"Grove Pepperwood here to see Calvin Miniscule please. Or is it Maxicule? I've completely forgotten. Anyway, I'm here for the publicity, I heard this is the place to turn it all around." Grove pulled a wine sack from underneath his stained shirt and took a huge long chug, then, without capping it, placed it back underneath his shirt, another dark stain appeared, like brown blood dripping from his heart. He wasn't drinking wine.
"And who might you be?" asked the desk clerk.
"Why I'm Grove Pepperwood, the sauciest journalist in the world. Or is it most sauced? I've completely forgotten my motto."
"Everyone here has Mr. Grove."
"It's Pepperwood and I'm here on a pledge of mine to interview someone. I think his name is Calvin."
"This is no place for pledges. In fact we changed the name a long time ago because no one could keep them."
"Keep who?"
"Jack Pledges. He ran away every night for a year and on the three hundred and sixty-sixth day he never came back. Then we changed the name out of respect."
"Ah. What do you call yourself now?"
"I'm Chris sir, the desk clerk at this rehabilitation center."
"No, the place, what do you call it now?"
"This place? I have no idea. It means nothing to me anyway, like everyone else here. Take a seat over there in the…" he struggled for the words.
"Chairs?" said Grove.
"Precisely. I'll go search for Calvin but it could be a bit, he's been gone for quite awhile. Therapeutic archery class."
Grove stumbled over to a row of giant king sized chairs along the lobby wall and sat down. He pulled his wine sack from under his shirt and took another long chug then said to himself, "Near empty I suppose." Without capping it he dropped it back behind his shirt and slumped back in his very cushy chair. He looked around and observed the extravagant scenery. A tall fountain spewed water in rhythmic patterns. Marble floors stretched out in front of him to two large, carpeted staircases with railings of solid gold. The ceiling stretched high above him and was painted like the sky. He felt as if he were sitting outside. A magnificent chandelier hung from the ceiling. The place was incredibly luxurious.
Grove inspected his wine satchel under his shirt, it was light and quite clearly empty. He had taken the last of it when he sat down. He decided to walk back to his car parked out front and refill it. When he walked back in he returned to the front desk.
"I'm Grove Pepperwood, did I miss him?"
"Miss who?"
"Mr. Miniscule. Or is it Maxicule?"
"You mean Calvin?"
"I think so," said Grove.
"I'm not sure of anything sir, and I don't want to lie to you. His whereabouts are inconsistent."
"I'm here to do an interview with him, it's of utmost importance in the scheme of my career that I come here," said Grove.
"To the rehabilitation center?"
"Is that what this is? It's quite hard to discern where I am right now."
"I understand sir. Go take a seat over there in the…" he trailed off again.
"Chairs?"
"Absolutely. I'll search for Calvin while you wait. We have many other guests you may be interested in…" he trailed off again.
"Examining?"
"Sharp of you sir, very sharp. In fact Betty Brothelhan just walked in. She has a severe dependence."
"On what?"
"Reality altering chemicals. All kinds, she has no idea."
"Of the chemicals?"
"No, of what she's doing. She's lost herself. I think. The scientific term explained to me by the doctor's of this house is ‘chemical dependence.'" he said.
"Ah, I know how that is," said Grove as he slurped down another long swig from his wine sack. "I'll just go wait in the…"
"Chairs!" he said excitedly "that's what they're called!"
"Chairs yes, would you mind sending her over my way? I don't think my superiors would mind an interview with her. I'm just waiting for Calvin, I need a way to pass the time. Will he be long?"
"She's right around the corner."
"No HE, will he be long?" asked Grove.
"Calvin will be long, yes. I'll see if Betty is interested in an examination. What was your name again Doctor?"
"I'm Grove Pepperwood." Grove walked back over to the row of cushy chairs along the wall and awaited Betty.
A few minutes later she arrived wearing giant sunglasses that made her eyes look like a cartoon mosquito's, as well as some very elegant and slim fitting clothing. It was covered in exotic fashion labels Grove had never heard of like a worldly suitcase is covered in stickers. She sat down next to him and her perfume nearly killed the existing oxygen around his mouth and nose. Grove coughed viciously to recover himself.
"Hi, I'm Betty. Are you from The Sun?"
"Not at all, planet earth is more like it. I reside out here in Malibu just like you do. I think that's what it's called. Maliwho maybe?"
"Boo," she said.
Grove jumped in his chair. He took another swig from his wine sack and put it back underneath his shirt.
"Why scare me?" he asked.
"That's how it's pronounced."
"How what is pronounced?"
"The city we're in. Do you know where you are?" said Betty.
"Only sometimes, but I'll make a note of the pronunciation."
