Book 2: Operation Detour
Episode 3
Hummer
I’m busy staring into the abyss – or whatever people stare into when on drugs, in shock, and consumed with self-loathing – when I fail to notice that traffic has slowed to a crawl. I slam into the back end of a candy-apple red Hummer. It puts a slight smudge on its bumper. My car is now even more compact than before, radiator spewing steam.
The Hummer driver jumps out, screaming, “What the hell is wrong with you?!”
I untangle myself from the steering wheel and sit in shock for a moment while the very large Hummer driver approaches, still screaming, “Are you blind or something?! Did you not see my extra-large vehicle!?”
He pronounces the “h” in “vehicle,” which always makes me laugh. I roll down my window.
“Smorgasbord,” I say to him. I don’t know why. The word comes out of nowhere. This happens sometimes. I should probably see someone about that.
It never occurs to me to stop popping these new pills like M&M’s. I’ve lost track of how many I’ve had.
Hummer Man says, “Huh?”
With a more fanatical look, I explain to my new friend, “Life. It’s a smorgasbord! It’s all there for the taking!”
Hummer Man stops screaming and starts nodding, either in agreement or confusion. I never understood why people nod in confusion. I mean, if you’re confused, stop nodding.
Anyway, seeing its effect on the man, I start chanting softly as I get out of the car. “Smorgasbord. Smorgasbord. Smorgasbord.”
I walk blithely past him. He’s looking at me as if I’m insane... because I am. But it’s the fun, temporary kind of insane, I tell myself.
Still staring at the Hummer, I repeat softly, “It’s all there for the taking.”
Hummer Man follows my eyes and says, “Oh, no. You’re not...”
Too late! I win the three-yard dash to his vehicle, jump in and lock the door. As hoped, the keys are in it. The man furiously bangs on the window, but is very careful not to damage his baby.
It is a swap, I tell myself, not a theft. I have simply traded my car for his. Is it my fault his car is so much better than mine?
Through the closed window, laughing, I say, “You can take my car. The keys are in it. Go ahead!”
To his horror, I grind the gears – his gears – as I merge back out into traffic. Adding injury to insult, I run over his expensive shoes.
Punching the accelerator, I zip past dozens of cars, leaving Hummer Man in my rearview mirror. After a moment, I squeeze back in among the line of cars trying to take this exit to the airport. There, I am again confronted with gridlock.
“I have no time for this!” I yell at the cars and, once again, grind the gears as I pull off onto the median. “Let’s see what this puppy can do!” I circle the other cars and crash through a chain link fence.
I have just created a more convenient and direct route to the parking garage, proving that there is always time for public service deeds.
I squeal the tires, causing echoes throughout the garage, before finding a spot in front of a fire hydrant. I jump out and leave it there with the keys in it. I am sure it will be towed... or stolen. It might even cause a complete shutdown of the airport by hyper-vigilant security officers, but hopefully not until after I am long gone.
The Airport Terminal
I walk slowly and calmly through the airport terminal, pretending to be normal. I know that any review of the security tapes will reveal my identity, but I will be out of the country by then... hopefully.
I have no idea where I might go. Timbuktu? Kathmandu? One of those places I could never find on a map. Things just aren’t working out for me in this country. It’s time for a change of scenery.
Better yet, I should visit the southern hemisphere. I’ve heard that a toilet flushes in the opposite direction there. My luck will be the exact opposite of what it has been here! Brilliant! I love it when I’m brilliant.
My life can go down the drain in the opposite direction! Oops. I need to stay positive.
I come across a gift shop selling hats, among other over-priced items. I find a blue fedora, try it on, check my look in the mirror, and buy it from the smiling woman behind the counter.
I match her smile. The world is a beautiful place, I tell myself, especially me in my new hat.
Around the corner from the shop, I spot a travel poster showing a beautiful dark-haired woman in a blue bikini. She is immersed in a collage of beaches, islands, palm trees, and Malaysia’s iconic Petronas Towers.
Moving toward it, I reach out and run my hand over the frame. Still smiling, I caress it. It’s going to be a great day. I can feel it.
Realizing that people are staring at me, I clear my throat, try to look normal, and move quickly to the nearest ticket counter. Adjusting my new fedora, I ask the man, “Do you fly to Malaysia?”
“No,” the agent deadpans, “but Malaysian Air at the next window does.”
I slide over to the female ticket agent behind that counter and doff my hat. She’s a lady, after all, and I’m pretending to be a gentleman, hoping for maximum coolness. Axel McLean, and all that.
Having overheard my conversation with her ticket counter neighbor, this agent asks helpfully, “Where in Malaysia would you like to go, sir?”
“What would you suggest for a fun-loving single guy like me?”
“If you want nightlife, I suggest Kuala Lumpur.”
“Kuala Lumpur?!” I say it a little too excitedly.
