Average American Male (8 page)

They hug and Casey says, “And don’t be a stranger, let’s get lunch sometime.”

Her friend says, “Okay, I’ll give you a call. You kids behave.” Then she heads toward the escalators.

Casey says, “Have we ever come to the Beverly Center and not run into someone we know? Seriously, it’s like everyone in town comes here on the weekends.”

I start walking toward the Orange Julius/Dairy Queen without hearing what she just said. I remember in seventh grade home-ec class, Mrs. Baker taught us how to make Orange Julius with vanilla extract, orange juice, sugar, and ice. Mrs. Baker wasn’t particularly attractive but I would have fucked her.

I buy a chocolate-dipped cone and Casey gets a small Julius. As we leave the counter I literally bump into Alyna, who is walking by with her arm around some asshole. A conversation is unavoidable and I’m sure it’s going to lead to the discovery of our date by both of our significant others. But I’m more worried about Alyna finding out I have a girlfriend.

Alyna says, “Oh, hey. How are you?”

“I’m fine, you?”

“Pretty good.”

“This is my boyfriend, Duane.”

I fucking shake his hand. Casey gets tired of not being introduced and says, “I’m his fiancée, Casey. Nice to meet you guys.”

Alyna shakes Casey’s hand and says, “Hi, I’m Alyna.” I can tell Alyna’s surprised. I feel worse than I should for never telling her about Casey. Even though I have no chance with her, for some reason I still don’t want her to be mad at me.

Casey is jealous immediately. She says, “So how do you two know each other?”

I kind of want to let it all out, expose the truth, see what happens.

Alyna answers before I can say anything. She says, “I had a flat tire over in Westwood and your husband-to-be here helped me change it.”

Holy shit. This is the most insane lie I’ve ever heard in my life.

There’s no way either of our respective counterparts will swallow it.

Casey says, “I didn’t know you knew how to change a tire.”

I say, “Well, I do.”

Casey says, “Huh. I’ll have to remember that,” then she laughs.

Duane also laughs for some reason.

Alyna says, “Well, you guys take it easy. We have some shopping to get to.”

I say, “Yeah. You, too.”

As they walk away, Alyna says, “It was good to see you again.”

I say, “Yeah. You, too.”

I try to convince myself that this was just a strange coincidence, that there was no greater purpose behind running into Alyna, that she isn’t thinking about me as she walks through the Beverly Center with Duane.

Casey says, “You never told me you helped somebody change their tire. That’s a good story, why didn’t you tell me about that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want to go look at invitations or rings?”

I want to turn around, chase after Alyna, and never have to hear Casey’s voice again. I say, “You pick.”

Internet Personals

After downloading some double-dong lesbian pornography I check my e-mail. In my inbox is a message from Caligurrl669 with the following as a subject heading: “Saw you on match.com and thought you looked cute.”

Despite having numerous profiles on different Internet personals sites for almost a year, this is the first e-mail response I’ve ever received.

I open it.

Caligurrl669 tells me that she thinks I look like Eric Stoltz, who is one of her favorite actors. She recently moved to Los Angeles from Ohio to become an actress. She loves the Cure and the Smiths. She doesn’t consider herself religious, but she is very spiritual. She has a dog and wants to know if I like animals. The last guy she dated was really into pro wrestling. She wasn’t. She wants to know if I’m really into pro wrestling. She signs the e-mail with a smiley face and a link to her profile. I check the link.

Caligurrl669 is a little chubbier than I imagined from her e-mail, but not fat. Her tits are a little smaller than I imagined, but not bad.

Her face is acceptable.

I wonder if Caligurrl669 sucks dick on the first date. I wonder if shes likes anal sex. I wonder if Caligurrl669 is actually a guy trying to lure me into showing up somewhere so he can beat the shit out of me and take whatever cash I brought.

I respond with the following message: Caligurrl669—

I only set up dates with girls who send me nude photos of themselves accompanied by detailed descriptions of how they perform fellatio. To further pique my interest you might want to do something in the photos that lets me know you have a unique talent, you know, something to separate you from the crowd. I look forward to your response.

