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November 23, 2007

Thanksgiving with the Band

We kept the decorations left over from the previous group, an outfit called Kornblum Enterprises. They had a festive holiday theme going: red, white, and blue balloons spread all over the place, with several huge banners clinging to the walls that read WE DID IT!!! KORNBLUM ENTERPRISES – NOW ISO 9002 CERTIFIED!!! Margo, Renal, and I got to the hotel around noon, checked out the room, hung out with Mom for a little while. She still seemed a bit hungover, but that changed after a few cups of coffee and a couple of custom In-N-Out 5x5s.

When we all went downstairs to the conference room, Mikey and Riffs were already there, hanging out.

“Hey, nice decorations, fatass,” Mikey laughed.

“Mom, this is Mikey Parker. He plays bass, sort of.”

Mikey stood, kissed her hand. “A pleasure.”

Mom rolled her eyes.

“And that’s Little Riffs Nicky.”

“He looks familiar,” Mom said.

I whispered, “He’s Jewish.”

“Oh, like the Goldsteins and the Baums in Ohlinger’s Row.” Ohlinger’s Row is a neighborhood in Cedar Rapids full of plywood shacks, built by the CCC and WPA during the Depression, that are now falling apart. Carl grew up there.

“Just like that,” I said.

Riffs made no effort to greet my mother in any way. I let it go, all things considered.

We sat down at the table. “Who are we waiting on?” Mikey asked.

“Well, I invited Herc, but I don’t know if he’ll actually be here,” I said. “Colby Witherspoon is supposed to show up—” To Mom, I said, “He’s our biggest fan.” To the others: “And Lacey—” To Mom: “Our publicist.”

“Sounds like fun,” Mom said.

Lacey arrived next. She brought with her a photographer and a writer from Clear Dreamz, a heavy metal magazine based in Santa Monica. I asked her why, and Lacey whispered, trying to make sure Renal and Mom didn’t overhear, “Are you crazy? Do you know what kind of good publicity you’ll get from having a nice, family Thanksgiving?”

I shrugged. Sounded fine to me. Plus, the reporter was hot.

A few minutes later, Colby and Herc arrived together, for some reason, but Carl was nowhere to be found. “He’s probably a little nervous,” I offered. “Things didn’t really end well between him and Mom.”

“That’s his own goddamn fault,” Mom snapped. “Where’s the food?”

“We’re waiting for Carl.”

“He’s never gonna show up,” Mikey said.

As if on cue, Carl burst into the conference room.

“Christ, you were waiting out there for somebody to say that, weren’t you?” Mikey demanded.

“Maybe,” Carl said, grinning obnoxiously.

Mom stood up, and Carl silenced himself. They stared at each other for a moment, and we stared at them. A storm of emotion brewed in my mother’s face. So much to say, but how to express it?

Taking a page from the Girth McDürchstein handbook, Mom elected to jump on the table, slide awkwardly across the tablecloth, and slam into Carl’s chest. She knocked him to the floor, fell on top of him, and started pounding. The Clear Dreamz photographer seemed to enjoy this quite a bit.

“Come on, guys, break it up!” I went around the table to pull her off of him, but to my surprise and horror I found them kissing rather passionately. I’ve had enough time to get used to this situation to not vomit at the very idea, but this was a little much. I felt dizzy and sat back down.

The waitstaff arrived with the food. When they found a messy table and two people making out of the floor, the head waiter looked a little uneasy.

“It’s okay,” I said, trying to bring order back to the place settings on the table. “Just work around them.”

“Yes, sir,” he said softly. The waiters set down the food spread, which smelled delicious, and doled out portions for each of us.

Carl and Mom finally stopped pawing each other and sat down.

I said, “I think, for the benefit of this reporter and her photographer, we should go around the room and say what we’re thankful for this year before we get started. I’ll start. I guess the two main things I’m thankful for are family—” I smiled at Margo, Mom, and Renal— “and for the fact that I have an awesome band that’s like a family. Even though we’re unpopular and making very little money, we stuck together.”

Margo went next. “This year, I’m thankful that I was able to visit Europe, which I haven’t done since I left the CI—I mean, which I’ve never visited before. I’m thankful Girth and I are finally back to a place where our marriage can move forward. I’m thankful for the assorted flavored body paints I bought at the Hustler Store, but most of all, I’m hungry. Can we skip this?”

“No,” I said. “Renal?”

“I’m thankful that I finally found my father, and that he was as warm and loving as I’d always hoped. I’m thankful that I can help girls just like me through my dad’s charity. I feel blessed this year.”

