Mr. Undesirable

By AuthorHouse

Lenny Kapowski
is a dirt poor, foul mouthed, porn addicted, binge
drinking, malcontent. Life has spent fifteen solid years of kicking him when he
was down and he has never done anything to change his lot. But, in one lucky
moment, Lenny wins a giant lottery jackpot, and he finally sees the path to his
redemption. For Lenny, redemption comes in the form of revenge on the man he
blames for his life’s woes, Dr. Wayne Stevens.

In high school, Lenny was to take
the doctor’s daughter to the Senior Prom, but at the last second her father put
a stop to that idea. At a pre-Prom gathering in the exclusive planned community
of Rambling Hills, Dr. Stevens forbade Lenny from taking his daughter to the
Prom and humiliated the young man in front of his classmates and their parents.
The doctor simply would not have his only daughter associating with such--
undesirables.

Now pushing thirty, Lenny is a
very rich man. Still, after a life with no focus or drive, what good is all
that money? Lenny’s only goal is to reap his vengeance on Dr. Stevens and the
residents of the snobbish Rambling Hills Community. Along with his best friend,
Norm Grubnik, and his attorney/terrorist, Calvin
Greenlee, Lenny sets out on a plan to topple the doctor’s ivory tower. Lenny
will be the vicarious champion for the downtrodden. The
elitist’s worst nightmare. White trash with cash.
Lenny will be the worst thing they could ever imagine.

He will be their neighbor.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 14, 2004
• ISBN: 9781414038544

Book preview

Chapter 1

1. The Bonehead Play

1985.

Great fucking year.

I was fifteen and carefree. The world was going my way. I drank free beer every night. Each one of my friends had a driver’s license and absentee parents.

It was without a doubt the greatest time in my life.

Unfortunately, this story begins in 1987.

Life had gone south. My dad lost his job when Reaganomics closed the steel mill, and I was about to graduate into a job market full of displaced steelworkers. The county probation department took my beer, the dirty fuckers. My girlfriend left me because she couldn’t date a criminal, the dirty bitch.

Generally, my life had sucked since 1986. Mom and Dad were making it, barely, but they couldn’t hand out the free money the way they used to. No big deal, I thought. I’ll get a job. It struck me like the lightbulb must have struck Edison. ‘I know what I’ll do! I’ll get a job! I’m fucking brilliant! Why didn’t I think of that before?’

So I got a job working the counter at Burger Hell. I lasted about a week.

For some reason, the general public seems to think that they are better than people who work fast food. I couldn’t believe the way some of these bastards spoke to me. Some were condescending; some were just plain mean. And I don’t have the right attitude to deal with that. Apparently there is a part in my brain that takes the words, ‘Would you like fries with that?’ and translates them into ‘How would you like these fries shoved up your ass?’

So I got fired.

Then I got a job at Pizza Hell. Followed by Chicken Hell, Taco Hell, Waffle Hell, and back to Burger Hell. A different Burger Hell.

I was also fired from all of these. I couldn’t quit attacking the customers or the managers. They started it, but I just couldn’t let it go. I have a very low threshold for bullshit. The second Burger Hell got rid of me for ‘smart assing’ the manager. That’s what he called it on the write-up paper. Smart assing. I liked the sound of that. All I did was ask a simple question. If I learn how to piss and moan in a tie, can I be important, too?

Guess not.

Well, anyway, life sucked.

Maybe life sucking so badly was the reason for my next bonehead play. It was unbelievably ridiculous. No one could believe I had the balls. Not even Norm, my best friend, who would sometimes believe anything.

I asked Amber Stevens to the prom.

Even as the words were tumbling out of my mouth the thought kept running through my head, ‘What the fuck are you doing?’

I wanted to reel the question back into my mouth, but it was too late. It was out there. I could see the words hovering in the air between us as we stood in the crowded high school hallway. Everything went silent and people stopped in their tracks and waited. Waited for Amber to shoot me down. I held my breath and waited for Amber to shoot me down, too.

To everyone’s surprise, she said, Yes.

Everyone’s surprise?

Hell, it was more surprising to me.

Amber Stevens was going to the prom with me. Lenny Kapowski.

Holy shit! I couldn’t fucking believe it. I finally knew what people meant when they said that they felt ‘all bubbly inside’. I just stood there stunned for the longest time. Stunned and excited.

Amber Stevens was the prettiest girl in school. She always had been, since I first saw her in fifth grade. Amber just seemed to get more and more attractive as the years went by. Eighth grade coed gym class with Amber was incredibly hard on the boys. Pun intended. She even made the hideous blue nylon shorts, which we were forced to wear, look good.

Eighth grade was one thing, but in high school, Amber ruled.

She had long, blonde hair. Not too straight or too curly. The kind of hair every girl in school would have killed for. And she had these big blue eyes. If I was a poet I would try to describe them to you, but I’m not, so I won’t. Amber had a body of mythical proportions. She played volleyball and ran track, which gave her the build and the shape that launched at least a thousand wet dreams.

On top of all these physical traits, she was smart. Amber ended up being the valedictorian of our class. She was kind and sweet. Never a bad word about anyone. Amber had it all. Looks, brains, and a great personality. The total package.

