Meat and greet

chapter one

 

Chapter 1

“Meat and Greet”

 

 

He never wanted the so-called "American Dream," the big house, yes, marriage, kid’s responsibility, all of that, no. Just the thought of the act of having to tell someone where, when, how or what I’m doing would inconvenient and tiring. And as for tonight he was too busy celebrating his birthday. Hours went by. He dances. He drinks. He flirted. He’s drunk. Bottoms up!

Ding! In on descriptive white lined fenced up plain lined street a doorbell rings none stop…Ding!

Five Minutes. Ding!

“What the f**k” buried under thick layers of none matching, bright multi-colored velvet sheets a hand slowly slides out from the corner of the bundled blankets. It moves like an extremely polished slinky tumbling down a flight of stairs. It stops, hovering Apache helicopter waiting to make a kill. Then slowly climbs down over a nightstand feeling then firmly grasping a clock. Then yanks it under the covers as fast a mousetrap springs closed for its prize.

"What the f**k, 10am, ten in the morning." Ding, The hand flings the bundle aside. Steve Blang wearing only a haggard, abused brief box that lost their cling years ago bangs his closed fist against his black chiseled chest, trying to wake up for a fight. Playboy Blang cannot believe anyone who knows him would be stupid enough to be at his door, this time in the morning. And after the party he had last night, o no!

 

Bang, slam, “Damn, my foot. S**t” he screams as he trips up over discarded wine bottles, plates, and cutlery. Hold the bloody on" he yells out. Now actually twined up, angry and disheveled, limping vastly towards the door, Steve is praying that the offender can take an a*s whipping that they have come to them.

 

As he reaches the big double frosted glass front door, the ringing abruptly stops. Yes, he thinks to himself they can take this a*s whipping marked for them. Steve a smart man even when angry looks through the peephole before opening the door. You can never be too careful he thinks. No one! He then looks through the big floor to ceiling glass windows in his living room overlooking a concrete garden of cars. No one! Now truly irate, he pulls open both sides of the door. He checks left then right. No one! As he traces his way backwards inside he glances down then stops banging his body against the door frame.

Sitting on his front step is a waffle threaded dark green basket. The kind you might find at a child's picnic part within a back yard just big enough for a couple of sandwiches and a juice box. As he stoops down to get a better look at the basket, it starts to shack. Steve jumps back as if he seen a ghost. His first thought is about all the women he has bedded. Maybe in one of his recent escapades run in he forgot to wear a helmet. The basket may hold a child from one of his many escapades. He contemplates just shutting the door, not even looking into the basket as if it would just go way.

 

Slam, "S**t" he screams slowly opening up the door again in one swoop picking up the basket. Light he thought. As he felt the light vibrations of the movement within the basket, ingraining more regret in his mind." S**t" he screams slightly under his breath.

Steve looks around his living room admiring all the rustic dark wooden overly large furniture; a man cave transformed into a large living space, as if Joe Montana was transformed into Martha Steward, on steroids. He walks over towards his customized lazy boy. Armrest cup holders so large they could hold a mini keg, built-in remote panel that controls all of the sixty inch TV’s lined up cover three sides of the wall, the lighting , heat and air system for the both the chair and house with an attached  refrigerator and mini microwave for beer snacks.

Fumbling with the control buttons, as he leans back the basket moves back and forth slowly.

"Hay" sniff. Sniff. "Can you open the lid, please, it's stuffy in here?" says the child lick voice of the object within the basket. Steve jumps up fast, kicking over the basket. The basket seems to fall slowly, bouncing once, twice, three times with the lid sliding partially open. Steve watches as the animal pushes rest of the top is pushed open wider. Steve's mouth drops open wide as his eyes rapidly begin to blink. A white fluffy overly large little head of a dog appears. "Well, you could have just opened up the lid without all the dramatics," the little dog says. Crawling slowly out of the basket the fluffy hair dog has patches of gray, black and brown streaks of fur along its back. It looked more like a Chihuahua mixed with Yorkie. Not yet a foot long with short stubby legs and a tail longer than its body, reminding Steve of a stalk of unprocessed cotton.

Calm down, calm down" screamed the little dog like thing trying hard not to yell.

"What in the name of God," Steve said more to himself than to the dog like thing as he backed up slowly looking for any object to defend himself and through at the dog like thing. As he reached out the first object that he could grasp a couch pillow.

"So you're down for a game of the pillow fight, big boy," said the dog like thing as he slowly walked towards Steve. "Steve, calm down." said the dog.  Stuck silent, not with fear, but pure shock at what was standing before him. Not the animal itself which looked somewhat cute and harmless. It was more of the fact that it spoke and knew his name.

What did I drink, how much did I drink, was there some date rape drug is given to me he thought? Just as he started to realize that the dog was talking to him and seemed to know his name. Steve's body gave out on him, and he black out.

Sniff. Sniff. Ses, sess, sesssss

"Ha!" "Wake up already I am all out," says the dog.

“Owe.” moans Steve. "What the." Steve moans as he wipes liquid off his face. "Smells like piss" Steve yells, as he raises the front of his body of the floor hugging his legs at the waist. As he continues to wipe the liquid, no piss, which now was raining down his back. He remembers why he was lying on the floor. "Did you pee on me? No the question is why did you pee on me?"

"We'll you're up. You were out for almost two hours."

“You peed on me!"

“I tried licking your face. But you smell. Alcohol and something else so pungent you might need a hazmat team to figure out what toxic waste you laid in last night."

 

"I mean did you mistake the toilet for the shower, fall into” Lake Dump All Your Sewage in Me," located outside of Chernobyl, Russia." "Just saying that other smell might be?"

"Really you pee on me than have the nerve to talk about my smell."

"Just saying Steve the smell of my pee is the best smell coming from you right know." Steve front gets that glare in his eyes he had just before he black out.

“Ok, Steve I’m sorry you smell, and I’m sorry I had to pee on you.” Steve throws the discarded pillow at the dog, but the dog quickly gets away. Bark, growl, he yelps as he hides under an overly large wooden and glass coffee table, then licks its back paw rubbing his face with it.