I'm with Stupid (22 page)

The trouble here is that burgers sound delicious. I haven’t had a nice juicy burger for a long time. I nod: Burgers it shall be. William kisses me on the cheek and tells me it was nice of me to introduce him to my family. Okay, but I never introduced him. The only comment I make is that my mother took a shine to him, which is true. Cute people have the world fooled. And cute people with irresistible accents? Well, forget about it. The universe is doomed.

“Your mother is super,” William informs me. “And your father is great, too.” I tell him that my father is super-great: I take after my father. “I don’t know about that,” he says. “You’re a lot like your mother.” I light a cigarette and explain that I just look like my mother. The similarities end there. “No they don’t,” he persists. “I can’t explain it but you talk alike, too.” I offer that maybe our voices are similar. That must be it. “No, that’s not all. You talk alike. You’re similar. Your father is different. You’re just like your mother. Like when she was saying she wants to inform the police. Remember that? It just seemed like the kind of thing you would say. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s something in the tone of . . .” All right, enough. La, la, la, I’m done listening. We’re not similar. My mother is crazy. I’m just sensitive. And speaking of that I need some comfy garbage bags to line the tub. “She’s great,” he says and gives me another kiss, “just like you.” Similar. We are so not similar. My mother is neurotic and hyper. Neurotic and hyper. Well, those aren’t the best examples. We are very, very, very, very different. Very different. We are . . . “Two peas in a pod!” he says. “That’s the American expression I was searching for.”

Oh get lost, Johnson. What do you know about my mother? Nothing, which is just perfect considering that you’re planning to have a one-night stand with her. He puts his arm around me: “But you know, you should be more honest with her. I covered for you, and I don’t like to lie.” I nod, I know he doesn’t like to lie. The being-honest-with-my-mother part, however, is more complicated. She’s not an understanding woman.

William gets up. “Okay,” he says. “I’m going to walk to that corner store and get the ostrich meat, be right back.” The what now? William is out the door before I can tell him that he has a better chance of getting a blow job from a transvestite with ostrich features in his/her hair than he does of finding a frozen ostrich patty at the corner store. Maybe he’ll get mugged again. Better go follow him.

William and I walk to the grocery store to buy burgers made from a cow. I’m surprised William eats meat in the first place but don’t raise the issue. Burgers are all we have in common and I don’t want to ruin it. As we approach the grocery store’s sliding doors I notice a poster taped to the glass. It’s a black-and-white picture of Richard. Underneath the image is written:
MY NAME IS RICHARD STEIN. I CHEAT ON WOMEN. IF YOU SEE ME, RUN. I HAVE MORE PENILE WARTS THAN PIMPLES ON MY ASS
. Richard’s number is printed at the bottom. Hello, Max, nice work. William stops and considers the poster. He shakes his head disapprovingly. “Americans have strange customs,” he observes. “This is not something to be proud of.” I don’t say a word.

Turns out William loves the grocery store. It’s much bigger than the one he’s used to. He wanders through the aisles touching everything. He picks up tin cans and reads their labels the way another man might read the great American novel. Slowly, he reads slowly. He walks to the seafood counter and stares knowingly at the fish of the day. He goes to the produce department and smells the lemons and the cucumbers while employing pained expressions and full-on emotional range. He squeezes the grapes and the toilet paper with equal enthusiasm. After an hour of aimless circling and several suspicious looks from the derelict stock boy with a walkie-talkie, we get in the checkout line. Finally. In addition to the necessary ingredients William is buying several bottles of a new drink obviously marketed toward children called Tummy Shockers. I’d like to meet the adult who brainstormed that one. William drinks two sixteen-ounce bottles while we wait for the lady in front of us to hand over $21.76 in pennies. She is wearing a brunette wig that is slowly sliding to the back of her head, revealing gray hair underneath. I would move to another register but this is the only one that’s open. Why overwork the staff?

“Eighteen fifty-five, eighteen fifty-six . . . ,” she says. I stand behind her, impatiently, as she counts the money. I begin manically flipping through every magazine displayed near the register. William, meanwhile, is downing more Tummy Shockers. “This is the best!” he says, wiping his mouth.

“Nineteen ninety-nine, twenty . . .”

“Really?” I rhetorically say, only because I can’t think of another response. He takes a bottle off the conveyor belt and asks if I want to try some. No, I don’t. He insists that it’s very good and twists off the top. He hands it to me. I take a sip and recall my new earmuffs. “It’s pretty good,” I lie, not wanting to hurt his feelings. I try handing it back but he won’t take it. I can have the rest. He’s full. I hold the open bottle at my side.