"Chris Clerk said you wouldn't mind speaking to me. Did you see all my labels?" she asked.
"I'm from the Daily Candy, a newspaper I plan to make famous with my interrogation of Calvin Miniscule."
"Who?"
"I'm waiting for Calvin. He told me today would be the day."
"Well you can talk to me," she said excitedly, "I love the press that's why I'm here."
"Extraordinary labels by the way, quite exotic."
"I had them specially made so normal people could never get them. They're perfectly specialized. I'm not normal you know. Can I have a drink of that?" she asked.
"Sure." Grove pulled the wine sack from underneath his shirt and squirt dark liquor into her mouth until it spilled down the sides.
"So let's get down to brass tacks here. How much for the labels?"
She swallowed it down like cold water after a long night of drinking, then, wiping her mouth, sloppily said, "Will this be printed?"
"Of course, as soon as I get back to my offices. It'll be in the paper day after tomorrow."
"Good, I need all the press I can get. I made a few bad decisions last week and immediately checked myself in here. It helps with everything. I've done it a few times to save myself."
"What everything?" asked Grove.
"My lawyer said it would be best for me to do this, and do as many interviews as possible. He said it's the only way I'll continue to make money. The labels cost a lot and I have so many of them but they're not for sale."
"Want another squirt?" said Grove as he offered the wine sack again.
"Sure, I love that flavor." She opened her mouth and Grove shot more into her mouth. "You said you're from the Daily Candy?"
"I think so."
"Do you have any? I love candy." She took a deep breath in through her nose.
"We don't actually make candy. I don't think. I've completely forgotten why I'm here," said Grove looking confused.
"To interview me?"
"I am currently yes, but I'm doing something else too. I'm waiting for someone."
"Calvin?" she asked.
"Calvin who?"
"I forget his last name, he changes it so much. His identity has slipped his mind many times."
"Sounds familiar. Who are you again?" he asked.
"I'm Betty Brothelhan, haven't you seen me in the other papers? They love taking pictures of me, they must sneak in in the middle of the night and snap pictures. I can never remember posing for them. Are you going to take any pictures?" she asked stupidly.
"Me? No. I stick completely to words. No visuals."
"I can lay down for you. I've gotten famous lying down in pictures with my tongue out and my eyes closed. The public admires it. They wish they could be me."
"Want more? I'm pretty gone," said Grove, offering the wine sack again.
"Sure, I never tire. I'm only here so that I can keep coming back."
"Noted." Grove shot more into her mouth and she gulped it down until the wine sack was empty.
"I have to get going, I only stay here during the day," she said suddenly.
"Where are we again?" asked Grove, looking around the lobby.
"I'm not sure. Anyway it was…" she tried to stand and struggled suddenly. "It was…" she coughed violently. "It was…" she slumped down and fell out of the chair. Her head slammed the marble floor, her eyes closed and her tongue, on instinct, dangled from her mouth. She convulsed once. Grove ignored her slumping fall, stood up and walked back out to his car to refill his wine sack as men in starched white uniforms rushed by him the other way. He mumbled to himself, "I wonder what's going on?"
A few minutes later he returned to the lobby and approached the desk.
"I'm Grove Pepperwood, I'm here to interview Calvin something. I've long forgotten my purpose here."
"Ah, you're here for the interview," reminded the clerk.
"Indeed. I've been here before."
"A lot of people have, they keep coming back."
"Well I'll go in search of Calvin but for now you'll just have to wait. I believe he went on a whale-watching trip. Did you see the ocean outside?"
"Is that what that is?" said Grove, looking around.
"Well that's the lobby fountain, but behind you," said the clerk, "out the other side is the ocean. It's completely therapeutic."
"The fountain?"
"The ocean."
"Ah."
"But if you take a seat over in those chairs I'll alert you when Calvin returns from his expedition."
"Do you remember me?"
"We have a lot of guests sir, it's impossible to remember them all."
"I'll just wait over there in the…"
"Chairs. It happens to everyone Mr. Grove. We all forget."
"It's Pepperwood."
"I assure you the chairs are made of oak. I've never heard of pepperwood."
"My name. It's Mr. Pepperwood."
"Ah, my apologies sir, I thought you were Mr. Oak. I'll alarm you when Calvin gets back. He loves whales, they seem to cure everything."
Grove walked away and sat back down in the cushy lobby chairs. Betty was no longer on the floor. An ambulance siren sounded out front and Grove perked up to observe the action. Paramedics surrounded a gurney covered in a white sheet. They lifted it into the back of the ambulance and were loudly, obnoxiously gone out the front gate. He was wondering what happened when Chris Clerk scared him as he started speaking; Grove had not seen him approach. The action outside dulled every other sense he had. He was startled.
