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(Fiction by Alexa deMonterice) |
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Ya don't plan it. These things just happen. Ya know? Smoke bothering ya? Sorry. Sorry. I'll put it in the other hand. Better? OK. Exactly whaddaya wanna know? I mean, ya know they caught me with my guy under circumstances they just didn't understand, right? My last guy, that is.
Don't ya do anything 'sides noddin' yer head? Oh. This one of them shrink things, huh? I gotta do most of the talkin'. OK, whatever. Well, he had nice hands. Big and meaty but real gentle. Well, usually gentle. Sometimes he don't realize how strong he was and . . . well . . . ya know. But he never meant to. These things just happen. But he gave the best foot massages. He knew how to rub 'em just right. I mean, he had to. If I was laid up with blood blisters on my feet then I ain't makin' no money for his needs. Right? And waitressing is hell on yer dogs, lemme tell ya. I never had the leisure of parking my butt in a big, soft leather chair like that and just sittin' back and listening. Oh, I listen to all kinds of crap from all kinds of people: customers, my husband, slimeball managers and cooks and stuff. The daily grind. Ya know? But I never got to sit back in cushy comfort. No ma'am. Either I was standin' on my achin' tootsies while some jerk complained about how his meal was cooked wrong -- like I was personally responsible for that glop. Cut me some slack, ya know. Then they stiff ya, like it was your fault. It ain't fair. I work hard. Real goddamn hard. And what do I get for it? Shit, shit and more shit. Huh? Oh, I see. Fussy about grammar are ya? If ya say either ya gotta follow-up with an or? Is tha' right? Well, here's yer or then. Anyway, either I was standin' and listenin' to some kinda crap or I was on scraped-up knees hearing it. My feet hurt at work but my knees are crying for mercy at home. Ya know, whamo, on yer knees, woman. Sometimes I'd go down so hard they'd split. I got them pebbly kinda tiles in my kitchen, ain't easy on the skin, grinds right into ya. And that's where the fights always seemed to start. And always ending with me kneelin' inna puddle of my own blood. Then, of course, after having been laid into for something or other -- I mean ya never know what might set him off -- then of course, I had to clean up the mess. He says I gotta keep the place spotless. Yeah, right. Get real. Like it was my fault for being untidy and lettin' my blood leak out on the floor. My fault for having thin skin or something. Not enough meat on 'em. Hah! No. I never talked back. No way. I ain't that stupid. I just agreed with everything he ranted and raved on about. But, hey. He was havin' a tough time. Ya know? I-I understood. He'd call me lazy and say I ain't pulling my weight. Say I ain't bringing home my share of the bacon. Bacon! Hah! Meat was a luxury. Sometimes I could steal some bacon by slipping it inside my coat. Steak and other meat's harder; it's wrapped different, not vacuum-sealed, or whatever, like bacon is. The blood from it can leak out when ya carry it sideways, which is the only way ya can swipe it. I mean, I can't carry it out balanced on my hand like I was waitressing it to a customer. Right? Hah! That would be funny wouldn't it? Oh, gee, I'm so terribly, terribly sorry officer. I'm a waitress, ya see. And when I see food, well, I just pick it right up and get ready to serve it to a hungry customer. I certainly didn't realize I was walking out the door with it. Well, these things happen. No harm intended of course. Hah! Can ya just see me telling that to some security guard? Yeah, I been caught at it. That's how come I mentioned the bloody meat. I went all high falutin' one time and tried it at one of them fancy gourmet places. Thought I'd try surprising him with rabbit. Can you imagine? Dunno what the hell possessed me. Shoulda run like a bunny so's not to get caught, huh? But ya only learn things the hard way. I was wearing a beige coat and it started to stain through. The coat was pretty thin wool. Ya know. And the guard figured I was either dyin' or lifting something. Yeah . . . well. It was a couple hunnerd bucks to bail me out. Money he was gonna use for his needs, ya know? Stuff that's real important to him -- and I respect that -- he's a right to spend money on a little fun once in a while: gambling, nose candy, maybe, anything 'cept me it seemed. And yet, there he was, my hero, comin' to rescue his fair maiden. Well, not so fair anymore, but ya know what I mean. Chuck loved me enough to get me out lickety-split. He don't care that I don't look so hot no more. He come to get me out just the same. Course he did a hell of a lot of yellin' while doing it. I thought he was gonna kill me fer sure. But he can't do that at no police station, right? So, he waited till we was several blocks away and no cops was in sight 'fore he belted me. But then it was pretty stupid the way I snatched that meat. He hadda right to be mad. What? Hah! No. He was mad 'cause I got caught. And he was pretty pissed at my thinkin' he'd wanna eat Bugs Bunny as well. 