“ . . . twenty-one seventy-four, twenty-one seventy-five, twenty-one seventy-six. There you go, twenty-one dollars and seventy-six cents,” the woman says.

The girl behind the register picks up a penny and brings it to the light. What is she going to do, bite it to make sure it’s not made of chocolate? Let’s move already. “Ma’am, these are Canadian pennies,” the girl says. The woman calmly states that she’d like to take this up with the manager if no one minds. Mind? Of course not. This is a perfectly reasonable scenario. She puts the pennies back into their ziplock bag to maximize freshness and waits. The girl phones the manager while ringing us up. When it’s our turn to pay William hands her his wallet. He just gives it to her like it’s a coupon. Evidently he has yet to figure out American money. This is exactly the kind of thing that leads one to lose coffee cakes. She takes a fifty out of his wallet.

After collecting his change, William picks up the grocery bags and heads for the door. I am about to follow when I hear a “psst.” The girl behind the register is attempting to get my attention. “Is that your boyfriend?” she asks. I glance in William’s direction to make sure he’s out of earshot range. I nod. Why, yes, he is. Her eyes widen. “You are so lucky,” she offers. “That’s amazing.” If she only knew. But she doesn’t and there is something gratifying about telling strangers that hot William is my man.

The next friendly face we see is that of a grimy panhandler leaning against a parking meter in front of the store. Hey gorgeous!!!! Im cumin!!!!!!! “Got anything for me?” the bum asks. He gestures obscenely and announces that I’m a great piece. Thank you!

I hand the man my bottle of Tummy Shockers. He thanks me and immediately tosses the bottle over his shoulder. William tries to kiss my cheek but misses. “That was very nice of you,” he says approvingly, trying again. “That man has had a hard life. It’s important to help people. You should do volunteer work with a local homeless shelter.” That is just my style! How did he ever know? “Can you reach into my wallet and pull out a hundred dollars?” he then asks. Saddled with grocery bags, he can’t reach into his back pocket. He turns his ass to me. “It’s in the right back pocket.” I look at the wallet. It’s about to fall out. I explain that no one gives bums a hundred dollars. “I do,” he answers. I take out his wallet and pull out a single and hand it to the bum, who immediately takes off down the street screaming with joy. Must have been a slow afternoon. That or he was one buck short on the crack bill. William smiles. “Look how we made his day!” he marvels.

We are crossing the street when William abruptly stops to stare at an anorexic-looking middle-aged woman hiding behind a baseball cap and sunglasses. She is moving briskly and pushing an empty baby carriage. “I can’t believe it,” he says and continues to stand in the street. A taxicab swerves to avoid us. I pull him to the sidewalk. What is he looking at? I have to go to the bathroom. “I just had my first Hollywood sighting,” he says. “I think that was Kelly LeBrock.” I motion for William to continue. “Kelly LeBrock, the star of
Weird Science
,” he says as if she is a household name. “She played Lisa the seductress.” I vaguely recall the actress William is talking about. He doesn’t know what a bagel is but he knows Kelly LeBrock? I inform him that the woman we saw was not Kelly LeBrock. “I think it was,” he insists. “Maybe you couldn’t tell with the hat and glasses but it was definitely her . . . Great!” he marvels. “I just saw Kelly LeBrock! She’s done a lot of charity work removing mines in Africa. I should have asked for an autograph.” Whose autograph should he have asked Kelly LeBrock for, a real actress’s? William again turns around to stare at the “star.” I begin tugging on his sleeve. No need to worry, Kelly LeBrock will be here tomorrow and the next day. She’s probably married to that bum who threw my Tummy Shockers all over Second Avenue. Now let’s go so I can take a leak. And while we’re at it, let’s have these burgers at Libby’s. I don’t want to clean up a fire or William’s charred remains should anything go wrong.

One block from home William stops again and points at a white limo in the middle of traffic, its tinted black window slowly going up. Whoever is inside just discarded a cigar. It rolls toward the curb then falls into the sewer. “I think that was Manuel’s father,” he says. “Maybe Manuel is inside. We should see.” I look up at him. Who? “Don’t you remember Manuel?” he asks, not taking his eyes off the limo. “He was a guest at the lodge when you were in South Africa.” I nod. I remember him. No question there. And I’m so sure that was Manuel’s father. He’s probably looking for Kelly LeBrock. “That was definitely him,” William confidently says as the limo pulls away.

