Notes from a Scoundral

The Players.

It was a warm enough late Autumn evening that night. I was staying at my mother’s house that evening and the previous few days on account of Thanksgiving. My friend and old coworker Brian called earlier that day and told me he had planned a night to remember for me, and I assure you, I will not soon forget what transpired.

I went to his house at 8 o’clock. It felt like any other night, so I was cool and collected, ready for whatever he threw at me. An hour later, because he is a fancy boy, he was ready to go. I anticipated this since I knew him long enough, and I had relaxed with a drink.

He came out and asked how he looked. “Great, lets go,” I replied as I always did and we were off. His friend Steve drove. We pulled up alongside a well known, but shady, Gentleman’s club.

I think it was called melon shakers.

My friend told me that was where we were going. We all had a laugh and they kept driving. He asked if I would be pissed if we went to a strip club. I said I wouldn’t be, but I had never been to one and I wouldn’t want to start because I am shy and nervous around topless women. They all laughed and he promised we weren’t going to a strip club.

We pulled up to a swanky looking bar that I had never been in before. I thought we were going here first because it is high class and we didn’t want a proper bar like this to see the inner beasts in us.

Beasts drink like this, but from a lake.

We would make an offering to the bar gods here for a fun night and move on to a less reputable establishment.

I was walking up to the door getting psyched for the bar, looking like I was listening to Notorious B.I.G. in my head as I walked listening to Benny and the Jets in my head, I strutted to the door. When it swung open in the distance my eyes focused immediately on an object all the way across the room. Focusing on something so far so quick is quite out of the ordinary, but so was this object in a regular classy bar. That object was a woman’s breast, and so began my night at The Players: The classiest first strip club I have ever been to.

The color melted from my face as did all feeling to my entire body, save too much feeling in one part. Brian knew the bouncer, a man who looked surprisingly like Bald Bull from the N.E.S. game Mike Tyson’s Punch Out.

No touching the ladies!

They exchanged casuals and cover charges. We found seats near some of Brian’s friends who were obviously regulars and obviously regulars. I was trying not to look at any of the nearly naked woman. My eyes would shoot to the floor in shame if a dancer caught me looking. This was a learned practice from a decade of getting caught checking women out.

She saw me looking, what do I do?

A waitress brought me a beer I didn’t order and food for the high rollers. A creamy version of what looked like spaghetti, and a small salad with a large helping of dressing made me a little sick to look at. That’s when I met Jessica.

Jessica saw me look away from the food and, accidentally directly at her breasts. She saw the nerves in my eyes and like some kind of cat of prey (not a cougar she was only 20) she pounced into the seat next to me. She explained to me that it was okay to look and she could tell it was my first time. She then went on to tell me how this was only her third night at The Players and she was getting used to it too. She then told Brian it was her fourth night at The Players and she was just getting used to it. She then turned to me and told me how it was her second night at The Players and she was just getting used to it. Although she wasn’t a very good liar, she was quite beautiful and I let it slide. Then I saw her naked.

I was talking to her and I turned my head mid sentence to look at the empty plates on the high rollers table, the second beer I didn’t order, and the regular for the last 10 years in the corner by himself. When I turned back she had transported herself to the stage and was nearly naked already on the stage. My friend gave me a dollar. I sheepishly walked up to the stage and she let me give her the dollar and she hugged me. I then ran back to my seat like a little boy who just gave Mickey Mouse a hug in Disney world. I nearly tripped on my way, but managed to play it off. Meanwhile someone had brought me two shots and a beer I didn’t order, and I was trying not to look at nearly naked women.

Guys, don’t look over there, but there are boobies.

About an hour of that went by, Steve was talking to a stripper and trying to get her number. I was trying to understand how all the money she was pulling out of her panties could be in there without her looking like she just took a dump. I was also wondering how the woman on stage did a “trick” I couldn’t describe to you in words if I tried, and I consider myself a man of many words. I can assure you, however, that this feat will forever be burned into my memory and her mammary.

How in the world did she do that?

At this point the beers I didn’t order and the shots I didn’t order were getting to me. I was trying not to look at nearly naked women, but I found myself looking once in a while. I was having ideas. Ideas that I felt the need to write down. Ideas I wanted to remember. I pulled out my idea book and a very angry stripper grabbed it. She sat down and after I started protesting she yelled at me saying she wanted to write a rap.

