I was sitting in a window booth at the Sunshine Diner, drinking a shitty cup of coffee when this familiar face stopped and hovered over my table. "Rick," he said. "Holy shit, are you Rick Laird?"
I said I was.
“Holy shit, man. It’s been like forever.”
My head was hurting, already.
I agreed that it had, and Joe, Jack, Jeremy, invited himself to sit down across from me. My waitress- April, according to her little faux silver name tag- came over with a pot of coffee and a cup for Jack, Joe, or Jeremy. She smiled at me as she asked, “Can I get you fellas anything else?”
“Well,” he said, tearing open three sugars all at once and emptying them into his coffee, “I guess you can get me a grilled cheese on rye and a bowl of tomato soup.” April wrote this down and asked if I wanted anything. I said I didn’t.
“You sure?” she asked. “It is lunch time and all.”
“I’m fine,” I said, “thank you.”
She smiled at me again. “Grilled cheese on rye and tomato soup coming up.”
Jack, Joe, Jeremy’s eyes followed her ass behind the counter and back to the kitchen. “Oh, miss. Hold the mayo on that would ya?”
She looked back, confused, and said, “Um…okay. Whatever you say, buddy.” She shook her head on her way into the kitchen.
Jack, Joe, Jeremy smiled like mad, and he turned to me with his eyes rolled back in their sockets. “Holy shit, man, did you see that girl, man? Fucking hot. When you want hot, always look for a fucking waitress, know what I’m saying?”
I said I did.
“She was giving you the fuck-eye, too, my man," he said. "I think you should talk to her."
"I just did talk to her," I said.
"Nah, man, that's not what I mean. I mean talk to her, get her number."
I said maybe I would.
“So how’s Kevin, man? I haven’t seen him in years.”
I told him I hadn’t seen him in years either. I don’t know why I lied.
Jack, Joe, whatever the fuck his name was, took a sip of his coffee and gave an approving nod. "That's some fucking good coffee. Jesus, man, posterior like that and a cup of coffee like this? If you don't get her number, I will."
"How do you know she made the coffee?" I asked.
"Cooks are too busy to make the coffee," he said. "It's always the waitress who gets stuck with it. So, how you been, man?" he said, reaching an arm across the table and slapping my shoulder. "What've you been up to?"
"A little of this, a little of that.”
"Yeah, man, I hear you. I hear you. I've been doing some work in the industry, you know, the movie industry…out in So-Cal. I've only been a P.A. so far, but I'm trying to get a script or two in circulation."
"That's cool," I said. I asked him what movie he was working on at the moment.
"Road Rage," he said. "One of those empowering, man versus the system with an automatic weapon at his side kind of rampage movies. Nothin’ special. Falling Down without Michael Douglas."
"At least it's work," I said.
He nodded. "Plus, the director's a pretty cool guy and he and I are talking about one of my scripts. Just think of the poster, man. Sunglasses at Night, by Jared Lockhart."
A name. I still didn’t know him.
"So really, man, what do you do?"
I laughed at myself a little bit and I shrugged my shoulders. "Well, Jared, I don’t really have a job. But for my last job, I had sex for money."
His eyes opened wide. "You're shitting me."
I shook my head.
Jared smiled. "It figures, man," he said. "Only a guy like you would get a gig like that. Classic, man, fucking classic."
Clenching my teeth together, I forced a smile.
"So what kind of chicks do you get to go in for this? They hot?"
"Depends on what you mean," I said, wishing he'd stop with the questions.
"They're hot aren't they? I mean tell me these aren't old ladies paying you to grease their wrinkled flesh." He was laughing.
I was still smiling. "No, it's not like that, exactly."
"Dude, I can't believe a guy I know, man, a guy I know from fucking high school is a fucking gigolo. That's fucking cool. Fuck it, man, that’s fucking hot!”
The waitress, April, was headed back our way, sandwich and soup in hand. Jared saw her too. "Dude, I think you should talk to this girl."
I could feel gears moving inside my head. Mechanical parts. Was this a hangover? This dull, building feeling that something is trying to rip a hole through my brain? Could that be a hangover? My head was going to explode. I needed some coke. I needed Xanax or Nembutal.
"I don't think my lifestyle would accommodate her very much," I told him.
He shook my statement off with a wave of his hand. "Man, business, pleasure, people in your situation keep that shit separate all the tim..."
"I fucked a man for money last night," I said, loudly. April was maybe five feet away from our table, and she very nearly dropped Jared's sandwich and very nearly spilled the soup. Jared sat across from me, his mouth hanging wide open while April set his order in front of him.
"Thank you," I said, since Jared didn't really seem up to it, trying to get her to make eye contact with me. I stared at her hard, feeling each cell of her body with my eyes. Her eyes stayed on Jared and on the table and on the floor.
When I asked her for my check, she smiled and looked out the window.
I gave April a $20 and told her to keep the change. I didn't mind too much that she didn't say thank you. I got up and put on my coat.
"It was nice seeing you again, Jared. I'll keep my eyes open for Sunglasses."
"Okay, man," he said, eyes on his soup.
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