Part 3
They lay in bed, the flickering lights washing over their bodies, as their eyes lazily viewed the giver of the lights. "There "s a lot of really crappy movies on TV late night, you know.",he said quietly. "The kind you find in the under appreciated part of the video store..... ", Pamela clarified. "Geez.... ", pointing at the TV screen. "I don't know if I "d call this under appreciated art." "Why? That "s only what we "ve been doing for the past hour!", she slyly commented. "Ah...... well, um, we elevated it to a genuine art form! We should be filmed!" She swung her line of vision toward him. "Now, don't tempt me! "Ohh, you "re nasty!", he joked. "You "ve been smelling too many of the paint fumes in the adult room, right?" "What does that have to do with anything?", she purred, squeezing him. "All those movies -- burned into your brain.", he said. "The experts were right -- those types of things do mess up your head....", chuckling. "Mmmmm......", her moan stretching suspensfully. Jim thought her next phrase would be wickedly witty. "Jim.... I'm hungry." "Hungry, hmm.... for what?", he grinned. "Well,", slowly parting from him before rolling off the bed's side. "There's all kinds of snacks in the cupboard!" Her voice cracked on the word snacks, as if it signified something tremendously important. Jim, on the other hand, frowned in bafflement. "Oh....like what?", he asked. "Caviar... shrimp??" "No way!", she burst. "I buy strictly dry snacks! So.... cookies and crackers?" "Do I want them?", he mocked. "Bring them on!" "Only the best on the street.", she gleamed, walking into the kitchen. "You'll never find them anywhere else." "Except in every other house in town, of course." "Details, details! They bother me none!" She opened up the cupboards, looking for any edible simplicities, and returned to bed holding both a package of cookies and a box of crackers. She sat on the bed, cross-legged, facing Jim who was still lying on his back, and handed him the cookie bag. "God, I'm hungry. I never ate a whole lot today.", she flustered, before eating into her first cracker. "Yea, I know... this isn't much of a meal, but it's the best I can do." "Hmmm...", Jim hummed in jest, yet with subtle delight. "Cookies with fudge centers!" "Now those...those are the best ones, I tell you!", she smiled, brushing her hand against her stomach. "I'm getting a bit of a tummy because of all this elegance, though." Jim looks at her stomach, still nude along with the rest of her. "Don't say that,", poking her gently in the middle. "I enjoyed that tummy." "I bet you did!", she growled lovingly. "It's difficult to buy good food on my salary... I'm lucky to be able to live in this dump!" Pamela mumbled the last words of the sentence, trying to hide any sour emotion. "Well... it's a home. I live in similar circumstances.", he reminded her. "Yea, well, what are you supposed to do. I work at a fucking video store -- where else am I going to go in life?", her voice hardening. Jim's eyes widened from the shock of her profanity against his eardrums. "Or....", Pamela responded upon noticing his reaction, "... did you suppose I was born to work there?" "Umm... no, I didn't...", thinking that he'd have to be on the defensive. Her apologetic smile saved them from awkward silence. "sorry...", she said pleasingly. "I guess that is not really conducive to an... intimate evening together." "Well, that's over with....", he said, even while unabling to remove this display of bitterness from his memory. "...where were we?" "Well,", picking up another cracker. "We were engaged in our post-erotic session." "Do you...", crunching on a cookie, "like to eat after wild sex or something?" "Some people like to light up after sex.....", she smiles seductively, before unseductively crashing her teeth against the fragile cracker. "...but for me, food is the ultimate afterwards tool. Besides, smoking kills you faster than any eating binge, even without sex!" Jim noticed a shower of crumbs raining over her stomach. "Hmmmm....hae you ever thought of....using food during?" Pamela's eyebrows raised, in naughty amusement. "Food? Pass me the butter!", she growls in an odd guttural voice, before exploding in hysterical laughter. Jim smiled in confusion, not understanding the reference. "Never mind -- that was just my Marlon Brando impression -- sexy, ain't it?", she giggles. "You're a nutty chick -- I don't need butter, or any impressions, to think that you're sexy...." He pauses. "Although maybe if we went to the bars, and you starting dancing on the bar in tight leather pants, I'd enjoy that!" Pamela grimace. "Ahh, no not that! I don't want to be a Coyote Ugly reject. I don't think I could stoop that low... sorry!", she shrugs sarcastically. "Not even in private?", he asks. "Well, I wouldn't dance to any country music, that's for sure!", she scoffs. "But... maybe if it were some soft, elegant piece of classical music, then I could do ---", slowly swinging her arms up in the air, mocking the movements of ballet, " --- a sensual dance, in three movements....lala la laaaaaa.....!! Wouldn't you like that idea?" Jim takes her in his arms, to rescue her from her crazy idea. She clumsily falls across his chest, before rolling on her side to face him. "We're too different ---", she spoke, honestly, but without much force, or else face the potential implications of that statement. Jim heard the words, but wasn't prepared to listen. He merely took her in with his eyes. Pamela's body was naked; the image of that was about as much art as he was willing to take in now or most other times. He let his hand roam, and his fingertips were telling her not