The thing about this particular idea book, however, is that it doubles as my wallet. I never let ANYONE write in it in the first place let alone take a whole damn page to walk all over a bar with my credit cards and cash. So, I was watching this topless woman write in my idea book for maybe 3 minutes making sure she didn’t take notice to the wallet side. She destroyed the sanctity of the written side, I was not about to allow her to destroy what little I had left. I still can’t look at my little book in the eye.

You don’t write in me like you used to, Nick. When will you trust me again?

Soon after the culmination of my little story started. For those of you readers still reading, I applaud and thank you, keep reading because the best is yet to come. I looked on stage to see a seasoned, but still incredibly beautiful woman with nearly no clothes on.  I looked at Brian, he looked at me, and, as the night was drawing to a close and I was warm with drink, I knew what was about to happen. My stomach flipped when she walked over to him. He whispered in her ear and I saw some money change hands. She grabbed my hand and dragged me towards a back room. I was about to get a lap dance.

You’re going to take me where? And do what?

I glared at a laughing Brian on my way into the closet of a vip room. My nervousness was making me feel a poop brewing, but that is not sexy to mention, so I didn’t. I was trying to keep my cool, but I was shaking and I was white as a sheet.

Is this your first lap dance too?

She led me into a room and took off her clothes. She put a candle on a table, and she told me to sit. I probably looked like I was pooping because I felt my face contort in ways that conveyed expressions that were unused since the early days of man. She told me to relax, so, to show her I did, my shoulders went from my ears to my chin. She started dancing. I had no words to say, I had no moves to make. I was just looking directly into her eyes. She told me to look at her. I said okay, but didn’t. She hopped on top of me and this is where I blacked out. I did not lose consciousness from nervousness. I operate on a level of nervousness that would rival a first time public speaker, except on a day to day basis. I can handle the nerves. She took her breasts and used them as a mafia hired assassin would use a pillow of similar size.

Like this but with boobs.

I was fighting for air as she suffocated me for what I can tell was half of Sound of Silence, but the sheer size and volume of the breasts left the lyrics muffled and nearly inaudible. I could hear her whispering, but I couldn’t hear the words. She finally let me out for air and led me out of the back closet at first I was frozen solid in fear of what just happened. I felt like a child after his first 7 minutes in heaven. All the high rollers were giving me high fives and shots. By now Steve had picked up the stripper.

I don’t rub my boobs on guys this Friday, wanna hangout?

Brian had found a girl who wasn’t a stripper.

So, uh, why were you there?

And I was full of glitter.

Does this wash out in the shower? No? Great.

All in all it was a good night, but I don’t know when I will be returning. The high rollers spent $420, and that was before the tips, dances, and rumored blow job in the back.

I told you, I didn’t buy a blow job.

I don’t think I will go on my dime for quite some time. And that is the story of my night at The Players.

The show I work on is apparently asking for bio's for all of it's members. This is what I am submitting.

Nick Constantine was born Rafael Dantes, but due to a slew of undisclosed criminal offenses, to which he testified, he was forced to change his name. Since then all of the guilty parties have been killed or imprisoned, but for public records sake, he has decided to keep his new name. There are a few instances where Rafael Dantes has been credited for writing various novels and saving small children from fires, however no correlation has been proven to exist with Nick Constantine and this Rafael Dantes. The some 2,300 fatherless children who also claim that their father is Rafael Dantes are also still in debate as none of them bare the family birthmark passed down from generation to generation to all of the Dantes children.

Nick spent his early years working as a broom boy in a factory. He quickly became a son-like figure to all of the workers, as he was able to clean under the workstations and climb deep into the machines to retrieve lost items because of his small stature. This was short lived, however, because a growth spirt put him to equal size with most of the other workers in the factory. Along with this new height came a thick mustache and beard. Jealousy of the workers and an affair with one of their wives prompted him to move on from his factory job, but he will always remember his dear Mary Jo.

The mustache opened many doors for Nick, the most important two being the ability to buy alcohol and plane tickets hassle free. This lead to what Nick likes to refer to as “The Hazy Lazy Years”. He spent most of his time, and money, globetrotting and greasing palms with some of the most upper crusted, and seediest characters of the world. It is during this time that Nick dated the lovely Sandra Bullock. It is also during this time that he met and developed a strong friendship with film actor Chris Cooper. The two began a rap group called The Pear tree Gentleman with longtime friend of Cooper’s, William H. Macy.

