Edward Lee - Header 2

Mike frowned at his friend. “Whatever. And the tit-fucking gets old fast, even with a class rack like hers.”

Archie stole a glance to Veronica, then seemed to imagine the possibilities. “At least she lets you do it. Some girls are fussy about that. Don’t know why.”

“It’s almost like a consolation prize, like she’s doing me a favor letting me tit-fuck her. I mean, you can only do it so many times before it becomes monotonous. Fuck, I slop all over those tits. They look like rum buns by the time I’m done.”

“But if she sucks your dick day and night? Sounds all right to keep on the side, even without the pussy.”

Mike appraised his Guccis, having already written poor Veronica off in his mind. “With every girl, you get the good with the bad. Veronica’s worth money—”

Archie’s attention snapped to. “Money? Like, how much?”

“One of her uncles won the Michigan Lottery, bagged, like, a hundred and twenty million, but set 20 million aside for Veronica on two conditions. One, she has to get a college degree and, two, she’s gotta be married by age thirty. That’s when she gets the dough if she meets the conditions.”

“How old is she?”

“Twenty-three.”

“And how’s her college smarts?”

Mike’ brow tittered. “She already graduated with honors from VT, got her degree in Plasma Physics. ”

“Fuck. Smart chick. With a degree like that, she can write her own ticket once this fuckin’ recession’s over.”

“Yeah, and that’s what she wants to do even though she gets all that money when she hits the Big Three Oh.”

“ If,” Archie reminded, “she’s married.”

“Right. And she’s already told me to my face: the only guy she ever wants to marry is me. ”

Several moments of silence followed, Archie cogitating. “Twenty million? Man…you’d never have to work again.”

“You think I haven’t thought about that?”

“And, shit, if you’re married, then she’ll fuck you.”

“Sure, but she wants to have kids. I got no desire to raise kids. ”

“Then get a nanny! With twenty fuckin’ mil, you’ll be able to afford it.”

“Yeah, yeah, but see, I gotta a gut feeling that once Veronica starts fucking me, she’ll be a lousy lay.”

Archie looked astonished. “So what? You just said she sucks your dick day and night. If she sucks your dick day and night and has twenty million…big fuckin’ deal if she’s a lousy lay!”

Mike shook his head. “Archie, you’re not getting it. The good with the bad? Sure, she’s into sucking dick— my dick. Doesn’t want to suck anybody else’s dick, just mine. She’ll blow me any time, anywhere. I snap my fingers, she blows me. If I’m sitting on the couch watching football and ignoring her and I pull my dick out, I don’t even have to ask —she blows me. Serious. If I’m sitting on the fuckin’ toilet taking a shit and I say, ‘Veronica, come in her and blow me,’ she’ll be on her knees sucking my dick while I got turds falling out of my ass. And it’s not like she’s just some dime-a-dozen head queen—she’s all into the love thing. You know, if there were no customers in the store and I walked over there and told her to blow me behind the counter”—Mike shrugged—“she’d do it, guaranteed.”

Archie’s jaw dropped. “Then what the hell’s wrong with you? You can’t dump a girl like that whose gonna be worth twenty million !”

Mike snidely shook his head. “Here’s what I haven’t told you. Sure, she loves to give me head, but you know what? It’s bad head. I mean awful head. You know that old saying ‘there’s no such thing as lousy head?’ Bullshit. Veronica gives the worse head I’ve ever had. No rhythm, no build up, she rakes her teeth, and the finish is all wrong.”

“Really?” Archie said, surprised. “That bad, huh?”

“Worse. It’s so bad, it’s infuriating. It’s so bad, twenty million or not…I’d rather punch her in the fucking face and jerk off.”

“Wow.”

Mike looked at his friend. “So what would you do? Dump it or keep it?”“For twenty million dollars? Fuck, man. I’d keep it.”

Mike shrugged. “Yeah, well that’s because you have different standards. Me, I’m first class. A first-class guy like me needs a chick with first-class looks, who’s a first-class lay, and can suck first-class dick. If she can’t do that, then it’s three strikes, she’s out. My self-image is worth more than twenty million bucks—”

“Oh is it, now?”

“When a chick wants to go out with me, I’m not going to demean myself by settling for less than I deserve.” He looked at Archie, granite-faced. “I’m not a whore, Archie. I’m hot property.”

Archie laughed out loud.

Mike continued, “In general, a girl who can’t suck good dick pretty much has no right to exist.”

Archie continued to laugh. “Okay, but since you’re not a whore, let’s just say that Veronica gave great head. What would you do?”

Mike made a sound like a horse sputtering. “I’d marry her in a fuckin’ heartbeat. With all that money? You’ve got to be kidding me!”

Shortly after this conversational exercise in out-right misogyny detailing the relegation of women as soulless arrangements of sexual parts, Veronica rang up the purchase for her customer. The customer paused to take yet another none-too-covert glance at her body, then left the store. Veronica turned, smiled, stood up on her tiptoes, and waved at Mike.

Mike waved speciously back, offering a just-as-specious smile.

Then Veronica blew him a kiss and mouthed I love you!

“Fuck you,” Mike muttered under his breath.

(III)

Not fifteen minutes after Micky-Mack had pressed the PLAY button on the mysterious portable DVD unit, utter and incomprehensible calamity had descended upon Helton Tuckton and his kin. Dumar, after the “movie’s” completion, had collapsed into a swoon. Micky-Mack was still vomiting into one of the pails they used when the roof leaked. And Helton…

Great Gawd Almighty… Just what kind’a evil is it we got here?

Helton sat upright, wide-eyed, paralyzed in his chair, his hands gripping the chair’s arms so tightly, he trembled.

Micky-Mack looked up from the pail with a tear-streaked face. “Uncle Helton—holy shit! Who could’a done such a thing ta poor l’il Crory? Who?”

“Evil men, that’s who,” Helton croaked. His stare remained fixed on the DVD player’s small and now blank LCD screen. “Men eviler than anything we’se can reckon, son.”

Micky-Mack wailed. “Why they do that? Why they do that to li’l Crory? Crory ain’t done them no harm! He just a inner-sint li’l kid! How could they—how could they—”

Dumar roused just then, his face paper-white from all the blood that the horror had drained from it. He looked shock-eyed to his father. “Paw! Tell me that were all just a nightmare we seen on that machine! Tell me, Paw!”

The screen glowed blue and there blinked a small square that read REPLAY and another that read EJECT.

Micky-Mack returned to his vomiting, and Dumar howled like a sick dog.

For those wondering exactly what the movie entailed, consider yourselves duly scolded for diminutive powers of imagination; however, the first three minutes of this fifteen-minute cinematic venture will be communicated via an inappropriate and admittedly indulgent stylistic break…in screenplay format…

FADE IN:

INT. ROOM

We see a bare white metal wall in the b.g. and what appears to be a small, curtained window, like a window, perhaps, in a motor-home. The curtain is a curious deep-burgundy color, with white dots.