Post by Buddy Winchester on May 2, 2020 14:34:13 GMT -5
Needless to say, the humming of his phone was hardly enough to stir Buddy Winchester. In fact, at six on Saturday morning, even when it vibrated to the very edge and plummeted down into the mess on the floor, the man remained all-but unconscious.
“Incoming Call from The Kid”
He was dead asleep and snoring loudly with his fingers interlocked behind his neck at the base of his skull. Kicked back and sprawled out, but not alone.
Blonde curls escaped the top of a blanket-cocoon as a vibrant pink pedicure pushed out of the bottom; she stretched with an impatient whimper and, more than a mile of empty bed behind her, pushed him further to the edge of his side to snuggle in closer.
And the phone didn’t stop.
“Incoming Call from Kodiak”
And another from The Kid.
And another from Kodiak.
There were a few identified as “Unknown”, one from the 785 area code and then, well, you’re familiar with the pattern.
Oblivious though, they slept off the night before undisturbed.
Meanwhile, the rising sun cracked through the crooked, broken blinds, sneaked across the disaster on the floor and inched across the empty half of the bed to strike the blanket diagonally.
“Babe,” she nudged him, “your phone is ringing.”
His head rolled causing him to cough, choking on crusted spit from the corner of his mouth. He smacked his tongue across his dry lips and then turned his back to her. Otherwise, nothing.
“Let me out, Buddy. Come on, Baby,” her struggle beneath the blanket increasingly urgent, “it is hot A! F! Okay? Alright, move, fucker.”
Though she eventually broke loose of the blanket, he did nothing to help. Stretching across the empty expanse of mattress, she dropped her arms off the edge to rifle through her clothing; eventually, she found her shredded jean shorts and then her phone.
“Fuck, it’s almost ten;” now, the scramble out of bed and into the shorts was on. “Buddy, I have to go.”
Even if he would have been awake, he wouldn’t have cared any less. There’s not a speck of shame to be found within him - or even near him, for that matter. Besides, this was her walk to take and, if she was to tell this story honestly, like every time before, she knew better than to expect any different when she gave into him last night ...but that’s an entirely different chapter...
“So, when am I gonna,” glancing over her shoulder, it made little sense to finish. “Okay then, well, BYE! ...prick! I swear, it’s the same damned shit with you. Every time.” ...see.
While she left his wad of cash untouched, she pinched a purple-haired nug from his bag, folded it in a gum wrapper and tucked it down into the patched rear pocket of her shorts. She also couldn’t resist checking his phone, but wasn’t too concerned with the caller. Kicking away empties, condom wrappers and used condoms away, she quickly gathered up her belongings and, despite her every apprehension, she gave into slight hesitation and gave him a kiss on the side of his head. When he allowed her affection to go unacknowledged, she stamped her heels every step across the hardwood floor of his studio apartment. All the way to the door, where she turned just in time for him to fart and adjust with a snort.
“You might want to answer your fucking phone.”
If he cared anything at all to decorate, absolutely everything would have been rocked from the wall as the front door slammed shut.
She dug her sunglasses from her small purse and slid them on before clutching the bag under her arm. Her proud stride soon became a victory lap as she passed a sheriff’s deputy on her way down the steps.
“Excuse me, Miss,” the deputy turned her around, “did you just come from three?”
“Yeah, what’s it to you?”
"Oh, nothing, miss," the deputy blushed, "I've just got papers for the fellow that lives there is all."
"You mean, Buddy?"
"That's right," the deputy shuffled his paperwork, "Buddy Winchester. Ya know, I ain't been able to get him to come to the door for weeks. Is he in there now?"
"Oh yeah, but good luck," she shook her head, "he probably won't budge until later this afternoon."
“Miss, are you living there,” there couldn’t have been any more hope in a breath, let me tell you.
“No, sorry, I live in seven.”
He cleared his throat, questioningly and it spun her around on a dime.
“Look,” she snapped, shaking her keys, “if I wudn’t already an hour late to work, I’d show you.”
As she turned with a *hmph*, her only regret now was locking the door behind her, if only she had that key right now. She flung her purse across to the passenger’s seat and then flopped down into her car. She sat in the parking lot just long enough to watch before pulling away; only slightly disappointed, because, as she had expected, Buddy Winchester did not answer the deputy's knocking.
<< Let’s go backwards…
Last night, before intoxication and other such things had completely obliterated him, Buddy Winchester had dinner with his administrative assistant and, regardless of what may happen next, his newest client.