The Pear tree Gentleman put out a total of 15 studio albums in Japan. Some titles include “The man with the pen”, “Samurai Harry Carry”, and “The second hand in my eye”. The psychedelic stylings was a hit in the Orient, but could not compete with the stylings of the West Coast rappers of America. None of the 15 studio albums or 48 live albums made it to the States.

Not being appreciated by his own country the, still very young, Nick Constantine spiraled into a pit of despair. Not much is known of this time in Nick’s life, but Macy is on record saying “It was a real bitch of a time for that boy, I have never seen a daemon in person, but when I saw Nick during that time, I sure came close, I sure came close”.

Nick faded out of his superstardom and set up camp in a small town in what is now Romania. It is there that he was married to a young Romanian woman named Aga. Nick spent 5 years there learning the culinary stylings of the Yugoslavian ancestry. He was certified as a Yugoslavian Iron Chief, however this fact is often overlooked. After a few years of marriage, Aga’s father asked Nick why he hadn’t had a child yet, to which the very burly, bearded Nick Constantine replied “I wanted to wait until my seventeenth birthday”. Aga’s father chased him out, the marriage was nullified due to Aga’s father being under the impression Nick was much older than Aga, and Nick’s impression that it was just a fling.

Nick never had any schooling before college, but because of a natural gift with words, numbers, and good looks (not to mention the questionable information he knew about the principle of Notre Dame High school) he was admitted to the school as a senior upon returning to the States. He missed only one point on his SAT. It is rumored the point was lost for not answering a question about existentialism, for which later he was given half credit. Out of spite he wrote an entire textbook on the subject and is now thought of as the leading living theorist still researching. The textbook was 700 pages, 245 of which were left blank.

He has been attending Michigan State University for 5 years and is currently working on his seventh and eighth degrees. Four of which has required him to purchase one of his own books. He still has contact with many of his old companions. William H Macy and Chris Cooper spend thanksgiving at Nick’s house. He sends Sandra a Christmas present every year, although they are no longer on speaking terms. Nick claims this is due to “An incident with those rats Pullman and Gallagher.” To which people may only deduce to be Bill Pullman and Peter Gallagher, who were Bullock’s cast members in the romantic comedy while you were sleeping. Nick is planning on moving to LA and NYC in a few months as many current celebrities want to do projects with him.

Facts about Nick Constantine;

Nick is forced to shave five times daily.

Nick is inexplicably featured on a number of records, and appears in several movies. He apparently has worked with Frank and Dean, The Carpenters, he toured with Billy Idol, he sang with Mrs. Franklin, and appeared in such movies as The Breakfast Club (as a book), The birds, and some say Seven Samurai.

Rafiel Dantes was known for smoking hand rolled cigarettes, however Nick’s lungs are pristine.

Nick cooked a meal for the Prime Ministers of Britain and Canada, The president of the United States, and many other Untied Nations representatives. During this meal only one man wasn’t crying tears of joy. It was Nick. His grandfather had just passed away and his expression was blank.

Reflecting on the next few weeks.

My days are numbered here at Michigan State. I guess they were numbered to begin with, but when I got here I couldn’t count that high. I mean, I could, but I haven’t tried since I was just a little boy who wanted to count to a million.

98.99,100, 101, fuck this.

I am really terrified to graduate. I don’t think I am ready to be a real person, but I am ready to be done with classes. I feel like I learned a lot, especially in this last year of school. I’ve been growing up a lot and I’m getting aged like fine wine, which I assume is the opposite of how the wine in the box in my fridge is aging.

Not my real fridge, just note Franzia brand vinegar.

My writers block is slowly fading, and I feel like out of having to deal with that blank page all the time I have gotten a lot better. I guess the most scary part about graduating is finding a job and a place to live. I got a lot of the skills I need, I just need a lucky break.

I’m going to miss a lot of people. A lot of my friends now may not even think about me in a year or so’s time (kind of a depressing thought).

I don’t think I know a Nick Constantine.

I really hope that by this time next year, I can sit in a park in NYC and people watch. I can have a steady job and a good idea about where I’m going. I want an apartment with exposed brick. I want cooking utensils and bottles of wine. And one room in the whole thing aside from the bathroom.  I want to feel worldly as fuck.

Like this, but fucking worldly.

I want to be able to afford to dress the way I want to dress, which is to say I just need a little more money than what it takes to pay my bills.

Something like this, but white.

I’m looking forward to the future, but I guess I am just scared about not getting it all. I’m scared about falling on my face.

At least I’ll get the exposed brick.