End Vision, page 25
“Hey-O.”
Shelly Quinn lay on the pillow-top mattress with her head and nude torso propped up by three feather pillows positioned at an obtuse angle to her 600 thread count sheet-covered legs. The sixty degree angle formed at her waistline allowed her to capture pictures in two ways: 1) down from her eyes and across her exposed breasts and smooth, tan stomach to her covered bottom half; or, 2) in a head-on ‘selfie’ shot which would include her naked upper body and face. She took multiple shots at each angle and compared the pros and cons of each before deciding on the latter head-on image. She believed the point of view version to be unflattering to her body. By leaning back against the pillows and the headboard and extending her right arm and phone northeast from her immediate front, which faced north, Shelly was able to obtain the angle and look she wanted. She was able to gather her breasts up with her left arm (this both covered her nipples and made her tits looks larger than they were) and tilt her head down and to the right so that her dark, pouty eyes seemed to look up to the camera. This angle also exposed her left flank, where two well-fluffed pillows highlighted the empty space to her side. She took multiple photos in this way before studying each, choosing what she considered to be the sexiest and loneliest, applying what she thought were a few well-needed filters, and sending it off. Shelly sat the phone on the bed and waited.
Andrew’s spirits were up. Breakfast had served him well. The chicken fried steak and eggs had rejuvenated him. Patrick hadn’t even once complained about the atmosphere at the Stockyards Cafe — the clientele dressed in Sunday best: men in starched button-ups tucked into iron-creased blue jeans, black felt cowboy hats perched atop their heads; women in floral or animal-skin patterned dresses, their necks and wrists covered in turquoise jewelry shaped like the cross. Many diners tossed little side glances at Andrew and Patrick, Patrick being obviously gay and not a local. Obviously, due to the way he presented himself and asked for non-dairy milk options. He had cleaned his plate of the huevos rancheros he had ordered, devouring them greedily.
The two now drove west on Interstate 40 to see William. Andrew had not called beforehand. He had failed to let his grandfather, or anyone else in Amarillo for that matter, know that he would be in town. He thought he’d surprise the old man. He would pull up like it was no big deal. William would get a kick out of that, he thought. The everydayness of it all. It would be like when Andrew was in high school almost twenty years ago. In those days, he would drive over and sit and talk and laugh with his granddad. William could always lighten a mood, and that is what Andrew felt he needed now more than anything.
As they headed west past Georgia Street, Patrick sighed, then said, “Are you going to make me beg you, honey? Cause I will beg you.”
“Beg me for what?” asked Andrew, his mind overwhelmed with the memories that passed by outside the window.
“What happened with Shelly? You seem in a good mood, which is odd. Don’t get me wrong; I am happy to see you in such a good mood, but something must have happened.”
“Yes. We talked on the phone last night right after you left.”
“And?”
“And what? We talked.”
Patrick groaned loudly. “Andy, please! I need this for my sanity. Out of L.A. for less than a day and the banality of it all is just so...boring! Please…”
Andrew laughed. “You know. I was really dreading being back here, if I’m being honest. It’s funny, because what you call the banality of it, just seems, I don’t know, comforting to me. Like, I could tell you, that is Bell street.” He pointed at the street as they passed. “I could tell you that down that road one time a friend of mine knocked a guy’s rearview mirror off with a baseball bat because the guy felt up the girl my buddy thought was his girlfriend. But it turned out that this girl — she worked at a hat stand in the mall, which is right over there — was getting her titties rubbed by everyone. But Matt took it personally and busted this guy’s Chevy Silverado up with a baseball bat.”
“Honey. Shelly. Story. Now.”
“O.K...O.K… I called her after you left and things are fine.”
“That’s it? She gave you a pass?” Patrick reached across the middle console and grabbed at Andrew’s crotch. “What sort of situation do you got going on down there?”
Andrew clenched up and jerked the wheel. The Kia darted toward the rumble strips. Andrew regained control of the vehicle. “Jesus, man. I’m driving here,” he whined. A few seconds later, he continued, “I wouldn’t say I got off scott free… She lectured me about not thinking of other people’s feelings, her’s especially. That I think only of myself. That before I act, I should think of how my actions will affect her, or us, etcetera, etcetera…”
“Who thinks of other people when they do shit? I know I don’t. Our generation is one of immediate gratification. I want. I get. Or, at least, I try to go get it.”
“And then, check this out.” Andrew pulled his phone from his pocket, unlocked it, and showed the screen to Patrick. “I wake up this morning, and she’d sent me this.”
“Oh baby. Is she naked? Is that a nipple?”
“Not a nipple. Not a full nipple, from what I could tell.”
“You see, ahhh, this is what I needed this morning, some good gossip.”
“So, then, what do I make of that picture?”
“Did she write a message with it, or just the picture?”
“She said she wished I was there in bed with her.”
“So it means that she is horny. At least she sent it to you and not somebody else, like someone else I know.”
“Shut the fuck up.” Andrew exited Soncy and stopped at a red light. “So, I mean, she says we are not okay and then sends me this picture.”