Perfect.

So perfect, in fact, that I began to wonder what the hell she was thinking, going to the prom with me. Her friends would never let her live it down. I heard them talking in the halls at school.

Did you hear who Amber Stevens is going to the prom with? one girl would say.

Yes, I did! Lenny Kapowski! Isn’t that sad? invariably came the response.

Fucking evil bitches. They knew I could hear them. All that loud whispering bullshit was for my benefit.

And exactly what was so ‘sad’ about it? I was a hell of a guy. Sure, my family didn’t have the money that their families had. But I was a good guy. Of course, I realized that I was dating way out of my league, but so what? Amber was one of the rich kids. Her dad was a doctor and a prominent member of the community, but Amber never put on airs of being better than anyone else.

I decided to ignore all the jabs that would be coming my way. After all, I was going to take the hottest girl in school to the prom. So they could all fucking blow me.

One piece of reality came up and kicked me in the ass, though. I needed a shitload of money and I had no job. I was between Hells.

As best friends often do, Norm came through for me.

His brother, Donald, managed the multi-plex at the mall and he let me work after school as an usher. That was pretty great of Donald to take me on, knowing what a smart-ass I had been in my previous jobs. I determined not to make him regret hiring me. I had three weeks until prom night. Surely I could keep my attitude subdued long enough to get me through the date.

The job was harder than I thought it would be.

My old nemesis, the public, came to the movies. Some of them blew me shit, but I just smiled and took it. Sometimes I nearly bit my tongue off restraining its venom. But I did well. Never slipped up once. I was very proud of myself.

But then I discovered a new problem.

Even working every night up to the prom, I wouldn’t have enough money.

I mentioned this to Donald and he came through for me again. He let me stay after closing to clean the building for cash under the table. Twenty-five dollars a night to clean nine theaters, four bathrooms and the lobby. Donald was taking advantage of me, but I figured, ‘fuck it. It’s money I didn’t have.’

On my one day off each week I talked to Amber on the phone. She said she was flattered that I was working so hard to give her a special date. We talked for hours on end, about everything and nothing. We finished each other’s sentences. It was amazing how perfect it seemed. I found myself thinking that she could be The One. I didn’t mind working all the time and getting only two hours of sleep each night if that was the price I had to pay to show this incredible girl how much I liked her.

I couldn’t believe all the things we had in common. Amber liked the same music, the same movies, TV shows, and books that I did. We hated a lot of the same things, too. She said she hated the cliques at school. Even though she was included with the most popular kids, Amber was embarrassed by the way some of her friends acted. I hated her friends, too. We were perfect for each other.

We went together like Kennedy’s and head wounds.

One night I told her that I thought we should have a pre-prom date, just to get to know each other better. She agreed, and it was all planned out. I was going to take her to a nice restaurant for dinner and right back home. Just a quick get-to-know-you date. We both talked about how we couldn’t wait.

But Donald had other plans. He made me work on my usual night off. It was completely illegal for him to allow me to work the hours I was working anyway. And if Donald would break the law to help me out, who was I to turn him down.

Besides, he said he’d fire me, and I still needed more prom money.

I told Amber, knowing that she would be disappointed. But she wasn’t. All she asked was, Do you know how to work the projectors?

Of course, I lied.

Then I’ll sneak out and come to the theater and we can watch a movie after the place closes, she said. It was a great idea. A little shared larceny is a great way to bond with someone. Look what it did for Bonnie and Clyde. And the Manson Family.

That night at work I watched the projectionist very closely. No problem. I could do that. The modern projectors almost ran themselves anyway.

The theatre closed at eleven on weeknights and Donald was gone at ten after.

At midnight a piece of shit Sunbird pulled into the parking lot and Amber climbed out of it. I thought it was cool that we had another thing in common. We both drove junk.

I unlocked the door and let her in. Great! You made it.

A free movie? she said. I’m not missing that.

What do want to see? I asked.

What’s playing?

Let’s walk down the hall and see what looks good, I suggested.

We walked past Spaceballs, Three Men and a Baby, and Angel Heart.

Amber settled on Night of the Demons.

This girl was so cool. That was what I wanted to see.

I told you she was perfect.

We watched the movie in silence, both of us intent on the screen, but our minds were elsewhere. When Amber reached over and took my hand I almost jumped. But I didn’t, and we held hands through the rest of the movie.

At a little after two a.m., I walked Amber to her car.

Thanks, Lenny. I had a wonderful time.

Sure, sure, I said, a little unsure of what to say next. Then it hit me. Um, I had a great time, too.

Then she kissed me.

It was a quick little peck on the lips, but that counts.

See you in school tomorrow, Amber said. Or something to that effect. I was still buzzing on the kiss.

Y-Y-Yeah, I stammered. Good night, Amber.

She got in the piece of shit Sunbird and drove away.

After that, the three weeks flew by.

In no time, the money I had nearly killed myself getting seemed to evaporate. Between tickets to the Enchanted Autumn prom, flowers, tuxedo rental and my after prom cash, I was broke in no time. The only thing that was missing was a decent car to drive. I realized too late that I had to take Amber to the prom in my broken down, rust-bucket Ford Pinto. God, I hoped it would make it. That car made me walk more times than I care to remember. If it broke down on the way to the prom, I was fucked.

