The tables at Lums Family restaurant and blue-collar fine dining establishment are stacked together like train tracks, one side bearing a three-table sized loft of cushy booths, the other loose chair legs slightly wobbling middle-class thrones. The long table in the smoking section, a splayed out slab of parceled oak, smiles a shiny reflection beneath the hushed head of the variegated Tiffany lampshades. Kristina and Andrea remain seated in non-smoking across a river of off color carpet and sideway, skewed wooden slabs. The treasure Troll seems to be on hiatus tonight, leaving her proper dining conduct and anti-vulgarity-even-when-it-seems-called-for assessment to some New Oriental Temp manager whose name tag reads the same first name as Hale’s and Von Behrens’s and Stickler’s. Jackie struts in through the door twisting every neck with the exception of her own, a Black Russian dangling on the end of a Cigarette holder her dad picked up for her somewhere, telling her if she was going to go ahead and defy his mandates and smoke and abort her lungs anyway and die at a young age she might as well go out with some class. Stickler is wearing shorts and a jacket and a turtle neck to go along with Dave’s beret looped over his ears and the blue doc Martens he just purchased in Munich. He strolls over and through to no-man-smoking-land, French kissing his girl friend and even granting her a little squeeze on the rear until the temp Oriental manager squeezes his throat, claiming that, ick-cuse-me, this not Whoo-ters. Strickler laughs, shakes the Temp manager’s outstretched apologetic palm and says that he thinks he means Hooters, followed by his standard, “Yeah-hooters baby, momma, yeah Hooters.” the oriental manager penduluming his forehead back and forth in stuttering disbelief until Strickler gets a little out of hand, saying the word Hooters over and over like an owl with Turrets, and begins to lift the bottom of Drea’s JESUS FREAK T-shirt up to her bra and Drea turns into Kristine, telling her that we’ll be back as soon as we have a much needed lovers quarrel.
“Dude man, that’s her over there by herself. Here’s your opportunity.”
Von Behren alights his seat cushion just as Laurianne is teaching the entire table how to say, “Fuck No, I’m not gay” en François. Von Behren forms triangles with his gait and he slides down into the table next to Kristina, handing her a rose the exact color thereof and then grinning and thanking her very much for coming to the performance. Her forehead appears to be twice the size of the average precocious sixteen year old forehead. Everything about her appears to be broken and shiny in a delicate way—her smile, chipped, soars out as if with wings and hit’s Patrick so hard as Von Behren introduces her that Patrick needs to adjust his seated posture for fear of his hardon becoming obtrusive.
In addition to her cigarette holder Jackie is also donning a lavender scarf, tossing it over her left shoulder with chic as she touches Kristina’s hand and says hello. Berkowitz introduces himself as being David’s bestest of best friend’s on this whole entire planet telling Kris what a substantial influence Dave has had on just his life alone in the short six months that they have known each other. Hale makes the mistake of offering Kristina a cigar, of which Jackie tickles her finger to Hale’s earlobe, asking him to excuse himself, didn’t he forget someone. Hale fakes naiveté, and says, ah yes, offering a cigar to Lauriannae. Laurianne, motioning in French that she only smokes Marlboro Red’s, or, what Patrick refers to all the time as Cowboy killers. Kleptomanical Book Bag Bob is surreptitiously sneaking marked items into his side pocket. So far he has successfully infiltrated one empty carafe of coffee, three of the old fashioned fucus colored coffee mugs, everyone’s knife, claiming them to be extraneous, a porcelain tub used for cream, and three rolls of T.P. from the Men’s room, humming to himself in an unsuspecting monotone, skipping with his eyes like he is jumping rope, trying to give the others a semblance of pure innocence. Berkshire is groping into his back pocket for his portable Gideon’s, looking for what he swears is a highlighted verse about stealing thy neighbors T.P., only to discern, much to his chagrin, that Book Bag Bob is already browsing through it. Strickler and Drea descend out of the Males Bathroom—Strickler's face looks like he has either a bad case of the measles or an island of hickies.
