I want to win that million dollars.
And maybe I need to win it. To buy my way out of this fucked up life I’m stuck in.
To get away from this shithole of a town in this armpit of a state.
To forget about my disgusting tramp of an ex-wife.
To start new, in a new place, with a new life. That’s what I really want. All I have to do is endure a little longer.
I bend down and close my empty suitcase. As I set it back on the floor next to the bed, Mongo turns in his chair and claps his paws excitedly.
“We have next challenge,” he says. “Dirty sanchez!”
Interlude 5
The Phone Call
It’s late in the afternoon and I’ve only gotten a few hours of sleep. Too much on my mind, I guess. I’ve got so many conflicting emotions going on right now.
Am I doing the right thing here? Am I doing anything considered right or good?
Just because Pauline told me to hit her, does that make it right that I did it?
She’s a grown woman, after all. There are people out there into much more depraved shit than what Mongo and I are doing here. Sadists and masochists out there strapping up in leather and whipping and beating each other, autoeroticism and all that weird basement shit. And those people like it. They want to do it. Consenting adults.
We’ve been consenting so far, right?
Yes and no, I guess.
Danielle didn’t ask to have a cum-and-pubes beard smeared on her face. And Pauline didn’t ask for a money shot to the eye or to be caught on camera hobbling around and ridiculed, at least not in so many words.
That’s the real problem with this whole thing. It’s not so much about what I did with these women, but rather the way they’re going to be portrayed once the show airs. After what has happened thus far, I can’t imagine any of them will agree to allow the show to go on. Unless maybe they obscure their faces and don’t use their names. Didn’t they have to sign release forms or something? Dixar can’t just put these videos online without getting consent from all the subjects. Shit, I had to sign dozens of releases and insurance papers and agreements not to sue if I hurt myself or got an STD or got some girl pregnant, which was weird because I also had to sign a legal document stating that I would use condoms the entire show and would not ‘be intimate’ without wearing a rubber. But what about the girls?
I consider asking Mongo about this, but he’s snoring loudly on the other bed, and he hasn’t exactly been very forthcoming about anything so far. The last thing I want to do is poke the hibernating Russian bear. I’m starting to get the feeling he not only doesn’t like me at all, but has other plans above and beyond just trying to get a cut of the prize money. Like maybe something else is going on here I’m not being let in on. This whole thing just feels… off.
I’m lying on my bed trying to piece things together when my cellphone buzzes. I pull it out and check the number. It’s a local Muncie area code, but I don’t know who the hell would be trying to call me. I sneak out of the room as quietly as possible and head out to the balcony to answer it. Mongo never stops snoring.
“Hello?”
Silence for a beat. Then, a girl says, “Um… hi, is this Dennis?”
“Yes it is. Who’s this?”
“This is… jeez, I can’t believe I’m calling you. You probably don’t want to ever have anything to do with me again.”
That scares the shit out of me and I try to place the voice. Is this Danielle or Pauline trying to track me down? Did I give them my phone number? I don’t think I did. The only girl I remember giving my number to was the first one, the lovely Golden Shower Goddess. What the fuck was her name again?
“Dennis, it’s Tricia. Do you remember me?”
Fuck, that’s it, Tricia! You bet your sweet, gorgeous ass I remember you!
“Oh, yeah, of course. How are you doing, Tricia?” Nice and easy. Smooth. Not too excited. That’s the ticket.
“Oh, I’m fine. I just wanted to call and apologize to you for… you know. The other night. I can’t believe what happened.”
“Hey, that’s alright, you don’t need to apologize for that.”
“No, I really do. I had to call you and let you know that that’s not normally me. I don’t know what came over me. I never drink like that. You must think I’m a boozing bimbo or something.”
“No, I don’t think that at all.”
“Are you serious?”
Hmmm… Am I serious? I think I’m serious. I don’t think the pee girl was a drunk or a bimbo. Maybe just an overzealous Ball State sorority girl who couldn’t handle her appletinis, but not a drunken whore by any stretch.
“Yeah, I mean it. I had fun the other night. The ending just wasn’t expected.”
I can feel her blushing through the phone and immediately regret saying that.
“Yeah, I know that was bad,” she says. “But maybe I could make it up to you.”
Holy shit. Is she asking me out?
“I’m not asking you out on a date or anything, I just thought we could maybe get together for a cup of coffee or something, you know, to have a normal adult conversation and all.”
Wow. Totally unexpected. My fingers are tingling. What the hell is that about?
“Um, yeah, that sounds great. I’d love to.”
“Well, I have to get to work right now, but I’ll text you tomorrow and maybe we can meet up.”
“I can’t wait.”
“OK, talk to you tomorrow.”
We say goodbye and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming like an idiot. I’m almost too stunned for words. I asked this girl to urinate on my head. And here she is calling me to go out again. Not a date, but still, just the fact she wants to ever see me again is incredible.
What does that mean?
Did she like peeing on me? Or did she just like me pre-pee-pee? Maybe it was both?
I slip back into the room and find Mongo sitting on the edge of his bed. He’s wearing his rapey grin.
“What is happening outside?”
I shrug and try to act natural. “Nothing. Just went out for a second to get some fresh air is all. Couldn’t stand being stuck in here much longer. You fart in your sleep.”
Mongo doesn’t say anything. He just sits there staring at me with his serial killer smirk. It’s seriously unnerving as fuck but I try to act cool and stroll over to the desk. I sit in front of the laptop and pull up the video for the next challenge.
I watch it twice, but the dirty sanchez is not at all what’s on my mind.
The Dirty Sanchez
We hit a new bar, something even dirtier than the night before. I’m praying Pauline likes her regular haunt and doesn’t barhop. If I see her, my ass is running. That’s all there is to that. Chick just flat scares me.
No Pauline in sight, which is good, but to be honest, I’m hardly even here myself. I keep getting lost in my thoughts, which are dominated by Tricia. I don’t even know who I’m talking to right now. She’s right across from me at a standup table in the middle of this country and western themed dump we’re in. The place still has a mechanical bull, but it’s in a dark corner and covered in layers of dust. The Russian bull is in the other corner sitting at a booth with a clear line of sight, looking out the corner of his eye every few minutes. He seems much more twitchy and irritated than normal tonight.
“Hello? Earth to Dennis.” The girl in front of me snaps her fingers in my face and waves to get my attention. When I focus back on her, she brightens with a slightly gap-toothed smile and says, “There you are. Thought I’d lost you for a second.”