The Pinto was powder blue between rust spots. It smoked something fierce. There was a crack in the windshield. I had to use vise-grips to open the driver’s door. The passenger door’s window crank sat in the console between the two ripped up bucket seats. You had to fit it onto the shaft every time you wanted to roll the window down. I had an 8-track player with a Sparkomatic cassette adapter. The dash was riddled with cracks in the vinyl and the dingy, yellow foam showed through. The headliner hung down in several places, but I held it up with thumbtacks. I called this machine The Chick Magnet.

I cleaned it and waxed it, rust spots and all. But no matter how hard you try, you just can’t polish a turd.

I wasn’t overly worried though. Amber wouldn’t care about what kind of car I drove. She wasn’t like that. Not like all of her friends. And, besides, her car wasn’t so hot either. We had something special building between us. Something special that would allow no caste system bullshit to stand in the way of our burgeoning love.

The Chick Magnet was merely the mode of transportation to our magical evening.

2. The Cocktail Party

Amber asked me to pick her up at six. Her parents were hosting a cocktail party for the parents of our friends from school and they wanted to take pictures of us in our prom clothes. I would be merely unattractive background in these pictures of Amber, but I was fine with that. I was still going to be in the picture.

These friends she spoke of were definitely no friends of mine. They were the snobs. Rich kids, who by the way, proms were invented for. Having my balls pounded flat with a rubber mallet actually seemed preferable to spending the evening with these uppity pricks, but they were Amber’s friends, so I would smile and be nice and laugh at all their stupid jokes. I would also ignore the snide comments that I knew would be coming my way. I had just recently learned how to grin and bear it at my job at the movie theater. I knew I could take anything they dished out. I just had to keep in mind the same thing that I thought of at my job. ‘It is for Amber. Don’t kill anyone, for Amber.’

Dutifully, I pulled the Chick Magnet through the gates of Rambling Hills at five minutes to six.

This place was unbelievable. Every house was a testament to America being the land of opportunity. And excess. These houses were so fucking big I thought many of them would have gift shops with souvenirs to mark your visit. You could fit several houses the size of my house into one of these high art airplane hangars. Every lawn was perfectly manicured. Every house was tastefully decorated and all the color schemes seemed to blend together to form a picture of oneness and cooperation.

I was completely lost. Not in the literal sense, but in terms of knowing my environment. As I looked down the curving street at all the perfect homes I was struck by what was missing. There were no cars on blocks. No one had an old refrigerator in their yard. This place was utterly alien.

Rambling Hills was a planned community. Art Dennings, the biggest contractor in town, built each house with a specific goal, to make this community the pride of our fair city. To even purchase land in this area you had to sign a contract agreeing to spend at least $500,000 on your home.

And it had paid off handsomely for Mr. Dennings. He owned the biggest house in the subdivision, the prime piece of real estate in Rambling Hills. The house right next to the golf course. His golf course, in fact.

Everyone who was anyone lived in Rambling Hills.

I lived on the other side of town. Fittingly, I had to cross several sets of tracks to get out to Rambling Hills.

Amber’s house was right in the front, although house was a bad word to describe it. Amber lived in a Midwestern palace. For all I knew this place must have cost ten million dollars.

I pulled my Pinto to a smoke-belching stop as close to the Stevens residence as I could. I got out of my junk car and walked past the long row of fancy automobiles belonging to the party guests. Every car there cost at least as much as my house. Never in my life had I truly felt intimidated, but I did right then. My nervousness doubled as I stepped onto the porch and stretched a slightly trembling finger out to ring the bell. I began to pull my finger back. I didn’t think I could ring the bell. As soon as I did there would be no turning back. I could just go back to my car and turn it the hell around and take my ass back to the right side of town. I knew I didn’t belong out here, out in the land of the privileged. Not me, not my kind. I belonged ankle deep in french fry grease with a paper hat and an overpowering sense of desperation. That, I understood, was to be my lot in life.

I had almost made up my mind to leave when I suddenly surprised myself by lunging at the button. What was I thinking? Standing up Amber Stevens at the prom? Not a fucking chance.

I heard the bell ring from the other side of the door and after several agonizing minutes, it opened. Amber’s father stood there in the doorway holding a martini glass, obviously a little buzzed. He looked puzzled when he saw me standing there in my rented tux. I could tell he recognized how out of place I was. It couldn’t have been very difficult.

Yes?

Mr. Stevens? I asked.

It’s Dr. Stevens, he corrected me sharply. "I didn’t go to medical school to be called Mister, young man."

Uh, sorry, I stammered. Dr. Stevens. My name is Leonard Kapowski and I’m here to take Amber to the prom.

His face was stone as he looked me up and down. I stood there, awkwardly still, as if moving meant automatic disapproval. Something in his eyes spelled out bad news. The doctor looked out at the row of cars in front of his house and immediately zeroed in on the Chick Magnet. Undisguised disappointment washed over his face and he let out an audible sigh as he reluctantly let me into the house.