“Looks like apparently you guys kissed and made up.” Von Behren says while giving Kristina’s fingers a little squeeze.
Strickler and Andrea look at each other. Hale offers out a whew-hoo. The Temp oriental manager saunters over and taps Strickler on the shoulder, asking him why he had a female in the Necessary room for Men Only. Von Behren fires up a cigarette, informing plebian in case he didn’t know, that at times it was perfectly acceptable for the restroom to be utilized by androgynous couples, handing the manager his pocket electronic word Thesaurus to look up the word. Laurianne is looking through the table, wondering why Patrick keeps goggling his knees together like lotto balls. An elderly man sitting two booths down from the whirling doors of the kitchen, arises and stoops down in front of a twisted-capped Allan telling him that he’s too young to smoke and that he doesn’t look cool doing it, either, so there. Everyone at the table jousts their heads back and laughs and Berkshire looks at Allan as if to say see, I told you so.
“And they put creatures, creatures in my mounds.” Book Bag Bob says, imitating a twisted Pakistanis cab driver vocal inflection. When Berkowitz blows his nose Bob Sneaks the condiment tray from underneath him, slipping it into his side book bag. Kristina looks at Von Behren with one-eyebrow perched up like a pom-pom.
“Bob’s moving out of his parent’s house, so he decided to do his shopping a little early.”
“Shhh.” Bob offers up the little-light-of-mine-finger in front of his lips, “I don’t want Brandon Lee over there to hear this.”
“So, Kristina, I was just wondering if you…..”
“Le vous locale dickhead.”
“That’s funny.”
“East Peoria, actually.”
“Yeah, momma. Bra,”
“And your major next year when you get into what college will be?”
“Yeah. Rancid. Danzig! Bra. Yeah, take it off, baby! Yeah!”
“Art history, minor in cinematography.”
“The U of I.C.C.”
“Matt, look over there, it looked like someone spelled out your name in pre-come on the ceiling.”
“Le siecle suckla.”
“That doesn’t even look like pre-come, well, hey, where’s my coffee mug? BOB!”
“Mary, hey sweetie, this is Drea and Kristina—our new bestest of friends, “
“Damnit Bob, give it back!”
“So anyway, Kristina, did Dave tell you about what sort of fine Literature he reads?”
“What’s the new managers’ name he looks like a prick-ick-ick,”
“Andrea, take your shirt off, comeon, yeah, naughty momma, yeah!”
“A little Anne Sexton, a little Emily DICK-in-son, yeah, ask Dave to read you some of his literature a little later on tonight.”
“Any one caught a light?”
“Whew-whoo!”
“Pri-ick-pretty good guy, yeah. I’m leaving, excuse me.”
“Any one heard from Nate?”
“That whore. I never want to fucking see him again for the rest of my so-called existence.”
“His girl still pregnant?”
“Doesn’t even know if it’s his.”
“Well, I’m glad I’ll never have to worry about that since I’m a virgin and am saving myself for marriage.”
“Shut up Matt.”
“Matt, over there, across the street, there’s a totally naked Hindu girl doing a belly dance with a jelly roll inside Mr. Donuts.”
“What. I’m not gonna fall for that, you just want to say something totally dorky to me and then, when my head is turned take my…hey, Bob, give it back!”
“Matt, all I want tonight is DICK.” Jackie forms a fist-flesh dildo using her hand and arm.
“Argh.”
“Whew-hoo.”
“Yeah Matt, that’s all I want tonight as well.”
“Only we’re Lesbians,”
“You guys are not.”
“Jodi, hey, two more-damn girl you are on the ball tonight.”
“So whatdaya say Matt? Do you Dare to deviate.” Smoke slinks through her lips.
“Ahhhh.”
“Hey Jodi, thanks, what? Your new manager says that Andrea has to put her shirt back on. Well invite him over here for a little tête-à-tête.”
“Jesus.”
“I believe its pronounced tate-uh-tate, not tit-a-tit.”
“What’s Elmo?”
