The Lunch Date

Originally published in my book The Greatest Story Never Written and Others

Phil Erskine was not what you would call elegant. He was in fact a rumpled man with all the grace and sophistication of an unmade bed. He plodded through his life a perpetual smile glued to his puffy, unmade bed face as if he was in a constant state of orgasm. He was wider around than he was tall, but that was blamed on Ming’s Magnificent Buffet Palace. He ate there so often his own kitchen in his tiny one bedroom apartment grew dusty with jealousy. He was a beige man living in a beige apartment in a beige world that very rarely tinged with just a little bit of color.
On his last visit to Ming’s he was busy making love to his fourth plate of food while Mama Ming looked on with unadulterated happiness. It did her ancient heart good to see someone eat so much of the somewhat sketchy, yet tasty food. He finished up, and leaned back with a sigh. The wave of euphoria that overcame him from stuffing himself was creeping upon him, and at that very second he thought he’d be able to float his fat a*s out of there as if on a cloud. It was his drug of choice, and it was pure bliss. He fiddled with the fortune cookie for a few seconds before he cracked it open and pulled the tiny slip of paper from within. He gazed at the fortune sighed, and dropped the slip of paper into his half-full glass of water. The water bubbled slightly and the paper slowly dissolved into nothing. He paid his check, and waved a heartfelt goodbye to Mama Ming and stepped out into the midday hustle and bustle of the city. It was starting to get warm, and that caused another sigh to escape him. He mopped his face with the once white handkerchief in his pocket, and hailed a cab. He gave the driver the address and cracked the window to let out some of the more fragrant air particles. He sat back into the seat, the perpetual grin still on his face, he closed his eyes partially to center himself, and partially because he felt, he needed a nap.
The cab pulled up to the curb at Phil’s destination after about twenty minutes. He took a one hundred dollar bill out of his pocket and tore it in half. He gave one-half to the driver and told him to wait for him to return whereupon he’d receive the other half. The driver agreed, and Phil Erskine hefted his bulk out of the cab. He took several joyous deep breaths, clearing the cab stink from his nose, and made his way into 1454 Troubadour Street. The lobby was all white marble and quite cool which was refreshing on such a hot, humid day. Phil spoke to the guard at the desk for several seconds and then proceeded to the left bank of elevators pressing the button exactly three times. The doors slid open silently and the elevator was empty. Phil stepped in and pressed the button for the 25th floor. The elevator moved up the innards of the building dutifully while serenading Phil with an orchestrated version of what he thought was a Def Leopard song, but he couldn’t be sure. The elevator chimed and the doors slid open. Phil stepped out onto a vacant floor in the building that was in the midst of a major renovation. There were exposed beams, wires hanging from the ceiling, partially hung walls, and drywall dust everywhere. He plodded towards the rear of the floor and saw what he was looking for. A man duct taped to a chair. He hadn’t been there very long, but the bruises on his face showed that his time there was less than enjoyable. When the man in the chair spied Phil he gave a cry from behind the duct tape covering his mouth. Phil Erskine slowly walked around the man a few times as if sizing him up. The man’s eyes were pleading for Phil to release him, but Phil just walked around the man a few more times and loosened his tie. The man in the chair was a bit on the big side but nothing Phil Erskine couldn’t handle. There room was suddenly full of a soft cracking sound as Phil’s jaw unhinged itself. The last thing the man duct taped to the chair saw was a gaping maw of rows upon rows of teeth.
Phil Erskine plodded out of the building mopped his brow against the oppressive heat of the day, and climbed back into the cab. He was long overdue for a nap.