[Repugnant Abomination]

Ok, so, I'm working on this story and I thought it'd be cool to post updates on nubblies to get some feedback. Please keep in mind this is a 1st draft and it's still very rough. Mainly what I hope to get back from this is what people liked, what they didn't like, what they thought worked and what didn't. I'm painfuly aware of the many glaring flaws, as well as certain weak aspects of the writing itself...But I'm just trying to get through it without doing a whole bunch of re-writing yet. I'll post updates to the story regularly as I'm working on this nearly everyday. Anyway, enjoy.

(1st draft)
Deprivation
I lay in my bed staring at the ceiling. I do that a lot lately. I’ve memorized every bump and curve, every piss yellow stain and every warped bubble caused by water damage. My little studio apartment isn’t just low income, it’s a bona fide shit hole.
My name is Tom Johnson I tell myself. I’m a 24 year old rock quarry worker and I’m sick of it. Not necessarily the job. The jobs alright I guess. It’s a job. What I’m sick of is my life. I remember growing up I had big plans. My High school councilor helped me discover my passion for helping people, and I decided I was going to be a fireman or a doctor. I never had the best grades and I wasn’t the smartest kid in my class, but I worked hard and had decent grades to show for it. The summer after graduation I moved to Los Angeles to pursue a career in medicine, but not before I took a year off. A year turned into 6 and my parents no longer offered to help pay for school. “You’re a man now Thomas. You need to work hard for anything worthwhile in this world” My dad use to say to me. He still does.
Bored of staring at the ceiling I roll out of bed naked and slip on some ratty pajama bottoms. Flopping down onto the shit colored brown couch I hate so much I pick up the remote control and turn the television on. Great, Another VH1 special on the fabulous lives of celebrities. Fame and fortune never looked so good. I spend the next hour enviously watching men better looking than me wearing suits I could never afford walking down a red carpet that will never want me signing autographs and posing for fans I’ll never have. I watch the behind the scenes VH1 exclusive where they ride along with the latest Hollywood heartthrob Donny Dalinger in his Ferrari. He spends most of the interview talking about his new car and the 50,000$ pool he just installed in his mansion in Florida. I wonder if Donny Dalinger worked hard.
I hear the dripping of the faucet as I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror. My palms pressed against the counter top and I’m hunched over it. My reflection tells me I’m average, and I hate him for it. I’m a 5’10 brown-eyed brown haired pasty white ball of averageness. I give my reflection one last rueful gaze and head to bed. That night I dreamt that I was Donny Dalinger.
Sometimes I wonder what it must feel like to be an overnight success, to no longer have to work or worry about bills, to be able to buy anything. Shouldn’t life be easy? Why can’t I have everything I want? Why do I have to work for everything? I call it the impossible dream, but it’s not impossible. I know there are people out there who are living the dream. Born with a silver spoon in their expectant mouth. Well fuck them and fuck their spoon. Life isn’t fair, but why is it never fair in my favor?
I wake up to the sound of a high pitched buzzing and nearly throw the alarm clock against the wall until I remind myself that I can’t afford to buy a new one. Instead I shut it off and rub my eyes. They burn, and the way my body feels I know I couldn’t have slept more then four hours. It’s 6 a.m. and I have a fun filled day of shoveling gravel at the quarry to look forward to. My breakfast this morning consists of milk and wheaties, the breakfast of champions. After I complete the three S’s (shit, shower, shave) I throw on my windbreaker and step outside into the brisk morning air. Los Angeles gets a bad reputation sometimes, but I wouldn’t live anywhere else. The sun is high in the sky already and casting its warmth down on me and I think maybe today isn’t going to be so bad. The sun always puts me in a good mood. Waiting for me by the curb is my truck. She’s a beater but full of character. A bright red 89 Chevy that’s never let me down yet. “Alright red, just you and me. Another day at the yard.” I slide into the drivers seat and grip the black wheel with my callused hands. After a few whines of protest she fires up to life and we’re off.
By the end of the day I am sweaty and covered in dirt. My body aches and my ears are numb from a day of listening to the dull drumming of heavy machinery. Red is also dirty and I remind myself to give her a wash later. All I want to do is go home, take a shower and sleep. On the ride home I find myself nearly dozing off several times. I turn the AC on and blow it in my face to keep myself awake. Dusk fades gracefully into night and tiny speckles of artificial light begin to pop up all over the city. Not wanting to be left out I turn my headlights on for the remainder of the ride home and then pop in some System of a Down into the CD player to keep me and red company.
