Stages of Stupid

By Paul Wiltz

Billy means well, but his propensity for meeting women who undress in front of him is sometimes superseded by people who lead him into violent altercations. On one hand, Billy is concerned with the proper removal of his virginity; on the other hand, Billy would like to stay out of prison. As life dictates, the 50/50 chance offers literal results; valuable lessons are learned, however. Skin is not bulletproof.

Taking place in California's Central Valley and San Francisco, Stages of Stupid is a story of painful growth on the path to certified manhood. Accompanied at times by an ex-army grocery store clerk and a beautiful, yet mysterious kingpin of an apparently criminal organization, Billy is pushed to his limits at every corner. His feelings for a high school sweetheart haunt him at every turn, but an ill-gotten Porsche Carrera smooths out the pain.

Billy finds that sometimes, it's perfectly reasonable to prefer nightmares to reality, especially when he winds up in Miami...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul Wiltz
• Release date: Jun 2, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458155627

Paul Wiltz

Paul Wiltz is an unemployed truck driver, currently living in northern California. He no longer has a dog, and will only drive a car with a V8. He doesn't write much, but when he does, and it's in book form, it sits around for years. He's seen some things, and found that they look better with beer.

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Stages of Stupid

by

Paul Wiltz

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Copyright 2011 Paul Wiltz

This book is a work of fiction. All characters, incidents, names, and places are products of the author's imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual places, events, or people (living or dead) is entirely coincidental. Personal responsibility is your friend.

Chapter 1

1991

Rachel was all Billy would ever want. Fate would not be concerned; fate, being the bitch she was, thought it would be funny to place the future in the hands of a shitty high school friend.

You look like just as much of a dork as anyone else here. You’ll never look as good as me, but that’s not the problem. It’s your fault you came to school in cords. You gonna gimme your lunch money or what?

Fuck that.

Get movin’!

What the hell do I say?

Whaddayou say to the guy in the store when you buy a soda?

How much?

Don’t think that’s gonna work here. Just say whatever pops out. If you really fuck up, it’ll be cute. Trust me. You want me to push you into her like it’s an accident?

No. Hey, why aren’t you into her?

Too skinny. No offense, but I need a girl with a rack. Rachel’s hot, but I need big wheels on my hotrod. Bust a move, Romeo, or your lunch money’s mine.

Did she just look at me?

Go and fucking ask her before I yank your fucking undies up around your ears. He gave a big push in the center of Billy’s back, and it was on.

Billy’s step stuttered a bit at first, but those words came along to move him: Use it or Lose it. He gained momentum and soon enough was across the quad with real eye contact and no sense of foot movement.

Hi, he said with the effort of three mowed lawns in hundred degree heat.

Hi.

I’m Billy. I, uh, my friend Eric said I should meet you.

I know who you are, she said, so evenly. Your friend’s a dick.

He’s gotta have a friend, right? He looked down and saw his hand shaking hers, but the hands weren’t moving in that business-like way, not really shaking. His chest thumped like the 15-inch speakers in the back of his friend Craig’s piece of shit Nissan Sentra.

I agree, she said. When she blushed, Billy could see that she grew a little pale, and if you really looked closely, a little pink shone as well. She smiled.

I was wondering if you were busy after school...

You mean today?

I guess so. Or tomorrow or the next day. Whichever. Thought to self: Shut the fuck up!

I don’t know if I trust that grin.

His own went a bit crooked when he tried to hide it. Sorry. I guess you saw my nervous grin. I’m nervous.

What do you want to do after school?

Get married? I don’t know. Guess we’re a little too young to go to a bar. Wanna go get a pizza with me or something, just hang out somewhere?

Today?

Can you?

I’ll have to call my dad and tell him a lie about what I’m doing.

I can just not be here at the right time and mine will ditch me. I’ll save some change that way, and besides, I can’t call him at work anyway.

Where should we meet?

Let’s pretend we’re waiting for our rides after school, and just walk off. Just out front, on the grass. Should I let go of your hand now?

She didn’t say anything, and she loosened, but not her smile, till she forced it off. Billy didn’t even glance down at her chest, staying with her smile or clear blue eyes. He didn’t care what else there was; at fifteen, he’d no memory of ever feeling so happy when he walked away. He knew he might have a problem getting home later, since he lived a good eleven miles east of school, but he couldn’t possibly care about that now. He could turn somersaults across an intersection, bounce off the front bumper of a big yellow bus, and not feel a thing.

What do your parents do? Billy asked. He kind of already knew, but felt a need for conversation propulsion anyway—it helped to stave off the errant boner.

My Dad has his restaurant, where he practically lives. My Mom died two years ago.

