Turds in the Punch Bowl (A Story of No Ordinary Friendship) (8 page)

Needless to say, after I watched a man stick his penis in her butt, then her mouth, and then her butt again. I was queasy. But when we watched her kiss her pimp with that mouth moments later, I launched Michele across the room and I was out of there faster than you can say ATM. Ass to mouth, not automated teller machine.

I wanted to call it a night at that point, but we found an orgy with a midget. I had never seen a midget in action, so it didn’t take much for Joe to convince me to stay. Joe loves midgets. He is borderline obsessed with them. He once dated a girl only because she had a brother who was a midget. Joe did endless research on whether the midget gene might be dormant in her DNA. He was convinced that if he got her pregnant, one day he could have a midget of his very own.

This midget was a girl. I’m not technically sure she was a certifiable midget, but she was a miniature version of Snookie. She was clearly intoxicated and seemed to have a bottomless vagina. That fascinated me. I agreed it could be a good show and so the three of us crammed into a small, dark viewing room with forty or so other men. Only a screen separated us from the midget show, so we could hear everything. Every moan, every squeal, every gurgle.

I looked around to notice that every male in the viewing room had his hand in his pants and was playing a quick game of pocket pool. I started to feel gross. Someone tried to touch me in the dark. I grabbed Joe and slid through the crowd toward a sofa. We climbed up on the back of it and sat high above the sea of Yankees. The show didn’t disappoint. The midget and her friend took on several black men with humungous dongs. I was sure she would bottom out at some point, but she was a champ.

Just when she and her chocolate partner were about to climax, some dick in the crowd got too excited and leaned on the light switch. Suddenly, the dark viewing room full of jacking johns was lit up like high noon. They hurriedly removed their grips on their willies and froze, standing in fear like deer in the headlights. No one made a peep. It was the most uncomfortable silence I have ever heard. No one knew what to do. They were all caught. Even the jerk who turned on the light by accident caught himself off guard and was too stunned to realize he had done so. Awkwardness filled the air.

Leave it to Joe to break the silence. You can always count on him for a good laugh, even at his own expense. Out of the blue, Joe rose to his feet with the fear of God in his eyes and his mouth dropped wide open. He pointed into the crowd at some random guy in slow motion and yelled, “
Dad?!!!
”

Everyone broke into laughter and someone finally found the light switch. Though everyone else opted to resume the show, Joe’s joke was our cue to call it a night.

One spring afternoon, Joe and I decided to go hiking. We weren’t avid hikers and definitely didn’t know our way around the terrain. But, we had heard of a waterfall just off the Red Rock Loop that appeared after the rain and before the desert summer arrived. All someone had to say was
waterfall
and we were sold. Flowing water in the Las Vegas basin is a rare treat and we knew opportunity when it knocked.

One of Joe’s creative talents lies behind the lens of a camera. He is always looking for something to shoot. Being a former model, I am always looking for someone to shoot me; for fun. I just like the creative process anymore, and this day happened to bring both our minds together.

“Do you think the waterfall is still there?” Joe inquired.

“Probably,” I answered. “It just rained yesterday. Why?”

“I was thinking we could do a bikini shoot today.”

I was sold. We didn’t have anything else important going on and I was always up for an adventure. We loaded up the car with a few backpacks and some camera gear, and headed out to Red Rock Canyon. We had been told to pass the park entrance and pull along the back road near a gully. The waterfall was just down the path. It seemed simple enough, so it never occurred to us to take a scout or map.

We followed the verbal directions as best we could remember. After all, it had been two months since we heard about it and neither of us have the best memory; especially since I try my best to erase some of the things engrained in mine. It was mid afternoon and the sun was high when we parked. There was a dry river bed that let out near the road and we assumed it was the path. We strapped on our backpacks, grabbed some bottled waters and trekked toward the mountain. I must also mention that I was wearing nothing but a bikini and tennis shoes. Joe was shirtless, wearing khaki shorts and flip flops. We made for a pretty snazzy hiking duo.

“Do you think the waterfall is by those trees?” Joe asked, pointing to a green tree line in the distance. “Looks like a river runs through there.”

