even know my name,” I say.
“But – ” she says again.
But I will brook no buts. I hike myself back into my boxers and pants, then help her up and onto the bed. Somehow I get the covers down and her underneath them, tuck the blankets up under her chin. By now she’s snoring quietly, so I tiptoe around as I locate an empty champagne bucket to put near the bed in case she needs to puke and I liberate a water bottle from the mini-bar and put it on the night table along with one of the trial packets of aspirin I always keep on me just in case – she’ll need both when she wakes up – and finally money to cover the charge for the water bottle when it appears on her hotel bill.
Unaccountably, I’m still horny so I go into the bathroom and jerk off into the toilet, remembering to wipe the seat and put down the seat and flush – Aunt Alfresca’s training – before exiting Room 213.
No sooner do I close the door behind me and begin adjusting my tie than a door far down the hallway opens and who should it be but the newly minted Mrs. Billy Keller.
Alice startles when she sees me.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, puzzled. Then her expression darkens into a scowl as she sees the number on the door behind me. “Oh you did not just bang my cousin, did you?”
I say no, just for form and to protect her cousin’s reputation, but I know she doesn’t believe me.
* * *
I go back to the reception, figuring to snag a recovery beer before heading on home. The place is mostly empty now, just a few stragglers left.
Big John wheels himself over to me.
“You did good by Billy today,” he says. “Your mother would be proud. You should be proud.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“And that ‘circles of a man’s life’ speech” – he pounds his fist against his heart – “no matter how many times I hear it, it never gets old.”
I love my dad. Almost everyone else, they always refer to it as the ‘circle of friends’ speech. Big John is the only one here who gets it, who knows to call it what it is: the circles of a man’s life speech.
“Thanks, Dad,” I say again.
“I only hope I’m still alive someday to hear someone give as good a speech at your own wedding.”
You and me both, Dad, I think but don’t say.
Just then our male-bonding moment is interrupted by some guy who looks as though he spent the day going drink for drink with Three Sheets.
His thick tie’s so loose it’s just a gentle tug away from becoming a scarf and his hair looks like someone messed it up so he’d resemble a young Einstein.
“Hey, man.” He places his hand on my shoulder. Usually I’m not crazy about strangers touching me but he’s weaving back and forth so much, I’m happy to provide ballast. Better that than have him crash to the floor and need me to take him to the hospital to check for a concussion. “That speech… You know, I’m getting married in six months. I already asked my brother to be my Best Man, but now I’m thinking maybe I could swap for you? George’ll only wind up saying something lame for the toast. You, on the other hand, if you could just give that speech…”
God, what is wrong with these guys?
I shake off his hand, disgusted.
“Do I even know you?”
MY BFF
By the time I arrive home from the reception, it’s full dark out.
When I slip my key in the lock and turn it there’s no resistance and I realize that the door’s unlocked. No, I didn’t leave it that way. Aunt Alfresca trained me well: safety first.
Fucking Sam.
I push the door open and, yup, there’s Sam sprawled out on my living room couch, a bottle of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale open on the table along with four bottle caps and a half-dozen takeout cartons of Chinese food, a pair of chopsticks poking out of one of them – Sam can eat, and drink – and the TV on. The digital display reads 63, which is MSNBC, and I immediately recognize the show as being one of those things the station runs every weekend about hardened
“But – ” she says again.
But I will brook no buts. I hike myself back into my boxers and pants, then help her up and onto the bed. Somehow I get the covers down and her underneath them, tuck the blankets up under her chin. By now she’s snoring quietly, so I tiptoe around as I locate an empty champagne bucket to put near the bed in case she needs to puke and I liberate a water bottle from the mini-bar and put it on the night table along with one of the trial packets of aspirin I always keep on me just in case – she’ll need both when she wakes up – and finally money to cover the charge for the water bottle when it appears on her hotel bill.
Unaccountably, I’m still horny so I go into the bathroom and jerk off into the toilet, remembering to wipe the seat and put down the seat and flush – Aunt Alfresca’s training – before exiting Room 213.
No sooner do I close the door behind me and begin adjusting my tie than a door far down the hallway opens and who should it be but the newly minted Mrs. Billy Keller.
Alice startles when she sees me.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, puzzled. Then her expression darkens into a scowl as she sees the number on the door behind me. “Oh you did not just bang my cousin, did you?”
I say no, just for form and to protect her cousin’s reputation, but I know she doesn’t believe me.
* * *
I go back to the reception, figuring to snag a recovery beer before heading on home. The place is mostly empty now, just a few stragglers left.
Big John wheels himself over to me.
“You did good by Billy today,” he says. “Your mother would be proud. You should be proud.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“And that ‘circles of a man’s life’ speech” – he pounds his fist against his heart – “no matter how many times I hear it, it never gets old.”
I love my dad. Almost everyone else, they always refer to it as the ‘circle of friends’ speech. Big John is the only one here who gets it, who knows to call it what it is: the circles of a man’s life speech.
“Thanks, Dad,” I say again.
“I only hope I’m still alive someday to hear someone give as good a speech at your own wedding.”
You and me both, Dad, I think but don’t say.
Just then our male-bonding moment is interrupted by some guy who looks as though he spent the day going drink for drink with Three Sheets.
His thick tie’s so loose it’s just a gentle tug away from becoming a scarf and his hair looks like someone messed it up so he’d resemble a young Einstein.
“Hey, man.” He places his hand on my shoulder. Usually I’m not crazy about strangers touching me but he’s weaving back and forth so much, I’m happy to provide ballast. Better that than have him crash to the floor and need me to take him to the hospital to check for a concussion. “That speech… You know, I’m getting married in six months. I already asked my brother to be my Best Man, but now I’m thinking maybe I could swap for you? George’ll only wind up saying something lame for the toast. You, on the other hand, if you could just give that speech…”
God, what is wrong with these guys?
I shake off his hand, disgusted.
“Do I even know you?”
MY BFF
By the time I arrive home from the reception, it’s full dark out.
When I slip my key in the lock and turn it there’s no resistance and I realize that the door’s unlocked. No, I didn’t leave it that way. Aunt Alfresca trained me well: safety first.
Fucking Sam.
I push the door open and, yup, there’s Sam sprawled out on my living room couch, a bottle of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale open on the table along with four bottle caps and a half-dozen takeout cartons of Chinese food, a pair of chopsticks poking out of one of them – Sam can eat, and drink – and the TV on. The digital display reads 63, which is MSNBC, and I immediately recognize the show as being one of those things the station runs every weekend about hardened
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