That sucks. Your Mom, I mean. Dying. Was it hard on you?

Yeah. I was always afraid I wasn’t taking it right. Can we talk about something else?

I think I’ve been to your restaurant. My Dad took me there once. We go out on Fridays, or we used to.

You didn’t say hi to me?

His heart, it clearly worked, the way it felt like it was going to jump onto the table. This was a while ago. You might not have been there yet, I think.

What about your parents?

Dad’s a lineman. Climbs utility poles and fixes power lines and that kinda crap. Every time someone sees me in his truck, they remind me and ask about my Dad the electrician. I think if he had that job, he might be around.

What about your Mom?

She set sail about ten years ago. That’s what my Dad says. I guess I kind of like it. Sounds better than saying she ditched us. He used to say ‘she moved on to greener pastures,’ and then call her a fucking cow. Don’t think I’m supposed to repeat that. She wasn’t fat anyway.

Do you talk to her?

Nope. She must have sailed really far away, I guess. Somewhere they don’t have phones.

They’d settled on a chain sandwich shop instead of a pizza place. The atmosphere was yellow and green and smelled of processed meat and veggies.

Are we on a date? She asked.

I don’t know. Nerves on fire, right now. Do you want to be?

I’m not supposed to go on dates until I’m thirty. My Dad said he won’t have time to guide me through the process until then. And he’s too tired to be threatening guys I bring home. So I don’t think we’re on a date.

What’s the difference between what we’re doing and a date?

At our age, not much, probably. If you want, you can be on a date, and I’ll just hang out and make sure you’ve got someone to talk to. That way we won’t have to lie.

Can I tell my Dad I went on a date next time I see him?

Is he out of town or something?

He’s busy. And he likes money. He’s always talking about how he makes more than guys in suits and he never even went to college. He’s got nothing better to do, so he’s gone for a couple days at a time some times. He likes staying in hotels.

So you’re home alone all the time?

Yep. Home alone. Just like the movie. What about you?

I am sometimes, but my Dad makes me hang out at the restaurant a lot. It’s kind of fun there anyway. Usually my Dad wants me to be at someone else’s house if I’m not at work with him after school, or on weekends.

Do you get good grades?

Do you?

I asked you first. You’re supposed to impress me when I’m on a date.

I’m just hanging out. I can lie. You have to impress me, but I don’t have to impress you back. If we were old, I could be drunk and dirty and you’d have to be the exact opposite.

Wouldn’t that mean that being on a date wouldn’t be fun?

Depends on what else you do on a date, doesn’t it?

I got straight Cs last semester, Billy told her. Dad seemed okay with it.

You don’t seem like a C student, she said with a look that somewhat held the upper hand with the noticed diversion of topic.

I’ve been dating the wrong people, I guess.

I got Bs, mostly. You date a lot of girls?

Yeah. No. I’m shy. I don’t date anybody.

You’re dating me. She started in on some footsy from the other side of the yellow Formica table.

Chapter 2

The dating stopped a week later when Billy’s Dad announced a move to a new place about 60 miles west of where they presently lived, for the sake of convenience and a shorter commute to work. It was far from the first move of this kind, but it had become the worst. There’d been at least six in the past ten years, the earlier ones not quite so bad, but this one was gonna cave the donkey’s back in. The startover gene had just about worn through, and doing this right before the junior year began made Billy want to kill somebody. That or just give up and crawl inside a shell.

The equipment yard’s right down the street, his Dad said. Combined with my seniority, that’ll help to make me the top guy on the list all the time, since I can get in a truck in ten minutes and be on the road like that. He snapped his fingers with what passed for a smile, a kind of enthused look that quickly went from Billy to somewhere out the nearest window and off to wherever his bank account was.

In his new city of Sacramento, California, Billy became a good student, and when he wasn’t being a good student, he ran, for as long as he could stand, as often as possible. He didn’t want anyone to catch up to him. When he didn’t run, or couldn’t, or couldn’t stand to, he’d go to a library and load up on books to drown out any thought of what remained of his own real life. He only wanted to imagine people to be around, not be around them. He no longer wanted to carry any weight for anyone but himself. He built a cow catcher around his front.

When the reading habit grew to a certain time-consuming point, the running gave way to lifting weights; an incident with a car, a minor collision in the dark of evening also helped to clear the path for Billy’s confining his physical escapes to the garage, where Dad already had some weights and a bench set up.