I couldn’t argue with his logic. The only greenery in the whole valley surrounding us was where he was pointing. I also knew that meant water, so we veered right and headed straight toward it.

“Onward!” I shouted, enthusiastically.

It’s a funny thing about the desert. Everything looks smaller when you’re in your car. It’s not until you actually set out across the landscape that you realize how vast and big it really is. And how small you are. We must’ve hiked for over an hour through dirt, rocks and Joshua trees before we reached the greenbelt. And even as we approached, it seemed the elusive river was still moving further away.

“Is this it?” I asked, standing over a trickling creek that ran into a two-inch deep pond that had more algae than water.

“No. It can’t be,” Joe insisted. “I bet if we follow this creek up a little, it will lead us to the waterfall. Come on!”

I don’t know why I ever trust Joe. All of his great ideas have landed me in hot water or made for more trouble than I ever intended to get in. Like the time he had the brilliant idea to mimic Myspace and create MidgetSpace.com, a big place for little people. It was all fun and games until we received a cease and desist letter in the mail from the Little People of America. Or like the time Joe thought it would be a blast to rent waverunners for a trip to Catalina. The trip there was smooth, but it wasn’t so cool to get rescued by the Coast Guard on our way back. His ideas always sound fun in theory, but in hindsight, it’s clear we never really think the whole thing through. This particular trip up the canyon to follow some trickling water didn’t end up much different.

We walked along the creek for an hour or so before the terrain got rocky and began a steep ascent. We looked up and found ourselves in the mouth of the canyon. There had to be more water up ahead, so we pressed on. We finally came to opening in the rocks where a pool of water was filling the gap. It was a decent size, but still not big enough for a swim or a shoot, like our friends had mentioned. Though we were hot, parched and exhausted from walking with our gear, we were bound and determined to find that damn waterfall! Looking back, I wish one of us weren’t so hard headed. We would’ve surely turned back long ago if I would’ve been rational about our hike. It was getting late, we were out of drinking water and the tiny stream we had been following disappeared deep into the rocks above us. We had reached the end of this adventure.

Unfortunately, the end didn’t come soon enough for us. As we made our descent down the rocks, scrambling and climbing carefully, time slipped through the hourglass and we found ourselves nowhere near the base by sunset. We were on the east side of the mountain and once the sun dipped beyond its peaks, the darkness fell over the land and blinded us.

“Well, that sucks,” Joey mentioned as the last light faded quickly.

I tried not to seem panicked, but I knew we didn’t bring flashlights. We opted to walk outside the greenbelt where the trees were sparse and we could hear the dirt and gravel crunch under our feet. At least that way we knew there were no surprises. That was until I ran face first into my first Joshua tree. We were going to need a better plan. We weren’t going to be able to rely on our eyesight alone. The desert is a dark, dark place at night and we happened to go for a hike on a moonless night.

Joe had his cell phone, so we tried using it to light our way. It worked for a while, until the battery ran out. We were still at least a mile from the road. We could see headlights of passing cars in the distance and hoped we were pointed in the right direction as we guessed the approximate place that we parked. We kept our eyes glued on that highway as we trekked on. Then, we saw flashing red and blues coming down the road. It never donned on us that it could mean trouble, we were just hoping for a glimpse of our car in its aura as it passed by. To our dismay, the patrol car stopped short of where we thought we parked and remained there for some time.

Just then, as I narrowly dodged another tree in the face, I heard something echo through the canyon. I wasn’t familiar with the sound, but I knew that it came from an animal. I stopped dead in my tracks.

“Joe, did you hear that?”

“What?”

“Shhh,” I shushed him. “Stop. Listen.”

We waited a few seconds.

“I don’t hear anything,” he started to say.

“Shhh!” I scolded him. “Just wait.”

All we could hear was the dirt shifting under our shoes. The canyon was silent. Even the lights flashing in the distance were not accompanied by sound. No sirens, no birds, no bats, no frogs from the creek. The night was still.

“HEEHAW!”

I screamed! It was right behind me. I have no idea how big or small that burro was, where he came from or what he wanted, but I wasn’t sticking around to find out. I bolted.

“Wait for me!” Joe called out, but I was long gone.

