2 Weeks Since Shelby

It had been two weeks since Shelby had dumped Doug. He mostly lay across the couch in our small, dumpy beach house in Venice. A gross patch of thick brown and bleach blonde hair covered his face and neck. The living room smelled like old pizza and stale taco meat.

I had tried to be a supportive best friend by leaving the dope alone, but now his dirtiness was moving from hipster heartbreak to EPA house quarantine.

“Get the fuck up, Doug!” I said impatiently. He only moaned in my direction. It was the most he had said to anyone not on the phone to deliver him his meals-on-wheels. “Seriously man, this shit can’t be healthy. You’re inhaling old food that’s starting to mold; life is too precious for you to go like this.”

Doug pulled his earbuds from his ears and turned off his music. He flipped over to look at me. He was a hairy, tear stained, red-eyed puffball.

“You look pathetic, man. Go shave, and shower, I’ll clean up this mess,” I said with all the pity I could muster for my sad sack roommate and best friend. Doug stood up, took a whiff of his armpits, which made his face turn sour, and shrugged. He was finally off the couch, so I started cleaning like a madman, and I hate cleaning. However, even my lackadaisical and borderline apathy toward cleanliness was overtaken by the crumbs and the stench that filled our living room. I sprayed Lysol, hung car air fresheners, and lit incense to overpower the vulgar odors. I dust busted the couch, swept the floor, threw away boxes and containers of food and a couple of plates and forks as well, since a layer of mold had begun infiltrating their exterior.

Shelby Masters was cute and sexy, and she was cool to hang out with, but not so cool and cute and sexy to make our place a biohazard, I thought as I cleaned our living room, scrubbing the coffee table with acid, or whatever glass cleaner could remove days old stickiness from the table.

Forty-five minutes passed before I saw Doug again, he had showered and brushed his teeth, he was wearing different clothes, they weren’t exactly clean, but they were less dirty than the ones he’d been wearing for two weeks.

“Shave that beard,” I demanded.

“No, not until she comes back. It’s my protest,” Doug responded surprisingly defiant.

“Well at least trim it a little, we’re going out.”

“Fuck you, Matty, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Doug, c’mon man, you gotta get out of the house, you gotta work so you can pay your share of the mortgage.”

“I know, I know. I’ll go back to work.” Doug put his hand on his face and felt his beard. “I’ll go shave this shit off too, what the fuck is this? It’s not a beard, it’s just…well I don’t know that the fuck it is, but if it’s alive it’s gonna be dead soon.” A little animation from Doug, I missed that guy.

It took another fifteen minutes to finish cleaning and then I made a couple of calls. Doug had deposited himself on the couch and was flipping through channels when I came back into the room.

“So, what’s up?” Doug asked, clicking the television off.

“Let’s go get some dinner.”

“What time is it? It seems early.”

“We got a long night ahead of us, amigo, we need to eat early.”

“I don’t know if I’m even hungry.”

“Let’s go man. Let’s have some fun tonight.” Reluctantly Doug stood up and grabbed his Sacramento Kings cap from the bar.

“They suck, get a new team,” I joked as we exited.

“Go fuck yourself, Bandwagon.”

We arrived at Slager Grille & Lounge twenty minutes later. Our car ride was wordless, the only sounds came from the radio, and my cursing at the traffic. Doug leaned his head against the window and looked outside. I didn’t try to get him to talk; I decided to leave him alone with his thoughts.

“Hey fellas, welcome to SG&L, how many in your party today?” asked an overly exuberant guy at the door.

“You must be new. Is Catie working? Can we get one of her tables outside?” I asked.

“I think all of her tables are taken, are there just two of you?”

“Yeah,” I responded impatiently.

“Let me see,” he said looking at the map on his podium to see which tables were open. “Ah, here we go, let me take you over here, Jordan will be your server, she’s great, you’ll love her.”

“We know Jordan,” I responded unenthusiastically. As we followed the new guy, I spotted Catie talking to a customer, I mouthed “HELP” in her direction, and she smiled and nodded. We walked through the dining area out to the back deck.

