#2 Scotch on the rocks

"You need anything?" The man in the chair asked the man in the hospital bed.  They were both 65 years old.  Both had graying hair, but both still had hair, for which they were truly grateful.  Both had liver cirrhosis, for which they were not grateful.  The man in the chair wore khakis and a light blue polo shirt.  The man in the bed wore an ugly, green pattern, hospital gown.  He liver was close to death, and so was he.  "Can you pour me a double of good Scotch and the number of the nurse who worked this afternoon?"  He asked sarcastically, in a weak voice.
"That's all?" His friend replied with a laugh.  Then the man in the chair reached down and picked up his custom, brown leather briefcase.  He stood, laid it on the hospital tray, and opened it so his friend in the bed couldn't see the contents.  First he pulled out two low glasses and set them on the tray.  He reached back into the briefcase.  "Will 26 year old Glenfiddich single malt suffice?"  He pulled out the bottle.
"26 year old?  You cheap motherfucker, you've been holding out on me.  I have to damn near die for you to bring out the good stuff?"  His weak laugh turned into a cough.

The man with the briefcase found a plastic pitcher with ice.  Crushed ice.  "It'll have to do," he said as he poured drained the water form it, and poured shook some ice into each glass.  Then he poured a double shot for each of them.  He handed a glass to his friend in the hospital bed.  Each man had different toasts in mind as their glasses clinked.  The man in the bed took a sip, which led to a short cough.  "That's wonderful," he said, "I would have been on my death bed years ago if I knew you said this stuff stashed away."  They laughed. 

The man with the briefcase felt his mood become more serious.  He paused.  "Are you sure you don't want me to call your nephew?" 

The man in the bed grew more serious.  "No, I don't want him to see me like this."  The man with the briefcase looked at his friend.  Her had been a hulk of a man for most of his life.  He was 6' 7" and 225 pounds when they first met in bootcamp in late 1970.  With that size and the name Herman, he was already called Herman Munster by his friends.   Roger downed sipped his Scotch.  Herman downed his.  As he grabbed the glasses, he looked at his lifelong buddy.  That afternoon, he saw Herman's weight on the nurse's tablet, 143 pounds.  Herman was a shadow of the the physique that had carried Roger over his shoulders for two clicks through the jungle, saving his life.  He healed up and was able to return the favor a year later.  Roger rinsed out the glasses and put them, and the Scotch, back into his briefcase. 

"Are you sure about the plans... with your nephew?" Roger asked.
Herman snapped, "He needs some good luck, he's long overdue for it.  It'll make sense in time.  There's a lot about my nephew you don't know.  He'll surprise you, I think.  I'm sure about the plans..."  Herman started coughing. 

Roger stood quietly. 

"Go get yourself something to eat.  I'm not going anywhere.  And go get that afternoon nurse's number." 

"OK," Roger replied.  They'd been best friends for over 45 years, but suddenly the conversation was awkward.

"Go," Herman said, "Git.  I'm not gonna die on you.  Not until we finish that bottle of Scotch, anyhow."  Roger laughed, and snapped back," You think I'm wasting more of this on you?  I'm saving the rest for my daughter's wedding." 

"You don't have a daughter."
"I know," Roger replied, " I need to go find me next future ex-wife, first."  They both laughed, "I'll see you later."  Roger walked out of the hospital room. 

Herman exhaled.  Memories of Vietnam haunted him.  As did a few memories since.  He didn't know what would happen when he died. "But no man does," he thought.  Thoughts of the afterlife had never bothered him.  Until now.  Herman closed his eyes, searching for sleep.  He faded into sleep... followed quickly by death.

#1: Hands

Lauren wasn't sure why he first singled her out.  The man in the impeccable, blue, pin striped suit took to her more than the others thee first time he saw her.  Alicia had bigger boobs and long, curly blond hair.  Tatiana had the fullest booty.  Crystal had been a cheerleader, she had the most athletic body and those damn dimples so many guys commented about.  But the man in the blue suit liked her for some reason.  She turned her head as she saw him walk into the club.  "No, not tonight... I'm just not up for him tonight," she thought to herself. 

Lauren stood at the bar, her back to him.  He didn't pay the cover.  The bouncers knew him.  The manager knew him.  The whole fucking city knew him.  Lauren wished she didn't know him.  Lauren kept fit, but wasn't the most athletic.  Her face was attractive, highlighted by deep green eyes, but she wasn't the prettiest.  Her hair was straight and light brown, with highlights, but not the body she wished it had.  Her butt had grown a bit fuller and her once super perky breasts sagged some after Grace was born.  Lauren really didn't see what the guys really saw in her.  But they were men.  Show them some boobs and some attention and the dollar bills came.  Lap dances brought the twenties.  And the self-loathing. 

Grace. 

Lauren's thumb nails tapped furiously on her phone screen.  "How is she?"  The response was quick, "Her temps stll 102  Fvr hasnt brkn yet."  Lauren's heart sank.  Then she heard her name called.  Tyler, the manager's voice.  Lauren took a deep breath, tried to exhale slow, and put on her "stupid girl smile" as she turned.  Tyler tilted his head towards the lap dance section in the corner.  She nodded.  She could see the outline of the man in the blue suit.  The lights had been turned off near him.  It took all her composure to saunter towards him.  "Grace," she thought silently to herself.  Lauren reached behind her and untied the lower tie of her bikini top as she walked towards him. 

"Lauren," he smiled, "So nice to see you again."  He voice dripped with arrogance.  It was the sonic leer of a man who knew he couldn't be touched.  A man raised in privilege, and supremely confident that was exactly where he belonged, and where he would always stay.  She turned as she got close, she squatted down, sitting on his lap, shifting slowly side ti side.  The hands of the man in the impeccable, blue, pin striped suit grabbed her bare waist.  They slid slowly up her sides, then forwards as he cupped her breasts.  Her stomach turned.  Patrons were not allowed to touch the dancers in the club.  Except for the man in the blue suit.  His hands slid forward.  And then down... down...down...

"Grace," Lauren thought to herself.

Introduction

I'm writing this piece as a serial online novel.  It's an idea that's been floating around my head for more than a year.  That idea has attached itself to other ideas that have jangling in my brain for a long time, decades, in some cases.  This story isn't well planned out ahead of time.  I have a basic idea of the direction I want to head in with this idea, and several things I want to work into it.  But, for the most part, I'm just winging it.  I've never written a novel before.  This is a timely issue I want to get out into the world, and I just keep putting it off.  So I decided to do it as a blog, write a piece of it almost every day, and we;ll see what happens.  Hope you enjoy  the ride.  Hell, I hope I enjoy the ride.  Onward...