The Legend of Joel Riggins part 7: Afternoon with Bill
by Daniel Beadle - Friday, September 14, 2007
Stacy Kepler jogs down Chancy Lane in the warm summer afternoon sun. Her mind focuses on her breathing, keeping it steady and constant. And as the action becomes natural, her mind drifts from one concern to another. Did she remember to lock the door to her house before she left? Did she pay the right amount on her credit card bill? Where is her relationship with Steve headed? All these thoughts and more are shattered by the obscene noises and gestures of Bill Stevens, driving right along side her.“UUUUUGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!” shouts Bill. “There ya go, sweetheart! Lookin’ good!” Bill has both of his small, T-Rex arms hanging out of the driver side of his black pick-up truck. He pulls himself back in, and returns his attention to the road. “Did you see the nuts on her, guy?” he asks Joel.
Joel looks back at his boss. “Why do you call tits 'nuts,' Bill? That’s gonna get confusing real quick, I can tell ya that much.”
“Ah, whatever guy.” Bill fumbles on the dashboard for a cigarette. “So what’s up this weekend, Riggins? It’s the ol’ summer blow out. You not gonna leave old Billy in the dark, are ya?”
“Nah guy…” Joel begins searching his mind. “Well, I know Baker’s parents are out of town this week, so we’ll probably…”
“Yeah guy. House party.” Bill flicks his cigarette ash out the window as he takes a right turn. “Just make sure you got plenty o’ coke. Call Rix.”
Joel nods. “So what’s up with your girl, Stephanie? You aren't spending the weekend with her?”
“Just tomorrow night, guy. You shoulda seen it, Riggins. Last weekend, we had a night out. Now you know she only has one ear, right?”
“Yeah. So she wears her hair down to cover it up.”
“Exactly. So she was sittin’ where you are, and I had the window rolled down, tryin’ to blow it back a little.”
Joel starts laughing. “No way, guy. So you were trying to catch a look at her missing ear?”
“Yeah guy. In the side mirror there.”
“Bill, why don’t you just date women who have all their body parts?”
* * *
A half hour later, Joel and Bill are sitting in Applebee’s. The place is crawling with wholesome, middle class types, enjoying their lunches and taking refuge from the hot afternoon sun.“So she was a fat chick?” Bill asks.
“Yup.”
Bill takes a large swig of his beer. “I guess we all have our vices, right kid?”
A small, ten-year-old boy wanders up next to Bill, and tugs at his pant leg. “Are you a dinosaur?” asks the boy.
Bill looks down at the boy. “Nah, kid. I’m your father. Now go tell your mother that.” The boy scurries away.
Joel is laughing to himself. “T-Rex!”
“Shut up, guy.” Bill tosses a perfunctory glance at the child, clinging to his mother’s leg. “Could be my kid, who knows? Definitely not yours, Riggins.” Bill looks at Joel’s receding hairline. “I could recognize your kid at birth: It would be bald and have a little dick.”
Joel looks back at him. “What, you mean unlike all those babies out there with a full head of hair and an elephant trunk between their legs?”
“Shut up, guy.” Bill takes another large swig of beer. “I’m not the one bangin’ the fat chicks.”
“Yeah, well at least they got big tits.”
“TITS?! WHAT GOOD ARE TITS? AM I GONNA FUCK ‘EM? THAT’S WHAT HER MOUTH AND HOLES ARE FOR!”
The entire restaurant goes quiet. A shocked mother is clasping her hands on the ears of her innocent son.
Bill glances around, then finishes his beer. “C’mon Riggins, let’s go to Hooters.”
* * *
The afternoon turns into early evening, as the lunch crowd gives way to the dinner crowd.Joel looks up at the big-breasted Hooters waitress, and thinks of slowing his alcohol intake for the day. “Yeah, I’ll take a coffee.”
“A coffee,” Bill responds, with his final word bordering on disgust. “Yeah, real cute.” Bill looks at the waitress. “Get this kid a beer.”
Joel shrugs, and the waitress flashes him a cute smirk that hints at a mutual attraction.
“So I’m rentin’ a cherry picker tomorrow. Costs something like… four hundred an hour, but something tells me it’ll be worth it.”
“A cherry picker? What for?”
“I’m doing some renovation work on a house out in Springfield.”
“Oh yeah, by the way, Bill, before I forget: I can’t come to work tomorrow. I’m moving into my new place. Lyons is helping me.”
“Whatever guy. As long as you make up the time.” Bill’s attention wanders. “Ooo, what’s this?”
Joel looks in the same direction. “That’s a potted plant, Bill.” Joel feels his stomach. “Alright, I gotta take a shit.”
Minutes pass. A girl waits in the vestibule outside the one-person bathrooms. The sound of explosive diarrhea erupts from within the men’s room, sputtering and splattering like a dying car engine. Joel opens the door, looking exhausted as he stumbles into the hallway. He catches her look of disgust on him.
“Crazy weather we’ve been having, huh?”
Suddenly, a dart flies through the air, and sticks into Joel’s calf. He lets out a sharp yelp.
“Guy, let’s play some darts! Your up!” shouts Bill from the edge of the hallway.
* * *
Four dart games, five shots, two beers, and three whiskeys later, Joel and Bill are cruising down the Mass Pike heading toward Boston.
"I'm hungry. Hand me that box of Munchkins from the back seat."Joel fumbles around, and digs up the box of day-olds. Bill reaches in, and pulls out two chocolate frosted Munchkins, shoving them hungrily into his mouth. "Mmm... man nuts,” he says.