Amber is still upstairs getting ready. Have a seat, he said, waving his martini glass toward a chair by the door. I sat down and watched him walk up the stairs, calm and expressionless.

The sounds of the party drifted up from the back of the house. It wasn’t exactly the kind of party I was used to. For one thing it was quiet. Soft music and polite conversation. Intermittent laughter. I had never been to a party without Motley Crue or Iron Maiden cranked up on the stereo and at least one person yelling drunkenly. There wasn’t any pot smell either. It sounded more like intermission at an insurance seminar than a party.

The grandfather clock in the corner ticked away a large portion of my life while I sat patiently in the entryway waiting for Amber.

Then I heard the voices from upstairs.

I will have no daughter of mine running around with… with… Dr. Stevens sputtered angrily, looking for the right word to adequately express his distaste for me. .undesirables!

He found the word.

Undesirable? Me?

Fuck him.

Amber stuck up for me, though. I’m going to the prom with Lenny, no matter how undesirable he is!

That is sort of sticking up for me, I guess.

The argument upstairs was growing heated when Amber’s mother came out to see what was going on. I stood up.

She looked alarmed at the exchange upstairs. Between nervous glances upward she introduced herself. Hello. I’m Marion Stevens, Amber’s mother.

Pleased to meet you Mrs. Stevens. I’m Leonard Kapowski. Amber’s date.

Well, Leonard, she said, taking my arm and leading me to the back of the house, Come back and join the party. We’ve got punch.

Thank you, I said, steeling myself for the gauntlet of snobs that awaited.

When Mrs. Stevens brought me into the room everyone looked at us in the doorway. Seeing that it was only me, they quickly went back to their plastic conversations. I was obviously nobody important.

I stood there, alone in a room full of people, drinking a glass of punch and wondering if I was being overly sensitive to their reactions. Were they supposed to jump for joy? ‘Hooray! Someone we don’t know!’

The kids I knew from school didn’t even approach me. They huddled together and whispered things I couldn’t quite hear, while looking at me and laughing. They were like vultures, waiting for me to die so they could swoop in and pick my bones. The whole room was watching me, yet trying to look like they weren’t. I felt like an animal in the zoo. I decided that I was not being overly sensitive. These people were pricks. The ones that knew me should have brought me into a conversation or something. Decency dictated that much. However, decency was the last thing I could expect from this crowd. The fucking dickheads from school had to have learned how to be such snobbish bastards from someone.

Their parents.

Jeff Dennings, Mr. Stud football star, was the ringleader of this clique. He was also the front runner to be Prom King and Most Likely to Achieve Godhood. His dad was the man who built and essentially owned Rambling Hills. Jeff’s date was the effervescent Tiara Butler, the model for all aspiring stuck-up bitch cheerleaders. She liked to put up a front of a bubbly enthusiasm to make everyone think she was human. But she couldn’t fool me. Her father was a plastic surgeon. Tiara had him to thank for her perfect little button nose. Her nose wasn’t like that in eighth grade. It miraculously grew smaller during the summer before high school started. She would never admit to having her nose done, though.

Cindy Dennings, Jeff’s little sister, was there with Thomas Bennett. Cindy was known as promiscuous. Had her family not been rich, she would have been known as just a whore. Thomas Bennett’s father owned a factory that made electronic circuit boards. He and Cindy were perfect for each other. Vapid and horny enough to hump a doorknob.

Danny Maitland and Mandy Pritchett rounded out the cast of nasties. Danny’s father was a corporate lawyer. One of the ones that helped my dad’s company put him out of a job, and turn a profit doing it. Mandy’s father was a real estate shark who owned a bunch of small businesses and properties all over town. Danny was just a generally obnoxious asshole. Mandy was fucking mean. She never said a civil word if she could help it. A total ballbreaker and all around cunt. (If you are offended by the word cunt, I assure you it is accurate here. I reserve that word for only the women who earn it. And don’t tell me you don’t know one.)

So there they are. The rich kids. You’ll notice that I wrote their father’s occupation as a description. That is because in high school their identities were determined by their status. Upper class, middle class, lower class. Thou shalt not mix. It took some time, years actually, but eventually I understood why they behaved the way they did.

They had nothing.

Their parent’s money was the extent of who they were. It’s kind of sad when you think about it like that.

But at that point I didn’t think of it like that at all. I despised the lousy fucks.

I quietly stared into my glass of punch and waited for Amber, as time stood still.

To my surprise and dread, Mandy Pritchett actually walked over to me. The crowd of high school vultures watched intently as she approached.

Gee, Lenny. You look like you feel out of place here? Mandy said sweetly. Almost as if she gave a shit about how I felt.

Yeah, a little I guess, I answered sheepishly, waiting for the attack and not knowing how to react when it came.

Well, that’s because you are, she cackled, leading the vultures into peals of laughter. She walked back to the group, giggling evilly.

I steeled myself against the rising outburst. I fought valiantly to refrain from saying or doing anything that would upset Amber or her parents. I was on thin ice as it was with Dr. Stevens.

So, I did the best thing I could do. I followed my grandfather’s favorite piece of advice.

Ignore shit until you step in it.

