Sunday Archive XVIII: Korean (James outtake)
From February of 2007, this is a complete article that I never got around to posting for some reason. Again, though this is more coherent than the others, this is a “James” article and was written with the intent of providing scenes and dialog for more thought-out James articles. I guess I’m always reaching to copy Tiger’s Path.
The title of the email is “Korean.”
“Korean, eh?”
James nodded.
“How was it?”
“You’ve gone Asian. You know.”
I shrugged. “Japanese-American. That’s all. She looked Japanese but didn’t know shit about Japan. All corn dogs and funnel cakes back to the 1880’s.”
“But Asian.”
“Well…”
James finished his drink, waved his glass towards the bartender. “Yella’s yella.” He said. “Funnel cakes or not.”
“It kind of loses the charm when the package is Japanese but the girl is all ‘Yuck, yuck, old Clete brought his car to the Conoco station last night, by-golly.’”
“That’s perfect, though! You get all the yella but the mind is totally corrupted by America. You can dress her up in those fancy Jap clothes and still run around stealing traffic cones.”
“But your girl is actually Korean. It’s a step up.”
“Nonsense. Mine’s all Asian and stuff. If I stole a traffic cone while on a date with her she’d fall on her sword out of shame or something.”
“I think most of your girlfriend’s want to do that, James – “
“Oh-ho! Funny you!”
I watched as the bartender put a new drink in front of James. I had meant to watch. James called it the ‘regular special,’ and it looked like tar. He and the bartender kept sharing secret glances, Fight Club style, and the drinks seemed to appear from some secret place.
“What I don’t get, though,” James said after recovering from his first gulp.
I pointed at the glass. “Is that something homemade?”
“Is why she has such well manicured hands.”
“What?”
“Huh?”
“Manicured hands. Is that a joke?”
“It might be something homemade.” He said mysteriously, weaving drunkenly and raising the glass to the light. I couldn’t see through it. I glanced at the bartender and he put his finger to his lips.
“Fuck, James.”
“Yep.”
“Manicured hands. Very funny.”
“What?”
“Korean. Manicured hands.”
“Right…? Oh! Yes, okay.”
“So I need a girl.” I sipped my warming beer.
“Oh, wah.”
“Nah, really. It’s starting to feel like a pressure or spout…bursting.”
James leaned towards me. “Sorry, try that again.”
“I just need a girl.”
“Thinking relationship? Fuck? Anything?”
“Well, anything. But, yes, why not a relationship? Somebody soft and warm to lay next to.”
“Pay a hooker for the whole night, once a week.”
“Are you able to do that?”
“The whole night? Yes.”
“How expensive is it?”
“Don’t know. I’m not a dried up loser like you.”
The bartender spun by. “Beer’s warm, man.” He said. Or asked, maybe. I couldn’t tell.
“Yeah.”
He looked at James, who nodded sagely.
The bartender flashed me a smile. One silver tooth, another tooth missing, a beard that refused to fill in and one wandering eye. Then, as if summoned from the air around us, he produced a glass of the homemade tar and slid it towards me. “Fix you up, baby.”
“Uh…yeah. Baby. Right.”
“Take a sip, baby.” James whispered. And they both watched me with unblinking, animal eyes as I put the surface of the tar to my lips, tilted my head back, let the sludge roll into my mouth. It felt like oysters for just a whisper of a heartbeat, then it dissolved into a soothing oil and slipped down my throat before my reflexes could kick in, let alone any clear sensation or thought. When it hit my stomach, I felt a wave pass through me and moved back a few inches, staring into the hideous face of the bartender.
I nodded, “Baby.” I whispered.
The bartender laughed. “Baby!” he said loudly, and James echoed him.
“That’s amazing.”
James patted me gently on the back. “Keep going.”
This time I took a large gulp, let it slide down. Before I knew it, half the glass was down and I was feeling a screaming tornado dancing through my blood.
“This is fucking amazing!” I said, staring into the glass.
“Good stuff, huh?”
“Great stuff.”
“Feel good?”
“Feel amazing. Like I’m powerful!”
“Like king of the world, huh?”
“Fucking yes!”
“You always throw up the first time.”
I froze, gritted my teeth. Then, with gales of laughter following me, I slid off the stool and careened drunkenly, slamming off of walls and tables, towards the bathroom.