The Feast of Stephen Part 2
“Boys! You
made it!”
Doris the thirty-something cougar of a Building
Manager turned from the conversation she was having with the Mexican from the
fifth floor. They both had small white
with blue trimmed fabric “Atco” stickers affixed to their shirts that had their
individual flat numbers written on them in black Jiffy Marker™. Doris immediately stepped over to Hunter and
Bill as they stepped out of the elevator, and as quickly as she could in her
three-inch heels, spirited them over to a table near the front entrance that
was covered in similar nametag stickers.
“You’re looking good tonight boys,” she purred, putting
down her glass of white wine and searching for their flat number, “Ah here they
are.” She handed one to Hunter, who
stuck his on upside down over his heart.
Doris slowly peeled the backing from Bill’s tag and gently pressed it on
to his shirt, gently massaging it to make sure it stuck.
“So how’s it hanging tonight boys?” She gave Bill a lascivious grin, still
rubbing the tag onto his chest. Hunter
felt a pang of jealousy at the attention Bill was getting, and was quite sure
the sticker was fine, but apparently Doris believed otherwise.
“Like a brontosaurus! As always!” Bill said in
answer to Doris’s somewhat personal, and perhaps inappropriate inquiry.
Hunter has other concerns, “Right then, bring on the free
hootch!”
Bill nodded, gently removing Doris’s hand from his
barrel chest.
She picked up her drink, “Right this way boys,” she
said, leading them to another table covered with several big bottles of what a
bartender might call “well spirits,” the cheapest brands of the cheapest booze
in the biggest bottles money could buy, along with no-name soda in regular and
diet varieties, topped off with a couple cartons of Egg Nog and a cooler full
of cans of Molson Canadian. None of
this mattered to Hunter or Bill however, as free booze, was after all free
booze, and one never looked a gift-horse in the mouth. Doris excused herself as another group of
party-goers appeared from out the main lift car. A singer Bill and Hunter didn’t recognize started belting out,
“Run, Run Rudolph!” from a banged up old Sony stereo cassette blaster in the
far corner of the lobby.
Hunter reached for a beer.
“I wouldn’t.”
Bill said.
Hunter looked over at him, “Whadda you mean?”
“Beer before liquor, never sicker. Liquor before beer, free and clear, which is
why I’m starting things off with a double dark and dirty. Should I prepare one for yourself as well?”
Hunter shrugged, “Sure, whatever. Hey is that Rachael over there?”
Rachael was standing stiffly in the corner near the
corridor leading to the “Dirty Deli”
Bill glanced over his shoulder, his hands deftly
mixing two drinks at once in white plastic party cups, “Yup, that’s her
alright. I thought you told me she
wasn’t coming?”
“She said she wasn’t, which is why-“
Bill finished his thought, “Which is why you invited
that blonde girl you met at the Underground last month-“
“Yeah, the Witchy looking girl with the nose-ring and
the long bouncy ringlets. Ami. We’ve been sorta seeing each other for a
couple weeks now.”
Bill was finishing off the drinks with a slice of
lime, “Yeah, Ami… the girl that looks like Kate.”
“What? No she
doesn’t, not even a little!”
“Whatever you say, pal no one's ever accused you of not having a 'type.' Here” Bill handed Hunter his drink.
Hunter spied the lime wedge, “What’s with the fruit
salad?”
“You don’t want to get scurvy do you?”
“I’m not a pirate!”
“But you might be someday.”
Hunter looked over at Rachael, who hadn’t seemed to
have noticed him yet, “I better go talk to her.”
Bill nodded, “Ha!
Ya think?”
Hunter took a deep drink from his cup and winced,
Bill mixed him a strong drink here. He
would have to pace himself. Or at the
very least get some of the chips and sausage rolls he spotted on the other
table into him, but first…
“Rachael!
You’re here! I thought you
couldn’t make it!”