After a month, Billy had not come close to letting go of the thought of Rachel or even someone like her, but when he started thinking of her, he learned to flex his pecs, and if it didn’t cause enough of a strain, he’d simply add other muscles to the crunch until he squeezed her out of his mind. His body changed noticeably and quickly, and he liked what he saw. It kept others away more as he went, because the stronger he got, the more he knew he could push them away with less and less effort. This armor he wore until he finished high school after his junior year; he thought of coming up to breathe, but somehow the idea of new hope sprung him toward college with a newfound stamina. He’d grown confident enough to begin to control his own ride.

*

He got a job at a grocery store, bagging and stocking shelves in the evenings. After a few months, he bought a car and learned how to drive it during the day, while Dad was at work; Billy had the thing for a couple weeks before Dad knew anything about it. It could have stayed that way, but he needed a little help getting his license. Dad was proud, happy to help, but was busy, very busy: Whatever you need, you got it, but I might not be there at the right time...

Dude, this chick’s checkin’ you out.

Billy bagged and Juan checked. About six months into the job, Billy found himself working full time, eagerly awaiting the beginning of the spring term at the state college. He liked the independence of picking his own moments now, beginning the school year when he wanted, choosing a shift he preferred at the store, staying up late because it suited his sleep tendencies better. He tried to ignore Juan, who was of the opinion that every female creature had been put on this planet for him to fuck.

Dude, Billy, I’m tellin’ you. Turn around and look.

As he grit his teeth more with every flying bunch of bananas and box of cereal and pack of toilet paper and bottle of Pepto Bismol, he grew closer to giving in and listening to a friendly co-worker.

Where? It hadn’t taken long to become completely mechanical bagging groceries; he only wished he had Juan’s chick radar to keep the scenery a bit more interesting.

Just turn around.

Holy Crap.

Remember me? So much familiarity in so little time in such a big place made claustrophobia look possible and completely illogical; she could have been a sledgehammer dropping down the middle of a shaft in which he stood with only enough space for his own body, his heartbeat resonating through the walls.

Sweat forming on forehead, posture gone, tense, no, yes, but in all the wrong places. Where’s the control? Yeah. Jesus. Rachel. Been a while.

So you work here? You live down here now?

Yep. Hey, shit. I wish I had time to talk, but...

Dude. Go. I’ll cover for you. Juan, helping those who can’t help themselves before he helps himself.

Out on the sidewalk, in front of the store, he tried to analyze so many things at once; nothing seemed real, and nothing came through in any picture remotely approaching clear.

This is weird, he said. Awkward. That’s the word I wanted. He wanted to stare at her like a centerfold, but at the same time could hardly look her way.

I didn’t mean to drag you off. I was just on my way out and I saw you and couldn’t remember where from, then I thought oh my god, I know him. He disappeared and never called me a couple years ago.

Yeah. That sucked. How are you now? Had it been that long? He wondered how different he looked.

I’m okay, I guess. I’m with my aunt, who’s somewhere around here. She stopped talking and looked at everything but Billy, who was doing just about the same thing. His Dad had never seen this kind of voltage.

You’re still up the hill there, in the old place?

Yeah. What about you? What school do you go to?

I’m done. Starting up at state in January.

You mean college? How’d you do that? She looked sincerely impressed.

Stopped dating people.

Her clothes had filled out some, but mostly she was the same. Seventeen and beautiful and poised as well as someone with ten years more experience.

Hey, you got funny too. She looked at the ground, and for someone to take her away. This is awkward, isn’t it?

You’re the first person I’ve run into from up there since I left. Sixty miles makes a different world, huh?

Maybe I’ll see you in college. Some louder steps and a new voice zeroed in behind him and the moment was gone. This is my aunt here. Rachel gestured to a 50-ish woman standing behind him with a plastic bag that looked to have maybe one item in it, something to the effect of a pint of booze. The woman had a perm that screamed out oblivious living.

This sucks hugely, Billy thought. Everything felt completely wrong, when everything could be so much better. All the good shit had been locked up in a safe and he was too momentarily stupid to remember the combination when it counted.

It was nice seeing you again, she said. There wasn’t a smile anything like what she’d let him see before. The air grew cooler and Billy felt guilty, stupid and completely inept. If he thought himself physically capable, he’d have run off to a small, secluded area and kicked himself.

Rachel. I’m sorry I didn’t call you.

She said ‘bye’ as she walked away, giving the impression that Billy was the bagger again and nothing more. He just knew he’d never be able to fix the problem, that’s all, and he’d probably be eternally unsatisfied as a result. No big deal there, right?