"Mr. Grove I assure you that kind of thing has happened often here. It's nothing to be worried about. I thought while you were waiting for Calvin, you might be interested in talking to Mr. Rayard Smoolings. He's in here for behavioral issues after the conclusion of a brief and mildly unsuccessful comedy career."
"Send him over."
"He's not a letter sir, he can walk on his own quite well." Chris looked at him speculatively and walked away. Grove pulled himself into a ball on the seat of the cushy chair and squirt more dark liquid into his mouth. He stuck his head between his knees then swallowed.
A few minutes later he was approached by Rayard, a tall gangly man with electrified hair and a big pock marked nose. He was a certain brute.
"I'm Rayard," he said extending his hand to Grove. "You can relax, I'll try not to offend you." Grove uncoiled himself from the seat and shook his hand.
"I'm Grove Pepperwood, renowned journalist and I'm entirely bored."
"I used to pass the time, now I just live with it."
"You mean you live with time?"
"I have to, I realized I have no other choice anymore after I blew my career."
"How did you blow it?"
"I got down on my knees," he said, giggling. "Are you hearing me?" he asked suddenly becoming angry.
"So far," said Grove.
"'Cause if you don't listen I'll—"
"I can assure you I'm listening."
"No you're not you just interrupted me you drunk bastard, this is what I'm talking about. I just want respect for a moment, that's all."
"You get no respect? Did you steal that?"
"I didn't say it, you did you prick. Are you putting words in my mouth?"
"I'm a journalist, I specialize in words."
"Listen to me, you see that fountain over there?"
"With my eyes," said Grove.
"I pissed in it last night. All the coins are ruined. I told them last week to paint it white, and they never did, so I pissed in it."
"It's creamy," said Grove not really seeing the importance.
"But it's not white, and I love that color. It's pure unlike your journalist ass. I demanded the ocean be white as well then it would finally shut up with all its crashing, I can't even think with that ocean out there making all that noise. I just need silence while I work."
"What are you working on?"
"Behavioral iss-" he stuttered to a halt. "What did I just say, shut the fuck up. You have no respect."
"I did, for a little while, then I got tired."
"Well I'm tired of your shit you peasant, do you know who I am?"
"I've long forgotten."
"I'm Smoolings, I'm goddamn famous. I've never heard of you so shut the fuck up while I'm talking!"
"Is this supposed to be funny? How many personalities do you have?" asked Grove mildly.
"Just two, one to insult you and one that wants to kick your ass if you don't listen. I have things to say and no one ever fucking listens. I came here for peace."
"What are your views on it?"
"Fuck it, it'll never happen, not with you interrupting me and that damn black ocean out there crashing in on my thoughts all the time."
"It looks blue to me."
"Have you ever seen it at night asshole? This interview is over." Rayard stood up from the seat and walked away up the left staircase and was gone. Grove curled back up into his seat and drank again from his wine sack. He stood up and walked outside to smoke a cigarette and breathe some fresh ocean air. Grove took some deep breaths to try and ease his mind as he looked out on the ocean, which was quite blue. He noted that fact on his yellow legal pad, the first thing he had written all afternoon. He stubbed his cigarette out in a ceramic flowerpot, bubbling with bright flowers, and returned to the lobby desk.
"I'm Grove something and I'm here to do something. Does Calvin ring a bell with you?"
"I've had my bell rung quite a few times, you'll need to be more precise for me to help you."
"His name is Calvin Cule. I think."
"Maxicule?"
"Sure. I've completely forgotten who I am here to see."
"It happens to the best of us," said Chris, "Mr. Maxicule will be back momentarily, you just missed him. He's gone to eat in our gourmet restaurant, designed for therapy. You'll never eat the same meal twice down there as long as you live."
"What if I liked it?" asked Grove.
"You'll never eat it again," said Chris, sadly.
"Well I'll just wait over in those chairs I suppose. Who is that?" said Grove, his attention immediately distracted. Grove turned and pointed to a tall slender woman in a flowing burgundy dress. Her eyes were underlined thick with black makeup and the rest of her face was an incredible contrast of white. Her hair was perfect yellow and hung down her back all the way to her waist, which was wrapped in a bear fur belt and buckled with crystal that shined in the light of the hanging chandelier.
"That is miss Londan Doubletree, noted perfectionist."
"She's tall," observed Grove.
"It's only an illusion. Her heels are so tall it adds at least eighteen inches to her quite average height," said the clerk.
"An illusion you say?"
"Her life is an illusion. She has no idea what's going on."
"I'd love to speak to her," said Grove.
