Family Practice by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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CHAPTER 15
Warren didn’t know what to do with himself as he awaited Connie’s return and put on the television to see a news report of a demonstration in Saigon. South Vietnamese mothers and fathers from outlying regions brought their napalm burned children to the big city to highlight the effect the drawn out, pointless war was having on them. Some held up photos of dead burned babies. They cried and talked excitedly to the news cameras, thinking they might have some effect on the situation.
A Buddhist Monk set himself aflame and the camera stayed with him until his body broke into pieces. Realism and time would suggest that their efforts were in vain, easily superseded by the needs of the defense contractors, black marketeers and those military men with the authority to give out contracts. He shut the television, preferring to reserve his patriotism for Connie’s assets and her adventures.
Candy continued her determined, perspiring walk to Major’s Chevrolet, about six long blocks from Journal Square on the Route Nine Highway. She passed through old residential areas; originally “least cost” housing, now the lower levels converted to commercial use. Open windows of the rectangular three story attached structures permitted the sounds of loud family
discussions and kids playing to hit the streets. It probably wasn’t heard by the others that were coming and going from the retail stores, occupied by their own concerns, looking for a good buy, or yelling out greetings to friends, endeavoring to be heard over the constant stream of cars. The narrow concrete sidewalk proved a hazard for Candy, as she looked up to the windows releasing the sounds, causing her to brush by others at her quick pace.
“Hey, watch it,” one fortyish eastern European woman called out. Candy paid no attention. “You should be more careful, little girl.” The woman shook her head disapprovingly as did two other associates, as they watched Candy continue her rapid pace. Candy focused on the sounds of family life. She wondered what “normal” kinfolk acted like. She heard cries of;
“Get out of my way.”
“I’m getting the hell out of here.”
“Don’t touch me.”
“Get out of here and get a job.”
“Do that and I’ll break your head.”
“Shut up. You’ll wake the kid.”
“Mommy!”
“Mommy!”
“Mommy!”
The last short street before the highway was inhabited by abandoned, boarded up, collapsing houses and open lots tall with green weeds, wherever the dumped garbage allowed. A few male teenagers were walking slowly through the rubble, smoking pot, with heads down, perhaps looking for “new,” interesting garbage.
Whatever, they didn’t pay any attention to Candy. She saw the back of the dealership surrounded by an eight foot chain link fence, topped by two twisted strands of barbed wire. She circled it, slowing her pace in an effort not to be tripped up by the garbage and discarded construction materials.
The back of the building was dark with many exposed pipes and ducts. Dumpsters brimmed with overflowing styrofoam, broken plastic parts of something or other and torn cardboard boxes, some of which were adept at escaping in breezes and now lay on the asphalt ground. If any people were present they chose to make themselves invisible, perhaps hiding behind the dumpsters.
When she walked far enough to see the front, she thought she had entered another world. It was a one story structure with a huge electronic sign which said “MAJOR’S CHEVROLET”, the lights only visible when a passing cloud cast some shade on the area. The façade on which it rested was entirely comprised of clear glass panels, held in place by thin aluminum slats every eight feet, the tops covered with red, white and blue drapes and a sign saying “PRE-INDEPENDENCE DAY SALE” and a smaller sign
which indicated “FACTORY FRESH 1972 MODELS – CLOSEOUT BELOW BOOK
VALUE.” The huge asphalt parking lot was two-thirds full, the spaces closest to the building taken by shiny new cars with price tags on the windshields.
Candy entered the sliding doors which magically opened as she neared and saw pandemonium. Salesmen perspiring in sports jackets which did not match their pants were following around potential buyers assuring them they could get anything they wanted with zero down financing. A small crowd of salesmen and customers surrounded a black floor model, on which sat two well-developed women of about thirty, wearing red thong bikinis, jiggling about as they laughed, smiled and posed for onlookers.
No one paid any attention to Candy as she passed through the area lined with “assemble yourself” pressed wood desks covered with plastic strips intended to look like dark maple and the neighboring small red upholstered chairs on plastic wheels.
She entered a thin corridor of three small unoccupied offices and saw Callie sitting behind the desk of the last, manically shuffling papers. She entered the open door and he looked up, saying; “What are you doing here?”
His now customary less than gallant behavior didn’t upset her and she deadpanned; “I wanted to see you.”