As much as I would have liked to, I couldn’t just leave. Uncomfortable was not a sufficient word for how I felt. I tried to shrink into the room, to be unnoticed. To stand quietly, alone with my sweaty tuxedo and my glass of punch. I was truly miserable, hoping against hope that all this would be worth it. I ran through a quick little fantasy in my head of mowing down the entire room with a machine gun. I had to discard that one as a working plan, though. Amber probably wouldn’t go to the prom with me if I killed her parents and all her friends. Chicks are weird like that.

My ice cubes had completely melted into pink water in the bottom of my glass by the time Dr. Stevens entered the room carrying his empty martini glass. I looked to see if Amber was following behind, but she wasn’t. Still getting ready, I supposed. The doctor walked over to me.

Looks like we’re both dry, he said, raising his glass. Let’s get a refill and then step outside and have a little talk, Leonard.

Dr. Stevens mixed himself a fresh martini, I helped myself to more punch, and we stepped out onto the front porch.

Leonard, I guess you might have heard some of what I said upstairs.

I remained quiet. ‘I heard you all right, asshole,’ I thought.

You have to understand, Amber is my only child. And a daughter at that. Right or wrong, there is a difference to having a daughter and having a son. You have to protect your little girl a lot more. Even when she doesn’t think she needs to be protected. Do you see what I’m getting at?

I nodded and said nothing.

"Amber is a smart girl and she has a bright future ahead of her. If she plays her cards right. I don’t want to see her make any mistakes that could jeopardize that.

Come around to the garage, I want to show you something.

I followed Dr. Stevens to the side of the house to the attached three-car garage. He walked to the farthest door and punched in a code on a number pad beside it. The door began to open, slowly revealing a beautiful, cherry red 1965 Mustang convertible. It had black leather interior and chrome that gleamed even in the dimly lit garage. The sunset streaked over the man-made lake across from the Stevens house and danced over the flawless metal in his garage. It even had a pair of fuzzy dice hanging from the rearview mirror.

What do you think of that, Leonard? Dr. Stevens asked with obvious pride. He knew I was impressed and he liked that.

This is a beautiful car you have here, Dr. Stevens, I answered admiringly.

Yes, it is a beautiful car, he started. "But it’s not mine. It belongs to Amber. I bought it for her a couple of days ago.

She has been driving that piece of junk long enough to prove to me that she could be responsible for such a fine automobile as this. The Sunbird has darkened my driveway for far too long actually. And does she ever love this car! We have been out here waxing and fussing over this since I brought it home.

We both admired it quietly for a moment before Dr. Stevens led me out of the garage and punched in another code and the door slid down.

I was taking in the sun setting over the lake when Dr. Stevens noticed what I was looking at.

Lovely view, isn’t it? he asked, joining me in a gaze at the water.

Yes, it is, I agreed.

Notice the gentle slope of the land in the foreground, how it draws the eye to the edge of the water, the doctor said, motioning slowly with his martini glass, like some kind of symphony conductor, tracing the slight curve of the land in the air before us. I get up every morning and eat breakfast in the front window and look out over my lake. It puts me in the proper mood for the day.

Your lake? I asked, although I wouldn’t have been a bit surprised to know that he owned his own lake.

Well, technically, no. It’s not my lake, he explained. You see, the property in front of the lake belongs to Rambling Hills. It would be a perfect place to build another home, but that will never happen.

Why not? I asked, genuinely curious.

When I bought this home it was the first home in Rambling Hills. I made an agreement with Art Dennings. I would buy this house as long as he promised to leave the land across the street vacant so that I could always see the lake. If a house were built on that property the lake would no longer be in my front yard. It would be in their backyard.

So Mr. Dennings signed a contract agreeing not to build there, just so you could see the lake? Seems like he is losing quite a bit of money by not selling it. I said.

Well, yes and no, he answered. "We don’t need a contract. We have a gentleman’s agreement. When I first moved out here, the whole planned community idea was a risky proposition for a contractor. I bought the first house and paid for it up front, which lent Mr. Dennings a degree of financial security in this venture. I have a reputation in this town, as I’m sure you know, and my presence here helped attract others to Rambling Hills. My only stipulation on buying this place was that he could not build in anyway that would block my view of this."

The doctor waved his glass broadly, trying to encompass the entire landscape in the arc of his arm. I got the impression that I was being given ‘The Tour of Things You’ll Never Have!’

So, I guess you see why I can’t let you take Amber to the prom, Dr. Stevens said, out of the blue.

What? I asked, unsure if I had heard him correctly. Did we just go from discussing the lake to an explanation of why I couldn’t go out with Amber? How the fuck did that happen?

"Look, Leonard. You seem like a nice boy, but let’s be honest. Dating is a process that young people go through in order to meet the person they are going to marry. That is essentially its only purpose. Sure, I’ll concede that some dates are just for fun, but how do you know? Your intentions could just be a nice time at the prom, but things could happen. Amber likes you enough to go out with you, maybe she would accidentally fall in love with you and then where would she be?