“Dude, “
“Excuse me, yes; I think I am ready to order. I will have the quite conspicuous Ollie Day Burger, medium- well, thank you, slabbed with a generous portion of cheese, pickle, mayonnaise, and let’s see here.”
“I’m sorry Nintendo, this is a free coffee—I mean country, she can have her shirt off if she wants to Hiroshima….”
“Grey poupon, tomatoes, lettuce, horseradish sauce.”
“Well it’s not like you can see her nipples!”
“Bacon bits, soup de jour, French fries dappled in melted cheese,”
“So anyway, did you enjoy the performance tonight?”
“Go Elvis, WHEW!”
“And do you by chance happen to have any chives?”
“Ok, you win, bring out some more coffee and Drea will put her shirt back on. Even Steven.”
“Oh momma.”
“Look, can you believe it, and they wanted me to work with this.”“It’s just a hangnail.”
“……”
“Look closer.”
“You have beautiful eyes.”
“Thanks Mary. “
“Damn, what I wouldn’t give to bend that over the table and…”
“Patrick!!!!”
“Ok, ok, sorry, am I the only one who’s not getting sex on a regular basis these days?”
“You’re not alone Pat.”
“Thank you Berkowitz, that is very reassuring, coming from a closet queer such as yourself.”
“Pass me another one of them Black Russians,”
“So, my dear friend Mr. Strickler, tell me about your trip overseas.”
“Really, you don’t smoke? Well, I guess I just quit. Anyone ever tell you that you look sort of like Tori Amos, perhaps a little around the ears,”
“Don’t listen to him, that’s what he says to all the girls.”
“Why look, its princess Amy. Since you’re so good at bringing things out, mind you tally us forth another carafe of….you’re a princess.”
“Told you.”
“She’s a dear friend, that girl smokes more grass than a sunken garden.”
“A little Longfellow, a little Catch Her in the Rye before you roll around with her in the hay,”
“No—not Tori. Who am I thinking about? Julie Delpy perhaps?”
“Dude, Dave that night in Germany, uh, man.”
“They used to call her weed whacker at Notre Dame.”
“You should’ve seen this guy.”
“Auh, shit, I like, went into the room and chugged a half bottle of Vodka then I mixed the oRange juice right in the bottle, swirled it around and slurrped the screwdriver like it was a whore. Auh, man, I shouldn’t have done that.”
“A little e-e cumming, whew-hew.”
“Sisters of Mercy. Goth. The Cure.”
“Then I was so shitfaced and pissant drunk I took the elevator to the wreck room upstairs and…”
“I was Goth even before GOTH was glamorous. And I told my boss that, after I showed him my injury.”
“Strickler, man, don’t tell ‘em this part— ladies present.”
“Was so shit faces I actually bent over and took a dump in the whirlpool.”
“EWWWWWWEEEE.”
“You never told me that.”
“Cream anyone?”
“Funny part was there was like this retired German army official relaxing with his wife in the whirlpool at the time and he just sort of looked at me speechless while his wife feinted.”
“Strickler!”
“You never told me that story.”
“Crystal meth and Tang.”
“Was taking the dump in the Sauna before or after you got your freak on with that Innsbruck call girl?”
“What?”
“What?”
“Joking, joking. No need to enter into a lovers quarrel again Drea. Strickler behaved himself.”
“Change of subject.”
“Bob, where’s my spoon?”
“Mary, we need three more rolls of silverware.”
“Hey, Matt, guess what, I’m not wearing any panties.”
“Argh,”
“Matt, the belly dancer, look!”
“Hey-quit it, Dave, by the way, can you give me a ride home in about twenty minutes, I told my mom I’d be home by eleven.”
“Mr. Maturity turns fifteen.”
“Fourteen on Christmas day,”
“Then why didn’t your parents name you Christ?”
“Is there a Patrick Aaron at this table? Sir, you have a serious phone…”
“That would be me, ‘cuse me.”
“Shit, boy gets mail here.”
“Whew-hoo, too bad he never got any females here.”
“Alright, here’s three more caffeinated vats to sustain your crass carousal and one Ollie burger.”
