Really Old Bastards: Chapter 5
BEFORE YOU BEGIN!!!
You should know that this is a SEQUEL
You can read the first three chapters book 1 here. If you want to read the rest, then you’ll have to buy the book (available on Amazon, KU, and Audible).
CONTENT WARNING: Sex, gross humour, ageism, ableism, mild racism, pretty much all the same shit from the first book.
The bottles of vodka make a little clink sound as I stuff them behind a big pack of toilet paper. It reminds me of being a teenager and hiding booze from my parents. My friend Carla, she had a big sister who would hook us up with whatever we needed — vodka, ciggies, weed — then we’d stash it somewhere, usually (and foolishly) in one of our bedrooms. Sure, we got caught a few times, but that only made us more determined to get away with it next time.
Valerie keeps a nervous lookout at the supply closet door. “Tracy,” she whispers, biting her fingernails. “I’m really not sure about this.”
“What? You think we need more booze?”
“No, I mean I’m not sure about the party.”
Jesus, why is she such a pussy? “Relax, it’s gonna be off the hook! People still say that, right?”
“But… it’s against the rules.”
I take a bottle of bourbon out of the bag and hide it behind a mop bucket. “Where in the rules does it say that we can’t throw a party for the residents and get them all fucked up like they’re in college again?”
“Well, it doesn’t exactly say that, but… what if we get caught?”
I can’t help but chuckle. “Oh, we’re absolutely gonna get caught. Tomorrow morning, Angie’s gonna walk in here to a bunch of residents vomiting into their corn flakes. Then she’ll smell the booze, find an empty bottle we forgot to put in the trash, and put two and two together. And you’ll probably fold under questioning. But hey, it’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission, right?”
“But what if something happens to one of the residents?”
“If one of them dies, that just means we threw a great party.”
“But… but—”
“But! But! But! Is that all you can say?” My face is inches from hers. “Well, here’s my but.”
Valerie frowns. “Your… butt?”
“Shut up for a minute. Yes, throwing a party is a little risky—”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
“BUT… the residents are bored out of their fucking minds. For months, they’ve been stuck in their rooms like prisoners. No bingo night. No salsa class. Listening to those useless fucking workmen drilling and hammering. Watching shitty reruns on TV. Getting high on paint fumes. Imagine your grandma lived here.”
Valerie’s face softens a little. Time to go in for the kill.
“Look, you’re worried about one of them dying at the party, and I get that, I really do. But you know what worries me? Not having the party, and one of them dying anyway.”
Oh my God, are those tears in her eyes? Man, I’m good. I should’ve pursued a career in sales. Maybe I still could. Ah, but what would I sell? A hottie like me, it’d have to be expensive cars. Yeah, I like the sound of that. Me, standing next to a Bentley, flirting with some rich prick with more money than—”
“You’re right, Tracy. Our dear residents deserve to have some fun.”
“That’s the spirit.” I check my watch. “Okay, Angie’s shift finishes in thirty minutes. I’m gonna go see if I can convince her to leave early, tell her we’ve got this covered. Then it’s fucking party time!”
***************
“Hold still, Marge!”
I can’t get this damn straw in her mouth. Half the drink spills up my arm. It’s vodka with lemonade, but don’t worry — it’s diet lemonade. Ha!
Nah, nah I’m just kidding. It’s like a teeny tiny measure of vodka. A hell of a lot weaker than mine, that’s for fucking… sure. But hey, it’s… it’s her party too… right?
Man, this place is like a rave! But, but for old people.
“Old people rave, woo!”
So, we’re in the TV room, but we moved all the couches and chairs. Music’s blaring. One minute it’s Vera Lynn or some old shit, the next it’s Sabrina the Carpenter.
And these old bastards know how to party. Some are singing; some are dancing; all of them are fucking drinking. Okay, maybe one or two are passed out, but that’s just because they were so good at drinking. I’ve refilled the punch bowl about ten times, and let me tell you, it gets stronger every time. Ha!
