Worst Person Ever Part 20

We guzzled the milk supply. Finally I was feeling lucid and in good spirits. "Nothing like having your elevenses at sundown."

"Couldn't agree with you more, Ray."

I touched my head. "Christ, I'm still wearing this f.u.c.king Gumby hat."

"I didn't want to editorialize on your style, Ray, but yes, you are."

I removed the Gumby hat and shook it back into the T-s.h.i.+rt it was. Neal stared at it, his eyes goggling as would those of a kitten shown dangling yarn for the first time.

"Ray! That's a Cure T-s.h.i.+rt!"

"Yes, I guess it is."

"Where did you get it?"

"It was in the f.u.c.k hut."

"I must have that s.h.i.+rt."

Ahhhhh, how interesting to have something Neal really wanted. "No, Neal, no. You can't have this s.h.i.+rt, because it is mine." I slipped it on for emphasis, and also to cover my sunburned abdomen.

"The Cure changed my life. I remember that s.h.i.+rt. I almost bought one at their July 1993 outdoor concert in Finsbury Park. It's been one of the great regrets of my life that I didn't buy it. And now, decades later, fate has given me another chance."

"Fate has done no such thing. This is my Cure T-s.h.i.+rt, and you can't have it."

"I remember the complete song list that day: 's.h.i.+ver and Shake'; 'Shake Dog Shake'; 'One Hundred Years'; 'Just Like Heaven'; 'Push'; 'Fascination Street'; 'Open'; 'High'; 'From the Edge of the Deep Green Sea'; 'Disintegration'; and 'End.' "

"Fascinating."

"The encore was 'Friday I'm in Love'; 'Three Imaginary Boys'; 'It's Not You'; 'Boys Don't Cry'; 'Fire in Cairo'; and 'A Forest.' "

"Neal, your nostalgia is not going to get you this s.h.i.+rt."

"What will get me the s.h.i.+rt?"

Hmmm ... brainwave.

"Neal, I want you to s.h.a.g LACEY. That way I can take the moral high road and dump her for cheating on me."

"I don't know, Ray. LACEY's technically s.h.a.ggable, but it's just hard to see pictures of her and me together in my head. And I mean, she's also just emerged from an epic f.u.c.kfest with you. She's likely worn out."

I reached down and rubbed my stomach. "My, this s.h.i.+rt is in amazing condition considering it's two decades old. It's vintage, not a reproduction. It was probably left here by some Kiwi missionary with retro musical taste and a hankering for life's finer things."

Neal's lips quivered. "Okay, Ray, I'll s.h.a.g her."

"Good. I'm glad you've come to your senses."

"Now give me the s.h.i.+rt, please."

"Not until the deed is done. And there's one more thing."

Neal's eyes became cold slits. "Yes?"

"I want that piece of red plastic that was hanging from the outdoor eaves back at the grocery store."

"You f.u.c.king b.a.s.t.a.r.d!"

"So I'm a f.u.c.king b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Big f.u.c.king deal."

Suddenly Neal had me face-mushed-down on the kitchen's rattan mat, twisting my arms behind my back.

"You f.u.c.king pig!" I yelled. "Let go of me now or I'll bleed all over your precious s.h.i.+rt. I've been known to trigger nosebleeds by willpower alone."

"I agreed to s.h.a.g LACEY, but no, Raymond Gunt got greedy."

"f.u.c.k off and die, Neal. My price is my price."

There was a noise in a back hallway, and when Neal turned to see what it was, he gave me enough room to wiggle free and grab a white plastic trash vortex chair. I whacked him in the face, making his nose fountain with blood.

"I'll f.u.c.king kill you, Gunt."

"No, you won't, Neal, because if you get blood on this garment, it's officially not collectible anymore, and neither you nor n.o.body else will ever want it."

Checkmate.

I stepped back. "Now hand me that piece of red plastic and I will hand you your T-s.h.i.+rt. I won't even make you f.u.c.k LACEY first."

"You are a cruel bargainer, Raymond Gunt."

"Just p.i.s.s off and give me the plastic."

I removed the s.h.i.+rt while gazing into a salt-crusted old mirror that sat beside the room's princ.i.p.al decoration: an orange and black NO SMOKING sign. I was as red all over as a Halloween devil.

That was when we heard shrieks coming from outside. Neal and I forgot our trade transaction and went to look. A collection of villagers had circled the hotel, armed with baseball bats, car antennas, coconuts and coral chunks. A woman wailed, "Vakubati! Vakubati!"

I stormed out to confront them. "Now just one f.u.c.king minute!" I yelled. "You have some nerve to try to blame me for the problems of this wretched f.u.c.king world."

They chanted: "Vakubati, take your dreadful f.u.c.kpeople and leave our gracious islands now!"

"You have got to be kidding."

From behind the angry villagers, I saw two more forms of wrath incarnate emerge: Fiona, dressed as if for tea at Wimbledon, and LACEY, still dishevelled after hours of G.o.d only knows what unspeakable things we'd done together.

Fiona shouted, "Thanks a f.u.c.king lot, Raymond! We finally get to visit Eden, and you get us all kicked out!"

"I did no such thing. These doughy-ankled lagoon rats are living in some ancient era before science or rationality."

Fiona used the same X-ray face she had used when she figured out it was me who'd caused Matt Bradley's death. Her eyes screwed up intensely. "I don't know how, Raymond, but I know, in some way I'm unable to fathom, that it really was you who started this nuclear war."

"Fi, are you totally f.u.c.king crazy? And how the f.u.c.k can you side with these oily trolls at a moment like this?"

