The Dirtbag Vernacular [Original Novel]
ENTRY 22
I’m at a Tenderloin barfly place with Frank playing pool and drinking Dun Beaghan scotch just enjoying hanging out with my best friend. Once again I’m experiencing the conflictive feelings that come along with betraying him. He’ll be leaving on a weekend trip with Michael Ashland the next day. They’re taking the train to Sacramento.
“Dude, I’m not gonna try and fuck your girlfriend while you’re gone,” I lie.
“I don’t care if you do fuck ‘er!” He retorts, lying also.
Afterward, we head back to his and Molly’s apartment.
Molly is watching TV when we return, “Hey you two handsome guys how’s it goin’?” She greets us and I can’t help but wonder if she’s been into the Vicadin again and whether or not we are up for some more fun.
Frank and I continue our drinking, now getting into some Bush Mills, a bottle of it setting on the table between us in the small kitchen.
“Dude, that moped settin’ back there,” he points out the back of the kitchen to a small sidewalk that leads to an alley. “This guy gave it to me to make up for the damage his truck did when it slipped out of gear on a work site and rolled back into the front of the Volvo. I tell ya, all that shit in New Orleans is comin’ back in spades.”
I can’t help but think that he doesn’t have a fraction of an idea how it’s coming back on him, unless he suspects something’s up with me and Molly and I’m beginning to think he might.
Molly goes out for a walk, we continue to work on the Bush Mills, and Frank puts on a Clash CD. A few songs into the CD Frank starts mocking Mick Jones’ backing vocals, “Ahhh ohhh.” He sings in a high voice. “Can you imagine us doing that?” He asks and repeats the mockery.
Before the CD is halfway through Molly returns.
“Fuck!” she exclaims after walking down the long hallway that connects the apartment with the street. She takes a deep breath and lets the air slowly out through her mouth shaping it into a smallish ‘O’. “Some like, Latino guys or, whatever, just hit me.”
“What the fuck!” Frank jumps up from the table.
“I was just walkin’ down the sidewalk past these two guys and one of them just came up to me and hit me in the face.”
“Motherfuckin’ goddamn, cocksuckin’, bastard-fucks, fuckin’ kill ‘em! Come on let’s go!” Frank motions to me. He heads over to his tool bucket and picks out a pipe wrench, one that could inflict a lot of damage, but not too heavy to wield. He holds the thing with both hands diagonally across his chest.
“Come on let’s go! Let’s kill those motherfuckers!” he yells at the both of us.
“No, fuck it. I don’t wanna deal with it,” Molly responds.
“FUUUUCK!” Frank yells at the top of his voice. He throws the heavy wrench down onto the floor as hard as he can and it bounces on the wood below the carpet once and lands with a clank.
Frank heads back to the kitchen, pours himself a drink, and stares into space.
The three of us barely utter a word the rest of the night and end up crashing early. I make a bed on the floor, throwing a couple of blankets down.
Frank leaves around seven in the morning and Molly and I wake at nine or so. We head to a diner just around the corner for breakfast. I sit there enjoying my hash browns, basking in Molly’s presence. I’ve got her to myself for the entire weekend. She’s got a shiner from the blow the night before, the waitress, noticing it gives me an accusing look.
“Looks like you knocked me around last night or somethin’, ” Molly laughs, making light of the situation.
After breakfast we walk down to Market Street and catch a bus out to the Haight riding all the way to Golden Gate Park where we get off. We stroll around the place for hours having a pretty good time, but I can’t even get one kiss from Molly. Every time I move in for a kiss she backs off or veers away dodging it with something like. “I just wanna hang out with you,” or, “I’m just having a great time being here with you.” The whole day is like this. Later we go back to my apartment and I have her alone in my room and am still unable to get nothing more than a peck from her.
That night she sleeps at my place, way across the room from me on a couch.
Photo by Hoffacurse