Like most of the women in his life, she was less than half his age, but unlike the women he desires, she had dark hair just like him. She also smiled at the massive, young man sitting across from them. In fact, she shared Buddy’s same insatiable yearning in her eyes as they sparkled under the canned lighting above.
This bear of a boy, that someone actually called fat -I have proof, took up most of his entire side of the table elbow to elbow. He had finished his own plate, cleaned the chicken bones on her plate and was soaking up Buddy’s alfredo with the last piece of garlic bread.
“No.”
Despite the fact that Buddy had, as recently as this past week, retired from any such business and not to mention a few other minor details, this felt just like a business meeting.
“Dad,” the assistant addressed Buddy, “what else are you going to do? You know what she is going to do, she is going to do it soon and, well, I mean, you may as well have the best income you can have. Right?”
With exaggerated desperation, she gestured futilely for some sort of help from the big guy.
“I really don’t think you need me for this,” Buddy watched as the last bit of food on the table disappeared, shoved into the mouth of a seemingly bottomless pit. “I just can’t.”
Buddy watched as the desperation in her face washed away with infatuation; she gazed with widened eyes across the table, rendered silent as her jaw slowly fell to the table. Just as enthralled with his daughter’s reaction, he stared at her in disbelief and a bit of disgust; yet, for just a blink, a proud grin cracked his cheeks.
“And, how are we dividing the check?” The waiter interrupted the moment.
“I’ve got it,” Buddy snapped back to the moment to cover the ticket for each meal and send the waiter on his way. “Kid, I said, no;” he slightly shook his head as he stood. Extending his right fist across the table, “I’m sorry, Benji, you’re going to have to find someone else.”
“You’re not even giving this a chance,” she argued.
“No, I’m not,” Buddy agreed with certainty. “I don’t need to.”
“I don’t think you understand how much she is going to come after,” the Kid warned with all the concern she could muster, but quickly gave one last-ditch effort, “Besides, just look at him!”
“I’m sure you have what it takes, but I’m not in the business anymore.” Buddy cast a glare, she had said more than enough, probably too much, “Besides,” he nearly sneered, “she hasn’t done anything…”
“Yet,” she bit back.
“Good night, Sir.”
“Yeah, sleep well,” Buddy rolled his eyes. -Sir? What the fuck? Am I fift… fuck.
“Good night, Kid.”
Even hugging his daughter was awkward, Buddy’s just not a touchy-feely kind of guy.
As Buddy left them sitting at the table, Benji asked, “He knows your name, right?”
“What do you mean?” -Imagine that, she answered with a question.
“Your dad,” Benji motioned toward the door, “he knows your name, right?”
“Yeah, of course,” she giggled, “what do you mean?” -And, …another question!
“He kept calling you ‘Kid’, you know, and well,” now the big guy blushed with embarrassment, “I don’t know. I’m sorry…”
“No, you’re fine.” She scooted around the corner of the table. Eventually, just watch, she was as close as she could scoot the chair around the table to get next to him.
All the while, she listened to his high school wrestling stories turn into college wrestling stories that turned into making the mistake of going to a gym in Texas, predisposed to failure, where he had lost what chance he had to the gutter of defunct wrestling promotions.
“That was, until I heard of your dad,” he stopped talking, she was nestled up into his right arm and batting her lashes at him. “Uh, yeah, and so, I’ve always wanted to be a wrestler.”
“That was an amazing story and,” she wanted him to be assured, “my dad will help you.”
“That’s what you said.”
“I promise.”
“But…”
“No buts,” she placed her finger to his lips, “see, all this time I’ve listened to you talking and I’m sitting here wondering the whole time, do you even know.”
“Oh yeah, I sure do,” he nodded with a huge smile, “‘cause you’re right here on my arm.”
“Yes, I am, but not that.”
“Sorry, then, I don’t…”
She’s Buddy Winchester’s daughter, his blood courses through her veins. There’s almost no doubt that, before that young man fell asleep, she had him screaming her name. -That’s not our business though.
== Meanwhile…
Buddy Winchester stumbled into The Sassy Cherry carrying a case of beer and, even though he argued, he bought it back on the inside just like everyone else that brought their own. Clearly, if the cordial greetings weren’t a sign of his frequent visits, he had his own table at the furthest end of the stage. Tucked up against the wall of the establishment, he started cracking them open.
“Don’t start your shit tonight,” the head of security went out of his way to visit Buddy at his table.