*

About six months later, he was taking a full load of classes at the state college, and getting his general ed bullshit out of the way as quickly as possible while still working at least thirty hours a week at the grocery store. He turned eighteen and Juan treated him to his first drunk, a party at his friend’s apartment that had a stripper, two actually, and a lot of people with a lot of money that people’d spent in ways Billy’d not yet let himself see. The apartment was huge and open and had nearly forty people in it at one time or another, not really pushing the spacial limitations. The air stagnated, thickly laced with pot smoke, a smell Billy knew and never liked; perfumes of all kinds punctured the pot cloud at odd moments, from Right Guard to Chanel. Some of the partygoers looked like college students, but some looked like professional adults; some were about college age, but didn’t go there, and looked the part with grown-up clothes and haircuts and watches and jewelry and postures that said I get what I want right now and nobody makes me wait.

He tried to take it slow, take in as much as was available to his virgin eyes, until someone would step on his schedule and foist another drink on him, or worse yet, a hit off a joint, to which he’d not even hesitated, even though he’d never wanted it in the past. The timing of everything suddenly seemed right, or at least easily acceptable. He knew full well he stood completely out of his element, but perhaps that right there was the best part of the whole deal. A legal voting-age adult, he could finally go to prison for beating somebody up or committing a minor crime like shoplifting or something else stupid and worthless along the same lines.

Dude, you alright?

Jesus, Juan. Where the hell did you take me?

This is a party. This is what you wanna see when somebody says partay. Look around you. Look at any girl in this place. You see one that even you would think twice about before fucking her? Trust me, answer is no unless you’re gay, and I know you’re not, ‘cause I remember what you looked like after that little hottie ran over you a few months back at work. Am I right or am I right?

I guess so, man. Didn’t think I’d ever see more than three people sniffing coke in one place in my life, but hey, that’s cool. I never wanted to be a cop.

You’re stoned. That’s good. Make sure you don’t drink too much or that buzz is gonna make you hurl. You don’t want that, ‘cause no matter how easy one a these bitches is, they don’t wanna smell puke on your breath, even if it’s on their pussy.

They can smell down there?

If you treat it right... Nah, seriously. I want you to look at something for a second. Look at the people in front of you here. Most of ‘em have one thing in common: You wanna know what it is?

They feel like I do right now?

They have money. More money than guys like you or me are ever supposed to see. Now I know you go to college and that’s cool and all, but it ain’t gonna get you money. They tell you 40 grand a year’s good, but it’s shit. Most a these cats can spend that in a week, no problem. I ain’t sayin’ they do it all the time, but it ain’t a big thing.

Yeah, money, again.

That’s not it though, Juan continued. Most a these muthafuckas don’t work. Some of ‘em get it from mommy and daddy, but even some a them need other sources of income. A lotta these cats in here hook up like this every day.

Sounds expensive.

That’s the way it goes.

So what the hell are we doing here?

That depends on how much you really wanna know.

When Billy hesitated in responding, Juan strolled across the room and grabbed the attention of a big-titted, hard-bodied blonde who was still dressed, got close to her hair, moved around behind her and made sure Billy was watching. He slid his fingers across her chest and popped the buttons off the vest she wore and exposed her breasts, dancing with her as he did, and winked at Billy. He took her hand and disappeared into another room, leaving Billy to be dazzled further by the rest, as though he just noticed the bass booming from the speakers that must have been strung all around the apartment, if that’s what it could be called.

How do you like the place, someone on his right side asked of his ear.

Billy turned to his left first, then to his right, and saw yet another hot blonde with an admirable rack; there was something about her speech that made the plastic rack worth more. She sounded smarter than much of the crowd looked.

Is this really an apartment?

It’s a loft, she said. You like it?

It’s definitely a lot bigger than others I’ve seen. Very nice.

So you don’t like it?

He didn’t get why he should like it or not. He didn’t care. And he was too variously buzzed to actively not like much of anything, especially the woman speaking in his direction.

I love it, he offered. What’s your name?

Peach.

That’s nice. Makes me hungry. Right into her eyes. Is this your place?

It’s my boyfriend’s. He’s around here somewhere. You like my name?

What the fuck? Yeah. I like it.

You like my tits?

He couldn’t help but blush. His present league was far below bush, even fucked up on grass.

You don’t need to be nervous. It’s just that you seem interested in them, so I thought I’d ask.

You always care so much about what people like?

No. I don’t. But I’m interested in you. How do you know Juan?

From work. We work together. You know Juan? It didn’t add up. Juan ran steaks and pantyhose over a scanner. He was nice to total strangers for hours on end on a daily basis in a stupid polyester vest with a plastic name tag pinned to it.

Juan’s my boyfriend. You must be Billy?

Oh, you’ve heard of me? Excuse me if I seem kinda drunk. It’s because I am. He turned to put his hand out in front of her to shake, but couldn’t feel anything in return. He thought maybe this was a kind of life where people didn’t do that.

You’re very cute. Excuse me for a moment, Billy. She walked, no,