SICKENED (Book One) (The Filthy Apocalypse Series) (2 page)

I have it pretty damn good at Nana’s. My own big bedroom, a nice Queen bed with comfy flannel sheets and a warm down comforter, a plasma TV, closet space, big oak dresser. Where would I keep my car? In the city you need resident permits. Any place I crash would be a nightmare—I’d be moving my car every few hours or collecting endless parking tickets.

The tears are more legit now. I’m virtually sobbing into the carpet.

“This is a ridiculous display. Even for you, Danny.”

But I can tell I’m wearing her down a little. I just need to keep at it. Keep working on her sympathies. I sit up, my cheeks streaked with tears. “I love you, Nana.

And part of why I’m crying, honestly, is how much I’d miss you if I moved out.”

“Oh, posh, that’s just nonsense, Danny.” Her face is more lined than usual as she watches me come apart at the seams.

“It’s not just nonsense. I’ve lived here for six years and you’re not getting any younger. As you yourself often tell me, you’re no spring chicken.”

“That’s true, but it’s just a fact of life. I’m not upset about it so I don’t see why you’re balling like a baby.”

“Well I’m going to miss you when you’re gone. Okay? And maybe…just maybe part of why I keep staying on is that I’m afraid if I leave…I might never see you again.”

She sighs deeply. Inside I’m already accepting an Academy Award for this performance. I’ve always had a knack for digging deep when I’m in a jam, and this occasion has been no exception. I know I’ve gotten her. I finally broke down her resistance.

She smiles at me. “Despite all of your flaws, all of your deviant behaviors, your craven lifestyle, your laziness and irresponsibility, there is something warm and kind inside of you, that little Danny Boy I remember from when you were just a wee tadpole.”

I smile, trying to make my face appear something like the little boy she remembers. Guileless, full of promise, with shining eyes—a boy who wanted nothing more than a kiss on the cheek from Nana, a dollar for the candy store, and room to run.

She stares into my eyes.

You’re seeing that little boy right now, I inwardly tell her, as if my mind itself can bend her to my will. I smile wider.

Don’t go too far over the top, it could come off demented, like a lunatic.

Everything needs to be pitch perfect right now.

Nana sits back in her easy chair and strokes her chin. “Oh, Danny.”

I want to fist pump. The resignation in her voice is palpable. I just Jedi Mind Fucked an old lady and I am psyched.

I wonder what she’ll say. Maybe she’ll give me another six months, which we both know means that I’ll never move out. Six months may as well be sixty months because she’s weak and this was her last stand.

But then Nana surprises me.

“Oh Danny, I’m sorry but you’re just so full of horse pucky.”

“Horse pucky? Is that something good, because—“

“Horseshit,” she says tightly. “You’re full of horseshit.”

I nearly fall over. “Nana, please.”

“Now you have a week to find a new home,” she says in a clipped voice. “I don’t want anymore shenanigans. No more tears, no more tantrums, nothing. You’ve got a week to figure out a plan and not a day longer.”

I can’t believe my ears. Nana just fucked me in the ass. Gangsta style.

She gets slowly to her feet and points at me. “And if you bring the subject up again, if you try and talk me out of this—if you so much as look at me wrong between now and then—you’ll be out on your butt so fast your little perverted head will spin.”

She shuffles out of the room. “I’m tuckered out and going to bed,” she says from the hallway.

I listen to her soft steps as she goes.

My god. I’m in big trouble.

***

I wake up with a sick feeling in my stomach. And an itchy feeling around my ball sack. I scoot up in bed and pull down my drawers.

“Fucking hell.”

I’ve got a tremendous rash on my balls, my lower belly, and my inner thighs.

There are tiny red pustules that look ready to explode, too. Dozens of them. I take one of the little zits in between my fingers and squeeze. There’s a sharp burning sensation as the puss shoots out.

I stare in awe at what’s going on down there. I’ve always known it was only a matter of time before I got an STD—in fact, I’m pretty sure I already have genital warts.

But genital warts are like nipples—everyone’s got ‘em these days.

This is something else.

Maybe the beginning of a herpes outbreak, or even syphilis. And didn’t that one famous porn chick who got AIDS talk about how it started off with some disgusting rash on her ass?

I pull my boxers up and moan. Fuck. This is the worst day ever. I’m losing my house and I might have AIDS.