She takes a step back.
In a normal voice, I say, “I’ve heard of it. Always loved that name. It just sounds so exotic, sexy, and so... foreign.”
“Yes, it is foreign,” she replies uncertainly.
“Are there a lot of koala bears?” I try to be funny. “I would like a one-way ticket, please.”
“One way?” She shakes her head.
“I’m dying,” I say, hoping to sound tragic. “No point paying for a return flight.” I hang my head in despair.
“I am so sorry,” she says. “You look... healthy.”
“Yes, but I don’t have much time left. Don’t worry. It’s not contagious.”
She does not look concerned. “I cannot sell you a one-way ticket, sir. It is against the law.”
“Against the law? Why?”
“Too many tourists who visit never want to leave.”
“Wow, it’s that nice?”
“Yes, it is,” she says proudly. “But you cannot stay,” she makes it clear.
In a stage whisper, the other agent says, “Actually, it’s not that they don’t want to leave. They are arrested for crimes they did not commit then thrown in prison so they can’t leave.”
“Just because that happened to you...” the female agent snaps. “Don’t you have work to do?”
“And my roommate!” the man snaps back.
“Your roommate is a drug-dealing gay gigolo!” the woman says. “What did you expect?”
“Don’t worry,” she assures me. “You will be fine if you stay away from brothels and drugs.”
“Oh, I never do drugs,” I assure her, forgetting that I am, as we speak, under their influence.
I charge the trip to my credit card with the ridiculously high limit. The one I have every intention of maxing out and never paying back.
Walking away from the counter, I catch sight of a ridiculously attractive gray-eyed, black-haired woman coming toward me. Pale eyes and dark hair get me every time. She has a phone to her ear with one hand, pulling a wheeled-suitcase with the other.
She smiles directly at me. Looks familiar. I turn around to see who she’s smiling at.
Me, apparently, so I check my fedora. Make sure it’s tilted at the proper angle.
~ ~ ~
On the phone with Serge, Riva says, “I am looking right at him. I will let you know how it goes. Gotta go.” She hangs up as she reaches Dobie.
~ ~ ~
“Dobie? Is that you?” says the ridiculously attractive woman.
With enthusiasm that surprises even me, I say, “Hey! Small world! How’s it going... uh...”
“Riva,” she helps.
“No, that’s not it,” I joke. I’ve always wanted to do that. She does not laugh. I remember seeing her once coming out of Christian’s room in Beverly Hills.
“Aren’t you one of Christian’s girlfriends?” I continue. “You look different. New haircut? Gain weight?”
Her jaw drops at the weight comment, but she lets it go. “I am not wearing my colored lenses,” she says. “And Christian and I were never together. We were just friends.”
I remember Christian saying he’d had sex with her, but he could have been lying.
“Colored lenses?” I ask, looking into her eyes, now captivated.
“Contact lenses,” she explains. “I sometimes wear the green ones.”
“And you say you’re not with Christian?”
“That’s right, I am single.”
“Me, too!”
“You are not with Cheryl anymore? Interesting!”
“That’s right,” I announce happily, then change the subject for fear that it will ruin this awesome buzz I’ve got going. “So, how’ve you been?”
“Great! You?” A guilty look flashes across her face, but I think nothing of it.
“I couldn’t possibly be better,” I say. And, thanks to the drugs, I believe it.
“Are you waiting on someone?” Riva asks, looking around.
“Aren’t we all?” I joke. She looks confused and I add more seriously, “No, just standing here waiting for my muse. I was hoping you were it.”
“Your muse?”
“Never mind,” I realize that was a bit too forward. “You coming or going?”
“Going,” she says with a half-smile. “You?”
“Going,” I say. “Definitely going places.”
“Where to?”
I don’t answer. I just stare at her, smiling, once again lost in her eyes.
“Yo, dude,” she breaks the spell, “you’re creeping me out.”
“Sorry, I spaced out for a second.” Digging into my pants pocket, I ask, “Want some of this?”
“Not especially, no,” she is afraid of what I might whip out.
I pull out my bottle of pills.
“Wait, yes,” she says, “let me see.” She reads the label aloud: “Triphenocyclizine.” Handing it back, unopened, she asks how many I’ve taken.
I start counting on my fingers. I get up to almost ten before very confidently saying, “No idea.”
“OK, well, it was good seeing you again, Dobie. See you ‘round.”
“Yeah, okay. See ya.” I give her a semi-salute and try not to stare at her ass as she leaves. Once she is out of earshot, I say aloud to no one, “Soon, I will be dead and will never have sex again.”
Feeling the weight of my stare, she turns, smirks and again waves goodbye. I raise my chin in response, then stare off into space.
I have been popping pills all day. I refuse to be held responsible for my actions. That’s the good thing about drugs. You can convince yourself that what comes next is not your fault.