We invite ourselves over to Libby’s, where we’ll be cooking and eating dinner. She’s happy to have us and calls Max. While the layout of Libby’s apartment is identical to that of my own, the decor is completely different. Everything in her place came out of the Pottery Barn catalog—except for her creaky futon, which, ironically, is the only thing that should have come out of the Pottery Barn catalog. She could use an actual couch. Instead she has a sagging mattress over a plastic frame that’s surrounded by vases and candles and enough extra-large colorful, ruffled throw pillows for an orgy. If ever Hollywood wants to make a movie set in a harem, they should film it at Libby’s apartment.

As William finishes preparing our meal, Max walks in. He is dressed in a turban and a long flowing white robe. I close my eyes, count backward from five, and reopen them. Yup, he’s still dressed in a turban and a long flowing white robe. Libby doesn’t even blink. “I’m beat,” he says, stretching out across the futon. He stares up at the ceiling and puts his hands behind his head. “You really learn something when trailing a man all afternoon dressed as a Shiite. There is a lot of prejudice in the world. Richard kept looking over his shoulder but not once did he offer me water.”

William turns from the stove with plates of food. “I agree that there is a lot of prejudice in the world,” he says to Max. When he notices Max’s outfit he asks if he is Muslim.

Max takes off his turban and accepts a plate of food. “I’m Muslim.” He nods and bites into the burger. “Praise be to Allah.”

We eat and talk. The burgers are delicious. I tell Max and Libby that they are invited to Leona’s on Thursday, and William tells them that he saw Kelly LeBrock, then asks if we’ve ever seen Judd Nelson. Max is shaking his head no when he receives a text message on his cell. He looks down at the phone. “Anyone have scissors I can borrow?” He looks up. I ask what for. He looks back down at the phone. “I need to cut a string,” he absently answers and begins texting something. “Forget it. I’ll take care of it.” I keep staring at him but he won’t meet my eye.

As we are finishing up with dinner, the ranger announces that he has something in his pants that we’re really going to love. I don’t doubt it. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a deck of cards. “Anyone up for a game of Uno?” he asks, waving the cards in the air. Oh. I thought we were talking about something else. Libby, sitting Indian-style on the floor, pats her stomach. “I’m stuffed,” she says and takes several quick breaths, the kind pregnant women in Lamaze classes take. Max tells William that he doesn’t remember how to play Uno and suggests that we enjoy a round of spin the bottle instead. I mention that I don’t remember how to play Uno, either.

“It’s easy!” William says. “I’ll teach you.”

“I used to love Uno,” Libby chimes in. “I think the last time I played I was on a water bed.” William, who for whatever reason loves the 1980s, shouts that water beds are great. They are something else, I add. We all agree that water beds are something else.

William makes himself comfortable on the floor and patiently explains the fundamentals of Uno. We are back in South Africa, getting a lesson about plant life. And just like in South Africa, we are not exactly paying attention. When he’s done explaining the rules I still don’t know how to play. William shuffles the deck and deals. I collect my cards. William tells Max to go first. Max stares at his cards. He begins pulling one out then tucks it back in. William assures him that he can take his time. Max does, repeating the pull and tuck move seven times. The wait is excruciating. I look at the clock. Max is averaging a pull a minute. I wonder if he’s related to the Canadian penny lady. I’ve never known him to move so slowly. I tell him to come on already. “I’m trying,” he barks, concentrating hard, “hold your horses. This isn’t a competition unless I win.” After ten more minutes William cheerily urges Max to just drop any card. Any card will do. Max pulls out a card. Let’s play Uno! He hesitates, then tucks it back among the other cards.

“Go, babe!” Libby finally says. “Why are you taking so long?”

He looks at her. “Libby,” he calmly responds. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

She points at her face: “I live here.” She folds her arms over her chest and closes her eyes. Good night, nice knowing you. After another minute of silence, during which Max greedily cups his hand over the cards so we can’t see what he’s been dealt, a final decision is made. “I’m not playing,” he abruptly states and throws down his cards. “This is boring me.” I drop my cards on the table. William looks disappointed that we will not be playing. Libby takes in his pitiful display. “William,” she asks, “can you tell us the story again about what you were thinking when the buffalo charged at us?” William nods. She begins slowly fanning herself with her cards: “You must have been so scared. Tell us again.”