T. Johnson - Welcome to Braggsville

Oughten you answer that? Daron pointed to the phone. I mean, she might be worried, is all. She might be worried.

Worry’s good for ’em. Ain’t it, fellas? Louis and Charlie nodded. Candice, you don’t respect no man who don’t worry you none, ain’t that right, girl?

Candice bit her lips, a thoughtful look on her face. Sometimes women are like wild horses. You have to earn the right to saddle them. She finished with her nose in the air and excused herself to prepare for bed.

Couldn’t have said it better. The A-Team theme song sounded from Quint’s waist. He jumped to his feet. Shit! Mad cow on the move. I’ll be heading out, too. Catch y’all tomorrow night. My place, right? An evening of guns with occasional music. Chez Quint.

Daron bet he spelled it with an s, judging by his pronunciation.

Hell yeah. You got some Vince Gill? Louis juked his neck like he could already hear Gill, Paisley, and Co. performing Cluster Pluck .

No. Ain’t playing no new shit. Merle Haggard. Bocephus. Ted Nugent.

Just checking. Gotta make sure you’re keeping it real… country.

You a funny motherfucker, he told Louis. Loose Chang. I like that. That shit makes you sound Bangkok. Like you could smite a mother.

Louis leaned back in his chair and stroked the thin beard he’d been struggling to grow for the last two years. Smite. That’s Old Testament. With a glint in his eye, he added, Like I know kung fu and shit?

No. Like you just motherfuckin’ crazy, like a Coke that’s all shook up and waiting for a sucker to pop the top.

Quint tousled Daron’s hair. Get some rest. Tomorrow’s a big day.

After he left, Daron listened closely for Candice’s voice, fighting the urge to go see if Quint was in the hall close-talking her.

Your cuz is the shit.

Charlie nodded his agreement.

That hung in the air for a few minutes. Charlie and Louis sat on the end of the bed, Daron settled into his beanbag, still on Cali time.

Louis was fidgety, Did they like me?

Oh yeah, they were laughing. Daron nodded.

You were awesome, fucking rocking, dude!

I hope I didn’t offend anyone.

Maybe my mom when you stood on the furniture, but don’t you always say it’s the comic’s job to offend? The full five-finger slap, right?

It’s your family.

Isn’t that the first shell to crack? Like Zeus killing the Titans?

It’s your fam, and they’re good peeps. Comics want to offend assholes.

I don’t think anyone was offended. One of my cousins wants you to hang at his bachelor party in a couple of days.

Ice, ice, baby! If you can play off a black or Southern audience, you’re killing it like a real comic. Now I need to perform for a black audience. A real one, like Oakland or Atlanta, not like a school student group.

Charlie, who had been fiddling with his phone, tapped the screen. Here’s your chance. This weekend in Atlanta there’s an open mic. Two-minute first round. Kill that, you get a five-minute second round. Kill that, the final is three people at ten minutes each next weekend. Want in? All you need is a two-minute audition video. He pointed to his phone.

How far away is Atlanta?

Does it matter? It can’t be far. It’s in the same state.

Three hours.

Sign me up.

Louis stood in the chair, Ladies and gentlemen, hailing from the West Coast, also known as the Left Coast, which is the Best Coast. From the heart of the Bay straight to you in A … TL. It’s Loose Chang, also known as Lenny Bruce Lee. If you don’t laugh, you better duck. With a grand sweep of the arm, he gestured at Charlie, You got that?

Charlie waved his phone. I recorded you earlier. I’ll edit it down and shoot it to them later.

What was that wild horses shit? asked Louis, putting on the Afro wig.

If you must ask — Charlie smirked — there’s no use explaining. What was that Methuselah shit?

It means everybody knows something, like it’s common knowledge. Look, serious question again. Who told my parents?

We told you already.

Daron had asked them earlier and they’d both denied it. Who told them what we’re planning? he asked again.

Louis and Charlie shook their heads.

My father was all like, Call it off, son. Call it off. Someone had to tell him.

What does it matter anyway?

We had an agreement. It was supposed to go better if no one knew what we were planning, then it would be more of a surprise and we would catch their real reactions. If everyone knows, then they’ll ignore it as a joke, and you all will say they’re fucked up. That’s not fair.

I think they might be a little fucked up any way you grate it, D.

The whole town is a Confederate museum, replied Louis, holding his hands up palm out. I’m not saying your whole town is housist or anything!

Housist! Housist was Louis-speak for racist, invoked after Daron tried explaining that just because someone preferred a mansion didn’t mean they’d torch a ranch. Housist, Loose?

Charlie nodded his agreement. You ask Candice yet? Maybe she said something.

Housist, Loose?

This is damn near the only house without a Confederate battle flag and those creepy statues in the front yards. He elbowed Daron, and added, You know what I mean, the ones that look like Charlie.

DARON FOUND CANDICE IN THE LIVING ROOM on the couch next to Quint, almost head-to-head, leafing through a photo album balanced on Candice’s knees so that Quint had to reach across her lap to turn a page, which he did at that moment, grazing Candice’s shoulder as he did so, her face turning to his when he pulled back. Daron gently removed the album from Candice’s hands.

Come on, man, I thought The A-Team was your emergency signal. He helped his cousin to his feet.

Can he drive? whispered Candice as Quint stumbled toward the door. Daron waved the question off.

I showed her the baby pictures, drunk-whispered Quint, so no matter what, your Oscar’ll look giant. He held his hands far apart, as if describing a mythical fish. Fucking foot long!

When Daron didn’t respond, Quint added, C’mon, D, shit. He eyed Candice. Lotion look out! I’m investing in tissues and lotion. There’s also liquid soap, your mom’s got a ton of that. You have to use more and it makes more of a mess, but it smells nicer. On the other foot, it’ll make you scaly as a snake. Quint leaned on Daron for support. You got yourself a love square.

You mean quadrangle. I don’t think so.

She likes you, my main man Loose likes her, and if it was 1990 the black dude would be twirling a phone cord around his index every time he talked to you. He counted on his fingers. Four makes a square.

Twirling a phone cord around his index? Once Daron understood, he laughed it off, even as he ran through a mental list of Charlie’s female friends, and they were many, never mind that he never referred to them as girlfriends. Whatever Charlie had done that made Quint think he was gay, Daron didn’t want to hear about it tonight. He guided a stumbling Quint outside before he could expound on his ridiculous love square theory. Quint’s last words: Be real. As he peeled out of the driveway, Candice called out from the living room, asking again if Quint would be all right.

Daron swaggered back into the room before answering. That’s how he always drives. What’s he gonna do, kill a tree? You can’t tell, but he’s at his best. NASCAR? We own that shit. Dukes of Hazzard ? That, too. Daron didn’t ask Candice if she had mentioned anything to his parents. She was too smart to do that.

Oscar? Isn’t that what Quint called… it? Too cute. She tucked her legs under her chin.

It? Shit. Daron sat next to her, and explained that his first sex ed lesson had starred a hot dog, a frozen chicken, two marbles, and a baseball. Just thinking about it sent flames crawling up his face. He wondered for a moment if that explained his reaction to Tweety, but dismissed the thought as too Freudian, and he and Louis avoided all things Freudian, going so far as to threaten lapses with, I’ll slap your dick with this psychology textbook. All I remember is being terrified after that sex ed lesson because Chamber, our German shepherd, ate the expectant mother. I didn’t eat chicken for weeks.