“That would be here. Thank you.”
“And three Bavarian special sundae’s for the girls.”
“And I was bussing tables at Perkins fueled on coffee and speed and they wanted me to move faster and I’m like, ‘Look, you try busting your ass on this job with my physical impediment and see what happens. And then they fired me.”
“Any one know when Flanagan gets back in town.”
“Sucker still has another year and a half. I believe he’s going of to Saudi.”
“Suckers gonna come back and get himself Gulf War syndrome.”
“Pat who was that?”
“Oh, that was Amber. She’s on her way.”
“Hale, how’s your meal holding out.”
Hale extends his burger in front of him like he is thanking the academy for it, “That is a tasty burger.”
“Uh-oh, Kris watch out. Tarrentino tirade.”
Patrick lights a cig, tosses back swigs of his coffee and begins his tirade.
“Now, it’s all about this coos, who’s a regular fuck machine. Now I’m talking morning noon night-after-day, DICK, DICK DICK DICK DICK DICK DICK DICK DICK.”
Patrick says each dick like he is stapling cutouts to a bulletin board. Hale appropriates the monologue by inquiring How many Dicks in is that in a subtle, no static Nice Guy Eddie type-of-way and Berkowits responds by holding out splayed hand and crooked fingers and saying, duh, nine.
“A lot.” Von Behren intercedes. Jackie faces Berkshire and slowly rolls smokes in his face. Laurianne is telling every one at the table to drop this dork in La francais.
“’Cuse me.”
“What.”
The oriental manager.
“You No say dick.”
“We don’t know Dick?”
“No, you no say dick in my Lums or you gone.”
“Oh,” We we’re just saying his name.” Bob points the direction of Berkshier.
“Yes, “Jackie stamps out her cigarette as she imprompts, “Meet Richard Al. Peck.”
“Er.”
“What.”
“Yes,” Von Behren lift’s Matt’s arm like a toll booth crossing stick, “Meet Richard I’ll Pecker,”
“Comonly called DICK.”
“Hello DICK. I Dave. I sorry, I thought they be vulgar. They just honor you and family by blessing you with good name.
“To DICK.” Jackie raises her coffee mug. Everyone else slightly alights theirs. Dan and Allan lift up their wrists and pretend to mock cheer since Kleptomanical Book Bag bob has already filched their vessels.
“Dick, Dick, to Dick.”
“Dick, I sorry. You like free Sunday on me.”
Both Kristina and Andrea are eating Bavarian Sundays. Hale orders a slice of pie. Oriental manager points to Kristina’s entrée and inquires if Matt would like the same, on house.
“You like DICK. You like Sun Day like girl here?”
“UH.”
“He wants to know if you want a free Sunday, Matt, I mean Dick.”
“Uh-sure.”
“You like whip cream? You like cherry?”
Hale breaks in and informs the Temp manager that Dick over here wouldn’t know what to do with a cherry if it fell out of the sky wearing a three corner hat calling itself George Washington. The Oriental manager scratches his head like he has lice and says he be right back. Strickler breaks out in a laugh that sounds like an allergy attack. Allan looks at Matt, now DICK, and asks him if his favorite band is BUSH. Matt informs by saying that Bush is an ok band but was an even better president. The whole table just shushes for an entire moment.
Amber struts in the door. L-greets her and hugs and Patrick tentatively places his arm around her like they are a bona fide couple.
“Here you go. I sorry. You eat. You eat all.” David, the Chinese intern craftily places the Bavarian creamed fountain in front of DICK, as if it were his birthday.
“He may have trouble.” Jackie intones, smoke steaming from her lips in twin jet tendrils.
“Wha?”