“Jordan will be here in just a few seconds to take your order,” he smiled handing us the menus. LL Cool J’s Back Seat was playing through the speakers on the back deck. The Slager G&L had DJ’s spin on the back deck, nothing too loud, and you could make 3 requests for a quarter, just like a jukebox, but the DJ’s usually put their own spin on things or would wrinkle up their face if they thought you made a poor choice. Most of the week was just pop hits and requests, but the weekends, which started Thursday, had themes to their musical selections. Thursdays was old school rap, Fridays was 80’s, Saturday afternoons were 70’s and Saturday nights, they cleared the deck and played house music. We came here a lot.

“Hey guys, what can I get you to drink?” Jordan asked popping a piece of bubble gum.

“Two Coronas,” I responded. Jordan left to get our orders.

“Where’s Catie?” I asked. “She saw me.”

“Whatever,” Doug sighed. Jazzy Belle by OutKast started playing.

“Are they going to…nope?”

“They never censor songs here; they get away with it by not playing it too loud. You can’t hear the music inside.”

“F-bombs and n-words are what everyone wants to hear while they eat a meal.”

“Yet you’re bobbing your head to the music,” Doug responded.

“The song is dope! I’m just...I'm just thinking about everyone else in the restaurant that may not be as hip as us.” Doug smiled and started to bob his head a little too. He wasn’t a big rap fan anymore, but he had considered himself a b-boy in his middle school and high school days, and old school rap reminded him of his youth.

“Here you go boys,” Catie said handing up each a bottle of Corona.

“What’s with the new guy?” I asked.

“Oh Mr. Overzealous? He’s the owner’s nephew.”

“That’s Slager’s nephew?”

“Yep. He’s okay, he does whatever you ask, and he smiles a lot. I figure he’ll be our boss by the end of the year.”

“Jordan’s her usual self,” I said before taking a drink.

“She’s always aloof,” Doug said. He had finished off his bottle already.

“You want another one?” Catie asked.

“Yes please,” Doug replied. Catie looked at Doug with a strange look before heading off to get his beer.

“What’s on your mind Doug? C’mon man, your mood is killing me, it’s been two weeks. I know it’s hard, but you’ve gotta snap out of this. You want to talk about her? I’m here for you man,” I said, hoping to get him to open up a little.

“Sorry I’ve missed the last few nights of shooting,” he said coolly.

“You didn’t miss anything. Pretty standard stuff, ya know.”

“My mind just isn’t in it right now. I know I’ve gotta get back on track, but she wrecked me, Matty. She fuckin’ wrecked me.”

“I know.”

“I really dug her; I was probably in love with her and I didn’t realize it until she ended it. I know that these things end, I mean, intellectually, I know that the odds are long that you can make these relationships work long term, but I was hopeful.”

“Marriage?”

“No…I don’t know, maybe, eventually. I didn’t start writing her name as Shelby Cruz or anything. I’d be lying though if I said I hadn’t fantasized our wedding a little bit.”

“You’re such a romantic.”

“I know right,” he laughed, perhaps giggled before continuing. “It started off as just a physical attraction ya know?” I nodded. Shelby was attractive. She was a surfer girl. She spent as much time at the beach as she could and had a year-round tan, but it’s California, everyone has a tan. She had a great body for a small girl. She wasn’t tall, probably 5’1 or 5’2. She spent the better part of her time in our place wearing bikini tops and shorts, so I guess I should say she had the cleavage of someone with nice tits. Shelby spoke like someone from California, even though she was a native of Nevada like me. She had only lived in L.A. for two years when she and Doug met. I was there when they met.

“I had a woody the first time we spoke,” Doug continued.

“That’s an interesting detail for you to remember. I didn’t need for you to tell me that again.”

“Matty, I am just trying to set the mood for my chance meeting with the woman I love.”