Money is just like beautiful women. The more you have the more you want.
I pull up to the curb and jump out. On my way to my apartment I check the mail. Bills. Once I get inside I shut and lock the door behind me. I might not have noticed the envelope on the floor except that I stepped on it and nearly slipped. Did I drop a bill? Bending down I pick it up and frown. This envelope is not marked, all it says is “Important” on the front. I finger the envelope thoughtfully as I walk over to the phone and press the message button. “Hi darling, this is your mother. Why don’t you ever pick up? Are you depressed? You remember Deloris? Well she was depressed and the doctor prescribed her some anti-depressants. I don’t think she needed them though, all she needed was to take a good shit. That woman is constipated. Do you have a girlfriend yet? Honestly Thomas. Well I should go, there’s a made for TV movie on lifetime tonight I want to watch. Call me back. I love you.” My mom cracks me up, although I wish she would stop pestering me about getting a girlfriend. It’s not like I can go out to the garden and pluck one off a tree. I’ll call her back later. Right now I’m grabbing a beer from the kitchen and sitting my ass down. The beer of the night is rolling rock and I take a long swig of it as I collapse down onto my couch, the ugliest damn couch I’ve ever seen. I decide to stay away from the TV tonight, it will just put me in a bad mood. Instead I open my mail, saving the most intriguing piece for last.
Is this a joke? This has to be a joke. Inside the envelope labeled “Important” is a letter. I read it to myself again, this time out loud, not believing my own voice.
“Dear Mr. Johnson, you have been chosen by Mr. Vosh to attend a meeting at his mansion on the outskirts of LA, address 2342 Mideana Dr. Enclosed in the envelope is a password you will use to get through the front gate and a detailed map of the route to take. Your presence will be expected at 9 a.m. sharp on Saturday the 24th. Do not miss this opportunity of a lifetime. Tell no one.” I stared at the letter in my hand suspiciously, my eyes roaming over the typed letters, soaking up the black ink like I needed it to survive.
In the late 1970’s a billionaire by the name of Alfred Vosh made his mark on LA by building a Victorian style mansion just outside the city, the most extravagant and expensive home built on the west coast in American history. The mansion, or castle, as it was jealousy referred to later, sat in the middle of 100 acres of sprawling land, The perimeter protected by a 10 foot high gothic style fence. Few have ever even been inside the gates let alone the house. It was and still is nearly as mysterious as Mr. Vosh himself. Nobody knows where he got his money from or where he came from. He rarely makes public appearances and when he does he never answers questions. To call him a eccentric would only be hitting the tip of the iceberg. Today he is a huge celebrity in LA. Tourists and locals alike drive by his property, their prying eyes hoping to catch a glimpse of anything that might solve the mystery. The city can’t go a day without some outrageous rumor about him. The most recent one is that he secretly bought the Lakers and has threatened to steal the players souls if they don’t win a championship within the next two years. I learned all of this from watching late night TV shows about the man, but living in LA you hear things almost everyday. Nobody really knows what to believe at this point.
This has to be a joke.
The letter rested atop the coffee table as I paced back and forth. I felt a mixture of excitement and annoyance inside. If this is real then what could Mr.Vosh want? Chances are it’s just a prank, but by who? None of the guys at work would do this, and most of my friends have moved away. The envelope didn’t have a post mark so I couldn’t trace it. Somebody had just slipped it under my door. Why all the secrecy? Why can’t I tell anyone? Thinking about it though I realized there was nobody I could really tell anyway. It’s Thursday the 22nd right now and the letter said to be there on the 24th. Not much time. I walked into the kitchen and looked into my empty fridge bleakly. There are a few tortillas left, as well as some beans and cheese so I made two bean burritos and sat down at the kitchen table. I love Mexican food, and the taste of refried beans and melted cheese momentarily took my mind off the letter. Glancing at the clock I see it’s almost 8:30 p.m. Up I get and set the now empty plate on top of the pile of unwashed dishes. I crack open another rolling rock and walk back into the living room. The letter is their staring at me from the table and as I walk forward I rest a hand on the back of the couch. This goddamn couch that I hate so much. It’s right then that I decide to go on Saturday. Maybe Mr. Vosh wants to buy me a new one.