She looked at Hunter with her icy-blue eyes,
“Hello! Yeah no It turns out I could
come, so here I am!” She tugged off her
multi-coloured crochet toque and her silky, chestnut coloured hair flowed down
to her shoulders, framing her face.
Hunter was stuck for a moment, locked in her gaze,
“Well there’s a coat rack over here,” he pointed to portable chrome rack with a
couple of jackets already hanging on wire hangers.
“Oh, no thanks, I’ll hold on to it.”
“Ah, well… lets get you a drink then.”
“Oh, yes lets.
That sounds like fun!” She
looped her arm around Hunter’s and they made a bee line for the drinks
table. Half-way there, Hunter noticed
that Bill seemed to have taken up residence behind the table, and was currently
mixing drinks for a group of people standing before him.
Hunter pounded back the remainder of his drink, all
thoughts of pacing himself vanished from his mind.
“Oh, Hunter sweetie, your tag seems to be on upside
down!” Doris commented as they brushed
past her.
Hunter looked down at the tag on his golf shirt,
“Nope, I can read it just fine!”
“Who’s that?”
Rachael wanted to know.
“Building manager.
She lives down the hall from us.”
“Ah! So
that’s the one that Bill likes to fuck!
You told me about her!”
“Uh, yeah… maybe... I don’t know if he exactly likes to,
he just sort of does… on occasion.”
“What can I get you,” Bill said, without looking up,
“Oh it’s you Hunter! You can pour your
own damn drinks! What can I pour you Rache?”
“Oh, I’ll have a gin and tonic please!”
Hunter poured himself another dark rum, this time
sans lime, took a sip, then almost spat it out. Ami had just crossed his vision as she walked past the long,
plate glass window at the front of the lobby!
“Oh shit! Uh,
hey Rachael, I gotta show you something, uh… this way!”
Bill handed Rachael her drink just as Hunter spun her
around and rushed her towards the corridor leading to the mailbox room and the
Manager’s Office.
Rachael took a hurried sip of her g and t, “Oh! Where are we going?”
They rushed through the growing crowd of revellers,
Hunter nearly spilling his drink twice, before ducking around the corner and
into the mailbox room. The door was
propped open with a rubber wedge that Hunter kicked loose, and out into the
corridor.
“Oh! This is
nice,” Rachael said, “In my building the mailboxes are all out in the
open. This is cosy.”
“Sorry tootz, but I’ll be right back.”
“Okay…”
Hunter shut the door and jammed the wedge back under
the door, then walked quickly back to the lobby.
Ami was standing by the “bar” talking to Bill, who
was serving drinks with speed and flair.
Tom Cruise in Cocktail was a clumsy amateur with Parkinson’s next
to Bill tonight. Ami was wearing a black corset
under a black men’s sport jacket, a long tie-dyed skirt and a pair if short, 8
hole Doc Martens.
“Who was that girl with Hunter?”
“Who said what now?”
Bill was pouring a couple of rye and gingers for the elderly gay couple
from the 15th floor.
“That girl with Hunter! Who was she?”
Bill looked down at the short girl with the flowing
ringlettes of golden hair as if seeing her for the first time, then thought up
a lie, and he thought it up quick, “Oh
hey Ami, that was, uh, Sally from the tenth floor…” his eyes rolled up to the
left, “she was having trouble with her
mail key, so Hunter was going to show her a little trick we use to help jimmy
the mailbox open.”
“Okay, do you know if he’s going to be long,
because-“
“Hey Ami-chan!”
Hunter was suddenly standing right next to her.
“Oh, hey Hunter!”
Bill handed Ami a vodka and tonic with a twist of
lemon, “I was just telling Ami about how you were helping Tenth Floor Sally
with her mailbox.”
Hunter was silent for a second, “Oh, yeah those
things are sticking all the time…”
Ami wasn’t interested, “Look, I just came by to tell
you I can’t stay long, I’ve got a family thing to go to tonight, could we maybe
talk upstairs?”