If the two of you established a relationship, nothing good could possibly come of it. I’ve asked around about you, Leonard. It is not very reassuring. Your father is an unemployed steelworker, right? You work at a movie theater. Now, could that really be a good life for Amber to become a part of. She is going to be a doctor, like me. She has expensive tastes to which she has become accustomed. A person like you, from your background, could never hope to provide her with the things she needs out of life.

I was taken aback, to say the least. This man had calmly and most eloquently told me I was a piece of shit with no future, as matter-of-factly as if explaining to a child why the sky was blue. He had planned this whole speech. He had thought out every thing he would say to me and then delivered the words in the most patronizing way possible. Was I supposed to just say ‘Yeah, you’re right. I am a no good piece of shit’ and then get in the Chick Magnet and drive away? Is that what he expected?

And about my dad being an unemployed steelworker. That was true. Through no fault of his own he was out of a job that he had given more than twenty-five years of his life to. But this arrogant prick just said ‘unemployed steelworker’ like it was some kind of disease that bad people got. I had news for this lowlife sonofabitch. Even with all his money and nice house and fancy cars, he was unworthy to even stand in the presence of my father. My dad was ten times the man that the doctor could ever hope to be. Anyone can hold a life together when you have money. Try it when you are broke and see how easy it is.

For once I had no smart-ass comment to make. I was fighting the urge to punch the bastard in his upturned nose. I had never wanted to take a swing at anyone in my life as much as I wanted to right then. I wanted to pound his head into a pulp and kick his dying body as his blood ran down the driveway. I wanted to make him apologize for being such a shit.

But I also wanted to go out with his daughter.

A war raged in my heart. Rip into Dr. Stevens and go to jail, get my parents sued, and prove to him that he was right about me or just keep my mouth shut and take his abuse.

I was drowning in a swirl of conflicting emotions.

3. Welcome to Dumpsville, population: me

Amber’s mother rescued me.

Leonard, Amber is almost ready, she said, casting a slightly scolding look toward her husband. Why don’t you join us inside for more punch?

Thank you, ma’am, I said politely, grateful for her intervention in my little crisis. I knew she had overheard some of our conversation, how much I didn’t know. She didn’t seem at all happy with the good doctor. And I enjoyed the almost cowed look that came over his face. I would love more punch.

She motioned me ahead of her to the front door. On the way in I heard her whisper-yelling at her husband. That’s it, I thought, lean on him.

I walked back to the party and left the happy couple to their fight.

The whispers started up again as soon as I entered the room and I was getting really pissed off. Dr. Stevens had already laid the groundwork for an incredible explosion of anger, should I let my guard down for a second. The antisocial malcontent inside of me was straining to get out of the cage in which I had so carefully locked it away. It was rattling the bars and roaring, but on the outside I was all smiles and pleasantness. In my mind I repeated a mantra.

Be polite. Keep it cool. Be polite. Keep it cool.

Every once in a while, when I overheard a particularly nasty barb, a fuck these lousy cocksuckers slipped into my mantra, but I maintained the inner peace that I desperately needed to get through the party. I knew the prom would be a piece of cake if I could just make it out of the belly of the beast.

All too soon, Dr. Stevens returned. I hated the sight of the arrogant bastard. He went to the bar and fixed another martini, all the while talking loudly to anyone who cared to listen about how I was out of Amber’s league. He said that he had asked around about me and he took the drunken opportunity to announce his findings to the assembled snobs. They were titillated to know all the sordid details about how poor people lived. I don’t think they had ever been this close to a working class person in their lives. At least, not socially. Most of the parents here were employers in some form or another and had underlings, but that relationship ended at quitting time. Now, here was a worker bee in their very midst, their element. They looked at me like I was a germ in their sterile little world.

Where the fuck did they get off treating people like this? I felt like I was going to blow up.

Be polite. Keep it cool.

And somehow I did.

Time has a way of dragging its feet when you’re a bug in a jar, but eventually Amber joined the party, and took all the unwanted attention away from me.

All the snickers, whispers and insults were pushed from my mind as soon as I looked at her. Oh my God! She was even more beautiful than usual. I was dumbstruck. No one else in the room existed at that moment, just Amber and I. She looked at me and smiled and I thought I might die right there on the spot. I have never been able to describe her beauty adequately. I tried to once, to Norm. I said, Have you ever seen a woman so beautiful that the mere act of laying your eyes on her was physically painful? Like you had been struck and yet still couldn’t look away?

No, he replied. What are you? Some kind of fag poet?

Anyway, Amber walked right over to me and kissed me on the lips. I think she really did like me, but I knew the kiss was also intended to really piss her dad off. Hi, Lenny.

Hi, Amber, I said, stunned by the kiss. I knew I must have looked stupid, standing there with the surprised look on my face, but I didn’t care. Fuck whatever these people thought. This was why I was here. For Amber. Not for any of these assholes. For her and her only.

We stood there in silence for a moment. I didn’t know what to say or do. I just wanted to stand there and look at her.

Is that for me? she asked, glancing down at the box in my hands.

‘Is what for you?’ I asked myself, quickly realizing that she meant the corsage. At first I thought she had noticed my erection.

‘’Um….yeah. It’s a corsage," I stammered.

Idiot! Of course, it’s a corsage.