He took note of her perspiring face and wet shirt. He thought he was being sly when he said; “Hot?”
She murmured; “Yeah.”
He looked around the room and out of the eight by ten glass window with a hallway view and said; “I’ve really got to get through these documents. You can strip and get under the desk.”
He watched as she put her right hand into her pants pocket, thinking that she was undoing them. She pulled out the yellow kerchief and carefully used it to hold the gun. Callie was staring dumb-foundedly as she pulled the trigger, the bullet entering his chest. His body went limp and slumped to the side of the chair, his head resting on the top of it.
Candy was surprised how his eyes remained open and seemed to bulge and how the blood spurted from the bullet hole like a fountain. She thought; “He must have been under a lot of pressure. Maybe I relieved it.” Never before having seen a corpse, she wasn’t’ sure that he was dead, so she fired a second shot in the same general area and watched the body make a small lurch and then again sit still. She looked at the second wound and was unimpressed as the geyser was nowhere near as good as the first. She looked out the window at the un-populated hallway and correctly concluded that the noise and commotion of the big sale made her sounds insignificant. She threw the kerchief and gun in his face and watched them slide down and come to rest in his lap.
She no longer felt hot. She was stone cold, determined and calmly walked out, again taking note of the nervous talky salesmen, the customers feigning disinterest with polite grins and furrowed brows and the two ladies, laughing and leaning against the floor model, each trying to pull down the other’s bikini top, enjoying the rabid entranced attention.
As she slowly made the forty-five minute trek home, she thought how easy it was and wondered if she was supposed to feel something. “What’s next?” was the only thought that continued to concern her. As she unemotionally walked through the squalor she had called home for fifteen years, she made a big decision.
She didn’t need Callie or anyone else to get her to California and see her dad. She could do it by herself, probably with fewer complications.
When she got home she went through the silent house to her room and put on the television to hear the day’s death count; 23,286 Viet Cong and 858 Americans. She chuckled and whispered
“859.” She rested on the bed, cried and slept.
Shari felt bored, left her room wearing a white bikini top and tight cut-off shorts, intending to find something to spice up her day. As she passed by the family room she heard the phone ringing and decided to answer it.
“Hello.”
“May I speak to Shari?”
“This is Shari. Angelique?”
“Yeah, it’s been a while.”
“What’s up?”
Angelique smirked; “Everything I can get a hold of.” They giggled. Angel continued; “John and I have found a great place in New York City; Plato’s Retreat.”
“Plato’s Retreat? Never heard of it.”
“It’s pretty new. It’s an old warehouse in upper Manhattan, that’s now being operated as an orgy place.”
“Far out.”
“Far fucking out. John and I have been there a few times....... and I was thinking; how about you and I go ourselves.”
“What’s it like?”
“Well, you have to enter as a couple.... I mean no single males. Inside people are walking around naked or with a towel.
It’s pretty much still the old warehouse, with mattresses on the floor. But, people are doing EVERYTHING!”
“S and M?”
“Yeah. Every area is for some specialty. Last time we were there a woman was strapped down spread eagle by her boyfriend. He sat on her chest and she started begging for
refreshment. He told her that she’d have to do everyone else who had a need first.”
“Holy shit.”
“Yeah, but listen. After a bunch of guys and girls had fun with her, her boyfriend gave her a champagne cocktail.”
“Any guys like doing that sort of thing?”
“Yeah, some guys want to do whatever a woman tells them to and be rewarded with champagne.”
“Freak show.”
“I guess so, but it’s 1972 and anything goes. They’re nice people. No assholes.”
The conversation continued until the daring duo established a date in two days.
Warren was napping in bed, got up, went to the kitchen and heard Connie’s car returning. He usually woke up enthused and today was no exception, so he removed his robe and waited until she entered the room.
He got on his knees and started kissing her. She said;
“Get up. I want to do a number one.”
Warren was insistent and said; “No, I want this.”
Connie thought a second; “Okay, but I want to sit down.”
She led him to the family room where she reclined and said; “If you do it good enough, I’ll let you have a drink.”
Warren did his usual best and the gourmet begged for her warm beverage.