“What did you say?” asks Joel.
“What? You know I call tits ‘nuts.’”
“Yeah, but you said ‘man nuts.’ And that was after you shoved two testicle-sized objects in your mouth. You see, I knew that word was gonna be trouble.”
Bill begins to respond, but is interrupted by his ringing cell phone. He answers. “Yo, what’s up Rix.” Pause. “Boston.” Pause. “Yeah guy, at that Burger King. Okay, twenty minutes.” He hangs up. “We’re meetin’ Rix at the Burg.” His foot goes heavy on the gas.
* * *
Bill pulls up at the Burger King drive-through menu. “What do you want, Riggins?”
“I dunno. Get me a... Whopper.”
Bill looks back at the menu.
“Welcome to Burger King. Can I interest you in our new fresh steak—” The broken, techno voice rambles on, but the details of the pitch are lost to static, and to the mumbles of an employee who’s said the same line too many times to care about audibility.
“Yeah, I’ll take two BK Stackers, and a Whopper with extra man-glaze.” Bill stresses the last word.
“Mayonnaise?” asks the voice.
“Yeah, extra MAN-GLAZE.”
* * *
Two minutes later, Joel and Bill are unwrapping their food in the parking lot. Joel’s hamburger is swimming in a milky-white substance, and he hopes down to the pit of his soul that he bites into mayonnaise and not sperm.
Brian Rix, a tall, lanky man with curly locks taps on Bill’s window. Bill rolls it down and accepts a small package from Rix, handing him a small wad of cash in return. “There ya go, buddy. That’s an eight ball, right there. Good stuff, too.” Rix sniffs, as his wide eyes scan the parking lot.
“Thanks, kid,” responds Bill, trying to look casual. “You goin’ out tonight?”
“Nah,” says Rix. “I gotta check in with this guy from Philadelphia. It’s a long story. But Riggins…” He looks over at Joel. “You movin’ into your new place tomorrow?”
“Yeah guy,” says Joel. “We’re playin’ poker.”
“Well, I don’t know about that. But I’ll definitely stop by and do some yackas.”
“Yeah buddy,” says Joel.
“Alright, you boys have fun, eh?” Rix slips into the night, and his adventures continue elsewhere.
Bill looks at Joel. “Well, we’re already in Boston. Might as well hit The Grindhouse.”
* * *
The Grindhouse is a mafia-owned, mafia-run strip club in the heart of Boston. The place reeks of underworld class, and is frequented by the sexually frustrated and hedonistic slobs birthed by dead-end jobs and married life. It’s an all-nude club, and therefore touching is strictly prohibited. The one small exception is on Thursday nights, when, for the right price, any man can get a Polaroid picture of himself with a stripper of choice.
Joel and Bill enter the front doors, teeming with a uniquely male sense of excitement. Say what you will about strip clubs, but in these places, in these corners of society, men are rewarded for their sexual appetites, rather than condemned. And for gentlemen like Joel and Bill, clubs such as this are their little slices of heaven.
Joel and Bill get settled at the bar, with the dancer making her way through a sea of hungry eyes and quickly draining wallets.
“So,” Bill starts. "This girl you banged... was she an inny or an outy?”
Joel is comically appalled. “What?”
"Did her junk hang out, or was it neatly tucked in?"
"Jeeze, Bill. I don't know. That's not really something I keep track of."
“I do, guy. I like something I can cup.” Bill makes a gesture with his hands, that in his mind looks like he’s massaging a girl’s labia, but in actuality looks like he’s cupping someone’s balls.
“Bill, are you sure you’re not gay?”
“Alright, Riggins. Hammer down.” Bill shifts his attention to a new stripper making her way to the stage. He pulls out a dollar and waves it in the air. “Here ya go, cutie. Uncle Bill will take care of ya.”
The stripper makes her way over to Bill, and sits in front of him as she straitens her top. “I almost didn’t come tonight.”
“Well, I’m glad you did, honey,” Bill responds. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Jasmine,” she says as she stands and begins her routine. She begins sliding her body back and forth to the techno remixes of last year’s Latin hits, removing pieces of her exotic outfit little by little. She soon slides her chest over Bill’s grizzled face, and then leans back to remove her thong. As she kicks it off, Bill stares at her box, taking notice of a small, white rope emerging from her snatch.
In one motion, Bill nudges Joel, leans back in his stool, and points directly at Jasmine’s cootch. “UUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!” he shouts, while pointing. “SHE’S RAGGIN’!”
Joel notices the small traces of blood on her inner thighs for the first time, and covers his mouth.
Jasmine immediately curls her legs inward, as she collects her tips, and removes herself from the stage. For the remainder of the night, she whimpers softly to herself, meeting no one’s glance.
Meanwhile, Joel and Bill finish their pitcher of beer. Another stripper, fresh off the stage, stops by to chat them up. She rubs Joel’s shoulder affectionately. “You want a dance, sweetie?”
Joel turns his head coyly. “Ooo, I wish I could sweetheart. But I don’t have any extra cash.”
“I’m sure your friend here could help you out.”
Joel looks at Bill. “Think again, Riggins. But hey, while you’re here,” Bill continues, “Can we get a Polaroid?”
Seconds later, Joel and Bill are holding the stripper up in front of a Polaroid camera, her arms draped over the boys’ shoulders, and each of her legs held by their arms.
Bill tosses Joel a glance. “Y’know, guy, we should use this to promote the painting company…”
“Yeah, Bill, that’ll go over real well.”
NEXT: MORE STRIPPERS
