-cha sat up, belched, and then said: “You want to get a look at Dingo’s new squeeze, don’t you?”

I lied to him and said no, that I just wanted to blow off some steam, but he wasn’t stupid. “Nature, get your keys. We’re going out.”

Just as we were ready to leave, who do you suppose strolled in to stick a pin in my half-inflated erection?

Uh-huh. the ex. You’ll notice I didn’t capitalize the “the” there. See? Just goes to show how upset I was.

“William…Jason…Daniel,” she said to the boys, not so much friendly as, say, acknowledging their right to call themselves hominids. She didn’t say “hi” to me, but since she did enter my apartment, I would imagine that it would be implied.

I never really thought about it ‘til right then how she always called the crew by their real names. None of them seemed to mind, so it shouldn’t bother me like it does…but it does. Fuck, I don’t even know how she knew that Nature’s given name was Jason. I don’t even think he knew that much about himself.

I’m just kidding about that last bit there. Nature’s alright, just not right in the head, that’s all.

When she turned her eyes towards me, I froze like a twelve-year-old caught masturbating.

It was a dark and stormy stare, one that had held me in its medusa-like grip during—but mostly after—many a boozy night. No words, just the laser beam of death.

That’s Sheila for you. But don’t blame her. I brought it on myself.

You’ll see. Just ask her. Apparently, it’s in my nature to bring out the worst in women, to make them hate everything about themselves and cause them to wallow in the filth and mental stagnation that is Shakespeare—her words, not mine. I, myself, don’t get it; the mental stagnation part. What would a pond have to do with a relationship? It was just like her to try and confuse me.

She knew it was movie night, sure she did. So why would she show up then, when she knew god-damn well the crew was gonna be there? I was all ears, hoping she was going to enlighten me. But unless she was transmitting at a level only bitch could hear, or through the tractor beam she had locked onto my face, I wasn’t getting it.

Just when it got so uncomfortable that the boys started shuffling their feet and staring around the room at my Bud Girl posters, Sheila dropped the stun gun stare and did one of those head wobbles that usually end with a finger being pointed.

Never one to disappoint, there was the finger.

She said, “There was a parking ticket on my car this morning, and I was pulled over twice today; Once on the way to work, and once on the way to my friend’s place. You wouldn’t have had anything to do with that, now, would you, Tinyspeare? Because, if that’s the case, you can stop right now. I’m done with you and I’m done trying to turn you into a human being. You got that?”

Huh. I was only kidding when I was talking to some of the boys down at the station, but I guess they thought I wasn’t. Just goes to show, though. Cops take care of their own. I was touched.

Kinda funny, though, right?

The “Tinyspeare” thing was a pretty low blow. I know she didn’t mean anything by it. I had tapes to prove it. I made a mental note to send her dad one, and smiled instead of answering for the stops by the cops. In all honesty, she did drive pretty fast.

Sheila yelled at me one more time about the tickets—just in case I didn’t get the fact she was pissed—then gave me and the boys an obviously well rehearsed recap of the many reasons she’d left me, and then slammed the door on her way out.

I could tell right away that she’d upset the fellas; they were all milling around like a bunch of gladiators waiting their turn with the lion. So, like the great leader of men I was, I thought I should say something to break the funk, something that would put a smile on everyone’s face.

I pointed at Nature, and said, “Boy,” and clapped my hands twice. “Bring forth the bong. We need to purge some guilt.”

As we stood around my coffee table getting a glow-on before going out, I couldn’t help but think about Sheila and her reasons for really coming by. She could’ve just called the answering machine to bitch me out about the speeding tickets. Maybe she thought I should’ve been sitting in the dark listening to The Cure while I cut myself with a sharpened spoon.

When I was reaching into the closet for my jacket, Willie Cha-cha plucked a baseball bat from the top shelf and ran his thumb along the myriad of dents along the body. He poked me with the business end, almost driving me into the closet, and then swung the bat in a wide arc, missing Nature’s head by a, well, a hair. “Mail-box baseball, anyone?”

In a very un-Nature-like way, Nature forcefully yanked the bat away from Willie and squeezed it like he wanted to swing it himself. “Nuh-uh, man. You assholes still owe me reparations for the last six times, uh-huh.”

Dan number grabbed the bat from him and tossed it into the closet. “Yeah, doofus, but we let you hang with us, don’t we? Ain’t that enough?

As I watched them bicker I realized just how traumatized they were by the deviation caused by the ex, and also knew that I had to put a stop to the insults before Nature took his car and went home.

When Dingo Dan’s not around, I always just call Dan number two, just plain Dan, so I said, “Shut up, Dan. First off, he can’t be a doofus. Got a driver’s license, doesn’t he?” I knew Dan would understand the implied statement, and he nodded, backing off.

Then he voiced what I, myself had already deduced.

Dan said, “Maybe we should hit that bong one more time before we go.”