The Drip, Chapter 2

Johnny pulled into his driveway. He sighed because he wasn’t really in the mood for this right now.

“See ya,” Alison said with a smile. She must not be mad, he thought.

“Burger tonight?”

“We’ll see,” she winked. They’d meet at Matty’s bar, he new that, and they’d not get that burger. That would be too much like an honest-to-goodness date. They weren’t there yet. Or at least he thought so.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Johnny said to Alison as she started off in the other direction. “Why you running away sweet thing?”

She turned, still jogging, and flipped him off.

“Why is your broad so mean to me?” Johnny asked, looking at her ass as she jogged away. His sunglasses were down on the edge of his nose. Not expensive ones, instead, more like the cheap one’s you get in a tourist trap surf shop in Myrtle Beach, complete with the neon sides. Johnny slapped him on the back and let out a hearty chuckle, definitely happy with himself at the moment.

“You’re a douche,” he replied.

“Man, it’s no wonder you have no friends.”

“I am what I am.”

“Fuck that Popeye shit, man,” Johnny said, reaching into his front shirt pocket. “You mind if I smoke up?”

“Nah,” he said, but Johnny had already struck a match and began a puff. He thought it would be nice to catch a little bit of a buzz before the day got a little more involved.

Johnny took a long drag on the joint, sat there for a long while, then finally exhaled the beautifully pungent smoke from his shit. Johnny always had good shit, he gave him that much credit. Johnny repeated this five times. Never offering once.

“Man, I need some advice,” Johnny said, bleary-eyed.

“I’m all ears, ya douche bag,” he said, leaning back into his recliner resigned to not getting any of the good shit. He took a sip on his Shiner that had been sitting out a little too long. It was warm. But, still tasted the same. Like soap water. From the first time he’d had one all those years ago because a girl said it was the only beer she’d drink. It eventually grew on him. She started drinking Michelob Ultras while away in Florida. It should have been a sign.

“I got another bitch pregnant,” Johnny said absent-mindedly, as if he really didn’t give a shit. However, he could tell Johnny was trying to sound that way. So it made it sound even more desperate.

He sighed. This wasn’t what he was expecting. He was hoping for a traffic ticket or something. Maybe an STD. This guy, he’s dumb as a bag of hammers, and he gets laid all the time. Everyone knows he’s got eight frigging kids already. But they also know he’s loaded. He never wears a rubber, and now is apparently about to have his ninth and tenth kids. Johnny’s 27 and has had kids with five different women now. He thought to himself about when he was 27. He’d had sex with four woman at that point. Total.

“Who’d ya go and knock up this time John Boy?” he said.

“That skinny blond at the corner of General Pershing, man. She is so cute.”

“Wear a fucking rubber, dude. Wear a fucking rubber.”

“That advise shoulda come last month, man,” JOhnny said. “But seriously, I need some advise about this one.”

Johnny sounded serious. A rarity.

“Have at it kid,” he said.

“I’m not a kid.”

He always called youngsters kids. Alison pointed this out to him one night at the bar. She thought it was funny that he called 15 year olds, 25 year olds and 35 year olds kids. It was a habit he picked up working at small newspapers. He always seemed to be one of the old guys. It’s why so many of his friends are all younger than he. Hell, he’d never had sex with anyone younger than 28 before he turned 40. Funny world.

“Anyway,” he said, pausing to hopefully elicit the continuing of this session. It didn’t work.

“Dude, what’s your fucking question?” he said, finally, too exasperated from watching him smoke up and not share, all the while trying to get advice out of him on a beautiful fucking day in paradise. Hell, he had some writing to do. Especially since Johnny chased Alison away.

“Let me finish this j, man,” Johnny said. He took one last hit off the tiny roach, looking at it, then at George. A look of horror came over him.

“Shit, I didn’t offer you any,” Johnny said.

“Never mind it,” he said.

“After a few seconds past, finally Johnny started to talking. Johnny explained to him that over the last month, Johnny’d stopped hitting on other women. Was always thinking about the Pershing blonde, as Johnny called her. But she never returned his phone calls anymore. Until she broke the news about being preggo.

“I think I love this one,” Johnny finally finished with. “But she wants an abortion, man. How can I stop her?”

Now, this he didn’t’ expect. If Johnny knew his history, he’d never as this question of him. But no one knew his history. Except for him.

“Why do you think you love her?” he finally asked.

“She’s so beautiful. So funny. So everything.”

“And you met her how?”

“Drunkenly at Matty’s, I was on fire at darts and she came up to me real strong.”

“Were you flashing bills?”

“Of course.”

“Did you tell her about your trust fund?”

“No.”

“You know, she’s a hooker.”

“Fuck you, man!”

“She is.”

“You don’t fucking mean that!”

“Yes, I do.”

“You don’t’ fucking know that!” he was getting mad. What I said next, made him madder.

“Yes, actually, I do know.”

The pupils in his eyes shank to nothing. Johnny got up, flicked his roach at him and stomped off.”

“Maybe you can change her? Like Christian Slater or Richard Gere?” He regretted saying that as soon as Christian came out of his mouth. But it kept coming no matter.

Johnny looked at him. An evil look, really. Chills raced up his spine.

“I’ll show you,” Johnny said, struggling to open the door of his El Camino. Finally, he slung it open and jumped in, gunning the engine before the door even closed. Robert Palmer’s sweet voice rang out as he pulled away in a puff of smoke and burnt rubber.

Ha. Rubber, he thought. Finishing the rest of his Shiner.