to speak about differences, not now..... * Pamela still lay on the bed, wrapped in her blanket of childhood, yet still feeling the cold gripping her skin. "Why must you leave me?", she jokes, performing a brief, lackluster melodrama. Jim already has his jacket on. "I must go out into that great unknown -- into the realm of strange and mysterious packages -- if I return, it will be a miracle!!" He walks over to kiss her good bye. "I'll try to call you sometime today", returning to a serious tone. "although I suppose you're quite difficult to reach." "I should be home by ten....", she said softly. "Sure.", stifling a surprise yawn. Last night was a late one for him; he'll feel the effects, in more ways than one, for the rest of the day. Jim left and went on his way to work. This morning, like many others, he was off to his job, driving a delivery truck, carrying packages and letters to proper destinations. He had to reflect that the people who asked that these packages be sent more often than not had more money than he. Why else would they pay twenty dollars for premium delivery of a small package? He, on the other hand, was doomed to stay the rest of his life in such a position that he found himself in currently. Of course, he thought about that; he wasn't`t that thick. But Pamela seemed to claw at potential realities that he never could articulate. "I work at a fucking video store, where else am I going to go in life....." was the refrain. "I work at a fucking delivery service, that's the job I chose to pay the bills....", was his own interpretation. He didn`t act as if he had regrets, and he never thought he had any. But Pamela`s own pain seemed to insert much doubt into his mind as he drove, marking off delivery stop after delivery stop. * The television wasn't the same. Why watch it, if there were better things to do with one's time? "Channel after empty channel....", she said to herself. "There's nothing there -- game shows, talk shows, soaps, fluff masquerading as news -- what time killers....." There was nobody to hear her. The talking heads prattled on, snidely ignorant of the viewer, their ego too commanding to care, or to compromise. Surely there was more to life than watching pointless television shows. Instead of being passive, try being active for once, Pamela. You did want to become a stage actress at one point in your life. You had those roles at university. Did you really have to work at the video store, and fall into that trap of punching a time card each day, of doing mindless and tedious work, of paying rent, of doing laundry.... .....laundry. Her internal monologue cracked as her hand sensed the cookie crumbs from last night. All her fancies would have to halt -- off to the laundromat! * Ring of the telephone. "Hello.", said Pamela. "Hey there.....", Jim said. "So how's things going this evening." "Pretty good....", she began, not realizing that Jim was still itching to get statements into Pamela's ear. ".....I was wondering if perhaps you were home tonight, and sure enough, it was my lucky night.", he said, determined. "I was wondering if you were interested in going to the movies tonight." Pamela slowly paced the floor, her cordless telephone cradled on her shoulder. "What's playing.", she asked, her heart heavy and unintrigued. "Actually, I was wanting to see Freddy Got Fingered... the Tom Green movie!", said the voice filled with anticipation. "It's going to be really funny, I can tell!" Pamela laughed a nervous laugh, but Jim didn't seem to notice. "And I suppose you want me to go with you...." "Well, yea, why do you suppose I phoned!", said Jim, somewhat baffled. "That, I suppose....", Pamela said, monotonously. "Well... I'll be there in a few minutes!", he asked as politely as possible. "Sure....", she said. She hung up the phone after saying good-bye along with him, and sighed. * Knock knock knock. He paces about the front door, thinking that she'd appear in her best clothes, or at least with an eager face. But there was no thumping of the feet against the sensitive floor. No voices, except that from the television. He was wondering whether anything happening in there. She didn't pass out, he hoped. He felt slightly funny in the heart as he did, but he feebly reached for the doorknob, discovering it was unlocked. He let himself in. As he entered the living room, he could hear no extra sounds. No showers running, no hairdryers or the like. But he did hear one sound, the sound of sleep. Pamela had her head rested on the armrest of the couch, as if she nodded off unexpectedly. The sight was somewhat amusing, he thought, although he couldn't guess at why Pamela would suddenly be having a nap only twenty minutes after speaking to him on the phone and agreeing to a date. "hey... wake up.", he whispers closely to her ear. "I can't go on a date without you...." "ummmm.....", she moaned. "Come on...", he snickered. "Sleepyhead, the night is young." She opened her eyes on cue. Something told him that she wasn't as sleepy as she originally appeared to be. "Hello", she drawled. "I ... guess I fell asleep.", she smiled weakly, before lazily closing her eyes again. "How about we just stick around here for a while... There's always movies playing at the cinema, they're not going anywhere." "Oh no you don't", he joked, pulling her up to a sleeping position, and feeling her body deliberately relax to a ragdoll state. "Don't be a lazy woman... get out and have some fun. Work's wearing you down... I remember your happy comment." Pamela's muscles suddenly tensed. She wasn't sleeping. "Let's just do something else.", she said again, slowly rising to a sitting position. "I