333 Miles (4 page)

Gary was sporting a fashionable haircut he
got in the Gaslamp quarter last week for sixty-five dollars.
Surprisingly, his wife Blair thought this was a very worthwhile use
of money, even though she was upset about the six-dollar Tony Gwynn
talking bottle opener he purchased the same day. The haircut, while
nice, was conservative. It nicely complemented his khaki pants and
a tucked-in white short-sleeved collared golf shirt. The pants were
Banana Republic, the shirt by Greg Norman.

Alex was in the driver’s seat singing quietly
along to Jay-Z . . .

“…
Got this indian squaw

The day that I met her

Asked her what tribe she with, red dot or
feather?

She said all you need to know is I'm not a
ho

And to get with me you better be Chief
Lots-a-Dough...”

Alex had changed clothes and was now wearing
shiny black Nike sweat pants, black and brown Louis Vuitton leather
sandals, vintage Wayfarer sunglasses and a white tee shirt that
read, “I Just Did It” with the Nike swoosh logo in the shape of a
smile underneath it. Both he and Gary were wearing the same
blue-faced Tag Heuer watch.

As the car came to a stop, Gary rolled down
his window further and deeply inhaled the soft San Diego air. He
grabbed the roof of the car with his fingertips, resting his elbow
on the open door window and let out a small laugh, turning toward
Alex. “This is fucking insane. I can’t believe he is really getting
married,” he said.

Alex (pausing briefly): “Um, well, yeah. It
is insane.”

Gary: “Where did he meet this girl
again?”

Alex: “I don’t even really know all the
details. Listen, don’t drill him too much on it. He is still kind
of shy about it.”

Gary: “It’s like a Russian bride or
something? Did he knock someone up?”

Alex: “I don’t think so. I’m sure it will all
come out, though. Hold on a sec.”

Alex flipped open his Razr and hit the
auto-dial button for “The Rodge.” Roger picked up on the second
ring and Alex let him know they were outside waiting for him. Then
he flipped the phone shut and shoved it back in the front pocket of
the Nike sweats.

Gary started talking again while tapping the
roof of the car in synchrony with 2Pac’s
Shorty Wanna b a
Thug
, which was now playing on the stereo. “Well, this is
crazy, but it comes at a good time for me. It will be good to get
away for a few days and get nice and fucked up,” he said, then
added, “though I was looking forward to getting those new steak
knives.”

Alex resisted the urge to ask what the big
deal was about the steak knives and simply replied, “I am glad to
hear you say that. And I agree a hundred percent.”

Gary: “And plus, I have been working my balls
off the last few months.”

Alex: “Yeah, I know. Hey, we can’t have
G-Balls with no balls. You deserve this. Look, there’s The
Rodge.”

Roger busted through the metal pedestrian
entrance gate for the Wind and Sea. He was wearing black shorts,
blue Adidas flip-flops, a short-sleeved blue and white bowling
shirt, and imitation Gucci sunglasses. He approached the BMW and
gave Gary a high five through the open window, profoundly
expressing, “Ahhh yeahhhh, bitches.”

Behind the fake Gucci’s, Roger was sporting
bloodshot red eyes from lack of sleep, but it was with genuine
enthusiasm that he asked, “Which one of you dirty sluts wants to go
to Vegas?”

Alex leaned toward the passenger side of the
car and looked out the window eying Roger suspiciously. “Where’s
your shit?” he asked.

Roger pulled a toothbrush out of the left
pocket of his shorts and waived it around. Then he pulled a fresh
can of Kodiak and what was now eighty-seven dollars out of the
right pocket. “I’m ready, baby,” he exclaimed.

Alex: “No way, dude. We have table
reservations both nights and I want everyone to be there. Go back
and pack some decent clothes. Jesus Christ.”

Roger: “I don’t really care that much about
going to clubs to try and ramp a bunch of dumb hoes from L.A.”

Alex: “Rodge, just give Gary the toothbrush
and go back and grab some clothes.”

Roger: “All right, tough guy, but you’re
paying for the bottles.”

He passed the toothbrush to Gary through the
car window, then turned around and started back toward the
apartment in a slow trot. Gary put the toothbrush in the glove
compartment, careful not to touch the well-worn bristles.

