Chapter 1: Los Angeles, California
Five bottles of red wine, three bottles of white wine, two bottles of top shelf tequila, two bottles of rum, four bottles of vodka, and a bottle of gin. My fiance was relaying to me what would be needed this weekend in Vegas.
“Did you get all that Steve?” Dave asked in a hurry. I could tell that work was getting to him, he needed this vacation. Hell, we all did.
“Yeah, I got it. Do you really think that the three of us will drink all that shit this weekend?”
“Do you really think that we’re going to be drinking alone this weekend?”
“Good point. I’ll see you tonight.”
“Love ya hon.”
“Love you too”
I hung up the phone and got back to work. It wasn’t very long before I got the urge to relieve myself. I got out of my grey cubicle and began the trek to the break room on the opposite side of the huge office building where I work. Everyday I have to make this journey amongst the labyrinth of middle management office workers who all wear the same blue shirt and silk tie. Everyday I over hear their conversations; I hear them talking about the baseball game last night, or how their wife or husband burnt dinner. But today was different, today was Thursday October 29th, Halloween was in two days.
The office was atwitter with what costumes they were going to wear, who was throwing a party, how many cases of beer they had bought, or even how much they hate children and this “stupid fucking holiday”.
Someone had brought in a pumpkin pie and left it on the table in the break room. A little paper sign sat in front of it that had “eat me” written on it in rather whimsical font that reminded me of something out of Alice in Wonderland. The whipped cream on top of the pie had become runny. No one had taken a slice yet, and I doubted that anyone would. The restroom was locked, which was usually my luck. I decided to sit down and take a slice of the pie. The taste instantly brought back memories of my childhood. i didn’t like it.
A coworker that I had never seen before stepped out of the restroom and I rushed in. Fake cobwebs and a small plastic jack o’ lantern decorated the unisex restroom. I did my business and splashed water on my face and washed my hands. I happened to look in the mirror and saw the light scar that ran through my left eyebrow. Seeing that scar automatically makes me reach up and feel the long, snaking one on my scalp.
I got both scars one night when Dave and I were on our way back to our apartment after a romantic dinner. I was a little buzzed so Dave was driving.
“Did you really mean it?” I asked him.
“Of course I did. Why would I propose if I didn’t want to marry you?”
“Let me think about it.”
“What’s there to think about?” Dave was getting upset. He had gotten down on one knee in the restaurant and everything.
“Well for one thing my parents are going to shit a brick when I tell them that their ‘straight’ son is getting married to another man.”
“But I’ll be there with you.”
“And where are we going to get married? We can’t here in California, and you know that I can’t take anytime off right now.”
It was right about then when we were going through an intersection and a drunk driver, going almost fifty miles an hour, ran the red light and slammed full force into the side of our car. When I came to all I could feel was a blinding pain on the top of my skull. I went to touch it but realized that the car was upside down and my head resting on the ceiling. That was when I lost it. I started screaming for Dave. He wasn’t in the car.
“Steve! Somebody call an ambulance. Oh my god, Steve? Steve say something so I know you’re okay.” I could hear Dave’s voice but it was fading quickly as I slipped into blackness from the pain.
When I woke up again, we were in the hospital, Dave seated next to me with a bandage on his arm and a large bruise on cheek.
“Dave?” I strained to talk. I had no strength left in my body. It felt like I had just donated all of my blood, but I knew I didn’t.
“I’m here babe. Try not to talk, you’re still weak from the accident. You lost a lot of blood.” Dave stroked my hair, forgetting I had a huge laceration there. I winced in pain. He drew his hand back and began apologizing. I told him not to worry.
Two days had gone by and I was beginning to get most of my strength back. Dave was visiting every chance he could. His boss was a tyrant and wouldn’t let him take time off. So every day after work he would stop by and stay with me until the nurses kicked him out. It was the third day when Dave showed up with flowers and the stupid grin he gets on his face when he’s up to something.
He got down on one knee and pulled out the same box he did the night of the accident. I was stunned that he was proposing to me again but even more so that he was able to find the ring box amongst the wreckage.
“Steve...I know I’ve asked you this already but will--”
“Yes. Absolutely, unequivocally yes.”
Dave looked stunned, but at that point I wasn’t sure if he was so happy he was speechless, or he wasn’t expecting a yes. he took the ring out of the box and placed it on my hand. I wasn’t accustomed to wearing rings so the small band felt like a chunk of lead. The morphine kicked in and I was off to dreamland.
That was two years ago. Dave and I still haven’t decided on a date for the wedding. I still haven’t told my parents. They now know I’m gay but not that I’m engaged.
I finished up in the bathroom and began the walk back to my desk, but something was different...I looked at the clock and realized that it was five minutes till five. Five minutes until my three day weekend began. People began to pack up their briefcases and keep their ever vigilant eye on the singular clock in the office.
One minute passed by. Eyes were now shifting from the clock to the bosses office. Every single one of my co-workers knew that he would come out and ask one person to work this weekend. I was bound and determined not to be that one.
