Installation 43: It's a Guy Thing, Part II previous
From the back of the cavern that was Spankers, the voice came over the microphone again.
“AND NOW, SPANKERS PROUDLY WELCOMES YOU TO BURGERS-N-BUNZ!! LET'S HEAR IT FOR THE BUNZ!”
The DJ positioned on a makeshift platform cranked up “Cotton-Eyed Joe” and, on cue, women wearing cut-off t-shirts, microscopic denim shorts and high heels swarmed through a battered doorway that led from the “backstage” of Spankers and onto the dance floor.
If it hadn't been for cotton-eye Joe
I'd been married long time ago
Where did you come from. Where did you go?
Where did you come from cotton-eye Joe?
Each woman carried a tray of burgers. They took turns taking the spotlight on the floor, showing off their tray and then turning around and showing off their rear ends, most of which were almost completely exposed except for thin strips of denim around their waists. A mob of men rushed the stage, reaching out for the women, who met them with trays held high. The men each got a kiss on the cheek and a burger, then were given a brief moment to administer a slap to the buns.
Corey emerged from the crowd with a smirk on his face. “How about it, gentlemen? You have to admit, this is better than Hooters.”
One of the Bunz exited the dance floor and, spotting James in his wheelchair, hurried over.
“You the guy supposed to be here tonight from the Make a Wish Foundation?” she asked James. "You look older than fifteen."
“I only like grilled cheese,” James said. “With tomato soup. Andrew makes it and we watch The Young and the Restless.”
“How about a bun?” the woman asked. She turned and offered James a view of her rear end, which wasn't one of the better bunz on display. James covered his face and shrieked.
“I'm sorry,” Karl yelled over the music. “He's been sick...”
“He's gay,” Corey said. “But I'm not.” Corey pointed to his “Groom-To-Be” hat.
“Is that a monster?” James cried.
“I've turned lots of gays back to straight,” she said. "And lots of terminals back to health."
The woman handed off her tray of burgers to Karl and straddled James in the wheelchair, thrashing wildly as James tried to protect himself from her crotch.
“Oh my god, this is terrible,” Karl said.
“What the hell is wrong with you, Blackbird?” Corey said.
“I just... I don't think...”
“Do me a favor,” Corey said. “And have something to drink.”
Karl went up to the bar. Everyone in Spankers sang along to “Cotton-Eyed Joe” and its only lyrics:
If it hadn't been for cotton-eye Joe
I'd been married long time ago
Where did you come from. Where did you go?
Where did you come from cotton-eye Joe?
Even the bartenders seemed to be caught up in the frenzy of the song and the Bunz, lip synching and juggling bottles of Jaggermeister in a Bizarro version of Cocktail. It took Karl fifteen minutes to catch ones eye and order a whiskey.
“Whiskey?” the bartender asked. “You sure? Cuz Bud Lite's on special.”
“Whiskey,” Karl said.
“Top shelf or rail?”
“Uh, fuck, I don't know,” Karl said, wavering. Out on the dance floor, two Bunz linked arms and spun around, kicking their legs. The DJ started “Cotton-Eyed Joe” over from the beginning, to great cheering from the clientele.
“Top shelf,” Karl said.
The bartender whooped and turned around to clang a bell that hung over the bar.
“Big spender!” the bartender hooted. “Top shelf! Big spend-duh!!”
One of the other bartenders came over and gave Karl a high-five. Karl sank down onto an open stool. Across the bar, Corey had managed to secure a table and one of the Bunz danced in front of him, snaking her tray of burgers around her body. Corey waved some dollar bills in the air and the dancer cozied up, shaking her ass and then turning around to force-feed him a burger. Karl signaled for another drink.
“Top shelf,” he said. “And make it a double.”
Two hours later, after a few more round of “Cotton-Eyed Joe” plus some Alabama, AC/DC and a medley of Journey songs during which the Bunz all clung to each other and swayed to the music, Karl was ripped. In the back of his mind, he knew he should go look for James. In fact, he was fairly certain that he'd seen James being hoisted through the door that led to the backstage area by a few of the Bunz. But first, there was something more pressing to do. He stumbled from his stool and out the front door, into the fresh air of the gravel parking lot. The volleyball game was long over; the courts littered with cigarettes and plastic cups. Karl took out his cell phone.
“Hello?”
“Phoebe?”
“Who is this?”
“You know who this is.”
“Why are you calling me?”
“I just want to talk. Don't hang up on me.”
There was silence, then some rustling. “Where are you? You sound drunk.”
“I'm in hell.”
“Oh, aren't you at Corey Feldman's bachelor party?”
“Yeah. I mean, bingo. Does anyone still say 'bingo?'”
“What's happening?”
“Just some women with their asses hanging out. Lots of alcohol. Bad music. Hamburgers.”
“Jesus.”
“It made me think of you.”
“Thanks.”
“No, that's not what I meant...” Karl said. “Just listen. I don't know. I miss you. I want to make some big speech right now but I'm drunk on top shelf whiskey and I just... I'm standing on gravel next to a sand volleyball court. And I think I'm going to be sick.”
“Don't you know what everyone is saying?” Phoebe said. “I'm crazy. And it's true. I'm in therapy.”
“I don't care.”
“You say that, but...”
“I don't care.”
“You're at a bachelor party. There must be some woman there willing to take you home for the night. Or why don't you watch some porn?”
“I'd rather be with you than watch a video of skanks. Porn makes me sad.”
This forced Phoebe into silence, groping for something to say.
“I thought all guys loved porn,” she finally managed.
“It's all overrated,” Karl said. “All of it. Fucking 'Cotton-Eyed Joe.'”
“What are you talking about?”
“That song... Never mind.”
“No, no... I know that song. That song sucks. It has, like, three lines.”
At the same time, Karl and Phoebe both sang:
If it hadn't been for cotton-eye Joe
I'd been married long time ago
Where did you come from. Where did you go?
Where did you come from cotton-eye Joe?
“Will you come and get me?” Karl asked. “Will you drive out to Grand Hope and pick me up and take me back to your apartment.” The thought of being with Phoebe, in her bed with the soft cotton sheets, made him want to blubber just like James.
“I don't have a car, remember?” Phoebe said.
Karl started to cry. Then he threw up. And he dropped his phone. While he was bent over, heaving, the front door to Spankers opened up and someone shoved James out.
“You kinky bastard!” a man yelled. “Stay out!”
James moaned. He was so drunk his neck couldn't support the weight of his head and it rolled back.
“What's your favorite kind of pear?” he asked Karl. “I like the Bartlett.”
It wasn't too much longer before the other guys came out, drunk and crazed by the charms of the Bunz. Phillip Mantou opted to stay behind. He'd met one particular Bunz, Sherry, who wanted to hear more about Rethymno, the Venetian castle on Crete while doing shots of Jagger.
“C'mon, guys,” Corey yelled. “Back to the cities for five more bars.”
Everyone got back into the limo. James was deposited on the hardwood floor. Corey opened up several bottles of champagne and passed them around, then fiddled with the DVD player.
“Any requests?” he asked.
James raised his head.
“How about that Pushin' Timber one?” he said. “With the lumberjacks?”
Karl curled up into a ball on one of the leather couches and pretended it was Phoebe's bed. His balled up jacket was Winky, her teddy bear from childhood that she still slept with. The sounds of lumberjacks making love were her neighbors, the weird ones who worked until 3 a.m. and then came home to make pancakes and screw each other's brains out. In his top shelf haze, he felt comforted by his fantasy and eventually he fell asleep.