“Up in the flat you mean? Yeah sure, okay.” Hunter
turned to Bill, “We’ll be right back.”
“Don’t rush on my account!”
* * *
Hunter and Ami were kissing and clawing at each other
on the Giant Sofa. After a few minutes
they came up for air. She tasted of
honey and lemons, her hair smelled of strawberries.
Ami put her hands over Hunter’s and licked her lips,
they tasted like rum and cheap cola, with just a hint of lime, “Hunter, I’ve
been thinking and I would like us to be exclusive.”
Hunter was surprised, but not unhappy by this news,
“Oh! Okay, that sounds good to me.”
She put a finger over his lips, then moved in close
and whispered in his ear, “I’d also like for tonight to be the night for us to
finally… you know.”
He did. And
he wasn’t one that had to be told twice,
He smiled, looked into her green eyes, and moved in for a kiss.
In the lobby, everyone who wanted a drink had one,
Madonna was on the stereo squeaking away her rendition of “Santa Baby.” And
Bill finally had time to grab another drink for himself. He pulled a can of Canadian from the cooler at his feet. He had no sooner opened it when Doris
suddenly appeared beside him as if through some kind of dark magic.
“Billy!”
Bill choked on his beer, nearly sending it cascading
through his nostrils. “Oh, hey there
darlin’ what can I do you for?”
“Oh Billy sweetie, could you give me a hand with
something?” She was swishing around a
half a glass of white wine that Bill knew for a fact was not her first, or her
fifth.
“Sure, Ms Ehm, what do you need?” He took a proper swig of beer, and this time
spilled nothing.
“You know you can call me Doris, and it’s easier if I
show you, come with me to my office will you?”
She took his hand and they walked across the stone tiled floor, past the
small, sparsely decorated Christmas tree near the corridor, past the mailbox
room and to the Manager’s Office.
Bill had no illusions about what was going to happen
next, and normally he would have protested, at least a little, but he was still pissed at Sara for
standing him up. It wasn’t even as if
they were actually seeing each other, not would that ever be the case according
to her. Bill just thought it would be
fun for them to hang out, and the idea of free booze and snacks didn’t hurt
either. Oh well, he thought,
that ship has sailed…
Once they were inside, Doris shut the door and
reached out, taking hold of Bill’s skinny black tie, “Come here you, I’d like to
thank you personally for taking over the bartender duties tonight.” She reached down with her free hand and ran
it over Bill’s fly to find he was already hard.
In the mailbox room, Rachael slipped out of her coat,
and let it fall to the floor. Where
the hell had Hunter gotten to?
Up in flat 1401, Ami and Hunter were laying in
various state of undress, staring at each other from opposite ends of the
chesterfield. Ami was smoking a More
Menthol and blowing the smoke out the open patio door.
“I only dream in the wintertime…”
“Where’s that from?”
Ami inquired, her already large green eyes wide with curiosity.
Hunter hadn’t even realized he said it out loud,
“It’s from me. It’s from the book I’m
trying to write.”
“What is it?
A title?” She took another deep
drag on her cigarette.
“Yeah, actually one of a few I’m kicking around right
now.”
“What about the other ones?”
“ ‘I Sing the Equator’ and ‘No Ticket.’ “
Ami butted out her cigarette in the “Pied Pickle”
ashtray on the floor beside the couch, “ ‘No Ticket’ for sure. It’s like that funny scene in The Last
Crusade! So what is this book about?”
The door buzzer interrupted them.
“Should get that,” Hunter stood up, pulling his
ripped, black jeans on, and walked to the intercom.
Ami was tucking her milky white breasts back into her
corset, “It’s prolly my dad…”
Bill’s voice crackled over the tinny speaker, “It’s
me! There’s a guy here who say’s he’s
Ami’s dad?”
“We’ll be right down,” Hunter said.
* * *
Hunter watched from the glass vestibule as Ami got
into her dad’s black Mercedes ML350.