"Do you have any money?" asked Chris.
"She doesn't?"
"Quite the contrary, she has plenty. She's a zillionaire."
"Really? Is that possible?"
"You should ask her about it," suggested Chris.
"I'd love to but I'm fresh out of cash. I'm merely here for the reward. I could make a lot of money if I could ever speak to Calvin. I'm here for the implied publicity."
"So is everyone else."
"I'll just take a seat over in those chairs over there."
"I'll warn you when Calvin gets here. He usually only eats three or four course meals. He's trying his hand at minimalism. An hour or so and he'll be back."
"Do you know me?" asked Grove.
"Not from anyone else sir. I have a memory like a goldfish."
Grove took another long chug from his wine sack and went to sit down. He watched Londan from his chair as she glided through the lobby and just as she was about to walk out the back doors that faced the ocean Grove stood and approached her.
"Londan?" said Grove meekly. She turned with the consciousness of a runway model, whirling her long hair, and looked at Grove standing with his stained shirt and amateur clothing.
"Do you have any money?' she asked, blinking her eyes many times and throwing her long slender arms onto her waist. Her eyelashes were well over three inches. She was beautiful if she was from a whorehouse.
"Not much," said Grove feeling his pockets.
"That question just cost you four dollars. My time is not free. My time is the only job I've ever had," she said, blinking many more times. Her eyes were as blue as the ocean. During the day.
"I'm a journalist. I'd be interested to talk with you."
"That cost four more dollars."
"It wasn't a question."
"It wasn't? I never went to school I wouldn't know."
"I heard you're a zillionaire."
"Four more."
"Not a question," he said again.
"That's probably accurate, I have no idea how much money I have. What kind of jeans are those you're wearing?" she asked.
"That just cost you four dollars. No one's time is free."
"I'm interested," she said. She easily produced a twenty and handed it to Grove.
"They are from a department store."
"What's a department store?" she asked.
"It's just a giant store that sells all kinds of items, clothes and otherwise. Hand tools and weight sets, tropical fish and electronics."
"Weird," she said puzzled.
"I know." Grove pulled out his wine sack and shot more dark liquor into his mouth. He was swaying on his feet.
"And the shirt?"
"A different department store," he said, swallowing and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"There's more than one?" she asked. Grove long ago stopped charging for all the questions. In fact he was pretty sure she didn't know she was even asking anything.
"There's quite a few," he said.
"Weird."
"I know."
"I only go to places that sell clothes and shoes. Strictly."
"Weird," he said.
"Was that a question?" she asked with the expression of someone who just got a joke.
"I don't think so."
"I don't know anything," she admitted.
"Seems like it."
"What do you know?" she asked.
"That you said you never worked before, that's interesting. I'm working right now."
"You work?! Why?" She was appalled and nearing disgust.
"Certainly. I need money."
"I just gave you four dollars."
"That's not enough to live on. And it was a twenty."
"I don't know the difference. You don't have parents that give you money?"
"After college they stopped doing that. I had to make my own." She moved her hand to her chest in disbelief and flipped her hair. Her mind was blown.
"That's horrendous," she said.
"I like being accountable for myself," he said as he pulled the wine sack back out and drank again. He left it hanging outside his shirt and stumbled back a few steps. It was getting to him. He was getting to the point Betty had achieved in a much shorter time.
"Was that another question?" she asked again with that same slow grin sweeping across her face.
"Nope. You just asked me one though."
She pulled out another twenty and said, "make sure that's only a four dollar bill."
"It is," he said examining the bill quickly and stuffing it in his pocket.
"Well it was nice talking to you, but I have an appointment I have to get to. Sauna therapy then psychodrama. I love to sing."
"Isn't that acting? Drama?" She didn't catch the eight dollars.
"I don't know."
"Neither do I, I've forgotten why I'm here."
Grove waved a drunk hand as Londan walked out the back doors towards the ocean to sauna therapy. He turned and stumbled back to the desk clerk.
"I'm Grove Pepperwood, renowned journalist. I'm here for the publicity."
"I'm Chris."
"I need to speak to Calvin Culemiscule. I think he said today was the day." His near empty wine sack was swinging wildly outside his shirt as he leaned on the chest high lobby countertop. "I've been waiting for Calvin."
"We've all been waiting for Calvin, he's a very sick man. He has lots of problems."
"Isn't this a rehabilitation center?" asked Grove, slurring.
"It certainly is."
"I pledged to my superior after I screwed him last month I would come down here and get the publicity. Where's the publicity?"
"Publicity? You've come to the right place. Are you checking yourself in?"
Dan Kennard is currently a graduate student at Florida Atlantic University in rabid pursuit of his MFA.