I called in sick to work today, and for once it’s actually because I’m feeling sick. My stomach is in knots and the anticipation of tomorrow is making me feel anxious. I decide to spend the day all to myself and all for myself. Red takes me downtown and in return I pay 3.75$ to have her washed. I do it myself, tirelessly rinsing and scrubbing. No blemish escapes my wrath, not when it comes to Red. Next we travel up to the West Hollywood area. I park Red and walk around for a bit, not window-shopping but girl shopping. Seeing all the beautiful women strutting around in their provocative outfits with their haughty little attitudes reminds me that I’ve been out of the game for to long. All the eye candy makes me hungry, but I settle for food for now. The trendy Giovanni restaurant appeals to me as I love Italian food, and though I can’t really afford to splurge on it I do anyway. I’m sat down at a corner table and handed a menu. I already know what I want so I spend some time just admiring the highly stylized décor of the interior of the restaurant. It’s color theme is lots of dark reds, maroon I would say, with 19th century avant-garde art lining the walls. The lighting scheme is indirect creating a nightclubesque feel to it. The waitresses of course are ridiculously attractive, a common theme throughout most high-end restaurants, but it is not a waitress who catches my eye, but an exotic looking girl sitting across the room from me. She’s alone from what I can tell, though I’m skeptical. The indirect lighting made it difficult but from what I could tell this woman is beautiful. She had raven black hair down past her tanned shoulders and piercing blue eyes that I could see even from this distance. She had that elegant, swan like neck that I always found myself so attracted to, and the black dress which hugged every sensual curve of her body only added to the breathtaking sight. But she looked sad. Her eyes were downcast and her shoulders slumped forward…”Can I start you off with anything to drink?” I snap out of my daze to see a waitress looking down at me and I tell her I’ll have a cherry coke and the chicken-parmesan. I say please, not because my mom taught me to, though she did, but because people in the service industry have it hard. It’s such a thankless job, which is why I got out of it four years ago. I now find my eyes wandering back to the dark haired beauty across the way. A man who looks like a manager is standing above her and shaking his head. She looks upset. They shake hands and he disappears back into the kitchen leaving her alone to pick at her food. Without really knowing what I’m doing I stand up and walk over to her. My brain is screaming at me to stop but my legs keep going until I’m standing in front of her. She looks up, I look down, and that’s all that happens until she says “yes?” I give her the best smile I can muster and say: “Hi there, I noticed you were sitting here all alone. I’m here alone too and I thought maybe you would like to join me?” It’s amazing how such a small thing like inviting a girl to eat with you can make you feel so insecure. I prayed she couldn’t see my legs shaking and didn’t notice the beads of sweat beginning to form on my forehead, but apparently she did because she shook her head and said in a soft voice “No, thank you, but I’m too upset to dine with anyone right now.” Personally I prefer it when a girl is a bitch about shooting you down, at least then you can hate her, but this, this only made it worse. It told me she is worth it, and now I wanted to know what was wrong, maybe I could help? I put on my understanding face and nod “Alright, well if you change your mind I’m right over there.” I point to my table and then make the long walk of shame back to it. It feels as though every eye in the building is on me, silently laughing at my failure. It’s not so much that I want to hang myself, just that I would prefer to be dead right about now. Was it my breath? Is my hair sticking up in the back? I obsessed over my failure, each agonizing detail replaying over in my mind, searching critically for any possible mistake I had made. I find myself nervously combing a hand over my hair, my right leg bouncing up and down under the table nonstop. I’m such a jerk. Who am I to just go over there and ask to have lunch with her? I’m nobody, that’s who. Beautiful woman, nobody, nobody, beautiful woman. She’s probably over there right now feeling awkward and wanting to leave. Way to go Tom, way to ruin her meal. It was just then as I held the butter knife to my wrist that I felt someone standing over me, but it wasn’t my waitress, it was beautiful woman. Her bright red lips parted to show off glistening white teeth and her nose scrunched up as she said: “I’ve changed my mind. I would love to join you for lunch.”
It’s not about what you need it’s about what you want.
