Anyway. So I get this late night frantic call that he needs to stay with me. I have MADE this call before and thank GOD for my dear friend Joanie AND Michael....or I would have been under the brooklyn bridge ....or throwing myself from it. I didn't know I made that call twice. Well there you are. Anyway. So my friend calls. And of course....bring your shit over and don't be scared. There really is nothing worse than being scared of not having a place to go....well maybe a horrible outbreak of herpes....Or my ex....but I digress.
So my friend...I need to name him...as I am not sure he wants PUBLICLY to be known as my friend and honestly who can blame him. My Mother feels quite similarly. So I will call him Jim.
So Jim comes over and was a bit shaken up and so logically we drink our faces off and then he goes out with friends and I pass out like the old man I am....before midnight. That's how sexy I am. I got invited to THE hottest club in town today where they have that studio 54 bullshit about only letting certain people in etc and my friend goes all the time and wanted me to go with her. And because I am soo not at all cool....I declined due to the fact it STARTS at 11pm. I know. I am lame. it is true. I know.
And he was going to a drag show. Really not my thing. I think it is lovely for people who like the drag. But for me it is a tad like scary clowns. Except for the fact it might be because the last time I attended a drag establishment was for a girlfriend's birthday ( why do women love to see drag for their birthday and engagement parties? I don't understand. I am not running to hooters followed by a night at scores when I get hitched) that she wanted to have at a drag restaurant...yes...they exist...can you imagine how awful the food is. Exactly. So At that dinner. the food was soo awful that we just drank. And Drank. And shots for the birthday girl and more and more and one more and just a nightcap before we go home and one more.....until I woke up full dressed in my bed with the keys left in the outside of the door and a headache to rival certain medieval torture devises....or my longest relationship. So I got up and realized my shirt was buttoned all wonky. What? So then I go into the bathroom....take it off...and realize I have smeared lipstick kisses all over my body. Oh shit. Did I make out with the birthday girl? So I call her. " hey....are we ok? Did we...make out....quite a bit...and how far did we go...?" To this she burst into one of the loudest fits of laughter I have ever heard. "What?" I asked head pounding and annoyed. "Um...Zack...." Well. It seems I had...how does one put this...a few cocktails...and somewhere after I blacked out....the drag queen...named peppermint gummybear...or peppermint candycane....some God damned peppermint something....well...pulled me onto stage and did her "song" while riding me like a bull and proceeded to rip off my shirt and kiss my body. I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen......the video. So that might explain why I am a tad weary of "the drag" as it were.
Anyway. Jim. DAMN IT THIS IS JIM'S STORY. So Jim goes out and gets in VERY late. Like next morning,,, about the time I need to go to work late. And God bless. If I had gone through that trauma of possible homelessness I might do something similar...like suicide.
So he got to bed and I left for the gym(which is a stupid thing to write but then again maybe some one might think I work out and ask me out...which has really worked well for me thus far...dateless in what...months....no....years? Lord.)....then work.
Then I texted him to see how the night was.
Then I texted him to see if they keys worked.
Then I texted him to see if he knew where the menus were
And Nothing.
So I called and left a message
"hey Jimmmmy. Big night you whore. Call me."
Nothing.
Soo I called again
"Jimmmmmaaaaaaaay. I mean really you slag. Call Me"
Nothing.
Text again.
"Jim. Are you Okay. Let me know. XO"
Nothing.
Wait ten minutes.
Call.
"ALLRIGHT JIM I AM FREAKING THE FUCK OUT HERE. IF YOU DON'T CALL ME I AM GOING TO COME BACK BECAUSE I AM....WELL FREAKING THE FUCK OUT!"
So at this point I am on the verge of a full blown panic attack and taking two xanex just so I dont have a heart attack because I have realized what has happened.
Jim is dead.....In my bed.
Jim went out. Did cocaine somewhere( as somehow NYC is Liza Studio 54 again and coke is sold in vending machines next to Doritos)....drank too much....took a sleeping pill...he had asked me for earlier...and I gave him....and he....like every socialite as of late....died in his sleep from the combination.....but this time....on my watch...in MY house. FROM MY SLEEPING PILL.