Gary (shaking his head): “God bless that guy.
He is amazing.”

Alex: “No fucking doubt.”

Gary: “Sometimes I think maybe he has it all
figured out. He definitely has a chill lifestyle. I’m getting up
before dawn every day and wrapping a tie around my neck and he is
sleeping in and getting paid to hang out in a sports bar.”

Alex: “And he gets to sleep with the
customers.”

Gary: “Don’t forget the hostess.”

Alex: “Oh yeah. Yeah, you might be right.
Maybe he does have it all figured out. Either way, at least we know
he puts a high priority on oral hygiene.”

They both laughed.

Interlude One

Gary (.00000001)

Gary’s mother, Melinda Johnson, met his
father, Timothy Williams, after a football game at the University
of Minnesota in 1968. The whole thing was really about as “America
and Apple Pie” as it gets except for the fact that the Vietnam
situation made it hard for anyone to have a good time without
feeling guilty about it, especially after the Tet Offensive earlier
in the year had effectively proved the optimists wrong.

Melinda was a psychology major starting her
junior year. She was starting to get nervous because she still
didn’t have a steady boyfriend and her two best friends had already
secured promise rings. Given that she was already on the wrong side
of twenty, she was starting to feel she may be left behind. As
everyone knew, if you were not married by twenty-four, you were
likely destined to end up alone in a houseful of cats. Besides, she
had already had sex with two guys and would consider herself a
total slut if she didn’t settle down soon. The whole summer of love
thing took a slower pace in Minnesota.

Nevertheless, on this evening she was
enjoying herself, especially because it was another month before
the below-zero weather would kick in. Even so, she had a few shots
of bourbon during the game to keep warm. The Golden Gophers put on
a seventeen point ass-kicking of Iowa State. Melinda didn’t care
much about the game, but the result seemed to put everyone else in
a good mood so she was happy about it.

She first noticed Tim toward the end of the
first half. Actually, it was her friend Barbara who noticed and
pointed him out to her. Tim was sitting in her row, one section to
the right. It was not until after the game, when they ended up at
the same off-campus party, that she was able to talk to him. Tim
made her laugh, didn’t get obnoxiously drunk like most guys, and
had similar views on most political topics. He was wishy-washy
enough about Vietnam that it didn’t create any reason for her not
to see him again (she was adamantly opposed).

Despite her best efforts to be good, Tim
became number three before the next home game, a disappointing
thirteen-point loss to Notre Dame. But his efforts in bed were not
at all disappointing and by the time the thermometer dropped below
freezing they were in love. Of course at that age love and lust
were indistinguishable. With little incentive to go out in the
cold, sex was a frequent activity. By spring they had done it a
hundred and seventy-nine times, though no one was counting. But all
of these, even the first, paled in comparison to number nine
hundred and sixty-two. Included somewhere between number one
seventy-nine and number nine sixty-two were a lot of condoms, a
wedding ceremony, first jobs, more condoms, a brief stint on the
pill, more condoms, and then a miracle.

In the early morning of July 18
^th
,
1974, one of Timothy Williams’ microscopic little sperm achieved
its primary objective while heading up Melinda Williams’ vaginal
canal. Roughly nine months later, on April 20
^th
, 1975,
Gary Williams achieved his primary objective of the day, heading
back out the other way. While he would generally be a quiet kid, he
was crying like all hell when he came out. Still, everyone involved
agreed it was a marvelous day. A healthy baby boy arrived who would
get to experience all the great highs and lows and achievements
(hopefully) that his father did before him. And what could be
better than that?

As for Gary himself, he didn’t have much of
an opinion on that day. For the most part, his undeveloped little
brain was just trying to figure out what the fuck was going on. And
he cried. And then he got food. And then he pooped. And so life
started for Gary “G-Balls” Williams.

Chapter Six

The Ruse

4:01 p.m.

“
I don’t appreciate your ruse ma’am. . .
.

Your ruse. Your cunning attempt to trick
me.”