“I was suicidal,” Mikey said, “until I got that call from you, Girth, asking me to rejoin the band. Since then, I’ve felt happier than I ever have in my entire life.” He paused for a moment, then burst out laughing. “Seriously, though, the only thing I can think of that I’m thankful for is I don’t have to work in that shithole Dorfmeyer anymore. It’s pathetic that the only positive I can take from this entire fucking year is having the pleasure of putting up with you assholes again.”

“Thanks, Mikey, very eloquent. Riffs?”

“Yeah, man, it’s cool to be back in the band, cool that I’m not in jail for just being me. Thanks, Girth, for watching my back.”

“Keeping people out of jail is what I’m here for. Speaking of which, what are you thankful for, Harcourt?”

My attorney, Harcourt Abimilech Feinstein, was already weeping. He said, “Ever since my family died at the hands of Chinese terrorists, I’ve felt just horrible. It’s wonderful to know that my least profitable clients have rewarded me with what I need most—love. Also, I’m thankful for cocaine, cigarettes, and the money-laundering operation that has afforded me so much success.”

“That’s a reporter,” I whispered, gesturing at the people from Clear Dreamz.

Herc’s tears suddenly dissolved, and he said, “Just kidding, of course. I’m thankful for God and country. Make love, and war!”

Colby Witherspoon smiled and said, “Ever since Dana left me, I’ve felt a little down in the mouth.” We all chuckled at that, though I was unclear on if it was caused by the hilarity of Colby still perpetuating the myth that he had a girlfriend, or the expression “down in the mouth,” or both. “Anyway,” he continued, “it’s nice to know I have a place in the world. You guys may not be popular anymore, you may not be recording albums or playing out or anything like that, but you’re my friends. That’s important to me.”

I nodded.

Next came Lacey, our lovely publicist. She turned to Amy, the reporter from Clear Dreamz, and Rick, the photographer, and asked if they would leave the room for a moment. They both grudgingly agreed.

As soon as the doors closed Lacey beat her fists on the table and said through gritted teeth, “You goddamn motherfuckers. All you goddamn motherfuckers. I’m tired of you. You come here all lovey-dovey and shit, and that’s great—we couldn’t pay for better publicity, but you’re all a bunch of fucking cocksuckers. What gives you the right to be happy when I’m struggling, when Affirmations isn’t selling, when you guys constantly undermine my authority? What do I have to be thankful for? That I didn’t go to jail for murdering all you pieces of shit—”

Mikey said, “Hey, lay off the steroids, asspipe, and maybe you won’t have to deal with that ‘roid rage anymore.”

“Suck my dick!” Lacey roared, lunging at Mikey. Carl held her back, while Mikey lay on the floor, holding his hands in front of his face like a little girl.

Upon hearing the shouting, Amy and Rick ran back into the conference room. Amy took furious notes while Rick snapped a few photos.

“Can we get some coffee over here?” Carl shouted at one of the waiters (all of whom stood, watching with amusement, the entire time). The waiter nodded and rushed through a rear exit.

Carl shoved Lacey back into her seat, aimed a finger at her, and said, “Sit still, goddammit!”

Lacey popped her neck forward and snapped her teeth. Carl pulled his finger back at the last possible second. “Jesus!” he gasped.

“I’m sorry!” Lacey screeched, suddenly bursting into tears. “I just can’t take you guys anymore!”

“How about a raise?” I asked. I pulled my trusty duffel bag of ill-gotten Nigerian cash, which I take with me almost everywhere, and tossed one hundred grand in cash on the table. “That’s a bonus. You’ll find your salary doubled on next week’s check.”

“Christ, McDürchstein…” Lacey stared in awe at the money. When she snapped out of it, she asked, “Isn’t that money supposed to fund your charity?”

“Yeah, but the overhead on that is, like, $17 a month.”

“Oh. Well, then…thanks. And I guess if you had to pin me down, I’m thankful for this bonus—” She waved one of the money packs— “and I’m thankful for the raise. And…that’s about it. Fuck you all, otherwise.”

“Well put,” I said.

“I guess the only person we have left is Carl,” Renal said.

“What about Mom?”

“Oh, gosh,” Mom said. “I didn’t…well, I guess I’m just happy to be here. I’m happy my son invited me, that he’s happy with his family, that he’s surrounded himself with such nice, responsible people…and Carl…”

“I love you, Rosalind,” Carl said. “The only good thing that happened to me since I left Cedar Rapids was you coming back to me…”

The two of them stood and embraced. “I didn’t technically come back to you,” Mom said, “but…well, I’m here, and you’re here…”

They kissed.

“Oh God,” I said, casting my eyes away from the sight, clutching my stomach, and running for the door so I could get to a bathroom in time.

Just before I got to the door, I heard Margo shout, “Let’s eat!”

Written by Girth McDürchstein on November 23, 2007 11:14 AM
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