The box gave me a little trouble when I tried to open it, but not much and it gave up the corsage without a real fight. I looked around for a place to set the box, as I would need both hands to pin the flowers on Amber’s dress. I couldn’t believe that this thing had cost me almost twenty dollars. There wasn’t much to it. But it seemed to make Amber happy, so it was well worth the twenty bucks.

I moved in slowly, not wanting to stick her with the pin as I applied the corsage to her dress. In my mind I ran through ideas on how to do this without looking like I was trying to feel her up. I came up with nothing, so I decided to just go for it.

I needn’t have worried. Just as I was about to pin the corsage on, Dr. Stevens appeared from nowhere and plucked it from my hands.

Daddy! Amber shrieked in anger and embarrassment. She looked mortified.

I didn’t know what to do or what to say. The whole room went deadly silent. All eyes and ears locked on Dr. Stevens, Amber and myself.

Amber, my dear sweet daughter, Dr. Stevens began. If you leave this house with this.this.

Undesirable? I offered.

Yes. Yes. Undesirable, he said, casting a look at me as if to thank me for the help. If you go out with this undesirable, I am taking the Mustang back!

Daddy! Amber shrieked again. I was thinking she probably did that a lot.

I mean it, Princess. I’ll take it back, he threatened.

Amber looked to her mother imploringly. Mom?

Mrs. Stevens just looked away.

Apparently, she had lost the argument outside.

The room remained frozen in silence as my heart sank. Never in all my life had I been treated so poorly. Never had I taken this kind of abuse. Even the ever-present antisocial malcontent stopped rattling the cage. I was beaten down. The fight had left me.

Mentally, I urged Amber to take a stand. Come on, I prodded, hoping she could pick up on my brainwaves. Tell him to shove the car up his ass. It will be great. Romantic, in a John Hughes high school movie kind of way. Come on, Amber. Tell him.

Well, her father said. Decide, Amber. Decide right now.

The confusion on her face wasn’t a good sign. I searched her features hopefully, looking for anything that said she was going to side with me. It wasn’t there.

Him or the car. What’s it gonna be, Princess?

I knew what her answer was to be, but it didn’t ease the blow when she finally said, I’m sorry, Lenny. I can’t go with you.

I took one last look into her eyes. She really was sorry. It was obvious that she hated having to make this decision. That didn’t make me feel any better, though.

I died a little.

Without a word, I walked out of the house amid the scattered laughter and the shards of my shattered heart. I heard Jeff Dennings call out Better luck next time, Kapowski! followed by more laughs.

The wind had been so thoroughly taken out of my sails that I didn’t even have the energy to tell him to fuck himself. I simply slunk away.

As I was climbing into the Chick Magnet, Amber ran from the house and out to my car. Lenny! Wait!

I stopped. Did she change her mind? Was she coming, after all?

Lenny, I really am sorry, she said, looking down at her pink-dyed shoes. It’s just that… I have wanted that car forever and…

Don’t worry about it, I interrupted, the brand new rejection sinking in. Who could blame you? It’s a sweet car. I understand.

You do? she asked, doubtfully.

Perfectly, I said, as calmly as I could, and slid into the driver’s seat. She watched as I vainly tried to start my piece of shit Pinto. The car seemed to sense that I really, really, really didn’t want to be there right then and maliciously refused to start. I cranked the battery down to nothing, then, just as calmly, got out of the car and gently shut the door.

Could you tell your father that my car won’t start and that I’ll be back for it tonight?

Yeah, sure, she said. Lenny, I’m sorry. I really am.

Hey, I understand, I assured her. I looked her right in the eyes. But let me tell you this. If the shoe was on the other foot, I would drive a thousand Mustangs into the ocean before I would ever do this to you.

I turned from her and began the long walk home.

She looked like she was hurt.

I hoped that she was.

Three hours later, when I returned with my dad and his pick up truck and chain, the good doctor had already had my car towed away.

Chapter 2

1. My Miserable Fucking Life

Fast forward to 1998.

I was twenty-nine years old and I had nothing. Not even any prospects. Look up ‘loser’ in the dictionary and you would find my picture. My entire adult life had consisted of one dead end job after another, and repeated firings from the few decent jobs that I lucked into. I couldn’t seem to go a whole year without an incident. Is it my fault that all of my employers were complete fuckheads?

At least, I didn’t still live with my parents. Technically.

I rented the apartment above their garage.

I couldn’t beat the deal. Fifty dollars a month and paid utilities. The carbon monoxide thing was a concern, but for the price, I took that risk. Besides, if I died, big fucking deal. I didn’t have a lot to lose.

My love life was non-existent. I was working at Pizza Hell again, which didn’t help. Contrary to what you see in the porno movies, women just aren’t dying to fuck the pizza guy. Occasionally, a fat chick would come on to me, but that was probably just because I smelled like garlic.

I didn’t look much better than I did in high school. I feel like I always had the potential to be fairly good looking, if it were not for a few minor things. I have never had any fashion sense. Black concert T-shirts go good with jeans and sneakers. Who needs more than that? With my thick-framed glasses and pudgy midsection, I sort of resemble a studious toad at a chocolate lovers heavy metal party. While not hideous, I have never been a pleasant surprise to a blind date.