I get out of bed, throw on some jeans and a t-shirt, run a hand through my hair and head out to the kitchen for some coffee. Usually Nana will put a pot on for me, but probably no longer. Not after last night.

But then I smell the strong brew and know that she did it after all. A ghost of a smile comes to my lips. There’s a note on the kitchen table in her distinctive script. The letters are blocky and the wording is to the point.

I’VE GONE TO THE MARKET. COFFEE IS MADE.

LOVE NANA

She still loves me, I think, as I pour myself a cup and add a little cream and sugar.

Maybe all’s not lost. I sit down at the kitchen table and open the newspaper. Nana is old school and still gets the Herald delivered to her doorstep.

Sipping my hot brew, smacking my lips, I’m feeling better. Who knows, maybe she’ll have forgotten all about it by the time she comes home from the market? I’ll make some jokes and be the charming young man she remembers, the one that I was until about the age of nine. She’ll soften up a bit and things will go back to normal.

But deep inside I know it’s not going to happen. Still, a man can hope, can’t he?

Just like I have hope that this itchy rash on my testicles is something other than my immune system’s initial battle against a marauding viral intruder. Maybe it’s just a coincidence. Maybe Nana used a new kind of detergent on my boxers.

I focus on the positive. For instance, the Celtics won again last night, they’re still on a hot streak. Beat the Lakers by twelve in LA. That’s something. If I see Paul Pierce again I’m going to congratulate him on the impressive number of assists and rebounds he had last night. But I’ll say it in passing, not like some crazed stalker fan. I know how to talk to Paul.

A little voice in my head tells me that maybe I should reach out to Teddy Foreskin this morning and ask if I can crash at his pad the week after next. Just in case Nana is sticking to her guns.

The coffee tastes sour in my mouth. I slam the mug down.

No. I don’t want to think about that.

Teddy’s apartment has mice. Old pizza boxes everywhere. Towers of empty beer cans. He brings girls back constantly and I’d be on his couch with nowhere to go, probably having to leave the apartment so he can fuck in peace.

I’ll call him only at the very last moment when there’s no other choice. Teddy’s place is like a refugee camp. Until I’m officially a refugee I don’t want to even consider it.

During my second cup of coffee, I hear keys in the front door and hop up from my chair. Normally I wouldn’t move from my seat, but today I have to try and step up my game.

The door opens as I reach it and Nana falls to the ground along with her bags of groceries. Onions and peppers roll across the floor. “Nana!” I yell, running and kneeling next to her.

My first thought is heart attack. Maybe a stroke.

She looks at me. “Help me up, Danny.”

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine. I just…I’m exhausted. I was mugged outside the market by a lunatic.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Language!”

“Sorry, I’m just freaked out.” I help her slowly to her feet. “Who mugged you?

Did you call the police?”

She shakes her head. “It was nothing. He didn’t get my purse. He grabbed at it but I fought him off. And then he bit my finger and ran away.”

“He bit you?”

She nods and holds out her old prune-like hand. I’m expecting to see a ravaged, bloody stump, but the finger isn’t bad at all. I wouldn’t have even thought it was a bite.

There’s some blood but nothing terrible.

“I have a headache, Danny. I’m going to lay down.” She puts her hand on her head and starts for her room.

“You go on,” I tell her. “I’ll clean up the groceries and get you a Band-Aid for your finger.”

I’m instantly wondering if this incident could help me work my way back into her good graces, and the answer is a resounding yes. This is opportunity knocking.

After a run-in with a mugger, she’ll be frightened of being alone. I can help make her feel safe; help her to see my usefulness. A young, strong man around the house could certainly put her mind at ease.

I pick up the spilled veggies and cans and bring everything into the kitchen, leaving it on the counter. Then I hit the bathroom, grab a tube of Neosporin and a Band-Aid.

I feel like whistling but keep it to myself. Yes, inside I’m clicking my heels.

Nana’s going to owe me big, as I nurse her back to health over the next day or two.

I walk in the bedroom and she’s lying on her back, old pale legs splayed out grotesquely as if she’s waiting for me to perform a little cunnilingus.

“Nana, why aren’t you under the covers?”

She moans and touches her forehead. “My head. Terrible.”