My chicken-parmesan tasted almost as good as she looked and our time together was nothing short of spectacular. I learned that her name is Nicole Sanco, she’s Hispanic and has lived in LA all her life. She attends a community college and works downtown at a bookshop. She’s 22 years old and lives with her grandmother, or “nana”, as she calls her. I didn’t want to ask why she seemed to upset earlier, mainly because the conversation was so fun and positive, but still I wondered. Beginning to feel more comfortable I lean back in my chair.
“So” I say, “I’m having a really great time Nicole. Do you think I could get your number? I’d like to call you sometime.”
“I’m having a nice time too. You’re so easy to talk to. Of course you can have my number. It’s 323-787-0923.” She said this as she reached out and touched my arm.
Electric.
“I’ve gotta tell you, I was so nervous when I asked you to join me…” She laughed. I swooned. “But I’m glad I did now.”
She replied in her smooth as silk voice “You’re so cute. What do you say we get out of here and walk some of this food off?” Today must have been my lucky day.
The rest of our time together was a blur. It was like life had said, alright Tom, you’ve had enough bad, now here is some good to carry you. We spent the day together walking in the park, eating ice cream and talking about life. I was amazed at how intelligent she was: at one point she tried to explain calculus to me and I all I could do was shake my head and smile. She would smile too, often, but beneath the surface I could see it, just a tiny little thing, but it was there. Sadness. I would save my questions for another day, things were just going to well.
As I arrived back at my house that night, alone, I was filled with jubilation. I know we just met, but it really did feel special. We connected, and I can’t wait to see her again. I sashayed my way to the kitchen and gave a spin on the balls of my feet for good measure as I opened up the fridge door and pulled out a beer, a rolling rock of course, and took a long swig. “Aaaaaaah!” nothing had ever tasted so good. I headed to my “living room” and sat down when I noticed the letter on the coffee table. I had completely forgot! Tomorrow at 9a.m. I’m suppose to be at Mr. Vosh’s. I checked the wall clock, it’s 10:15p.m. Had I really spend that long with Nicole? Wow. I didn’t want to go into whatever it was I was going into tomorrow tired so I finished my beer and went straight to bed.

Time stops for no one.
I reach out a trembling hand and punch in the numbers: 345204. The gate opens and I’m staring down the private driveway of Mr.Vosh. I can’t believe this is happening. Me and Red drive cautiously down the stretch of black road and I take in the exquisite sights; I don’t even think about Nicole. Lining the drive is flawless white porcelain walkways, and on both sides of me is lush grass and trees as far as I can see. As I pull up to “the castle” I am blown away by the sight of towering marble pillars and 20 foot stone guardians staring down at me. The clearest water I’ve ever seen spills out continuously over the top of the mansion creating a waterfall that cascades down over the front doors, a golden leaf suspended in midair hangs over the center of the walkway protecting guests from getting wet. As I park Red and step out I hear classical music playing all around me, a surround sound outdoor audio setup encircling the entire property I realize. I walk through the waterfall and knock on the oak double doors and almost instantly it opens and I find myself staring at a kind looking middle-aged man. He’s dressed casually, but the clothes look very expensive. He’s about my height but that is where the similarities end. He is plump, his round face having a reddish hue to it and a big smile that seemed stuck there. Short blond hair fell lightly forward above his light blue eyes. I immediately liked him.
“Hello, my name is Tom Johnson and I –“ I’m cut off by a far deeper voice then I’m expecting.
“Mr. Johnson, please come in.” He checked his watch and smiled. “9 a.m. sharp. Well done.” He took me by the arm and led me down the most beautiful hallway I have ever seen. I try to concentrate on what he’s saying, but the inside of this place is staggering. Polished oak floors, hand carved Italian doors, sparkling chandeliers, and priceless paintings were a few things that caught my eye. We passed countless closed doors as we walked, behind each one a mystery. Finally we walked through a huge arched opening and into a dining room. In the middle there was a 20 foot long crystal dining table with 3 chairs on each side directly across from each other in the middle. At the head of the table was a single chair, more of a throne really. 5 of the 6 seats at the middle of the table were already filled. Apparently I was the last arrival. I was escorted to the final seat and realized I didn’t even know the name of the man who brought me here. Just as I was about to ask I felt my heart nearly skip a beat. Sitting across from me were 2 faces I’d never seen before, but 1 I had: Nicole’s.