Page 21 of Goode Vibrations
“What’d you do? I mean, I know we only just met an hour ago, but you don’t strike me as the type to take that lying down.”
I chuckled. “Oh, I didn’t. I snuck into the art department, and repainted his codpiece to be much, much smaller. And I used the technique where, from most angles, it looks like there’s this odd smear on the painting, but from a specific angle it’s actually, like a skull or something. I put the word ‘prick’ under his feet so if you stood to one side and below it, you’d be able to read it. And then I borrowed a ladder from maintenance and hung the painting from the ceiling so, as you entered the art department, that word would be the first thing you saw.”
“You donotfuck around with revenge, do you?”
I laughed. “That was just the start of my revenge. I got his ex to help me steal and unlock his phone, and we made him a Grindr account soliciting dick pics to his personal cell number.”
“Oh, mate, that’scold.”
“I snuck in after our finals were turned in and stole his final work, and hid it behind some props in the theater department. Got busted for that one, but it was worth the ten percent she docked from my final grade. That painting had been his opus for the year, he’d been working on it for months. I would never have harmed the thing, I’m not that much of a monster, but when he thought it had been stolen, he was sick with panic. He knew it was me, too. I played dumb until campus security showed Mrs. D footage of me sneaking around after hours. Messing with someone else’s work was a no-no, so I did get into trouble, but it was worth seeing that dickhead become a laughingstock.”
He laughed. “Still laughing about the Grindr thing.”
“Oh he waspissed. I guess he had been presenting in another class, using his phone connected to the projector to display something or other, and a giant dick pic popped up on the screen. Like, a big veiny monster cock, in a lecture hall full of students. He was the TA for the class, and he got fired for it. Couldn’t prove it was me, but he knew.” I cackled. “I did shit like that to him for months. Wrote his number on the stall wall of a bathroom, and I guess his phone blew up with strange-ass propositions all day for weeks until he figured it out and changed his number. Finally, he hauled me aside after class and apologized and begged me to stop. I told him he had to give me the painting, for one thing. And then I strongly hinted that a truce could be arranged if a Birkin bag somehow found its way into my possession.”
“You bribed him?”
“Sure. He embarrassed me, manipulated me, led me on, and pissed me off. Am I proud of myself for bribing him? No. Do I regret the pretty little Birkin that’s currently waiting for me at my mother’s condo in Alaska? Also no. Don’t cross me. I’m not nice when I’m angry.”
“Clearly,” Errol said, his voice droll. “Did you honor the truce?”
“Of course I did,” I said, aghast. “I’m an honorable woman, in my own way. If I give you my word, it’s good as gold. And I gave him my word—if I were to find myself suddenly in possession of a Birkin, the malicious sneak attacks would cease immediately and permanently.”
“And you have the painting?”
“Sure do. At Mom’s with the rest of my stuff I couldn’t travel with.”
“You kept it?”
I laughed. “Yeah, because itisa technically amazing piece. He’s a talented artist; he’s just an amoral cock-hair. I couldn’t destroy a work of art, no matter how personally embarrassing it is.”
Errol guffawed. “Amoral cock-hair. That’s a good one.” He glanced at me. “So what are you going to do with it?”
“I have no idea. It’s wrapped up and boxed and sealed, and my mother has orders not to open it under threat of death and dismemberment, because I did tell her the basic story. When I get there, I’ll probably get drunk with my sisters and show it to them, and then I’ll let them decide what to do with it. It certainly should never see the light of day. But, if I’m being even a little objective…itiskind of funny.” I pointed at him. “So. Your turn. You mentioned involuntary public defecation. Or would I rather hear the one about the prostitute and you going to jail?”
He laughed, shook his head. “Oh no, not telling that one.”
“Come on. Please?”
He shook his head. “No! It’s awful. Stupid, horrible, and awful, and I’m not telling it.”
“Errol. You can’t drop hints of a great story like that and not tell it.”
He sighed. “Fine.” He scrubbed his jaw again, muttering under his breath. “Gotta be munted to tell this one.” He shook his head. “It’s not really all that complicated. I was on my way to China for a feature on the crazy topography they have over there, and figured I may as well take a detour and see Kuala Lumpur. I hired a guide and a translator, same guy, got a two-for-one deal. Turns out the deal was he didn’t know shit about the city and couldn’t speak either language—joke’s on me. I didn’t know he didn’t speak Malaysian for shit, since I don’t speak it myself. Sounded like he did, and what do I know?
“I told him I wanted dinner, so he brought me to a nice little place he knew, good food, didn’t get sick, everything was alright, so we continued on. Told him I wanted somewhere to sleep, but first a drink to relax. And that’s where the trouble started. He misunderstood what I meant somehow and brought me to a brothel. Didn’t realize it at first, being jetlagged and not the sort to go visiting brothels anyway. Asked for a room, and got shown a lineup of girls, and I was like what? No, not what I meant, just a room, just for me,alone. Lots of not understanding each other, me and the madam in charge of the place. Guess she thought I was saying none of the girls were what I wanted, I dunno. So she brought out a guy. And I was likeNO!Jesus, not that either, lady, I just want to fuckin’ sleep, been traveling for days and I’m wrecked, just totally ready to fall asleep standing up. I’d had a few drinks as it was, and that was making it all worse being half-pissed. And then, worst luck ever, who should bust in but Malaysian police, busting the place for trafficking and prostitution, which is actually illegal there. I got swept up in the bust, arrested, and held until I managed to get hold of Jerry who cleared the situation up. Moral of the story is…well, I dunno what it is. Don’t hire shitty translators, maybe.”
I was laughing, because I could see a half-drunk Errol trying to tell a madam he didn’t want the male prostitute. “What was the jail like?”
“Horrifying. Worst bugger-all experience of my entire fucking existence. Even compared to the time I got plane wrecked in the Gobi desert and had to walk out. This was worse than that. Standard-size jail cell, but there were easily fifty of us in there, with one toilet overflowing with shit. Got fed scraps I wouldn’t feed a pig, and that was when they felt like feeding us at all.” He shuddered. “The misunderstanding is funny in hindsight, but ending up in a Malaysian prison is not fucking funny at all.”
“Yikes.” I blinked at him. “Plane wrecked in the Gobi desert? What the hell, dude? You sound like Indiana Jones.”
He laughed. “Not hardly, I’ve just had a few runs of shit luck. We were flying over it, landed a few times to take photos, and we were heading out. Nearing the edge of it, something goes munted on the engine; pilot tries for an emergency landing. It’s the desert, nice and flat, right? Hits the only fucking rock in half a mile, we go spinning and bouncing, flip over. Engine catches fire, the pilot is out cold, and I’m bleeding like a pig from a stupid little head wound.” He points to a small cut on his forehead, over his left eyebrow, now just a thin white line, almost invisible. “I get the pilot out, he comes to, and realizes we’re stranded, radio’s on fire with the rest of the damn thing, night is only a few hours away, we’ve got half a liter of water and a melted Snicker’s bar between us. Fortunately, we were only a few kilometers from a ranger station in the national park, but shit, what a walk that was. First I was gonna bake to death, then die of thirst, then freeze to death, all in a matter of half a day. Didn’t, obviously, but I learned then always carry extra water, extra clothes, and a satellite phone that works almost anywhere on the planet.”
I shook my head. “Now I understand what you meant when you said you tone back the truth.”
“I could be lying. I coulda got that cut playing army as a kid, you don’t know.” He grinned, laughed. “Only joking. It’s all true. I can show you the photos from the Gobi when we stop. I took photos of the wreck and along the walk, figured shit, if I’m wrecked, might as well get some good photos out of it.”