LOBO -
Predator Press
The irony of watching plumes of smoke along the coast from the deck of the Honeypot isn't lost on me.
"You look like you would rather be there," Fish giggles, pouring wine.
"Nah," I says, taking a glass. "Protesters, counter-protesters, insurgents ... this is fighting police on police terms."
"So you're admitting it comes down to law?"
I shrug. "Nobody was listening. This had to happen."
Fish and I are coworkers labelled "essential," so we started sort of quarantining together a few months ago to blow off steam. We're an odd pairing. Her house in Malibu burned down several years ago, and local ordinances forbade her rebuilding. In the transition, she moved to the Honeypot to consider her options.
"You understand," she says soberly, "if the business folds, you lose the house."
"Ya," I reply. "Maybe the car too, unless I can pull something out of my keyster. Gina, Rachel and Jiaying are already looking for something else."
They will probably have to take Phil II with them.
"You and Wendy could stay here for a while."
"Thank you," I smile. "But I doubt Guillermo wouldn't stand for that."
Guillermo Del Taco, Fishs' ex husband, is perhaps one of the most intimidating men I've ever met. He lost Honeypot in their bitter divorce. Bad mojo. Plus this is a bit of a trap. Fish isn't good at hiding her romantic intent. For instance, I came aboard under the auspice of 'having dinner.' Where is the food?
When I first met Fish, she was beautiful. But after her divorce, she started getting frequent plastic surgeries. She got the nickname "Fish" when someone unkindly remarked she was starting to look like a Wallace and Gromit love interest. My penis and I have intuited some sort of self-mutilation in process. She's unrecognizable now, and a weird metaphor; like America, I'm not sure I ever knew what she was. Over time, all the cosmetics and polish are observable as a very thin veneer.
This version of 'beauty' must stop. It's not healthy.
"I've been waiting for this my whole life," I muse out loud, and a salty waft of smoke blows by. "And I don't know how to help it."