"Did you, Raymond?"

"Did I what? Start a nuclear war? What the h.e.l.l is wrong with you?"

"You're not answering my question."

"I don't believe this."

At this point, LACEY interjected, "Fi, how did the two of you meet, anyway?"

"How did we meet? Raymond threw an empty lager can at me."

35.

Well, then.

We've all been in a pickle at least once in our lives, haven't we? One is born, one grows up. One gets in a pickle. The pickle is resolved and then one dies. Snap!

At that point, the Zodiac that had brought Neal to sh.o.r.e offloaded another wave of crew to retrieve their belongings from the hotel, and of course Stuart would have to show up just then, Sarah at his side.

"Herry Potter, you a.s.shole-now we have to leave the island because of your f.u.c.kheadedness."

"Oh, h.e.l.lo, Stuart. I'll thank you not to swear; there are ladies present."

"I'll deal with you later," Stuart threatened. "Everyone grab your things and get on the bus to the dock. We're headed to location, and the yacht leaves in one hour!"

As if in a zombie movie, the show's production staff converged around from all directions, thus defusing our confrontation with the locals.

Fiona pa.s.sed by me, snarling. "Trust me, Raymond, I will find out how you started the war."

"I love you, too, Fi."

"Come along, LACEY. You can help me pack."

LACEY went past, sniffling. "Raymond, I did things with you that I wouldn't even do with the Russian guys who run the airport limousine service."

Then Sarah approached, her face grave. "Raymond, I heard all about your erotic holiday with LACEY. I think it's terrific that you're finding love. You richly deserve it." She sounded like a gracious yet saddened contest loser. f.u.c.k. Any chance I might have had with her was out the window. How to undo this mess?

I pleaded my case: "No, Sarah, it wasn't an erotic holiday at all."

Cue the chanting natives: "Dreadful vakubati, take your f.u.c.kpeople and leave our gracious island, now!"

Sarah made a brave face. "I have to get my things, Raymond."

Being possessionless-I'd long since lost track of whatever I'd brought on this deranged odyssey-I waited out front while people packed. The natives surveyed my every move, brandis.h.i.+ng their crude weapons at me. Then I heard a whisper from the front door. It was Sarah. "Raymond, come help me with this."

This turned out to be a wheelbarrow-load of Spam-like tinned meats from China. The images on the labels reminded me of, say, the creatures from the Burgess Shale, magically brought back to life only to be slathered in salted goat gelatin and ruthlessly resealed into rectangular tins.

Oh Christ ...

I was caught in a Spam spiral: that mystical state of mind where one's brain becomes entirely absorbed by trying to a.n.a.lyze the contents of Spam and/or Spam-like products.

I thought of nipples-the nipples of all races-pressure-packed into convenient 5.5-ounce tins of- "Raymond?"

"Whuzzat? Oh, sorry, Sarah. I was stuck in a Spam spiral."

"Oh, I've had that happen too. It's awful, but it always goes away."

I stared at the barrow-load of tinned meat. "Sarah, are you sure you want to take this Spam-like food product with us?"

"We'll be needing this. There probably won't be another supply s.h.i.+p for months, if ever." She smiled at me with her heart-melting Sarah smile. "That LACEY is one lucky girl. I wish I'd made my move when you were still available."

"LACEY and I aren't a couple!" I insisted.

"It's okay. Fiona told me all about your fear of commitment, Raymond. There's no possible doubt in my mind that you and LACEY are together for the long haul. I wouldn't dream of doing anything that might derail your tender, newly born love."

There was no doubt in my mind: LACEY must die.

The Burgess Shale Formation, located in the Canadian Rocky Mountains, is one of the world's most celebrated fossil fields. At 505 million years old, it is one of the earliest fossil beds containing the imprints of soft tissue. Many of the animals present in the shale have bizarre anatomical features and bear only the slightest resemblance to other known animals. Examples include Opabinia, which had five eyes and a snout like a vacuum cleaner hose; Nectocaris, which was either a crustacean with fins or a vertebrate with a sh.e.l.l; and Hallucigenia, which walked on bilaterally symmetrical spines. Stephen Jay Gould's book Wonderful Life (1989), brought the Burgess Shale fossils to the public's attention. He suggested that the extraordinary diversity of fossils indicates that life forms at the time were much more diverse than those surviving today, and that many of the unique creatures were evolutionary experiments that became extinct.

If we ever wonder what life might look like on other planets, this is where we can see it.

"First thing we should do is cover the cans so that the natives don't steal them."

"You're so clever." Sarah grabbed some laundry from a line and gently wrapped the tins. I couldn't help envisioning her swaddling our first child. "There," she said, "Snug as a bug in a rug."

My heart continued to melt.

"Look, there's our shuttle bus."

We walked busward through the protesting carb magnets, with Sarah attempting to bring peace along the way. "Such a lovely place, and your hygiene practices are so refres.h.i.+ng and planet-friendly. The ocean really does know what to do with poo, doesn't it?"

Safely at the bus, we stowed the entire Spam barrow in a rear luggage compartment, then hopped on.

Fiona was already settled at the back of the bus, deeply engrossed in her iPad screen. Good.

Stuart, still outside, was barking into a military phone: "What do you mean the president wants his Cure T-s.h.i.+rt back? Are these people insane?" He poked a b.u.t.ton at the bottom of the phone and hopped inside the bus. He glowered at me. "Oh. I see that Herry Potter is here."

"Yes, yes, yes, Stuart, whatever."