Caligurrl669 probably won’t ever write me again and that doesn’t bother me. But then again, she might.

Casey’s Parents

Over the course of our relationship, Casey’s parents have come to Los Angeles to visit her several times. I’ve eaten dinner with them more than once and have been forced to endure multiple trips to the mall with them and Casey to look for clothes. As much as I hated all of that, the prospect of spending the next two days with them as their future son-in-law is on a different level of agony. But somehow the impending doom of my life ending in marriage to Casey is less threatening than the more immediate disaster that would result from breaking up with her now.

We’re in my car on the way to LAX to pick her parents up. Casey says, “Remember, you can’t curse around my mom. She’ll think you’re a bad influence and that our marriage will be bad. And offer to pay for things. You’ll never have to, but if you offer to pay for things my dad will think you’re a provider and that’s good. And don’t bring up France with my dad. He’ll go crazy and won’t stop talking for an hour. And if my mom asks you where you think we’re going to live, just tell her that it’s still up in the air and it really depends on where we can find the best place. And if they ask you about a wedding date, tell them a.s.a.p.

And if either of them ask you about when we’re going to have kids, just say as soon as we get settled we’re going to start trying. Wait, maybe don’t say anything about trying because they’ll think about us having sex and I don’t want my parents thinking about that. Just say as soon as we’re settled.”

When we exit the 405, there’s a hobo with a sign that reads Homeless, Hungry, and Handsome—Anything will help at the first stop-light. I like his sign so I roll down my window. He walks in between a few cars also stopped at the red light and holds out his hand. I reach in my pocket and realize I only have a five-dollar bill. I don’t really want to give him five dollars, but I already rolled down my window and now he’s standing at it. I give him the five-dollar bill. He thanks me, the light turns green, and we keep driving. Despite the satisfaction I genuinely get from giving hobos money, I gave this guy money specifically to get the following reaction from Casey:

“Why do you give them money? It’s so stupid. They just spend it on drugs and booze.”

There’s something about her hating the fact that I give hobos money that makes me happy.

We park at LAX and go into the baggage claim area to wait for Casey’s mom and dad to come out. She says, “God, isn’t this exciting.

I mean, I know you’ve met them before and everything, but you’ve never actually met them as your future in-laws. Seriously, aren’t you excited?”

I think she’s asking a rhetorical question so I don’t answer.

She says, “Well, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

Some people start coming out of a door toward the baggage claim.

Casey says, “Do you think that’s their flight?”

I think I want to walk back to my car and drive back to my apartment and play World of Warcraft. I think I don’t want to spend the next two days being dragged around L.A. looking at clothes I couldn’t care less about and eating food when I’m not hungry. I think I don’t want to do this anymore.

Her mom and dad walk through the door and spot us. Her mom half jogs over to Casey with a big smile on her face, while her dad is left to drag both of their carry-on bags behind him.

Her mom says, “Oh, congratulations, you two. I just knew Casey would get married one day. I just knew it. My little girl. And you,” she says to me, “come here.”

She gives me a big hug and says, “It’s about time, huh? We were starting to wonder about you.”

For an older woman Casey’s mom has a noticeably nice ass. I wonder if Casey’s will slim down if I stay with her until she’s in her fifties.

Casey’s dad finally manages to make it over to the group. He says,

“So, my little girl’s getting hitched?” He gives her a hug, then turns to me and says, “And I’m going to have a new son.” He shakes my hand in a weird kind of overexcited way.

Casey’s mom says, “So we thought we could go eat a little lunch when we get out of here and then you guys can drop us off at our hotel for a few hours so we can rest for a bit, and then you can come back and pick us up and we can go shopping, or I figured that you guys would probably start looking for a place to live together . . . we could come with you. That would be so much fun. How does that sound?”

Casey says, “That’s exactly the way I had it planned, too.”

If I had a cyanide pill I would probably eat it.

Casey’s dad says, “Great. We just have a few bags.”

We wait at the baggage carousel for a few bags, which turns out to be five.