“Thanks.” Adds Matt, reaching across the table near Book Bag Bob, the fingers on his right hand twitching for a napkin to stuff under his two passenger chin before he gorges on the mountainous delicacy. Book Bag Bob apparently seems to have pocketed all the self-embroidered LUMS table napkins as well, but ‘No Problem’, Chinese immigrant Manager Dave snaps his hand, reaches into the side pocket of his dinner jacket, snaps out a velvet cloth from a previously hardened orgamic configured fold and cordially places the cloth neatly around Berkowitz generous neck. VonBehren elbows Pat in his ribcage, three times, as if laughing at a naughty French joke, commenting that effusive Chinese Dave’s hospitality towards Berkowitz is horrifically reminiscent of Daddy’s Warren’s hospitality honed “GUEST FIRST” mantra from the late eighties. Patrick refuses to say a word. He is busy examining what could be possible panty lines observed through Laurianne’s tight jeans every time she adjusts her bottom in her seat cushion. For a moment, table chatter and the clatter of coffee spoons stirring soured creamer in caffeine subsides as Matthew finds himself the center of all attention. Jackie lights two cigarettes at once with Hale’s trusty Ye Trusty Zippo, passing one to managerial Dave, telling him to go smoke that in the corner and pretend it’s post-coital. Oriental Temp manager Dave thanks Jackie, and tells her that he’ll check and see if they have that listed on the Reserved List. Slowly, as if stalking her prey, Jackie encroaches Matt, licking her sumptuous red lips as she breathes slowly over his bib.
“Matt, careful with that cherry, Matt. Careful.” Jackie utters, in a sexy, smoke harnessed breath.
“Whah?” Berkowitz face merges from the fountain, a piece of shortcake wedged between his lips, splotches of raspberry syrup and whip cream brace both sides of his cheeks and his chin has turned into a frothy cool whip goatee. Jackie continues planting her sexy breath bombs along the slope of Berkowitz neck.
“Oh, Can I have it, let me have that cherry, Matt. I wanna suck it”
“So, do you prefer Kris or Christina?”
“Matt, give it to me Matt.”
“No, let Jackie have it.”
“OH, Matt, give it to me. Oh, yeah baby, give it to me. Oh yeah, nice and moist.”
“Matt you’re giving something to Jackie which she lost long ago.”
Patrick’s blue mini-van makes a shaky fast u in Lums parking lot as he jumps out, runs around to the passenger door where Amber has already valeted herself out and slammed the door. Through the eyelashes in the window the posse observes Patrick open the door again and whack it close like he is slamming a tennis racket. Amber is several feet ahead of Patrick and enters into Lums first, Kristina is telling VonBehren that her name is spelled with a Scandinavian twist just as Jackie pricks the top of Matt’s cherry off of his Sunday and begins to lasciviously fondle it in her mouth.
“Damn.”
“Hot mamma.”
“Want that cherry girl.”
“Shit!”
“Ahhh! AHHH! AHHHH! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
“Shit,”
“Je ne peux pas croire qu'elle est entrée le public!!!!!”
“See what you did Matt,”
“Congratulations, you not only gave a girl back her cherry, you also gave her an orgasm while doing it,”
“I did?”
“Yeah, Matt, congrats!”
“What,”
“You’re a new man!”
“Alright, everyone, one-two-three,”
“Ga-girl. BA-BING-BING-BING, you’ll be a women, soon,”
“Ha-ha, you guys are funny,”
“Matt, here’s twenty-five cents, call someone who cares.”
“High Amber, and yes Patrick don’t even start with the World’s smallest violin bit,”
“NO, but you can use it to go call your mother and tell her you’ll be about an hour late, cause we’re stopping at my house after we leave Lums.”
“Berkowitz, just go use the phone behind the counter over there.”
“What!”
“They don’t care, trust me, look, I just did.”
“Well,”
“Go!”
Berkowitz stands, bumps over Jackie and Bob as he leaves the half booth, adjusts his back pocket and struts up to the front cashier and behind it. The table hushes and
Amber sits down and Strickler says hey girl and Jackie wave to each other. Patrick slightly endeavors to spoon his arm around Ambers shoulder pad until she wriggles her frame and Patrick lifts his arm, scratching his earlobe instead.
“Everyone seems to know you here. Do you guys like hang out here a lot or something?”
The whole table folds into a quiet stance still and looks at Kristina.
“Just a question, that’s all.”
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