– Randal Graves,
Clerks

Roger required four minutes to pack to Alex’s
satisfaction. Twenty minutes later, Mike was successfully
assimilated into the driver’s side back seat and the crew was
officially on US Interstate 15 northbound, just past Scripps Ranch
and advancing toward Las Vegas. Unfortunately, there was heavy
traffic and progress was slow. Madonna’s
American Life
played on the Harmon Kardon stereo. Roger and Mike simultaneously
declared the music selection to be “really gay,” but they were
overruled by Alex and Gary who had joint control of Alex’s iPod
which was hooked up to the car’s auxiliary connection.

Mike was now wearing a Ken Caminiti Padres
jersey that his younger brother bought him last month for his
thirtieth birthday. It complemented blue Nike shorts and white Nike
sneakers. Other than the sporty outfit, he looked a bit like
Chandler from
Friends
, though as one girl once told him
after several glasses of wine, “not as cute and funny . . . but
still cool in that bitter kind of way.”

After a slight lull in the conversation
during which Alex was trying to decipher what Madonna was saying
about a double latte, Gary broke the silence, turning fully around
in his seat to talk to Mike. “All right, dude, I gotta hear about
it. First of all, congratulations,” he said.

Mike: “Oh, thanks man. Yeah, I am pretty
pumped about the whole thing.”

This comment elicited Alex to glance back in
the rearview mirror, eyebrows slightly raised.

Gary: “So tell me about it. Where did you
find her?”

Mike: “Well, you know, it was pretty much the
standard procedure. I just got an agent and looked at a bunch of
options and picked the best one I could afford.”

Gary: “No shit. Is there a large range in the
prices?”

Mike: “Of course. Some of the really nice
ones are just ridiculously expensive, but there were some really
attractive choices that were within my limits.”

Gary: “Did you look at pictures online?”

Mike: “Of course, but ultimately you need to
go in person and really get a feel for each one. It’s a huge
commitment so you need to make sure you take the time to examine
all the details and kick the tires and check under the hood, so to
speak. A lot of the choices that look good at first actually have
big flaws that only reveal themselves after a thorough
investigation. Actually, I really enjoyed the whole process. It is
more interesting than I thought.”

Gary (laughing): “Of course, I can imagine.
That sounds sweet. Was the agent Russian?”

Mike: “Um . . . No. It was your typical
twenty-eight-year-old blond chick who lost a dotcom job up north
after the bubble and moved down here. Standard stuff.”

Gary: “So she was American?”

Mike: “Yeah, from Chicago I think.”

Gary: “That’s strange. I wouldn’t have
thought they would be open to letting Americans get into the
business.”

Mike: “What do you mean? I think she even
went to State down here. Didn’t really make it in San Francisco but
has her shit together and is good at sales. You know the type.
Typical real estate agent.”

Gary: “Okay. I am confused. I thought we are
talking about the people who found the girl you are marrying. What
are you talking about?”

Alex chose this moment to re-enter the
conversation: “Hey guys, do you want to hit a strip club tonight,
or wait until tomorrow during the afternoon to kill some time? I
heard a rumor that Crazy Horse Too may be closing because it got
too skanky, but maybe the Rhino or Club Paradise?”

Mike: “Sure, whatever, Alex. Marrying, Gary?
What are you talking about? I haven’t even been on a date in nearly
four months.”

Gary, whom Blair often accused of being too
trusting, finally smelled the rat. “Mike, are you, or are you not,
getting married? Is this or is it not a bachelor party trip?” he
asked in a deliberate and deep tone.

Mike laughed heartily. “Married? Shit, I’m
all for it if you can find me a nice bitch this weekend with big
tits and maybe a trust fund. Maybe we will run into Britney Spears
at Ghostbar and she will want to give it another try. But I wasn’t
planning on it. I just closed on a new house in Del Mar. I thought
that is what you were asking about.”

An awkward silence dominated the car for the
next several seconds. Somehow the fact that they were only going
twenty-seven miles an hour made the situation even worse. Madonna
was complicit in letting the moment sink in. She ended her song and
paused lengthily before
Hollywood
began to play.

Gary was the first to speak. He looked
directly at Alex. “Alex, you mother fucking, mother fucker. This is
not cool. You called Blair and lied directly to my wife. Basically
that means I have now lied to her about this whole trip as well.
This is fucked. We are fucked. I am fucked.”