Two minutes had gone by. We all could see restlessness through the frosted glass that made up the walls of his office. All eyes were on his door.
Three minutes had passed. Whistling could be heard.
Four minutes were gone. Nothing
The clock struck five. Every one shifted their complete and undivided attention to their computers, and clocked out. The first brave soul generally was the one who got stuck with the mindless weekend work. Today someone had sent a mass e-mail that said that everyone should leave at exactly the same time: one minute past five.
One more minute passed. It seemed like everyone stood up in unison and filed out of the office into the elevators, went down to street level and went their separate ways.
I made the short walk to the metro station and got on the subway and took the short ride to the station by our apartment. As usual I had beaten Dave home. I went to unlock the door but it already was. I nudged the door open and heard the television. I was surprised it even worked, I believe the last time it was used was to watch the lunar landing.
“Is that Steve or Dave?” I recognized the voice. It was a mutual friend of Dave and mine, Astral.
“Shit Astral. You don’t just barge into someone’s apartment. Did you grow up in a fucking barn?”
“Oh, hey Steve, and yeah I did,” he really did, “Anyway I thought I’d come by here so you guys wouldn’t have to come pick me up on your way out.”
“Well that was uncharacteristically thoughtful of you...”
“Your welcome.”
“I need to pick up some booze for this weekend you wanna come with?”
“I am where there is booze.”
Luckily there was a small liquor store by the building and I was on a first name basis with the owner. Astral was in tow. I had written down the list with a few additions of my own: two bottles of pomegranate liquor and a bottle of Kahula. I had gotten everything but the wine. I could get from my front door to the wine aisle with my eyes closed. The shelves were bone empty. I went up and down every aisle looking for my favorites: merlot, white zinfandel, burgundy, sherry, pinot noir, sauvignon blanc, riesling, and so many others. Not a single bottle of wine to be found.
“What are you looking for Steve?” Santo, the owner asked.
“The wines, what happened to them?”
“I can’t afford to sell wine anymore. They just sit on my shelf. You and Dave are the only one’s who buy them.”
“You’re killing me Santo. You don’t have anything?”
“I have one case in the back but you aren’t going to like it.”
Santo left the front counter and went to the back. He came out a few minutes later with a plain brown box. I was already scared. He set the box on the counter and I could hear the familiar clanking of glass bottles. He cut the tape on the top and handed a bottle. My jaw dropped, in my hand was a bottle of fermented grape juice that I believed to come from a grape born in the very pits of hell. In my hands was a bottle of three year old Australian cabernet sauvignon. Normally I would enjoy a nice wine from down under, but not this. I put the bottle back. I pulled another one out. The same. It was all young cabernet. this weekend was supposed to be filled with joy, merriment, and drunken tomfoolery, not full of cheep tasting wine.
“I told you,” Santo was right.
“I guess...I’ll take it,” I wasn’t happy but we needed something, “You wouldn’t happen to have a case of something white back there would you?”
“No but I have another case of the cab...”
I gave a long sigh and nodded my head. Santo went in the back and got the other case. I paid the man the extremely large bill and loaded Astral up with the cases of cab. I had the rest of the booze.
We began the hike up the stairs to my apartment.
“You know, I don’t care if you drop the wine.”
“I know you don’t so I’ll take extra care not to.”
“You are such a good friend...”
We got up to my apartment, the door was cracked and I could hear Dave singing away in the kitchen. I kicked the door open gently and Dave came to the door to help out. He took a case of the wine.
“What’s in this?”
“Cabernet...”
“You have got to be kidding me.”
“I wouldn’t joke around like that. You know my distain for cab.”
“I don’t get what the big deal is. All it is is old grape juice,” Astral butted in. Dave shot him a look that I to this day believe could melt inch thick steel.
We set the booze on the dining room table and I now saw that Astral had dumped all of his luggage in the dining room. Astral has a long history of overpacking to the extreme. For instance he packed for this three day trip four large military rucksacks to the brim. He also had his seven camera cases.
“Are you really going to bring all of your camera shit?” Dave asked knowing full well that there would not be enough room in the car for Astral’s luggage and our single carry-on that we share.
His seven camera cases contained several professional quality digital video cameras, an oversized medium format film camera, and a SLR digital camera. The other cases were for his lenses and filters.
“Well I was planning on getting some stock video of the strip for my next project if you don’t mind Mr. Nosey,” Astral was doing graduate work in cinematic arts.
“I don’t mind at all, but do you really need all of this...stuff?”
“Most of it.”
I could sense a potential argument in the works and immediately went on preemptive damage control and suggested that we get a bite to eat then load up the car. The two loaded up Astral’s luggage and I was on booze duty. Amazingly we were able to fit all of Astral’s bags, the liquor, and our singular bag.
And so at about eight in the evening we left the tall office buildings of Los Angeles and headed northeast towards Las Vegas.