really don't care....", her voice in a gruff whisper, "to see a movie right now. "Why don "t you want to go? ", he mockingly sobbed. "It'll be fun, I promise.... " "I don't really want to see anything like that.... ", Pamela droned, visibly frustrated. "...let "s just take a walk or something. " "Please... ", he prodded. "It "s supposed to be pretty funny. It will be funny! " "No, no, no, no! ", she repeated. Jim jerked back, stunned at her animosity. "What "s.... ", he began, before Pamela burst back. "I can "t see that kind of movie, I just can "t! ", she affirmed. "They "re ... they "re retarded, excuse my rather politically incorrect terminology!" "Huh? , Jim questioned. "Jim.... some of us are a little more.... high minded. , she said rationally. "Some of us don "t want to witness the potentially disturbing sight of a man doing atypical things to animals.... some of us are a little more discriminating than that! " "What "s that supposed to mean? ", Jim asked. "We "re just going out to the movies, to get a few laughs." Pamela turned to look at Jim, with penetrating, heartless eyes. "You know, I "ve always had you pegged as a very laid-back fellow but I guess I never put a lot of research into that belief. ", Pamela questioned. "Jesus Christ, that shit's not funny! " "Come on.... ", Jim laughed with agitation. "Give it a chance. What do you think comedy is supposed to be: sweet and innocent? " "Well, why can't we, for once, see a film that I want to see? ", she asked, attempting reason. "Like a foreign film? If I wanted to read, I "d get the sports section and the daily comics! " "It doesn "t have to be in another language..... it can be in English. " Pause. "Or is the Queen "s English too foreign for you?" "What "s that supposed to mean? Shit! , she hisses to herself. That really wasn't "t proper..... " "You "re right..... ", he said. "What makes me so bad because I like Tom Green?" "And why am I so foolish because I watch British plays? ", she countered. "Why? what did you see in me? ", she asked, not unkindly. "What.... what was it." "I thought you were nice!", he laughed, nervously. "Nice!", he struggled, as if there were other things he was wanting to say. "Nice... hmmmm", she said. "Well, that's a start. I guess I was beautiful, too.... true." "Yea....", he said. "It's okay!", she growled, her arms flying. "You can say that I am beautiful... you can say that you wanted to sleep with me! It's normal, damn it! Surely, you have some courage!!" "You must have some courage too.....there's more to life than the sorts of stuff you're interested in." "Well, they're my interests! What do you want me to be, your little lapdog, who obeys your every whim." He motions to the left, as if wanting to hide his face from the truth. "Don't put words in my mouth." "All I've done was cater to your interests.... I went to the bar and played darts with you. I went to that dumb movie with you. Did I complain! I followed you, I didn't want to disappoint you. I let you stay with me for the night, and overall it was an enjoyable evening. I don't see why you have the right to look down on me for saying that once I'd like you to accompany me to something I want to do. You're pretty set in your ways, I'd say......" Jim shook his head. "Shouldn't we at least have a passing interest in each others hobbies.....", she added. "Or are you hoping that I'm a pushover." "Hmmmm.", Jim trembled inside. "Well.... ", understanding her game. "....you did agree to go out with me! The delivery driver!" She shrank. "So." "You ought to have known what sort of person I was... by my job, my choice in movies, my nights out." "Yea... but..." "But.. you could have just said no. You could have said you were occupied. That I wasn't "t your type. You could have recommended me to another part of the store, so to speak. But we went out ! and why was that? What do you see in ME? Did you need me to feel superior to? To prove that there was more to you than some silly girl behind the counter, working on minimum wage? " Pamela "s eyes darkened as Jim continued. "It must have been that.....", he continued. "I'll admit that you weren't exactly what I usually find when I meet a girl. But I took a chance... and so did you. And I... I enjoyed it. You.... tolerated me for a while, making me believe that you enjoyed my company. You even had sex with me..... " Pamela bit her lower lip at this comment. "...so what was that all about? " Pause. Pamela couldn't think of much to say. The fog cleared, but what had been hidden all that time may have been best left hidden. "You just wanted to get laid, I suppose.", he says. "And to have somebody to complain to, I guess. No regrets, no need to face anybody in your social group with such dirty secrets. I was your punching bag, wasn't I." Pamela remained silent on the couch, simmering in her bitter thoughts. She wanted him out, before she said something else that she'd regret. He turned her complaints around and shot them back at her, implying that everything was her fault for accepting the date. "Wow...", she finally said. "i guess we had our say....." "yes....", he said, before turning to leave, cutting the farewells from the script. Each second was a sour capsule that forbade her to escape the reality of the moment, and she had imbibed hundreds of those vile pills before even considering standing upright. Her head was stirred to intolerable conditions. She growled, wishing she could just rip apart all of those days spent together. Her growls were futile. the past was still more than mere daydream. Quickly, she bolted out of the apartment. She needed a goddamn drink!
Copyright © 2002 David MacDonald |