“I’m sorry. Please continue.” It was pretty disgusting. Doug had never been so whipped before. When we first became roommates he had been dating this girl named Trystan from Malibu. He was fucking around on her, but whenever she came around he was honey sweet to her. I think it was his guilt, but he wasn’t enamored with her. She would come to the house, sit on our couch, watch reality television, and pontificate on why she believed she could play one of those roles. I think she wanted cameras to follow her around for the day or something I don’t know. Eventually I would pass a look over to Doug and he would either tell her that we needed to go to work, take her to his room for sex, or…well that was it really, we either left or they fucked. Eventually she came over less and less until finally I didn’t see her anymore.

For a while he just dated and “hooked up.” Some morning I would leave my bedroom and come into the kitchen to some strange chick wearing a Hole t-shirt and panties (Courtenay) or a Smashing Pumpkins t-shirt and bikini bottom (Lara) or a Polo button up with a cowboy hat and nothing underneath…actually that was Yolanda and she was the girl I hooked up with. That story is not relevant.

“Matty? Matty?” said Doug trying to get my attention.

“Hmm?” I responded.

“Do you want another Corona?” Catie asked. I looked at my bottle and noticed that it was nearly empty. Doug had his new bottle in hand and had nearly drained half of it. I nodded and returned my attention to Doug.

“So, what do you think?” Doug asked.

“About what?”

“About me asking Shelby to move in with us?”

“Wha- really? Doug, c’mon, we have a two bedroom. Do you really think that she is up for that?”

“She’s wanted more commitment.”

“Is that what she said?” I asked.

“Yes...well not exactly. Not with those exact words, but it was in her eyes, I have to read between the lines.” I looked at my best friend and chuckled. He was really sick over this girl. Their relationship was disgusting. It started off as purely physical. A couple of times a week she would come over. Sometimes when I came home they’d be in his room having sex, and Doug had this terrible habit of leaving his door open, assuming, I guess, that I wouldn’t be home any time soon.

“I never watched,” I said.

“You never watched what?” Doug responded. I realized that I said out loud what was supposed to be inner dialogue.

“I never watched Dancing with the Stars.” Doug looked at me with a strange look, shook his head and then finished his beer.

Anyway, I never watched them have sex; I would just walk quickly to my room and shut the door, hoping that I wouldn’t disturb them. Soon, she was over more often. Twice a week became four times a week, then every day. Sometimes Doug went to her place, but she lived with four other people, and they couldn’t get privacy there so essentially, she lived with us for the better part of six months. She was cool.

I grew accustomed to coming home and seeing a tidy living room and clean dishes in the cabinets. The daily routine of Shelby being around was pleasant, she laughed at our jokes and our silliness. She didn’t judge us, not for the pictures we took, not for porn we watched. I liked sitting in our back yard with her drinking beers, listening to music and talking about culture. She knew pop culture, she had opinions, and she was near perfection. She was easy to talk to and fun to hang with.

Then I fucked her.

To be more correct, Doug, Shelby and I along with this chick Pamela had a foursome. It’s L.A., we party, we have a good time and sometimes we have foursomes.

“Can we join you?” I looked up and saw Natasha and Y. We called him Y because he was Russian and we could never pronounce his fucking name correctly, but it started with a Y.

“Hey. Sure, you can sit,” Doug replied before I could.

“Hey Matty,” Natasha said.

“Hey Natasha. Hey Y.”

“What’s up homeboy,” Y said with a thick Russian accent. He spoke pretty good late 80’s b-boy slang. His English was pretty good too, but he wasn’t always easy to understand. He and Natasha were cousins. Y had moved here to go to UCLA six years ago when he was twenty. He was moving back to St. Petersburg at the end of the year. During the few conversations I had had with him over the years, he often lamented his fondness for “Mother Russia” calling it “dope,” “fly,” and my personal favorite adjective of his “motherfucking gangsta lean.” I do not think that meant what he thought it meant, but whenever he said it, I always smiled.

“What’s going on tonight?” I asked.

“Not much. We were hoping you two had a scoop for us,” Natasha replied.

“Nothing on our end. We’re just here to have a couple of beers and make some plans for the rest of the evening,” I said looking at Doug for some support. Natasha and Y were cool enough, but hanging out with them could lead you to some slight drug and vodka induced behavior and perhaps a rap sheet if we weren’t careful. Doug stared off into space, looking for Catie to return with my beer so he could order his next one most likely.