What am I going to tell his Mother? "Um...I am sorry....he died...of a drug overdose...in my house...From his heart stopping from the PILL I GAVE HIM" WHAT THE FUCK CAN YOU SAY TO MAKE THIS NOT THE MOST HORRIBLE CONVERSATION EVER???!
And then I have to LIVE in this apt where someone I loved DIED. DEAD. IN MY BED. DEAD. And then I need to buy a new bed and sadly will HAVE to throw out the frette sheets I loved because there would be death all over them....maybe I would try to wash them in really hot water....except they have to be dry cleaned....well dry clean and then maybe... sage them? I mean, they are really great sheets....BUT still I would look at them and see dead friend (but they are greeeeeat sheets.) DEATH. Someone needed a roof over their head. And I killed them. With a pill that barely puts me to sleep....kills my loved ones. Next I will stab my Mother or give my God daughter a bottle of bleach. WHAT IS NEXT?
So I go to the only co-worker that actually likes me.... freaking out. I am on my third Xanex and am shaking. Pam....I am about to have a heart attack (insert story above here) " and I killed him....I have written now 46 texts and called 37 times. He is dead. It rings. It doesn't just go to voice mail....he would hear....he would pick up...he is DEAD. AND I KILLED HIM"
I am soo hysterical at this point I actually look like an insane person and am shaking. Pam looks at me and says "No. he is asleep." and I said " there is no way. He is dead and I cannot walk into my apartment and see this man dead and know I killed him"
Pam: "Zack. You are insane. He is sleeping off a big night. He is not dead"
Zack: "He is dead. I am leaving. I have to try to get him to the hospital or give him mouth to mouth or something"
And at this point I run out of my office without a coat in the middle of winter with tears running down my face like the Mother in "terms of endearment" GIVE MY DAUUUGHTER THE DRUUUUGS!!
I get a cab and scream crying about needing to speed and run lights and someone is dying and I have to get there....to a man...that I am sure didn't speak english as all he said the entire time in a very scared voice "My friend...we will go fast....My Friend...We will go fast" I am fetal in the back seat "poor Jim...Poor gym. HIS MOOOOTHHHHER....oh GOD his MOOOOTHER"
So we get to my apartment and I throw "my friend" a wad of bills that later I found was about forty dollars (for a eight dollar cab ride) and sprint to (almost through) the glass door leading to my apartment. I rang the buzzzer....nothing.... I ran up the five flights to get to my apartment like I was rescuing a baby from a fire...but the baby was dead...and I killed it...and I get to the top floor and to my hall four feet from my apt...ready to do cpr and call 911 and my phone rings....
Motherfucking Jim.
"hey...(yaaaaaaaawn) you allright?"
I ran so fast to my door and almost broke the fucker down.
" YOU SON OF A BITCH *^%*&^$&^%#%^&$#&^%$*&^RT(*^T(*&^T(*T)(every word possible"
I scream at the still half asleep and half drunk- supposed to be dead- man.
HOW DARE YOU DO THIS TO ME!!!??
(Insert original story here)
And I am huffing and puffing and crying and out of breath and about to have a heart attack.
"Sorry" And he stumbles into the bathroom and I hear him piss.
"Sorry?" I stand there.
Oh my God. That was all in my head. I was able to create that entire thing...that entire nervous breakdown....just in my own head. I had picked the song I would sing at the funeral...and the outfit...and how we would frame his picture and the make-up artist that would make him look life like if not better (that would be my gift to his dead ass) I had thought about venues and flowers...charities and my speech. What verse I could find about not stoning me for killing him.
And it was all for nothing. FOR NOTHING.
And this is the lesson I learned....I share with you today...this is why....THIS is why.....You should never let anyone stay at your house....why IIIIIII will never let anyone stay in my house ever again. They all die on me....and then don't have the decency to be dead.
No comments:
Post a Comment