The Bijoux

Hump Day Here

Those two hours passed quickly, with two or even three transitions of film loops. He had once put the second reel of that double feature in first on a quiet rainy Wednesday night, running for quite a few minutes before he heard those catcalls coming from the balcony crew.

It must have seemed unusual to open a film with a car smashing into that storefront with the subsequent fake fire but in retrospect it was a pretty modern move, if completely unintentional.

It was that crash and burn that got Sally to come up for air from under her boyfriend du jour, their cackling finally catching Jack’s attention. The few other stoners spread over the balcony were oblivious and Jack hadn’t thought to mention it to Chester when he arrived late, as usual.

Wednesday night was always a slightly different crowd, even if the film wasn’t. It didn’t occur to him those first few weeks, but then he saw that scrawl in the last bathroom booth, just three words that didn’t announce anything questionable but clearly stated what Jack had noticed among that crowd.

It was his Dad who put it together over dinner, referring to this week already feeling endless and if he could just make it past Hump Day everything would be fine.

His Mom made some noises between a shush and a giggle, he and his twin sister Jacqueline just looking across to each other. It wasn’t the first time they had to puzzle out the concept of their parents actually having sex, but being on a set schedule was too much for Jack and Jackie as they both cracked up.

His Dad made some mealy mouthed excuse and that was even funnier, and now they were in so much trouble laughing and spitting out food that they were sent upstairs, listening to the fighting and then that long, so silent make-up moment. They ran to their rooms as they burst out in gales of laughter.

So the next week he took count and fourteen couples were sprinkled across that balcony, even a few older duo’s snuggling in the orchestra, all because it was a standing tradition to spend “Hump Day Here”.

It was certainly a cheap date and more than a few girls were regulars, changing partners every few weeks. Clearly it was the place to be for some piece of ass as no one would dare bother you, as everyone was there for the same thing. In the case of Sally, that statement was taken literally by all the boys who came for that show, on the screen and in those seats.It was the moment of truth for Jack and it was the beginning of his lifelong fascination with voyeurism.

Of course all porn and violence is voyeuristic, but until that point the closest he had gotten was scanning his Dad’s Playboy magazines at home, each with those centerfolds conspicuously missing.

He was amused by the glossy stills of starlets dotting the walls of this booth, but these were all about the pretty but pouty or a wide-eyed damsel in distress, Jack attributing that soft core seduction to the era those films were being touted.

Chester was clearly not married but then who would spend a lifetime waking to that pudgy face. He always wore that ring on his left hand but one day in a drunken rage he waved off all the conventions of marriage, starting with that well-worn canard of love-at-first-sight, sneering through a rundown of Townsfolk and their perceived infidelities, ending in moans of money and marital settlements.

Certainly pushing the big Four-O, comfortable with his collection of sci-fi mags and movie trivia, Jack had never given Chester much thought outside these walls, imagining him that long divorced man settling back into Irish bachelorhood, living again at home with his Mother, watching a world from behind lace curtained windows spinning slowly past.

No one in a small Town is a stranger and Jack had vague memories of Chester, but this rounded, pasty-faced man did not stand out in a crowd, whether consciously or not. This extended to his clothing choices, those beige knit sweater vests doing little to mask his girth, Sans-A-Belt polyester pants never seeming to vary from shades of murky and his shoes were patently brown but to Joey’s amazement were always highly polished.

That was something Jack could barely manage every Sunday when required to change from his sneakers and into his one pair of dress shoes, barely free of dust from his closet by that quick swipe on the back of his calf as he stood impatiently at the front door, watching his Mom adjust yet another “Going to Chapel” chapeau.

So that Wednesday when Jack had to take a quick piss or would just explode, he assumed Chester might be late again and now he couldn’t take that chance.

The film reel had just started as he quickly jumped those stairs, trotting to the balcony bathroom, almost knocking over that lanky kid as he came through the doorway, barely looking up while still fixing the belt on his pants, scurrying down those stairs to the balcony and a waiting girlfriend.

Sidling up to the nearest urinal, he was quick to finish the business at hand and turned to those sinks, aligned below that flank of mirrors along the wall. Opposite that formation were the booths with only the furthest door still closed, but it was the light reflecting on that tapping toe catching Jack’s attention, a shiny brown brogue insistently in time to an unheard song, maybe from impatience or a bit of frustration.

He wasn’t sure, but it looked just like the pair he had seen Chester wear and it made him wonder if this was why he would be late for his return. There are some things in life you just can’t rush.

The door to the bathroom suddenly swung wide and in the mirror he saw the profile of that boy who had graduated High School last year but was still in Town, still causing trouble. He was equally surprised to see Jack standing at the wash basin, quickly turning to the white glossy urinals, making a production of unzipping, groaning loudly, announcing his relief.

Jack grabbed at the paper towels without stopping at the doorway, yanked it open and trotted back along that dark corridor to the booth staircase, glancing over his shoulder at that quick burst of gunfire and screams coming from the screen.

That towel was now crumpled into a tight ball, now a hand grenade that Jack brought to his lips, taking that round ring between his teeth and pulling sharply at the pin. Looking down, he counted to five and then tossed that haymaker overhead across the rail into that balcony of baddies, dashing for the stairs and the safety of his crow’s nest.

To Be Continued..

Copyright JWR2015/19