Installation 42: It's a Guy Thing, Part I previous
For Karl, life without Phoebe was hard. The nights were lonely, spent in his room (which was really a converted closet) tossing and turning on his futon. After another sleepless night, he would arrive at The Museum only to see her at coat check, perched on her stool. She was always reading a book. She never looked at him. Everything he wanted to say, about how he tried to find her when she was missing and came to see her at the hospital only to find out they were allowing immediate family to visit and no one else. But all the words dried up in his throat and he ended up skittering through the lobby like a roach.
When he found out he was invited to Corey Feldman’s bachelor party, he originally said no thank you. But then he reconsidered. What else was there for him to do? He could drink alone in his room/closet or drink in the living room with his roommates. Every night was a variation of the same, tired theme. Why not change things up and spend an evening drinking with his co-workers?
On the evening of the bachelor party, male museum workers milled about out on the sidewalk in front of the main lobby, speculating about the nature of the night's activities. Just as Lars Auerbach was reconsidering his attendance at the party in favor of going home to edge his lawn where it was encroaching on the front sidewalk, an enormous limo SUV turned a corner very slowly and lurched into the circular drive. Corey emerged from the vehicle wearing a turquoise suit, a black shirt and tie and a “Groom-To-Be” party hat.
“Climb aboard, boys,” Corey said.
Karl, dressed in his usual work attire of khaki pants and a plaid shirt, exchanged a glance with Penn Bradley, who shrugged. The men didn’t move from the sidewalk but stayed put, hands in their pockets.
“Come on, guys,” Corey said. “Don’t be afraid. There’s cold beer. And porn.”
Hank Colt from Receiving stepped forward. “Well,” he said. “I guess I can’t resist a MGD and some big tits, even if you are dressed like Mr. Fairy Pimp.”
Hank had a point. The other men followed him into the limo, which was outfitted with a full bar, neon lights, a tiny chandelier, leather seats and a shiny hardwood floor. Corey tapped the floor with his knuckles.
“Look guys, easy clean up,” he said. “Just in case.”
“Where are we going?” Lars asked. “Does anyone know of any good jazz playing tonight?”
“I know a nice little wine bar down on 38th,” Penn said. “Excellent selection, knowledgeable staff.”
“Gentlemen,” Corey said. “I’ve got just the place for us. But first we have to make one stop.”
When the limo pulled up in front of James Trehorn’s house, his roommate, Andrew, carefully pushed James in his wheelchair down the driveway. James had yet to return to The Museum due to the excruciating pain of two shattered ankles and a sundry other injuries. And then there was the issue of his memory loss and frequent breaks with reality.
“Andrew,” James said, shaking with terror as he looked at the limo. “I’m going back inside. Take me back inside. I’m not getting on the ship. They aren’t taking me away again.”
“James,” Andrew said. “Its your friends from work. Remember Corey? He’s getting married and this is his bachelor party.”
“Who’s Corey?” James asked.
At that moment, Corey popped out one of the passenger doors smoking a giant cigar. He grabbed James by the hand and pumped it furiously.
“My good man,” Corey yelled. “You’re looking sharp tonight. The ladies are going to go wild, right? Gonna get laid?”
James looked anything but sharp. He feet were in casts, he wore a pair of worn corduroys and a New Order t-shirt with chili stains on it. Andrew had tried to wash his hair with powdered shampoo and combed it out, hoping to absorb some of the grease, but the result was a still greasy head with flakes of soap drifting down.
“Is that Bill Cosby?” James whispered to Andrew.
“That’s Corey Feldman,” Andrew said.
“I hated you in License to Drive,” James said.
“Ha, ha,” Corey laughed. “Same old James the Jokester!”
“OK,” Andrew said. “I’ll let you guys get going on your little night of fun. Here’s his bag. There are a few medications you’ll need to dispense. I typed up a list of what he needs at what time, so please read it over. And I put in some other things… A snack, some hand wipes, some lavender to smell because it calms him down…”
“Sure, sure,” Corey said as he took the bag and chucked it in the limo.
“Is there a chair lift?” Andrew asked.
“Uh, I don’t think so,” Corey said. “Let me check with the driver.”