'I want real meat not some sissy meat ya serve with stupid fruit sauces,' he told me. And he was always harping, 'Earn better tips ya lazy cow or yer gonna have to steal like some good fer nuttin delinquent. I'm a man. I gotta have meat to keep healthy.' Hah! He was healthy all right. Always had plenty of energy to hit this ol' punching bag a few times a night. But usually, ya know, I-I deserved it: I been stupid or something. But he really wasn't all bad, ya know. He gave a great foot massage and he was good with neck muscles too if they was tight and sore. Of course, sometimes he just didn't know his own strength. What I get for complaining 'bout being in pain. And to think I though him a trade up from the others like Frank and Stu. Yeah . . . well. It ain't too bad if I wear a high collar or scarf or something. They'll keep turning all kinds of colors and then they'll fade. They always do. He just didn't realize he was hurtin' me. I mean, he was always real considerate: never whacked me in the face or anywhere else where it would show. Though one time I put on a sleeveless dress and he was really pissed. I mean, I forgot. I was so used to them that I didn't think to check my arms. A neighbor asked me about the marks and guess who overheard. Stupid of me. I shoulda paid more attention to what dress I was putting on. Sure. We had good times. What? You want like examples? Well, I dunno. Uh, lemme think a sec. Well, there musta been some. I just can't think at the moment. Oh! The jail thing. Real sweet of him getting me out. Whaddaya mean that don't count? That meant a lot to me. Yeah . . . well. So what if he hit me afterwards? Big surprise. Like this is news? Stop harping at me! I-I can't think of a better example of good times right now. Except he gave a real nice foot massage. Did I mention that? Jeez. There's no pleasing ya. You're as bad as him, ya know? Ask me something else. I don't wanna talk about this no more. The last time? Oh, ya want all the gory details, huh Doc? OK, fine. This part I can talk about no problem. Well, I was getting ready to make dinner and stupid me, I forgot that I wouldn't have time to defrost the meat. I'd just swiped some frozen so as not to worry about the blood leaking. Anyway, he starts up. And at first I just listened, like usual. Then, I dunno, I guess I just gotta little bit annoyed after working hard all day and thinking I been so smart swiping frozen and then getting shit for it. I mean, ya woulda thought him being so keen on it he coulda swiped some once in a while. Right? But, no. It's my job to get the groceries. Anyway, I'd managed to take a really large package of ground chuck: five pounds. Never coulda done it if it'd been fresh. So, the meat was in my hand, still in the package, and I just whacked him with it, ya know. And boy did he look surprised. He kinda blinked and stumbled backwards. I knew he was gonna be real pissed inna minute. So, I hit him again. In the head. It was like a rock. The meat I mean -- being frozen solid and all -- not his head. Funny, everybody always said he was a real hard head. Hah! It was as soft as the rest of him. Huh? I dunno; somehow it made sense at the time. Like I said, I didn't plan it. Didn't mean to hit him so hard. These things just happen. No one was more surprised than me. But then he's lying there and what the hell was I supposed to do? He's so friggin' heavy. Yeah. He took almost a whole box of plastic wrap. Well, most of it went on his, whatcha call it, the main part? Torso? Yeah, that's it. I mean, yuck. There's all kinds of stuff inside there. I hate putting my hands inna turkey; I ain't divvying-up those parts of Hubby. I found it easiest to just grind 'im up. Swiped a meat grinder from work. Gave him his just desserts, as they say. Actually, more like his just dinners! Hah! Anyway, made him more compact. Ya know? I got the meat all neatly wrapped. And then I was able to get the floor clean again. He woulda been proud: always said wanted it clean enough to eat off of. Whaddaya mean say his name? I said it before. Why I gotta say it again? Ya got my file in front of ya. Look it up if ya don't remember. Like why's it even important? Who cares? What difference does it make? What-what's that look supposed to mean? Oh, wait a minute, this a shrink trick? Say his name and it makes it more real to me? Shit, I know it's real, I was there, dammit! Chuck. OK? Chuck, Chuck, Chuck! I ground up my Chuck! Sorry. I just . . . I dunno. Ya upset me. I mean maybe ya think it was easy for me or something. Like I ain't