“So Yagevny got his license the other day,” Natasha said sliding into the seat next to me. She put her hand on my knee and grinned in my direction before removing her hand to apply a coat of Chap Stick. She licked her lips and put her hand back on my knee. Y pulled out his chair and sat down as well.

“It’s fuckin’ dope bro, it only took me two times to pass that test. Crazy wack funky, no?” Y asked. Doug and I looked at each other and smiled. Doug barely contained his laughter, but didn’t want to risk pissing Y off, he had a bit of a temper and neither of us was in condition to try to calm him down.

“Why you smile?” Y asked us, grabbing the salt and pepper shakers on the table.

“Cool it Yagevny, they’re just happy for you,” Natasha said, she patted his knee to calm him down. Y nodded and smiled and put the shakers back on the table. Was he going to throw those at each of us? The thought was short-lived as beer and vodka began to flow at our table.

A quarter bottle of Smirnov Vodka and three shattered glasses were on my floor when I woke up the next morning. Catie was in my bed naked, Natasha and I were on the floor naked and I had a skull splitting headache. Catie’s soft snore was a sound I had heard plenty of times, but I was impressed with Natasha’s frame, the first time I was seeing it sober, well at least not drunk. I couldn’t really say I felt sober, I did feel sick, and left the scene to make a deposit in the toilet.

When I got out of the bathroom I put on a pair of shorts and a slightly dirty Dodgers t-shirt and joined Doug on the couch where he was watching the E channel.

“Good afternoon sunshine,” Doug said.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“Nearly 2:00. Do you remember anything?”

“I’m sorry man. Last night was supposed to be about us hanging out and I go and get drunk and I’m sure it was no fun at all. That’s not what was supposed to happen.”

“C’mon man, it was fine, we had a good night. We gotta go pick up the car later though.”

“What happened after we left the restaurant?”

“We were there a while; we waited for Catie to get off work at midnight. Then we headed to Club Mann. Fortunately, Carlos was bouncing, because they didn’t want to let you in, and they didn’t let Y in.”

“Really?”

“He was pretty wasted. Natasha flashed her tits at the guy, and they let her in. Catie and I were the only ‘sober’ ones in the group.”

“What happened to Y?”

“Catie put him in a cab and he went home. He doesn’t want to get into any shit and get sent home early. That guy loves L.A.” I snorted and then rubbed my head. “Oh yeah that,” Doug said with a grin.

“This isn’t just an alcohol headache?”

“Alcohol didn’t help you, but actually this guy elbowed you in the back of your skull because you took pictures of his sister a couple months back.”

“Who?”

“Some D-list celeb, nothing memorable, Carlos got him. Either way, that seemed like a good time to leave. You danced and made out with Natasha on the dance floor and in the cab; Catie and I made sure you guys made it to your room.”

“I’m sorry man.”

“No don’t be, you didn’t throw up, Catie and I listened for you two fucking, but I think you both conked out. We sat out her on the couch watching The Matrix and then she headed to your room to go to sleep.”

“So, a night I can’t remember, and I didn’t get laid. That’s perfect.”

“I did.”

“You and Catie?”

“We were talking about shit ya know, and I was telling her about missing Shelby, and she talked about her ex, some douche named Xavier and we just bonded over heartache and a Keanu Reeves classic.”

“So are you good?”

“I’m gonna be. I missed fucking ya know? It felt good to have a nice violent jizz.” Ew.

I looked down at the couch and then I looked back at Doug. He smiled, and nodded.

“Fucking get the shampooer and clean this motherfucker. I thought we promised neither of us would have sex on this couch anymore. I gotta sit here and sometimes take naps. You’re an asshole you know that?” We both laughed and then I grabbed the back of my head and decided it was time to take some aspirin.

“2 weeks man. 2 fucking weeks.”

“Well, 2 non-fucking weeks. Way to get back on the horse.”

“Saddle up motherfuckers, Doug Cruz is back to ride!”