Corey disappeared on the other side of the limo. When he came back he was accompanied by a burly man wearing a uniform several sizes too small.
“Oh, him?” the driver asked. “I can lift him easy.”
The driver reached forward and yanked James out of his chair, tossing him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
“Move over guys,” the driver said. “Another arrival.”
“James!” the men cried.
“I'll never join you!” James said.
Andrew folded up the wheelchair and handed it to Corey.
“Take good care of the chair,” Andrew said. “It's on loan. And James isn’t to drink. He’s on too many meds.”
“Gotcha,” Corey said. “We’ll take good care of him.”
Forty minutes later, they reached the small town of Grand Hope, unincorporated, population 323. The entire town consisted of one street of houses, a town hall, Smitty’s family restaurant and Spankers, an enormous bar and grill.
The limo pulled into Spanker’s gravel parking lot, which was crammed full of cars. Directly next to a cinder block building festooned with banners advertising free chicken wings and specials on Bud Lite was a fenced-in area for sand volleyball. Two teams darted after the ball while trying to keep beer from sloshing out of plastic cups.
“Sand volleyball?” Phillip Mantou said. “Appalling. Absolutely barbaric.”
“I don’t know if I can go in there,” Lars said, adjusting his Burberry tie.
“Guys, this place is amazing,” Corey said. He finished his third whiskey in one gulp. “Hank, come on, let’s go.”
“One second,” Hank said, trying to fast forward through the last of the porn DVDs to the good parts.
Sprawled on one of the leather couches, James drooled onto his New Order t-shirt. Right after Penn had finished feeding James a rum and coke, using a straw as a makeshift dropper, James’s wristwatch alarm started going off.
“What’s that all about?” Penn asked.
“Medication time,” James said. “Andrew, get my meds.”
“Andrew’s not here,” Penn said.
After much rummaging through the bag Andrew packed, Lars was able to locate a batch of pills.
“Down the hatch, James,” Lars said, giving James a handful.
“Water?” James asked.
“Uh, how about some lite beer?”
“I don’t know if you’re supposed to mix those with alcohol,” Karl said.
“It’s fine,” Phillip said. “I do it all the time.”
“No, really,” Karl insisted. “We should get him water.”
“What is this?” Corey said. “A bachelor party or a retirement party? Am I right? Karl, if you’re so worried about it, you can be pussy nursemaid all night. You can wheel him around. And make sure you wipe his mouth every now and then.”
“Wait,” Karl said. “I don’t think…”
But the men, fueled by the drinks from the limo bar and not wanting to disappoint Corey, piled out of the limo into the gravel parking lot, kicking up dust and storming the door of Spankers. It was left to Karl and the driver to set up the wheelchair and drag James from the couch onto the hardwood floor.
“My feet,” James moaned as the casts clunked to the floor. “My feet are falling off!”
“I know, buddy,” Karl said, sweating from the exercise of trying to drag the immobile James from the limo and into his chair, which started to roll backwards each time he hoisted James by the armpits and tried to get his ass onto the seat. Finally, the driver pushed Karl aside and plunked James into the chair.
“There,” the driver said. “I'm on break now so don't be asking me for any more help for twenty minutes.”
“What a strange and monstrous desert,” James said, looking around the parking lot. “Filled with beasts and nothing to drink. No water. No water on the moon.”
“I’ll get you water,” Karl said. He pushed the wheelchair towards the entrance. A monster truck roared up and narrowly missed the two men as it skidded to a stop, spraying dust and rocks from under its tires. James began to weep.
Karl yanked open the door to Spankers. Inside it was dark except for jumping laser lights. Somewhere deep inside, a man screamed into a microphone.
“Hey everybody! ARE YOU READY? I SAID, ARE YOU READY?”
The crowd erupted in cheers and whistles. Beefy guys pounded their hands on the bar. Someone pushed Karl, who in turn pushed the wheelchair so that he and James were completely enclosed in the cave-like atmosphere of Spankers. The laser lights bounced around the room, working a crowd of tank-top-and -trucker-hat wearing rubes into a frenzy.
“What fresh hell?” James moaned. “What fresh hell is this?
Karl looked around. For the first time that night, James was making sense.