“Eat shit, Perry,” Buddy saluted with a middle finger.
“Noone calls me that.”
“Except your mom.”
“How would you…”
“You don’t want me to tell you, I promise.”
“Fuck you, Buddy.”
“Fellas, you’re gonna need you to take out some credit,” the disc jockey announced as the club lights dimmed, “Buddy Winchester just walked in the door and we all know, there’s nothing deeper in the Cherry right now than that man’s wallet!”
“No shit tonight,” Perry stressed his whisper as Buddy waved to the DJ and motioned for the bartender to serve a round. “I mean it.”
“We have a little something special lined up for you gentlemen this evening,” the DJ continued, “it’s been a really long week, it’s Friday night! For a few more minutes anyway…”
Green laser lights flashed and flickered small dots on every surface as the sound of crickets sang overhead.
“...please welcome the naughty night sprite to the stage, this is Pixie!”
Perry continued talking, not that anyone was listening, everyone glued to the stage.
Her fluffy pink dress was gone almost immediately after she’d taken the stage, but the dainty lace wings remained from start to finish. Fine as peach fuzz split six ways and small enough to thread herself through a needle, she floated like a feather from one side of the stage to the other. Her routine brought out the bellowing hounds and, fluttering around the pole, she went up and down, twisting and turning herself upside-down to spread her legs wide for a helluva finish.
There she blushed on stage, the center of attention, and all she could see was Buddy. She had them slobbering all over themselves with their wallets wide open and he complained his last beer was gone.
On certain nights, like tonight, it’s a part of her routine that she normally regrets the next morning.
Long after buying countless rounds for the entire house, including the generous corner pharmacist, Buddy thought his name was Buddy. Maybe.
“I wanna know why you been hoggin’ her all night?”
Buddy was suddenly looking to punch a burly man, twice his size and half his age, right in the mouth.
“You deaf in that Wal*Mart suit?”
Yep, things heat up fast and Buddy throws ONE mean right. One. And, then he takes a beating that bursts The Sassy Cherry into a climax of chaos resulting in Buddy getting arrested…
"Get out, Buddy," Perry demanded, "Now, or I'm calling the cops."
...nope, thrown out of the club tonight. -WHEW! Right?
With Pixie helping him up and to her car, we all know how this ends. As usual, with a Winchester, Friday night was meant for going off. Everyone is about to be screwed anyway, one way or another.
“Incoming Call from The Kid”
He was dead asleep and snoring loudly with his fingers interlocked behind his neck at the base of his skull. Kicked back and sprawled out, but not alone.
Blonde curls escaped the top of a blanket-cocoon as a vibrant pink pedicure pushed out of the bottom; she stretched with an impatient whimper and, more than a mile of empty bed behind her, pushed him further to the edge of his side to snuggle in closer.
And the phone didn’t stop.
“Incoming Call from Kodiak”
And another from The Kid.
And another from Kodiak.
There were a few identified as “Unknown”, one from the 785 area code and then, well, you’re familiar with the pattern.
Oblivious though, they slept off the night before undisturbed.
Meanwhile, the rising sun cracked through the crooked, broken blinds, sneaked across the disaster on the floor and inched across the empty half of the bed to strike the blanket diagonally.
“Babe,” she nudged him, “your phone is ringing.”
His head rolled causing him to cough, choking on crusted spit from the corner of his mouth. He smacked his tongue across his dry lips and then turned his back to her. Otherwise, nothing.
“Let me out, Buddy. Come on, Baby,” her struggle beneath the blanket increasingly urgent, “it is hot A! F! Okay? Alright, move, fucker.”
Though she eventually broke loose of the blanket, he did nothing to help. Stretching across the empty expanse of mattress, she dropped her arms off the edge to rifle through her clothing; eventually, she found her shredded jean shorts and then her phone.
“Fuck, it’s almost ten;” now, the scramble out of bed and into the shorts was on. “Buddy, I have to go.”
Even if he would have been awake, he wouldn’t have cared any less. There’s not a speck of shame to be found within him - or even near him, for that matter. Besides, this was her walk to take and, if she was to tell this story honestly, like every time before, she knew better than to expect any different when she gave into him last night ...but that’s an entirely different chapter...
“So, when am I gonna,” glancing over her shoulder, it made little sense to finish. “Okay then, well, BYE! ...prick! I swear, it’s the same damned shit with you. Every time.” ...see.