But man, am I fucking dreading the clean-up tomorrow. There are puddles of booze everywhere. The snack cart has been decapitated. No, decimated — is that the word? Whatever, it’s been emptied. Bon bons are squished into the floor. Someone vomited down the wall. And this place fucking stinks like an alcoholic’s carpet. But fuck it, that’s all future Tracy’s problem.
I’m sitting in the corner with Marge. She looks as drunk as I do, but it’s hard to tell with her, since she always looks a little wasted.
“Drink up, bestie!”
I give her another sip. Ah, shit — that was my cup. Oh well.
“Woo-hoo!” Valerie stands on a shaky table, with Henry’s tie around her head, screaming encouragement at Henry who’s fighting for his life with the beer funnel she’s holding. “Fucking chug that shit!”
Poor old fucker looks like he’s drowning, but he ain’t giving up.
“That’s it, Henry! Show us what you’re made of!”
And he’s done it! He pumps a fist in triumph, gasping for air. What a fucking hero!
“Yes!” I shout, applauding him. “Go, Henry!”
Jean applauds as well, but I don’t think she knows what she’s applauding for.
“That’s what I’m talking about!” Valerie jumps off the table, landing like Bambi on crack, but somehow staying on her feet. She grabs Henry by the cardigan. “Henry, that was fucking hot!”
Then she plants her big juicy Bratz doll lips right on his.
Wow!
Marge goes nuts in her chair. I try to whistle at them, but I’m too drunk and it just comes out like air. Henry looks in shock, but the old dog makes no effort to break it off.
“Get a room, you two!”
Speaking of getting a room, let’s talk about Frank and Rose. They’ve been dancing all fucking night. Dirty dancing, that is. No matter which song is playing, they’re acting like it’s that Rihanna song, what’s it called again? MSN? SMS? You know the one I mean. Rose’s twerking game needs a little work, but Frank doesn’t seem to mind — I can see his boner from way over here.
“I fucking… I fucking love you, Marge. You know that?”
That big goofy grin of hers tells me she knows it.
“Come here. Gimme a kiss.”
I smooch her right on the cheek. It’s wet. I’m not sure if it’s my drool or hers.
“Tracy.” Rose is standing over me with Frank behind her, his arms around her waist, nuzzling her neck. Her voice sounds weird though, like she can’t talk right. Guess she’s drunk too.
“Rose, you little slut! What’s up?”
She takes my hand and drops something into it. Something wetter than that kiss I just gave Marge.
Her teeth.
“Ah, what the fuck, Rose?”
“Can you hold on to these for me, dear?” Then her hands disappear behind her back. I don’t even want to imagine what she’s doing with them, but old Frank’s face has just lit up. “I won’t be needing them tonight.”
Then the pair of them run — that’s right, run — out of the room, giggling like horny teenagers.
I’m too drunk to be grossed out by the teeth, so I do what anyone would — put them up to my mouth and move them like they’re talking.
“Hey, I’m Rose. And I’m about to give Frank the gummiest blow job of his life!”
Marge can’t breathe for laughing.
“I’m gonna suck his old balls like they’re my favorite candies!”
Man, I’m fucking hilarious.
Henry and Valerie are no longer smooching. They’ve also ditched the beer funnel in favor of the punch bowl. Henry cheers as Valerie chugs it. Most of it ends up down her tunic. When it’s finally empty, she puts it on her head. “Hey, everyone! Look at my new hat!”
I put my arm around Marge, drunk-talking right in her ear. “Hey, remember that time I saved your life?” “Well, I’d do it again. In a fucking heartbeat.”
Smiling, she rests her head on my shoulder, her eyes starting to close.
“Come on, let’s get you to bed before I’m too drunk to lift you out of your chair.”
Author’s Note:
We’re five chapters in, and some of you are probably wondering where the hell this story is going. Well, I did say I wanted to take my time, have some fun, give the old bastards some room to breathe. I promise there is a plot, but that might not become clear for another two or three chapters!
Anyway, this one was was very fun to write. I actually felt like I had to hold back a little so that the party didn’t become a complete shitshow.
Next time, we’ll see the aftermath of the party, and Tracy trying to survive another hangover from hell while having dinner with her mom and new “boyfriend”.
Not the teeeeeeeeeth!!!!
Frank and Rose having the night of their lives…