When we get in my car and I start it, I become immediately aware that Casey forgot to take my Snoop Dogg CD out and Casey’s parents are treated to the following pro-marriage rhetoric: You talk too much Ho get up out my face unless you tryin’ to fuck ’Cause on the real a nigga kinda drunk Casey turns the music off before Snoop can say anything else.

Everyone in the car heard it and no one’s saying anything. I put the car in reverse and pull out of my parking spot. No one’s saying anything. I start driving to the parking structure exit. No one’s saying anything. I pull up to the booth, grab my ticket off the dashboard, and roll down my window. Casey’s dad says, “I just can’t get over how nice the weather here is.”

We pull up to the booth and I give my ticket to a little Asian guy.

The meter flashes $3.00. The little Asian guy hammers it home by saying, “Three dollars, please.”

I realize I gave my last five dollars to the hobo on the way into the airport. Casey said her parents would never let me pay for anything, I just had to make the offer. I say, “I got it.” I reach in my pocket to make the offer seem real. I’m feeling around inside my empty pocket when I hear Casey’s parents say nothing.

I don’t know if they’re pissed at me for Snoop Dogg or if this is the one time they’re actually making me pay for something as some kind of test. In either case I have no way of paying the three dollars. The little Asian guy says again with exactly the same inflection, “Three dollars, please.”

Casey’s getting nervous next to me. She turns back and smiles to her parents. She says, “How was your flight?” She’s trying to stall them, but it’s not working. I can see her mom’s face in my rearview mirror.

She’s getting anxious. Her dad looks disappointed. Deep down I don’t really care about any of it. And I’m kind of happy when I say, “That’s funny, I don’t seem to have any money on me. I guess I just gave my last five dollars to that homeless guy.”

Casey’s mom reaches for her purse and says, “Why do you give them money? They only spend it on drugs and drink.” Then she adds, “I think I have three dollars.” She’s almost disgusted when she hands me the bills.

I say, “Thanks, sorry about that. Dinner’s on me tonight.”

Casey’s dad says, “Don’t be silly. It’s only three dollars.” But I can tell he’s pissed, too. It’s more than just three dollars to him. It’s the guy who’s about to marry his little girl not being able to get out of a parking lot. I hope it keeps him awake at night. I hope I’m the secretly hated fiancé, the one they complain about to their friends at the country club, the one who always gets shitty presents at family Christmas parties, the one who ruins their perfect family.

As we pull out of the parking structure, Casey says, “So where do you guys want to eat?”

I know her dad is thinking that now I can’t even offer to pay for lunch because everyone knows I have no money. I think I might offer anyway. Her dad says, “Somewhere with steak.”

Her mom says, “You already had your steak for the week.”

He says, “We’re on vacation.”

She says, “That doesn’t matter. You’re not having another steak.

Casey, you pick.”

Casey says, “Okay, I know a good place. Daddy, there’s no steak but I think you’ll like it.”

He says, “Do they have beer?”

Casey’s mom says, “You can’t have any more beer this week either.

Are you just trying to kill yourself right before your daughter’s wedding? Is that what you want?”

He says, “It’s my vacation.”

She says, “That doesn’t matter. Your heart doesn’t go on vacation and neither does your high blood pressure.”

They keep arguing as we drive down the road to one of Casey’s favorite lunch places, the Daily Grill. I wonder if they still fuck or when the last time was that she sucked his cock.

Apartment Hunting

We’ve been in the Valley, Toluca Lake, for four hours looking at apart-ments with Casey’s parents and a woman from a rental agency that Casey called, who seems to be in her mid-thirties with great tits. I fucking despise the Valley. I’m standing in the living room of the third place we’ve looked at today. Casey, her mom, and the rental agency lady are in the bedroom. Her dad’s standing with me.

He says, “So how’d you propose to my little girl?”

I try to remember exactly how we became engaged. I can’t. I only vaguely think Casey invited me over to fuck and then somehow we were engaged without fucking.

I say, “I got down on one knee.”

He says, “I figured you for a one-knee man. That’s how I popped the question to her mother, too. One knee’s the best way to go. It’s not too creative, but it gets the job done and it’s classy. Things like that are important moments in a woman’s life and they should be classy.”