got no feelings. But it was really, really hard for me, ya know? And here you are grinding me down under your stare almost as bad as his fists. OK! Chuck's fists! He taught me the hard way I damn well better keep everything clean and tidy. So, there I was doing best I can. Huh? Well, I know I make it sound like no big deal. But I-I had some problems with it. It got to me a little. Yeah. When I started on Chuck's other leg. I mean, I thought he'd already bought it, ya know. And then Chuck's splashing it all over the place. I shoulda taken Chuck's head off first. God, I ain't never heard him yell like that. Guess I won't again anytime soon, huh? Of course I got regrets. I shoulda froze Chuck first. But we ain't gotta big freezer like inna supermarket or diner. I had to make all these lil' bundles at a whole lot more than five pounds a piece for sure. Hah. Least waitressing's taught me portion control, huh? And this time Chuck done the leaking not me. But of course once again I got stuck cleaning up the mess. But, hey, if ya don't plan it, these things happen. Right? Others? Whaddya mean? I wasn't stupid 'nough to get married to anyone else. The others before him kinda came and went the way relationships do. Ya know? Boy, ya just gotta hear it all, huh? I'm just supposed to hop right in and tell the whole thing to ya? Yer takin' a lotta notes. Ya writin' a book 'bout me? And I gotta do all the talkin', do all the work for ya? Wha' ya get paid by the word? Well, I've had enough of doing all the talkin'. You can talk to me for a while. It's only fair, right? So, what's your name 'sides doctor? Yeah, I think ya should tell me. Make me feel more comfortable 'bout sittin' here with ya. So what's yer fist name? Yer kiddin', right? Hah! That's a name for a grown woman? Ya related to Bugs? I'm sorry. Fairs fair. Ya told me and now I'll tell you. I mean, I guess I can only get fried once, huh? OK. So Frank was the first. He was a real beefy guy who treated me like a dog. And then came Stu; Mr. Meat and Potatoes -- with a little bit of carrots and celery. Hah! I brought 'em both into the diner after I just couldn't stand it no more with 'em. Gave 'em some food for thought. Ya know? I was planning on doing the same for Chuck but, ya know, the screaming thing I mentioned kinda attracted unwanted attention. See, the thing is, the diner's pretty good at keeping track so's they know if stuff's been swiped -- though I'm getting pretty expert at workin' their system ta my advantage. There's gonna be suspicions when stuff is missin' but if they gotta bunch of excess they ain't gonna complain. They just figure they miscalculated or the cook short-changed orders and they sure as hell are all for that. So I sneak in a few homemade hot dogs till I get Frank completely outta my life. And then, later along when I make yet another mistake thinkin' I found a decent guy, I bring him into the diner too. Just once I'd like ta meet a man whose got more than his needs at heart. Ya know? Somebody who ain't gonna make me stew in my own juices wondering where he is and what bimbo he's with at 2:00 in the morning when he still ain't home and didn't bother callin'. Why I gotta put up with that? Seems like with each new person I get treated worse. I end up feelin' like I gotta balance things out. Ya know? Like with Frank. He was always spending more time on the links than with me. So whacking him with one of his golf clubs just came natural like. So, anyway, next I hadda get Stu outta my life. He used to take baths on account of the boils he'd get on his butt. Probably 'cause he sat on it so damn much. And it was easy to sneak up and dump a big pot of boilin' water on 'im and cook him right in the tub. Convenient. So after, I whipped up some special stew of my own. Wouldn't ya know, the diner manager's as happy as his greedy little heart can be. That time I actually made a deal to get some free stuff from the diner in exchange for my unusual cookin' talents. Kinda hard to sneak in pots of Stu. So I had to be up front 'bout it. Hah! Nothing like makin' money offa one of my guys for a change! And I getta certain kinda pleasure knowin' I gave my guys what they really deserved. And, believe me, there's nuttin quite like knowing you and your customers can shit that man right outta yer life! Oh, poor lil' shrink. Did I offend ya? Sorry. Don't get all hoppin' mad on me. I didn't plan to blurt out all that. But I gotta say, ya need to lighten up, Doc. I mean, I just gave 'em the same's they gave me. I didn't plan any of it. These things just happen. Ya know? Like yer first name. Too funny, huh? Gee, yer lookin' a lil' nervous there. But I just gotta ask, do ya like fruit sauces, Dr. Bunny? Not that I'm planning anything. |
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THE END |
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