“I thought you said that everything was fine?”
“Well, she didn’t break up with me. But she said that we are not okay.”
“So she wants some dick. I’d take that as a good sign, honey. Shelly is pretty. I’m sure she could just as easily get it from someone else.”
Andrew took a left at the light and headed south on Soncy.
“Yah, but I was thinking about what she said about considering my actions before I acted, and, so, say I would have woken up this morning and sent her an unprompted picture of my hard-on. Right. She would have gotten pissed off. I would have gotten an ‘all you think about is fucking me’ text as a response. But she does it, and I’m supposed to do what? I feel like it is a trap.”
“Andrew, look at me. You responded, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, thank Jesus. What did you say?”
“Yum.”
“That’s it? Yum?”
“What should I have said?”
“I don’t know. ‘I wish I was in bed with you too,’ maybe? I guess, though, considering, yum isn’t awful.”
Andrew stared out the window at the scenery passing by. “It has really blown up around here. Almost none of this was here when I left town.” He pointed to the strip malls and housing developments outside the car windows. “But doesn’t that mean that, if I am supposed to think of us, me and Shelly, before I act, and by us, let’s face it, she means her, doesn’t that just mean that my actions end up becoming her actions? Do I not just become a puppy dog on a leash?”
“What was Shelly doing while you were on your little hiatus?”
“I don’t know. I forgot to ask.”
“You should have asked.”
“Yah…”
Andrew thought a moment. “She is right, though.”
“About?”
“Me.”
“What about you?”
“That my only concern is for myself. I honestly can’t remember the last time I did anything for anybody without expecting something in return.”
Patrick gazed out the passenger-side window and said nothing in response.
They were now outside the city limits, and the landscape opened up before them. Each house out here was contained on its own space; many of the small plots of land had animals fenced into the property. He slowed the car and turned west on a dirt road.
“It really is kind of pretty out here,” admitted Patrick.
“The other day, right before I saw you at the office, when I was hiding from Shelly, I had just spoken with Cara in her office. She had a file on Ramon.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. I’m sure she has files on all of us.”
“Us, I get. We work for her. But Ramon… these looked like medical files. Why would she have those?”
“I don’t know what you know about Cara Carson, but she is the Queen Bitch. You think Robert runs VerMas Media? Maybe on paper. But that woman is single-minded in what she does.”
Andrew turned the car north. They crossed over a cattle guard that cut through two barbed wire fences. “What is it that she does, then?”
“She controls people. She owns people. I’ve spent a lot of time with that woman, and I look up to her more than anyone at that place. She is the cattiest bitch I know. And I know a lot of catty bitches. She might be a genius...she also might be a monster.”
“Can’t she be both? Or maybe be somewhere in between?”
Patrick smiled and continued to stare out at the barren landscape.
A house appeared west of the road at the end of a long dirt drive. Andrew swung the car onto that drive. “We’re here,” he said. “This is my granddad’s.”
The seventh story room faced west, a wall of clear glass looking toward the Pacific. In the early morning distance, ocean swells came in steadily. Silently. The studio stayed at a constant 105 degrees Fahrenheit with ninety percent humidity. The room was neither small nor large. There was no furniture in the room. The light brown floor was made of tongue-and-groove oak. Cara stood upright, arms at her side, on a light blue yoga mat in the room’s center. First she found her breath in the ujjayi style, breathing in deeply through her nose and slowly fanning her arms toward the ceiling. She noticed her belly expanded like a balloon, and once her abdomen was full, she allowed the breath to expand into her ribcage. Noticing the expansion, she held the breath. In coordination with her breathing, she simultaneously lowered her arms and exhaled out through her nose, constricting the back of her throat through the exhalation. She exhaled from top to bottom, from her ribcage to her slightly-spread toes. She noticed the warmth of the room in her exhalation. When not one atom of breath remained in her lungs to exhale, she paused, then inhaled again slowly.
With her legs spread just wider than her hips, she filled her body with air, then brought her arms back toward the ceiling. She expanded in the breathing. At the zenith of her breath, she began the pose by opening her hips and pointing her toes, left foot toward the left and right toward the right of the room. She began to empty her belly or air again. Her body rose and fell at equal moments as she rolled onto the balls of her feet, bent at the knees, and slowly folded over at the waist, hands criss-crossed above her head with arms extended out toward the light blue of the mat. She held the pose and continued ujjayi breathing in long, evenly-spaced breaths — rhythmic, tidal breaths that filled the silence of the studio with sounds very much like the breaking of waves birthed from far, far away, many miles offshore from the belly of the Pacific.
Ramon watched the patrons brunch at wobbly tables on the Lazo’s patio. The sun shone warm in a clear blue sky. At a table a few feet to his right, two people held his attention:
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Josie reveled in a polished take on the Canadian tuxedo. Rocking a denim jacket ($215) and skinny jeans ($189), she positioned her plate of Lazo’s four star reviewed poached egg and avocado toast — a dish reviewed by @grubmaster96 as, “Tasty. You know what you are getting. It’s L.A. It’s avocado toast… Egg was poached just right. Avocado was fresh and creamy. The sourdough maybe not as sour as I tend to like, but housemade and just the right amount of chew” — while Kim wearing a karate uniform by RageKarate ($49.99) stood from his chair to take Josie’s picture.
