Dirt

Lieutenant Philips

    I awoke to a rising sun and had one of those moments where you’re sleeping somewhere unfamiliar and you wake up having forgotten where you are and how you got there. I jolted slightly, knocking my head onto Trevor’s elbow and returning to reality; he laughed at me.
    “Rise and shine sugar-tits, we’re in the city of silicon and desperation!” He exclaimed somewhat enthusiastically for someone who had been driving for a number of hours. I rolled to my side and looked up at him as he grinned at me, eyes rimmed with purple hued rings of pure sleeplessness.
     I brought myself into a sitting position and leaned my still half-sleeping body onto his side. What surrounded me was Vinewood lit by a blazing iridescent sunrise. It shimmered with windows of tall pointed buildings and glistened with greasy street vendors setting up shop for the morning.
    “I think I liked the desert more.” I stated, knowing full well that my mind had joined the ideas of Trevor and the desert together and this was likely why I was partial to the bleak and dying landscape that would otherwise have appeared to me to have been a wasteland of depravity.
    “Yeah, I feel the same way,” he said, twisting his face into a look of disgust, “This place is fucking fictitious, it’s all made of god damn plastic, but still, here we are, so we might as well grab an overpriced sandwich at some pretentious shit-hole café.”
    “You know you can be quite well spoken when you want to be.” I told him, rubbing at my tired eyes with the backs of my hand and smirking, “You should write poetry.” Even though I played it off as sarcasm I remained semi-serious in my mind, imagining myself one day to be interpreting the works of 21st century poetic genius Trevor Philips in one of my university classes.
    Trevor burst forth in laughter, “That may just be the funniest shit I’ve ever heard. I regret to inform you that I can’t spell for shit and am far too important a business man to have time for that crap.”
    I smiled, “You know all joking aside I’m actually kind of serious. Maybe I’ll just start jotting down all of the insight you spout and turn it into a book of freeform poetry and sell it to publishers for hundreds of thousands of dollars.” I imagined what the cover of my the book might looks like, beer and blood stained.
    “As long as I don’t have to fucking write anything.” He scoffed.
    “Of course you won’t,” I replied, “I’ll be the Plato to your Socrates, all of your known wisdom will have been taken down by some cocky scholar looking to put in their two cents. Who was the real Trevor Philips, people might ask, but they will never know the full extent of your wisdom.” I somehow managed to keep a straight face as I gave him this speech, using exaggerated hand gestures to distract myself.
    Trevor continued to laugh loudly before telling me, “I’m starting to think you’re more fucking insane than I am. Maybe it’s contagious or something; it wouldn’t surprise me.”
    In my mind I decided what it would be called, ‘The Troublesome Tribulations of Trevor: Trials of Tumultuous Turmoil. Volume I of IV.’ I giggled to myself as I thought through various T words to fit into my rhythmic title; it was such a shame that his last name didn’t also begin with a T. It was very possible that I had gone insane, but it simply couldn’t be helped anymore.
    We did indeed stop at a pretentiously overpriced café for our breakfast, picking up two bacon and egg sandwiches that were prepared in a microwave, and a coffee for myself filled with sugar but otherwise black. Trevor had no need for such feeble doses of caffeine considering he had a seemingly endless supply of tiny white pills capable of endowing a man with infinite energy.
    It just so happened that adjacent to the pretentiously overpriced café was a pretentiously overpriced hotel, hideously beige in colour and towering in stature. “What do you think about this place?” Trevor asked me, nodding to the gold gilded French doors.
    “It kind of makes me want to throw up my breakfast.” I contorted my face into a look of only semi-feigned disgust.
    “Perfect, let’s get ourselves a room.” He enthused, pushing me towards the entrance as I attempted to keep my feet glued to the spot. I was reluctant to believe that Trevor could afford anything of this sort but I was also reluctant to ask how he intended on paying for it; for all I knew he planned to take over the hotel one employee at a time and turn them into workers for Trevor Philips Enterprises, the hotel being his newest headquarters.