For a moment I wonder if she didn’t take a knock on the old melon. Maybe she has a concussion. I come closer and peer into her filmy, rheumy eyes.

“You okay?”

“Just a little frightened. And this headache.”

“Let’s see that finger.”

She holds it up to me and my lips pucker inadvertently. Is it my imagination or is the cut—bite—whatever the hell it is—worse? The small flap of skin is hanging open like a bizarre gill. The edges appear to have a greenish cast to it. As if she’s becoming a fish, starting with her pointer finger.

Maybe it’s getting infected. She might need to be taken to the hospital if things don’t improve over the next few hours. Of course, I want to avoid the hospital, because then I won’t be the one saving her life. And if she doesn’t think I’m the one saving her, she might still kick me out of the house.

I shake my head and squeeze a bit of the ointment onto my finger, lovingly smear it into the wound.

My grandmother hisses through her teeth.

“Hurts that bad?” I ask.

She nods. Her eyes are watery. “Not as bad as my head. Could you be a dear and get me some aspirin, Danny?”

“Sure. Let me just put the Band-Aid on.” I affix the Band-Aid to her cut and she again makes a face and whines.

I get her an aspirin and some water and then help her under the covers. I stare at the spider webbing of dark blue and purple veins all over her legs as she clambers under the blanket.

Usually she’s got her brown old lady socks pulled up to her knees but they’ve fallen down and she doesn’t mind a bit.

“Better?” I ask, before leaving.

She nods and smiles. “Thanks, Danny. You’re a good boy.”

I want to fist pump but refrain. “Love you, Nana.”

“Love you too,” she says warmly.

And then I do indulge in a little fist-pump, she doesn’t even notice.

This was big.

This was the equivalent of catching a Hail Mary pass at the end of the fucking Super Bowl. There is no way and hell she’s kicking me out after this shit.

***

Call from Teddy Foreskin:

I answer. “Teddy?”

He belches. “I’m eating hotcocks and Doritoes. Don’t mind my chewing Danny Boy.”

“Don’t call them hotcocks, that’s fucking disgusting.”

“It’s a more accurate name, Danny. They look like cocks, not dogs. Dogs have legs. And a tail.”

“Whatever. You have a reason for calling me?” I’m watching TV and having a beer to celebrate my last-minute pardon from the electric chair.

“Course I have a reason,” Teddy assures me. Chew, chew. Belch. Chew.

“And?” I’ve known Teddy since I was twelve and he’s basically the same idiot, hasn’t changed a bit.

“Wanted to find out what happened last night after you left work with that club rat.”

I have a sip of beer. “What do you think happened?”

“Details, man. Details. Some of us didn’t get laid last night.”

Then I remember my crotch. Maybe it’s because of all the commotion with Nana and her mugging but I haven’t even looked at it in an hour. I pull down my pants and want to puke. The rash is worse. It’s creeping up my penis now. “Oh, fuck.”

“Ooooh, Dirty talk, eh?” Teddy asks. “That’s the way I like it. Continue.”

“No, my whole…my genitals are all messed up.”

“Really?”

“Can you develop an STD just a few hours after sex, Teddy?”

He chews for awhile. He’s breathing heavily through his nose, it sounds like a locomotive. “I sort of think you could. Maybe Gonorrhea or something.”

“Great. I think I have a disease from that bitch.”

“Was it worth it? Was it hot?”

“No it wasn’t fucking worth it, you idiot.”

“Huh.” Chew, chew, chew.

“That’s all you got to say?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” he says, an obvious lie. Then, “You working tonight?”

“Yeah. You?” I pop one of the cysts near my balls and green puss splatters my fingers.

“Yup.” Nose breathing. Chewing. Chewing. “See you later, Danny. I want more details tonight.”

We get off the phone and I have that thought I have almost every time I talk to Teddy Foreskin. Which is that I don’t know why I’m even friends with the guy, let alone BEST friends. And there’s no doubt about it, we are best friends.

We work together. We talk on the phone almost every day.

We’ve banged some of the same girls.

He’s the person I go to when I’m in a jam, even though he’s rarely able to do anything more than grunt and say idiotic things.

I need to meet new people, I decide.

Maybe some of that Neosporin will help my rash. I go into Nana’s room to retrieve it and the first thing that hits me is the smell. I grimace and cough.