From time to time I'll post stories about Chuck Thompson Miller, a deranged and degenerate man I consider my alter ego. These stories contain sexual debauchery, foul language, domestic violence, and basic criminality. These are not for the prudish or the faint of heart. Be warned and beware!
My old Air Force buddy, Chuck T.Miller, called at midnight the other night, from Phoenix, where he is shacked up with the wife of a dog track mogul. The last time I heard from Chuck was in February, when he called from Olympia, Washington to wish me a Merry Christmas. At that time, Chuck was hooked up with a woman who owned a matchmaking agency, though she herself had neither boyfriend or husband. It was a quirky story, full of bad luck, odd twists, and serious male-female conflict – in other words, par for the course.
But let’s stay on track. It’s midnight and Chuck is calling from Phoenix. He launches right in as if we’d seen one another that afternoon: “Yo, T-man, what up? as all the young dawgs say. Shit, there’s nothing more pathetic than a white dude trying to act black. How’s it hanging, T-man? Listen, you would not believe what I’m into here. I’m betwixt and between two people who make my most tumultuous relationships look like a fucking picnic. They are up to their butts in lawyers, accountants, and private detectives, each doing their absolute best to inflict maximum pain and suffering on the other. Rachel’s got the big house and the daughter, Bob’s got the idiot teenage son, the condo and the Mercedes SUV. You know what Bob’s license plate says? Buzzsaw. How do you like that shit? Buzzsaw. That’s what his business associates call him. Rachel says he’s tied in with the mob, but she’s probably just bullshitting.
“These two really need to load up a couple of .44 magnums and have a duel. The local cops and the neighbors would dearly love to see one of them dead. Let me give you a quick example of how volatile the situation is. Last week me and Rachel had tickets to see Rod Stewart – a big fav of Rachel’s -- so Buzzsaw was supposed to pick up his daughter and keep her overnight. About ten minutes before we have to hit the road he calls and says he’s tied up in an important business meeting and will be late, how late he doesn’t know. Now Tania, the daughter, is seventeen going on twenty-eight and can certainly hang out by herself for an hour or so, except that Rachel doesn’t trust her not to invite some guy over to do the big nasty in the Jacuzzi. Tania is too fucking sexually developed for her own good and the little nympho even comes on to me once a week or so, which really tests my resolve not to slip into total degeneracy and show her what it’s like to be fucked by a man.
“Anyway, Rachel goes berserk. ‘Listen to me you disgusting toad,’ she screamed into the phone. ‘Get your fat ass off the golf course or off whatever whore you’re porking and get over here and pick up your daughter! Yeah? You think you’re man enough? Bring it on, you limp-dick piece of garbage.’
“After slamming the phone down so hard it cracked, Rachel tore through the house looking for God-knows-what, cursing and screaming, her eyes like a wild dog’s. Meanwhile, Tania is downstairs watching MTV and smoking a joint as if her mother’s behavior is nothing new. I’m thinking to myself that I’ve finally been consigned to the madhouse. Anyway, cut to the chase, Rachel comes running downstairs with a silver pistol in her hand. She’s waving the thing around like Calamity-fucking-Jane, her finger on the trigger. I’m about to shit myself because I’m convinced that one of us is about to get shot in the heart. You know me – I’m a fucking coward.
“By the time Buzzsaw pulls into the driveway, almost an hour late, Rachel is insane with rage. Not only does she have the gun, now she’s got a nine-inch carving knife. I don’t even bother trying to calm her down; it’s too late for that. She runs outside in her bare feet and I’m certain somebody’s about to get killed, and I’m imagining the cops coming, then the coroner, and all the questions that will ensue. I look over at the kid to see how she’s absorbing all this and she’s still glued to the tube, as calm as can be. When she senses that I’m looking at her she winks at me.
“Buzzsaw is either the bravest man I’ve ever seen or the dumbest, because instead of backing out of the driveway at top speed, he gets out of the car and walks toward Rachel with his arms akimbo. I can’t hear what he’s saying, of course, but I can read his lips: ‘Go ahead, shoot. Pull the trigger, Rachel. Shoot me dead.’ Now realize that Rachel is less than ten feet away in a shooter’s stance, both hands holding the pistol and the carving knife clenched between her teeth. The last thing I would have said in that situation is, Go ahead, shoot.
"But Buzzsaw obviously knows his wife better than I do because two minutes later the confrontation is over and the two of them are talking as if it never happened. Tania gets her backpack and goes outside and gets in the car without saying a word to her parents. I’m watching this scene through the kitchen window, dumb-fucking-founded. This is too weird – even by my screwy standards.
“Rachel comes back in the house, all smiles. She puts the knife and the pistol on the kitchen counter and says to me, ‘Why aren’t you dressed? We gotta’ get going.’
“How do you like that shit, T-man? We are a doomed species. It’s only a matter of time. By the way, can you see your way clear to loaning me a few bucks?”
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