Mighty Mercury

 

 

About 200 yards ahead on the side of the road, a solitary figure appeared in the mist. Standing there like a hitchhiker.

Hugo sighed loudly. Vic put on the turn signal and began to pull over. The man approached the car. Vic rolled down his window.

 

"You guys are lifesavers," said the hitchhiker, offering his hand, "My name's Kregg. Kregga Parenti."

"Get in," said Vic, rolling the window back up.

Kregg was a heavy set man, who appeared to be in his mid-30s, with short, black hair, pale skin, freckles, wearing a tank top and cut-off jeans. "Thanka you kindly," he continued from the back seat, "I blew a gasket. Was ona my way to see my nephew's little league game, ina Centralia."

"Looks like it's gonna be rained out, pal," Vic offered.

"You mighta be correct, but I woulda greatly appreciate a ride to a the park," Kregg paused, and added in a serious tone, "It'sa the playoffs."

"Whatsa with the bad Italian accent there Kregga?" asked Hugo, who'd just applied a butt chin, scar on the left cheek, tiny round sunglasses, and a brown wig. They ran over flattened roadkill and the visor on Donny's side dropped down. He saw Hugo in the mirror, and did a quick double-take before laughing noiselessly.

"Whoa," Kregg said, looking at Hugo with trepidation.

Hugo now laughed, maniacally.

"Don't let him scare ya Kregg. He's cool. A little weird, but cool," Vic said.


"Anyways. Yea, the accent. Remember Father Guido Sarducci from the old Saturday Night Live?"

"Yeah. Of course. He was HILARIOUS!" Vic replied.

"I got in the habit of impersonating him back in junior high, and it kinda...stuck."

"Don Novello is the guys name. I met him a few times."

"Seriously? That is cool. You in show business? You look kinda familiar."

Vic hesitated. Most shot Vic a look. Vic coughed. "Oh no, just happened to bump into him...in, uh, Florida. At the, uhm...Seaworld. "

"It kinda...stuck?" Hugo wondered aloud, contemplating Kregga.

Most looked at his own face in the mirror, studying it for a few minutes. He never liked his face. He always though it looked kinda pussyish. Not a leading man face, not the kind of face that made women wet. Beady eyes. Pasty, with freckles. Thin lips. Weak chin. Small teeth. Like an odd Jewish platypus or something. Being around Vic all the time, an aging but still imposing figure with rugged facial features and a swarthy complexion, probably antagonized his subconscious.

But there was something, something now a little rougher about the way he looked after the last few months of hard living, that made him happy. At 43, along with typical pattern baldness, his formerly bright orange hair had become mostly whitish grey with darker red patches. It was frizzier, almost shoulder length. He hadn't cut it since he'd left LA, or combed it much either. He felt animalistic, raw. The kind of guy that COULD rock, in the right situation.

Satisfied, he put the visor back up.

It stayed up.

Then he worked the glove compartment successfully shut, quietly, without much trouble. He nodded at Vic, unbuttoning the 2nd button on his shirt and leaning back. "Any of that Jack left?"

Vic reached under his seat and pulled out the fifth. Grinning, he handed the bottle to Donny, shaking his head and smiling. "Don't puke in the car again, Most," Vic warned, mockingly, his finger near Most's face. He and Hugo had a habit of sticking their fingers in his face a lot, which was infuriating.

"Relax. I'll roll the window down this time." Most held the bottle up, it was about 3/4's empty, unscrewed the cap and knocked down a big swig. "Ahhhhhhhh. Great day for a game!"

He turned to Kregg, who was watching him cautiously, the corner of his lips turned up slightly, and offered him some.

"Notta right now thanks. I'ma teacher at a Christian middle school, and I don't want to set a bad example for the kids."

Most remembered playing baseball as a kid. One day, he took some of his Mom's muscle relaxants, got dizzy trying to catch a routine pop fly and wiped out. Bad idea. He wished he had some of those now. "That's ok. I guess a joint is out of the question then. Anyone else?"

No one replied. Most slid the bottle under his seat.

As they got off the exit to Centralia, Vic asked Kregg if he'd ever eaten at that buffet back in Mt. Vernon.

Hugo burped.

Most covered his nose with his shirt and yelled, "He's burpin' up those egg rolls!"

Vic let out a guffaw.

"I got your egg rolls right here, bitch!" Hugo fired back.

"Really? Too bad you can't pull off the dramatic crotch grab that normally accompanies that statement since you--"

Vic gunned it once they turned onto 161. Hugo's extended middle finger was separated from Most's face as the sudden acceleration threw him into the back window area.

"You dudes are a trip. Maybe I do needa shot!"

Most looked at Kregg quizzically and started to reach down. "Nah, justa kiddin. Not on an empty stomach anyway."

It had rained lightly, then stopped, but it seemed like it a bigger downpour was inevitable, sooner than later.

Initially Most had auditioned for the role of "Potsie", but the producers didn't want the main character's (Ron Howard) best friend to also be a redhead. Still, they were impressed enough that they added the Ralph Malph character specifically for him to play. He wished they'd stuck with the concept of Malph as a football player, which they later changed to "class clown" after discovering his comedic talents. Fuck that. The class clown doesn't bang the cheerleaders, the studly football player does! A little buzzed now, he imagined how the arc of his career would've changed if he'd been the football player instead. His catchphrase "I still got it", wouldn't have been about him still being funny, but a statement on his athleticism, dominating other men, still scoring.

In the intro scenes to the Happy Days show he'd be making out with a chick, instead of wrapping his arms around himself in a corner as a gag, so it looked like he was with someone.

He'd get "jock best friend of main character" type roles, in good movies with people like Tom Cruise, instead of terrible parts in weak, comedy flops like "Stewardess School". He thought about the part in that movie where he asked this big guy in a plane to stop smoking. The guy acted aggressively toward him and he backed down immediately. On an airplane! Unable to do his airline attendant job (traditionally a female job) correctly, due to lack of spine.

Total buzz kill. It disgusted him thinking about that movie on videotape, floating around out there, chicks watching him back down, over and over and over. Archived forever.

He grabbed the bottle again and finished it off. "At least, it was terrible and bombed. Nobodies even heard of it to make fun of it." He was thrown off, queasy, and glad they were going to see some strange dispshit hitch hiker's nephew's little league playoff game to distract him.

"I'm a 43 year old married man. Married, to a beautiful woman. I've had more success than some scrawny kid from Brooklyn ever could've hoped. Why isn't that enough?"

He imagined that question as the song title for a mid-tempo rocker he'd write and perform someday, as he closed his eyes and faded out. Right before they pulled into the park, he awoke, leaned out the window and puked a little. They were far enough away that the kids and parents didn't notice.

The teams were playing catch, and the field was wet but there was no standing water.

Write comment

Show/hide comment form

Title
Comment	smaller | bigger
Name
Email
Subscribe via email (registered users only) I have read and agree to the Terms of Usage.
	Add Comment