Rob Thurman’s Blog Timeshare: Cheap & Filthy [Part 3]11 Aug 2011, Posted by Appearances, Blog, Fun, News, Rob Thurman's Twitter, The Cal Leandros Novels, The Chimera Novels in
The first ever meeting of AAA
Astoundingly Annoying Anonymous
Misha: “You’re really a monster? I mean I definitely can detect the non-human, but monster? That is the shit. Did I use that right? ‘That is the shit’? I’m having a difficult time with that. Never mind. You’re a monster?” I eased my messenger bag to the floor, crouched beside it, opened it and dug out a pen and piece of paper. “Can I have your autograph?”
Cal, I hoped it wasn’t short for Calvin—Calvin isn’t a good name for a monster, eyebrows lifted, mouth dropped open slightly, head shook lightly as if he couldn’t believe it. “You want my autograph? Most monsters piss at the sight of me and you want my autograph?”
I held up the paper and pen. “To Misha if you don’t mind. M—I—S—H—A. And it’s not a girl’s name. It’s short for Mikhail in Russian or Michael if you’re Russian-American. And sign it Cal the monster if you could. I am framing it and putting it beside my original framed Nosferatu print.” He was still staring at me. I frowned at him. “Many people are into collectibles. People of all ages. Don’t be rude,” he said defensively.
“And your name is Misha and you’re not afraid of me?” He was beyond nonplussed. He was shocked as he automatically took the paper and pen and signed his name, his full name: To Misha…Best Wishes but Only Because of the ‘Boost in the Weiner schnitzel’. Caliban the Monster.”
Caliban. Shakespeare. A much better name for a monster, but I didn’t say so. If he liked the name Caliban, he would use it. Like if I could stand the name Michael, I would use it. “Thanks.” I carefully folded it up and put it back in the bag.
“What else is in there?” Cal peered over my shoulder. “Oh, shit. I recognize that. C4.”
“Sometimes things need to be blown up.” I closed the bag and hoisted it on my shoulder. “And you never know when that sometimes will be.”
Cal pointed at the door. “Like now? Or I could gate us out although I might end up naked again.”
I heard the slam of a door just as Cal said, “I smell….”
There were four or five folding chairs and in front of them a lectern, a podium, something to pound your fist on. This woman did. Bang. Bang. Bang. “You are not going anywhere. I call the first meeting of AAA to order. Now sit your sad, worthless be-hinds down.”
She was big and black and wearing her Sunday-Going-To-Church clothes and she had a look in her eye that had me clutching my C4 and sitting down as told. “What’s AAA?” I asked meekly.
“Astoundingly Annoying Anonymous,” she pursed her lips and folded her arms. “Now, Mister Cal, worst waitress in this half of the country, maybe the whole country for all I know, sit your bony butt down.”
“Miss Terrwyn. Ah, Jesus,” he groaned, but he sat.
“Did you blaspheme, boy? Did you just blaspheme the name of the Son of God?” she snapped. I’d seen a dingy sign by the door. Old. It had said ‘free coffee and donuts.’ The donuts must’ve been as old as the sign as the one this Miss Terrwyn flung at Cal’s head. It knocked him backwards and he groaned again as he clutched his already bruising forehead.
I bent over him quickly, anxiously asking the most important question of the moment. “Were you really a waitress?”