While she left his wad of cash untouched, she pinched a purple-haired nug from his bag, folded it in a gum wrapper and tucked it down into the patched rear pocket of her shorts. She also couldn’t resist checking his phone, but wasn’t too concerned with the caller. Kicking away empties, condom wrappers and used condoms away, she quickly gathered up her belongings and, despite her every apprehension, she gave into slight hesitation and gave him a kiss on the side of his head. When he allowed her affection to go unacknowledged, she stamped her heels every step across the hardwood floor of his studio apartment. All the way to the door, where she turned just in time for him to fart and adjust with a snort.
“You might want to answer your fucking phone.”
If he cared anything at all to decorate, absolutely everything would have been rocked from the wall as the front door slammed shut.
She dug her sunglasses from her small purse and slid them on before clutching the bag under her arm. Her proud stride soon became a victory lap as she passed a sheriff’s deputy on her way down the steps.
“Excuse me, Miss,” the deputy turned her around, “did you just come from three?”
“Yeah, what’s it to you?”
"Oh, nothing, miss," the deputy blushed, "I've just got papers for the fellow that lives there is all."
"You mean, Buddy?"
"That's right," the deputy shuffled his paperwork, "Buddy Winchester. Ya know, I ain't been able to get him to come to the door for weeks. Is he in there now?"
"Oh yeah, but good luck," she shook her head, "he probably won't budge until later this afternoon."
“Miss, are you living there,” there couldn’t have been any more hope in a breath, let me tell you.
“No, sorry, I live in seven.”
He cleared his throat, questioningly and it spun her around on a dime.
“Look,” she snapped, shaking her keys, “if I wudn’t already an hour late to work, I’d show you.”
As she turned with a *hmph*, her only regret now was locking the door behind her, if only she had that key right now. She flung her purse across to the passenger’s seat and then flopped down into her car. She sat in the parking lot just long enough to watch before pulling away; only slightly disappointed, because, as she had expected, Buddy Winchester did not answer the deputy's knocking.
<< Let’s go backwards…
Last night, before intoxication and other such things had completely obliterated him, Buddy Winchester had dinner with his administrative assistant and, regardless of what may happen next, his newest client.
Like most of the women in his life, she was less than half his age, but unlike the women he desires, she had dark hair just like him. She also smiled at the massive, young man sitting across from them. In fact, she shared Buddy’s same insatiable yearning in her eyes as they sparkled under the canned lighting above.
This bear of a boy, that someone actually called fat -I have proof, took up most of his entire side of the table elbow to elbow. He had finished his own plate, cleaned the chicken bones on her plate and was soaking up Buddy’s alfredo with the last piece of garlic bread.
“No.”
Despite the fact that Buddy had, as recently as this past week, retired from any such business and not to mention a few other minor details, this felt just like a business meeting.
“Dad,” the assistant addressed Buddy, “what else are you going to do? You know what she is going to do, she is going to do it soon and, well, I mean, you may as well have the best income you can have. Right?”
With exaggerated desperation, she gestured futilely for some sort of help from the big guy.
“I really don’t think you need me for this,” Buddy watched as the last bit of food on the table disappeared, shoved into the mouth of a seemingly bottomless pit. “I just can’t.”
Buddy watched as the desperation in her face washed away with infatuation; she gazed with widened eyes across the table, rendered silent as her jaw slowly fell to the table. Just as enthralled with his daughter’s reaction, he stared at her in disbelief and a bit of disgust; yet, for just a blink, a proud grin cracked his cheeks.
“And, how are we dividing the check?” The waiter interrupted the moment.
“I’ve got it,” Buddy snapped back to the moment to cover the ticket for each meal and send the waiter on his way. “Kid, I said, no;” he slightly shook his head as he stood. Extending his right fist across the table, “I’m sorry, Benji, you’re going to have to find someone else.”
“You’re not even giving this a chance,” she argued.
“No, I’m not,” Buddy agreed with certainty. “I don’t need to.”
“I don’t think you understand how much she is going to come after,” the Kid warned with all the concern she could muster, but quickly gave one last-ditch effort, “Besides, just look at him!”
“I’m sure you have what it takes, but I’m not in the business anymore.” Buddy cast a glare, she had said more than enough, probably too much, “Besides,” he nearly sneered, “she hasn’t done anything…”
“Yet,” she bit back.
“Good night, Sir.”
“Yeah, sleep well,” Buddy rolled his eyes. -Sir? What the fuck? Am I fift… fuck.
“Good night, Kid.”
