Any way you look at it, Doug changed my life.
I start toward the door, then stop and say, “Do you want to get a beer?”
“Of course I do.” Doug gets up and looks at his watch. “It is almost noon.”
“Then let’s go.”
“What about Diane? Is she going to object to you drinking in the middle of the day?”
“She’s in Phoenix.”
“You don’t say.” Doug puts a hand on my shoulder. “In that case, my friend, I know the perfect place.”
– 7 -
I let Doug drive, and I don’t pay attention to where we’re going until it’s too late. When I see the sign, I have to laugh.
“You’re kidding.”
“Give it a shot,” Doug says. “They’ve got a great buffet.”
“The Body Shoppe? You’re serious?”
Doug pulls into the parking lot and turns off the engine. “Trust me, the food is good. You’ll like it.”
The building is a one-level box, no windows, and the paint is weatherworn, peeling away in long strips. The sign out front shows the silhouette of a woman bending forward with a man kneeling behind her and lifting her skirt with a car jack.
“Do you come here a lot, Doug?”
“No,” he says, drawing the word out. “Almost never.”
“I was thinking of someplace quieter.”
Doug looks at me. “What do you want to do? Sit in a booth at Applebee’s and drink piss beer and eat fake ribs? Why don’t you live a little?”
Live a little.
I look up at the sign and shake my head, then I follow Doug through the front door and into The Body Shoppe.
I decide right away that I’m not going to eat.
The air inside is heavy and thick and has that sour smell that only comes to a place after years without sunlight. The music is loud, and there are several dancers on stage, each one swaying back and forth in the swell of smoke like naked corpses dangling from the rafters.