“Omigod, omigod, omigod,” I kept repeating as I held my hands up in front of my face feeling for branches as I ran. I was laughing, but I was scared. So scared I didn’t even realize I was headed in the wrong direction. Suddenly, I was surrounded by heehawing donkeys! They were everywhere, but I couldn’t see them. I couldn’t tell how close or far they were because their voices were echoing all around.

“Joe!” I screamed. “Joe!”

I was starting to panic. I was alone in the dark with a herd of wild burros, who did or did not eat meat. I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that I was a small human wearing a small bikini in a big desert. I didn’t have much meat on my bones, but if those beasts were as hungry and parched as I was from being in the dry heat all day, it was mere moments before they surrounded me like a pack of rabid wolves.

“Joe!” My voice was getting higher in octave as I reverted back to being a scared little girl. I was paralyzed with fear. “Joe!”

I heard the donkeys moving in to get me. Their footsteps were getting closer. I covered my head with my arms and squatted down into the fetal position. I was done for.

“Monkey?” I heard Joe say as he put his hand on my shoulder and pulled me up. “What the hell are you doing? You went the wrong way.”

“We have to get out of here!” I told him.

“Calm down. Most of the burros are up further. They’re not as close as they sound. You’re fine. They don’t eat people anyway. You’re so dramatic.”

He was right. Donkeys don’t eat people, especially women, and I can be pretty dramatic when I want to be. I have never been afraid of donkeys or horses, cows or even tigers. I volunteer at exotic animal rescues and even donate regularly to a wolf sanctuary. I have been around animals my whole life and have never met one I didn’t like. I pet them, feed them and play with them, even the big cats. So why was I so scared? The truth is you just never know how you’re going to react when frightened. Had the sun been out when the donkey yelled at me the way he did, I probably would have pet him and given him a name. I would’ve even considered riding him back to the car and taking him home. But that’s not the way it happened. The pitch black night played tricks on my common sense and the fear of the unknown had me certain I was being attacked by flesh-eating jackasses. In hindsight, I was the only jackass in the desert that evening, and I’m not proud to say it.

“Come on, Monkey. The highway is this way,” Joe said as he led me away from the beasts of the night.

“There’s more lights now,” I exclaimed as we looked off in the distance.

Some friends had joined the patrol car. It looked like there were three now. We used them as our lighthouse in the sea of darkness and headed straight toward them. It was another hour before we even got close. And unfortunately as we did, we noticed the lights belonged to two patrol cars and a tow truck. And, if we strained our eyes far enough, we could see Joe’s car hoisted up and chained to the back of it. We were officially fucked.

I heard a big thud behind me.

“Well,” Joe perked up, “if we’re stuck out here all night, I suggest we take a few of those photos we came here for.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep. Seriously. How much worse could it get? Now, take off your shoes and pose.”

Joe was decent at taking charge in any situation. I admire him for that. Though his brilliance often put us in situations that required more of his brilliance to get us out of, he always did a fairly good job of making the best of things. This moment was no different. I took off my sneakers and felt around for a Joshua tree. I knew there were plenty. I had eaten a few when I ran from the donkey.

I stood as close as I could to the nearest tree and Joe snapped a picture. The flash was blinding.

“Okay, that’s it. Let’s go!” he said as he put his camera in its case and snapped it closed.

“That’s it?” I was confused.

“Yep. There’s no waterfall behind you, but it will do.”

I put my shoes back on and we hiked the rest of the way to the road without saying a word. I think we were both bummed that we hadn’t found the waterfall. We didn’t have to walk along the shoulder for long before we were picked up by highway patrol. The officer gave us a ride home, apologized for calling in our car and gave us a lecture about the safeties of hiking in the desert.

Joe isn’t the smoothest pickup artist, so how he ended up finger-banging our favorite waitress in the back of the restaurant is beyond me. I wish I could tell you he got laid this time, but unfortunately this story doesn’t have a happy ending. Just when he thought he was in like Flynn, the ghost of a husband’s past came creeping up Jane’s legs and closed them for business. Poor Joe. He ended up with blue balls and Finger-bangin’ Jane was never heard from again. It’s never a dull day trying to wet Joe’s willy.