Even hugging his daughter was awkward, Buddy’s just not a touchy-feely kind of guy.
As Buddy left them sitting at the table, Benji asked, “He knows your name, right?”
“What do you mean?” -Imagine that, she answered with a question.
“Your dad,” Benji motioned toward the door, “he knows your name, right?”
“Yeah, of course,” she giggled, “what do you mean?” -And, …another question!
“He kept calling you ‘Kid’, you know, and well,” now the big guy blushed with embarrassment, “I don’t know. I’m sorry…”
“No, you’re fine.” She scooted around the corner of the table. Eventually, just watch, she was as close as she could scoot the chair around the table to get next to him.
All the while, she listened to his high school wrestling stories turn into college wrestling stories that turned into making the mistake of going to a gym in Texas, predisposed to failure, where he had lost what chance he had to the gutter of defunct wrestling promotions.
“That was, until I heard of your dad,” he stopped talking, she was nestled up into his right arm and batting her lashes at him. “Uh, yeah, and so, I’ve always wanted to be a wrestler.”
“That was an amazing story and,” she wanted him to be assured, “my dad will help you.”
“That’s what you said.”
“I promise.”
“But…”
“No buts,” she placed her finger to his lips, “see, all this time I’ve listened to you talking and I’m sitting here wondering the whole time, do you even know.”
“Oh yeah, I sure do,” he nodded with a huge smile, “‘cause you’re right here on my arm.”
“Yes, I am, but not that.”
“Sorry, then, I don’t…”
She’s Buddy Winchester’s daughter, his blood courses through her veins. There’s almost no doubt that, before that young man fell asleep, she had him screaming her name. -That’s not our business though.
== Meanwhile…
Buddy Winchester stumbled into The Sassy Cherry carrying a case of beer and, even though he argued, he bought it back on the inside just like everyone else that brought their own. Clearly, if the cordial greetings weren’t a sign of his frequent visits, he had his own table at the furthest end of the stage. Tucked up against the wall of the establishment, he started cracking them open.
“Don’t start your shit tonight,” the head of security went out of his way to visit Buddy at his table.
“Eat shit, Perry,” Buddy saluted with a middle finger.
“Noone calls me that.”
“Except your mom.”
“How would you…”
“You don’t want me to tell you, I promise.”
“Fuck you, Buddy.”
“Fellas, you’re gonna need you to take out some credit,” the disc jockey announced as the club lights dimmed, “Buddy Winchester just walked in the door and we all know, there’s nothing deeper in the Cherry right now than that man’s wallet!”
“No shit tonight,” Perry stressed his whisper as Buddy waved to the DJ and motioned for the bartender to serve a round. “I mean it.”
“We have a little something special lined up for you gentlemen this evening,” the DJ continued, “it’s been a really long week, it’s Friday night! For a few more minutes anyway…”
Green laser lights flashed and flickered small dots on every surface as the sound of crickets sang overhead.
“...please welcome the naughty night sprite to the stage, this is Pixie!”
Perry continued talking, not that anyone was listening, everyone glued to the stage.
Her fluffy pink dress was gone almost immediately after she’d taken the stage, but the dainty lace wings remained from start to finish. Fine as peach fuzz split six ways and small enough to thread herself through a needle, she floated like a feather from one side of the stage to the other. Her routine brought out the bellowing hounds and, fluttering around the pole, she went up and down, twisting and turning herself upside-down to spread her legs wide for a helluva finish.
There she blushed on stage, the center of attention, and all she could see was Buddy. She had them slobbering all over themselves with their wallets wide open and he complained his last beer was gone.
On certain nights, like tonight, it’s a part of her routine that she normally regrets the next morning.
Long after buying countless rounds for the entire house, including the generous corner pharmacist, Buddy thought his name was Buddy. Maybe.
“I wanna know why you been hoggin’ her all night?”
Buddy was suddenly looking to punch a burly man, twice his size and half his age, right in the mouth.
“You deaf in that Wal*Mart suit?”
Yep, things heat up fast and Buddy throws ONE mean right. One. And, then he takes a beating that bursts The Sassy Cherry into a climax of chaos resulting in Buddy getting arrested…
"Get out, Buddy," Perry demanded, "Now, or I'm calling the cops."
...nope, thrown out of the club tonight. -WHEW! Right?
With Pixie helping him up and to her car, we all know how this ends. As usual, with a Winchester, Friday night was meant for going off. Everyone is about to be screwed anyway, one way or another.