Girlfriends had come and gone over the years, but not many. I had one long-term relationship and actually came to within a few months of getting married. The divorce would have followed quickly after, I’m sure. I can be a real bastard.

After realizing how bad I really was, I decided to do the right thing and remain single. I didn’t want to be with a woman simply for companionship when there were no other feelings toward her.

And I couldn’t justify inflicting myself on someone I truly liked. Being alone seemed like the best solution. And for the most part I always enjoyed the solitude. I had to answer to no one; I did exactly as I pleased. It was good.

Of course, I had to continually hear about the grandchildren I was robbing my mother of, and my dad thought I was gay. He could not imagine a man who wouldn’t do absolutely anything to get laid. It seems like most people can’t open their minds that wide. Wide enough to accept self-control in human males. Granted, speaking in broad generalities, men are deviant fucks. I once had a friend who screwed a couch. But that’s not a fair assessment of all males.

Also a problem, most of my friends were either married or seriously involved with someone. Their wives and girlfriends felt like they had some moral obligation to set me up with one of their single friends. I always objected and never let it go very far. I explained how that if this woman was a true friend, putting her with me was a bad idea. If she still insisted, I would simply ask, So, does she like it up the ass?

That usually put a stop to the nonsense.

The worst part about being alone was that my ex-fiancee was in the newspaper every nine months like clockwork popping out a new kid from the guy she left me for. They had been married for a little over three years and had four children. I never saw her or talked to her anymore, but I still knew what her vagina was up to.

I know, sometimes I come off a little bitter about how things worked out between us. It was not an easy or amicable split. However, it was definitely necessary. Who could blame her? If I weren’t me, I would have left me, too.

But I couldn’t, so I remained alone. Totally alone.

In fact, I only had two steady sexual outlets. One was Gazonga’s, a tiny little dive of a titty bar. Only by the thinnest stretch of the imagination could this place be classified as a gentleman’s club. The girl’s seemed to like me though, because unlike the majority of the other regulars, I bathed before coming in. Sure, Gazonga’s was more of a tease than an outlet, but at least I got to see some naked woman flesh.

The other outlet, sadly, was Challenge Masturbation. Anyone can crank one off to a dirty magazine. Challenge Masturbation is a much more demanding sport. Try beating off to the Jesus channel while thinking pure thoughts. Try spanking your monkey while having a normal phone conversation with your grandmother. Really, go try it. I’ll wait.

Not so easy, is it?

Life was working on fifteen solid years of kicking my ass. Everything was bad, and looking to get worse before it got better. I found it harder and harder to cope with my failures. Suicide was always an option, I often thought, but I wanted to make my suicide memorable.

I fantasized about going to the mall at Christmas time, dressed as Santa Claus. When the real Santa took a cigarette break I would take his place, let a few kids sit on my lap and tell me what they wanted. Suddenly, I would jump up and scream, YOU LITTLE BASTARDS! IT’S ALL ABOUT WHAT YOU WANT! WHAT ABOUT WHAT I WANT!

Then I would pull a gun out of the pocket of my Santa suit and put it in my mouth, pull the trigger and splatter the papier- mache reindeer and candy canes with brain matter.

That thought always made me smile.

There is a theory in psychiatric circles that deems suicidal thoughts as murderous impulses directed inward. Sounds reasonable to me. I guess I just didn’t want to kill anyone bad enough. Of course, I didn’t really want to die either. I just did not want to live the piece of shit life that I had. I feel that a lot of peoples’ lives are just barely good enough to prevent them from committing suicide, and that was where I was. I used to mark everyday on the calendar, either with a red X or I would scratch down a reason to live. The red X’s were for days when I could not think of a single reason not to blow my fucking head off. Some days I would just write ‘pornography’. On New Years Eve every year at midnight, I would count the red X’s. If there were more red X’s than reasons to live I was going to commit suicide. I came close a couple of times. It came down to the wire, but Saturday morning cartoons saved the day. I had to watch The Tick.

Aside from my morbid fascination with my own demise, I did have a few good things keeping me around.

2. Visiting Norm at the Liquor Store

Thank God for beer.

I love beer. Always have.

In a weird way, beer saved my life. Or, at least, made it worth living.

One night I came home after a particularly grueling day of slinging pizza, opened the refrigerator and discovered that I was out of beer. This would not do. Not at all. I checked my wallet, knowing that I would find it as woefully empty as my fridge. Depression began to set in. Now, I was no alcoholic, but after a day spent in Pizza Hell, I had to have my fucking beer. I knew that I would have to dip into my savings.

So I went to my parent’s house and rifled through their dirty laundry and searched under the sofa cushions. I hit the jackpot, scraping up almost enough for a twelve pack. I was only hoping to scrounge enough for a sixer, or maybe a quart. Now I was Mr. Moneybags.

It was a nice night, so I decided to walk to the liquor store. Norm was working there and I could hang out with him for a little while, making fun of the customers and other entertaining stuff. Norm had a good day job at a factory and he made decent money, but a year earlier the dumb-ass got married. Now he had to work nights to support his wife’s spending habits.

I warned him about