Candy woke up, shut the television and went down to the kitchen to find something to eat. She heard part of the Warren and Connie show. Un-surprised and un-interested, she made a sandwich and brought it back to her room. As she ate she put some clothes in a satchel, used a magic maker to write
“California” on a piece of cardboard and wrote a note which said; “Mom, I’m going to California. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”
As she left the house, she put the note on the kitchen table. She purposefully walked back to the highway and continued on, holding the cardboard sign where it could be read by oncoming cars. After ten minutes, during which Candy really discovered hot how it was to be walking in full sun on asphalt, a 1970 light green Volvo pulled over to the shoulder in front of her. She ran to the car, looked in the open passenger window and saw the young blue-eyed blond, who said; “Well, get in.”
Candy opened the door, threw her satchel and sign in the back seat and sat down. As the car started to again move, the teenager said; “How far are you going?
“All the way.”
Candy was elated. She said; “I think I’m gonna like you.
That’s the only way to be.” She reached to the back seat, retrieved her sign and the Roe files, ripped them up and threw it all out the window, saying; “That’s for New Jersey,” as they watched the five brick, ten story abandoned projects fade in the distance.
The two looked at each other, started laughing and couldn’t stop.
Mark and the sun were still overheated, when he walked to his office, hoping to see Vicky. He entered the vestibule quietly to see her asleep in her chair. He got under the desk.
She jerked away, looked down and saw him. She said; “Oh, mark, it’s you. What a nice way to wake up.” Vicky repositioned herself and pulled his head toward her. “Back to the old, Mark?”
“Umm-hmm.”
“Missed you, honey.”
After both were through, Vicky said; “Oh, shit, I almost forgot. Business stuff. The other day, some friendly guy showed up here and took the pictures I had. Said he wants more.”
“I think I know who that was. Get a name?”
“No. Mostly, I only saw the top of his head.”
“I definitely know who that was.” Mark and Vicky smiled at each other.
“And some little girl said he wanted to see you, but got tired of waiting.”
Mark was quizzical. “Don't know who that was.”
Vicky offered; “She said she didn’t have any money and I KNOW you’re not into little girls.”
“I like ’em big and black, with lots of hair and experience.” They gave each other wicked looks and Mark again put his face in the happy hirsute comfort zone.
The door opened and neither cared. Shari closed it behind her, chuckled and said; “The party started without me?” Her long black hair was pulled back and tied in a bun at the top, creating a severe appearance. The white bikini top and tight cut-off jeans made her other attributes the center of attention.
Vicky rolled her eyes making no response. Mark looked up, smacking his head on the bottom of the desk. He crawled out backwards and saw the long white legs in front of him and thought that they looked familiar. He gazed at her face and he knew.
He said; “The party will continue in my room. You don’t mind, do you, Vicky?”
“Hell no, as long as you do me first.”
Mark led them to his office and locked the door. The three watched each other, exchanging friendly grins. Vicky seated her meaty torso in Mark’s chair and hung one leg over the arm. He greedily put his face back where it belonged, while Shari watched the show from behind, fondling him.
After Vicky spasmed, she got up and said; “Salt and pepper, honey.”
Shari smiled, sat in the chair and allowed Mark his culinary privilege while Vicky laid on the carpet floor, utilizing a hand for massage, with her eyes looking up at the activity.
Mark couldn’t hold back any longer and as he nourished Vicky, he pressed harder against Shari, opening wide. Vicky succeeded in keeping his interest.
Shari watched both Vicky and Mark doing their jobs efficiently and passionately and went over the top distractedly moaning “Oh, shit”. Mark kissed her feet and Vicky stood up and said; “Kiss mine.”
He gladly did and the two girls put their hands on the desk with their backs to him and leaned forward. Mark needed no command to know what to do, switching back and forth, so no one would feel left out. Vicky pulled Mark to his feet and the ladies paid attention to him, one in front, the other in back.
Desperate to be relieved, Mark called out; “I need someone on my face.”
Vicky obliged him and Shari produced an explosion. Mark stayed in his position and paid homage to both lover’s feet and middle regions thanking them profusely.
As Shari left she said; “I told you I need a regular.”
Mark replied; ‘You got it, any time you so desire.”
Vicky used a high pitched tone to say; “How about me?”
Mark smiled at her and replied; “All you want, whenever you want. How about later at my apartment?”
“You want to be my slave.”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll be there, honey lover.”
The two left and went home, each needing a siesta before tonight’s fiesta.