She gave him a quick smile and a wave and was off.
Bill met him with a beer. Hunter opened it and took a long draught. Someday, he thought, someone is
going to make the holes on these cans bigger…
Bill was dishevelled, his long, dark hair pulled free
of it’s ponytail, his shirt was un-tucked and the tie askew.
“Party’s startin’ to break up,” he looked up at Bill
and did a double take, ”What happened to you?”
“Doris.”
Hunter began to laugh.
Bill spoke, “That’s right, laugh it up fuzzball! I have a question for you though; where’s
Rachael?”
Hunter blanched, “Oh for fuck sakes!”
Hunter kicked the rubber wedge from the door to the
mailbox room and stepped inside, “Geeze Rachael, I’m so sorry I-“
“Oh! Hi! You’re back, lets get to it then.” She began unbuttoning her blouse.
“Ok…” Hunter
was a little confused, but still of a reasonable enough state of mind to pull
the door shut, and twist the lock to the closed position.
Rachael dropped her shiny, white bra to the floor,
then unzipped her bright green denim pants.
As she stepped out of her pants, Hunter noticed she
had come to the party commando.
Well Hunter thought, I guess she means business. He un-tucked his golf shirt.
* * *
A warm, westerly wind was whipping around through the trenches of inner city buildings as Bill and Hunter sat out on the “Jimmy Hoffa” sofa on the concrete patio of flat 1401.
Hunter was a third of the way through the Cuban Montecristo
#4 Tubo he had been saving in the freezer for the last three months. It burned fast and seemed a little
dry to him, though he had no idea why.
It would be years before he learned to properly care for, and keep
cigars properly. He blew out a cloud of
smoke as Bill to a swig of Drummond Dry.
Bill lit up another cigarette, and took a long drag,
“So you know that stuff I said back in the spring about Rachael?”
Hunter was swallowing a mouthful of lager,
“What? That she was a high functioning
MRF? How could I forget!”
Bill was smiling a crooked smile, “Yeah, I was just
pulling your dick.”
Hunter looked over at Bill, “What?”
Bill was shaking his head and almost laughing now, “I
was just joshing you, she's actually not retarded. She’s just a little odd is all.”
This was actually a huge relief to Hunter, who had
been secretly sleeping with her for the past couple of months, and was just too
embarrassed to admit to it. He had long
suspected that Bill might be lying to him about her, but had no proof until
now.
Hunter shook his head, “You are such a fucking
asshole.”
Bill took another drag, chuckled then said in his
best impersonation of their friend Paco Villa-Lobos, “Yeah, well whadareyagonnado?”
Hunter rolled his eyes, “Yeah, thanks Paco.”
Bill took another swig of lager, finishing his
tinnie, “Shit. Isn’t that just like a
beer to run out of itself in the middle of being consumed.” He looked up at the sky, straining to see
what might be beyond the light pollution, and past the cloud cover that
enveloped the city at night. “How long
do you think this’ll last?” He asked,
almost to himself.
Hunter blew out another cloud of fine cigar smoke,
“What, the Chinook winds?
A couple more days I think the weatherman said.”
Bill shook his head, “No, not the westerly, I mean
all of this,” He waved his hands
in an all-encompassing gesture, “Lond Ho, us living here. I mean are we gonna still be sitting here in
twenty years, smoking and drinking on the deck, fighting off pigeons…”
“Who knows man.
I don’t know about you, but I love this place. I could live at Lond Ho forever.”
Bill looked down at the cigarette he was holding in
his hand, “I don’t doubt that you could.
Anyway, who the fuck cares!” He
grabbed another tin of Drummond Dry from the small lunch cooler that sat on the
sofa between them. “It’s the
holidays! More than enough time to
think about this shit in the New Year!
Chin chin!”
They touched cans.
Hunter took a swig, “December 26th. The wheel of the season is turning. We’re now half-way out of the darkness…”
“If you say so,” Bill said, and lit up another smoke.