    He pushed the door open with a single hand, smudging the shine of the  door handles with sweating fingers, “After you.” He held it open, bowing down ridiculously low as he ushered me forward.
    It was the look on the face of the desk clerk that caused me to laugh, the perfect mixture of fear and disgust that arose on his face as he attempted to maintain a professional composure whilst Trevor strode towards the front desk. He flinched as Trevor placed his hands onto the pearlescent countertop with a light thud that resonated throughout the empty lobby.
    “Please excuse my wife, she doesn’t speak any English and she’s fucking high off her shit right now,” He pointed to me as I continued to fail to control my own laughter, “My mail-order bride and I would like to stay in your finest honeymoon suite, nothing too cheesy though. I want the classy pent-house shit, not plastic rose petals and heart-shaped horse-shit.”
    The clerk stood there with his mouth ajar as if wanting to answer Trevor as if he were a normal human being but not quite being able to bring himself to do so, “A-And how do you plan on paying for that, sir?” The question I had been afraid to ask.
    “Oh, I don’t know how about, none of your fucking business? Cash, credit, cheque, my fucking blood and sweat- Jesus Christ, just because I look like I crawled out of a dumpster doesn’t change the fact that I fought for your fucking flag-burning ass in Vietnam!” He slammed his fist onto the desktop and brought his face uncomfortably close to that of the petrified clerk, “Now how about showing a little fucking respect and showing this fine lady and I to our room?” Trevor prodded at his chest, poking his navy striped tie.
    “Yes sir, I apologize sir.” The clerk sputtered, arms glued to his sides as if he were talking to his drill sergeant; the only thing missing was the hand to head salute and any kind of admiration.
    “That’s Lieutenant Philips to you!” He clenched his fist around the clerk’s fluorescent white lapel before allowing him to scramble backwards and fumble through keys in a most frantic manner.
    I simply couldn’t stop myself from laughing through the feeble attempt by my hands to suppress it. I pitied the poor man, with his neatly combed curls and freckles flicked across his face, a couple of lines in his forehead but an otherwise youthful pink complexion; he was adorable, his name tag told me his name, ‘Theodore’.
    It confused me as to why I was so taken with him. I enjoyed observing his fear and his trembling fingertips. Maybe he reminded me of how I had once been a slave to words as well, they had controlled me regardless of whether or not they were true. I thought to myself how insignificant his fears were in the scheme of mine and Trevor’s lives, and how a bodily reaction that was once necessary to keep us alive now prevented most of us from living.
    I was brought back to the present situation by Trevor’s hand sliding itself onto my shoulder and then down my arm and into my hand, he grinned at me as I bit at my hand, smothering the remainder of my giggles.
    We followed the quivering clerk into the elevator where Trevor kissed at the back of my head, keeping his arms around me and Theodore stood still with his head hung downward and eyes fixed on the single number 14 lit up on the keypad. I had always appreciated the lovely sinking feeling of your internal organs as gravity did its work in an elevating cabin, both sickening and soothing at the same time.
    The ‘bing’ indicating our arrival on the 14th floor caused Theodore to jolt before rushing out of the compartment before the doors had even had the chance to open completely. “This way, please,” He huffed, “Your room is 1404.” He gestured with his hand to the door to our immediate right and smiled the most insincere of smiles I had ever had the pleasure of witnessing.
    He dangled the key, outstretching his arm as far as possible so as though not having to come within a close proximity of Lieutenant Philips. Trevor snatched the room key from his hand, “Thank you very much…”And glancing at his name tag, “Teddy.” His grin had become a toxic one.
    When none of us made a move and young Theodore glanced uncomfortably from Trevor to me and then back again, Trevor chuckled, “What are you waiting for, a fucking invitation?” And then quite loudly, “Get out of my fucking sight!” This was enough to make the poor young man run, not walk or jog, towards the stairwell, the elevator evidently not being a quick enough escape.
    Trevor laughed to himself as he forced the key into the door and muttering, “asshole,” and I couldn’t help but feel bad for whatever consequences Theodore would have to face after the inevitable destruction of suite 1404, and the untimely check-out of Mr. Philips lacking in payment for his stay.