Brice was late, as usual.
Brunch items fell through Ramon’s Vision — appetizers, main courses, desserts, drinks. Each time he opened a link and read the entree’s review, he felt a small jolt of happiness course through his body. Everything on Lazo’s menu not only looked good, it felt good, and Ramon was almost content in the act of just scrolling and looking at the digital fare without eating it.
When the waitress arrived to take his order, Ramon noticed something new. Not only was he receiving her social media information (Deborah, 23) and linked pages to her Italian black country skirt ($89) and white apron ($49.99), but he also had access to her phone: the voicemails, texts, and photographs stored inside. As she rattled off the daily specials, Ramon looked into her messages. She had received a text ten minutes before from a Colby Jackson stating, ‘Are you going to Mike and Lisa’s later?’ Ramon could see that the message was unread. He knew the date and the time the message had been sent. He watched the woman standing before him and and marveled that she had no idea that he was looking into all the personal data stored somewhere on her person. He couldn’t see through her; he could see into her.
“Do any of those sound tempting?” she asked. “The sunchokes smeared with smoked tomato aioli are just divine.”
“That sounds good,” replied Ramon. “I will start with that while I wait for my friend.”
“Anything to drink?” asked Deb.
“Oh, I don’t think so. Water is fine.”
“Very well. I’ll put that order in for you.” She turned to leave.
“One last thing,” Ramon said, stopping the waitress. She turned to face him. “Your name is Deborah, isn’t it? I feel like I know you from somewhere.”
Deborah smiled and studied Ramon’s features. “Have we met?” she asked.
“You are Colby’s friend, right? Colby Jackson?”
“Yes!” she replied, letting down her guard. “I guess we have we met before I’m sorry, but I can’t put a name to your face.”
“I think we met one night at Mike and Lisa’s,” Ramon said. “In fact, I was thinking of going over there tonight, but I don’t know if I’ll have time.”
“Oh, my God! Yes. I think we did. That must be it. What was your name again?”
“Ramon.”
“Ramon,” Deborah repeated. “I think I remember you. I’m sorry, I just see so many new faces everyday.”
“It’s not a problem,” replied Ramon. “I’m sure you do in your line of work… Can I ask you a question?”
“Um...sure. I guess.”
“What kind of phone do you have?”
“Phone? I have an Eye11, why?”
“I was just thinking of getting an upgrade. How do you like it?”
“It’s great! Although it updated last night, and I’m still trying to get used to the new features. But I’m liking everything so far.” She laughed. “It’s like right when you get used to something, they have to go and change everything up on you… You know what I mean?”
“I know exactly what you mean,” replied Ramon.
“You are going to Mike and Lisa’s tonight?”
“I’m going to try… Anyway, I just wanted to say hello, Deborah.”
“It was so good to see you again, Ramon. I really hope we can catch up sometime soon. Maybe I’ll see you tonight?”
“Maybe,” replied Ramon, smiling.
“I’ll be right back with those sunchokes.”
Ramon leaned back in his chair and smiled. He could not remember a time he had felt so good, so confident. He sipped from his ice water with cucumber slices and searched for others whose phones had updated as well. Then he saw Brice emerge onto the patio. As usual, Brice was in an animated mood and spoke through a headpiece as he walked. He had updated his phone, Ramon noticed, as Brice took the chair across from him at the table.
“Sorry,” he said. “That was an important call.”
“How is Daniel doing?” asked Ramon.
Brice looked at him and squinted. “How did you know that was Daniel? I didn’t say who I was talking to…”
Deborah returned with the sunchokes smeared in smoked tomato aioli and placed the plate between them. She took their drink orders and left again.
“No drinks today?” asked Brice.
Ramon smiled widely.
“What?” asked Brice. “How did you know that was Daniel?”
Ramon picked a sunchoke off the plate with his fingers and popped it into his mouth. It was delicious. Five stars, for sure. The reviews hadn’t lied. “Boy, have I got a story for you,” said Ramon, as he chewed slowly, giggling with each bite.
With both nostalgia and fear, Andrew approached the house in which he had spent the majority of his childhood. He did not fear the house or the land or the person that resided inside; what Andrew feared was that the place might have changed too much since he had left, and that what he would find inside would not match his memory of it. That somehow it would have altered beyond his recognition, and what he had known would be no more. Yet, so far, to his disbelief, everything seemed in its rightful place. The drive looked the same. The porch, the same. The wooden boards on the house's front were the same shade of off-white ingrained with dirt that he had stored to memory. Off past the barn and the corral, where horses grazed sluggishly on mouthfuls of golden winter hay, the view remained unmolested by the suburban sprawl of cookie cutter homes and stripmalls that had littered the scenery on the trip out here this morning from Amarillo. What had once been tracks of land on which he had grown up riding horses with his cousins, with Ramon, were now row upon row of fenced-in family homes.
