Super Upset


"Too fancy?"

"How are you doing this evening?" A musk tint sprung from his sleeves. He set two fogged glasses atop the white cloth. His blithe eye contact ephemeral. "Would you like to hear our specials?"

"Thanks," Desmond said.

"Excellent for who?" Desmond said. "Lobster makes me shudder. It's odor alone can kill me. Not to mention. One hundred dollars a plate!"


"Filet Mignon, steamed veggies, sweet potato, Merlot, one glass, one Stella, and bring out some rolls please."


Desmond leaped up and perused some mollies. Their green-silver scales gleamed red. He looped the aquarium for the rest room. The waiter at his fiancé. Like a vulture with a water pitcher. The blurred glass captured her oval head. Titled up at him. That is what you get for marrying an ex-stripper. I am in hell. "Do you guys have flowers?"

Desmond shoved the oak door. The stalls shined black. Above, a hovering lavender mist. He locked the door and held his dick. He played dead through the neighbor's tinkling. Continued through the splattered sink. Once the door shut out the prick, he peed.

"Don't call him that."


"Our waiter."

"Will you sit. He can hear you."


"Keep your voice down."

"You are very welcome. Please enjoy."

They pushed along Duval street. Soaking chocolate mint oil. Gus plopped them on the linen like dice. Wrapped in emerald green boxes. "Where is our bed and breakfast?"

"So why did Gus give our temptress his number?"

"I'm sure your taut polyester glued to your bubble ass cheeks had...."

"Sounds like a couple of love birds!" Up front, a Harley chopper with long chrome pipes. Behind it, a bed of eggshell pebbles. The chopper ticked. Pockets of gasoline tickled their olfactory bulbs. Beyond that, in a black crevice, a child's voice. "You two are cute."

"Page for Christ's sake. Walk!" Desmond said. One block over, their tranquil blue bed and breakfast. The old conch house's fresh painted pickets. Done with the healing power of God. Everything blue, even the refrigerators. "You know that little shit could of had a gun. It is teenagers who shoot up schools."

"What the hell are you doing in there?"

Her legs erected from the blackness. The flushed toilet simmered. They carried a red bikini thong and a silver toe ring. Her breasts spilled out of the top. Like engorged water balloons. "You are going in the jacuzzi like that?" Oh God please let there be nobody there.

"I just don't want to attract douchebags. I'm in no mood!" His eyes followed Page's behind wobbling the kitchenette. Gussy upped in enough fabric for a handkerchief. "Two Pina Coladas, one joint, two Stella's in my pockets, and the room key. Anything else?"

She paused as to let her ass be fine art. Desmond shuddered at the several second story windows. Blackened glass, lascivious irises, blinking in delight. Sliding Quicksilver bathing suits over their hard cocks. An army suited up to impose.

"Will you stop," she said.

They boiled themselves and dipped their hair. Her soaked top jutted her nipples. Oh my God, you can see her breasts!

"Nothing," he said. Not a peep from the other guests. The midnight Atlantic gusts blew Page's blonde bangs. Things blinked red in the sky. Orion's belt glittered above. Duval street murmured past the tall grove of palm trees.

"Not you again," Page said.

"Ignore him Page," he said.

"I'm calling the cops so I suggest you leave us alone," Desmond said. We left the phones upstairs.

Desmond stood up. Jet streams fondled his calves. "I'm going to kick your fucking ass in a minute dude!"

"No! Please don't!" Page said.

"You want to tell him or should I page?"

"Just a ten minute swim and I will be on my way. I couldn't fucking believe I recognize you in Sloppy Joes. My lucky day I guess!"

"With what your dick?" he said.

"Call me Jake. Just a quick bath darling," he said. Jake peeled off his leather coat. His golden ripped biceps, grey sieve-like wife beater, and tattered jeans left. His Dr. Marten boots oiled like an amphibian. He slide them to socks and unbuckled his crocodile head waistband.

"One more step. I press send."

Page sunk down. Her breasts obscured by the lathering surface. "Desmond stop."

"I am going to kill him unless you tell me what the hell is going on?"

"Fuck you and your boss!" Desmond said.

"We don't have eighty grand and she quit stripping. Ask Mr. Clemons if he would like to buy one of her paintings for eighty grand?"

"You have the crab? You're a son of a bitch!" Page said.

"What is the crab?" Desmond said.

"And you will just hand that over and leave?" Desmond said.

"What?" Desmond said.

"Oh no; you don't. I will kill you first," Desmond said. "Go take your little crab and sell it."

"You look like the type that would know some drug dealers," Desmond said.

"Fucking my fiancé is not your fate," he said.

His dry legs splashed back into the still tub. He waddled to her, displacing water. It rippled like the morning ocean. His left eye fingered Jakes crawl. Jake reversed into a new Indian style position. Both of Desmond's blue eyes squared back to Page. Her brown eyes frowned. Her lips puckered into the start of a sob. She held steady. Jake found the moon. He tucked his balls beneath the black nylon. Look at those love birds whisper. He spoke nothing. The air picked up spraying haircuts and clothing.

"It is close and in a safe spot," Jake said.

"You both could just jump me and take it," Jake said.

"He will kill us all," he said.

"Fine but if you call the cops, I will send my photo to the boss!" he said.


"Not at all. I love it."

Desmond's spine stiffened. His fiancé attuned his gaze by a frown. Into a kiss of her opalescent lipstick. She smoldered the mood. "I will have the lobster special."

"May I say excellent choice madam."

"Allergies sir?"

"I will notify the chef. And you will be having?"

"What will you be drinking madam?"

"Our one year anniversary and you have to order fucking lobster."

"No we don't sir."

"So what did Mr. bones want?"

"You know who I am talking about?"

"Who the fuck is Gus?"

"Well did Gussie offer you his cock for desert?"

"Did you get Gus's digits?"

"Are you fucking kidding me!"

Gus rested two hot plates. Desmond probed his cheekbones. Stopped below his eyes. Fancied his own pique in the mirror. He peaked into super upset. "Thank you Gus."

Page squeezed the nut cracker. With two hands she shot gunned tail particles. One chip surged against Desmond's brow. "Everything okay over there princess?"

"This way hon," she said.

"He wants to look at my paintings."

"—Did I not give up stripping for you? Now I do art, okay?"

"Fuck off little boy," Page said.

She shut the bathroom door in their room. Not slammed but burgeoned with force at an inch. Both of them capricious. One of them needed to be stable. The crux of their engagement. Her body naked, sultry, toe printing the ivory ceramic below. Her bare bottom cold against the toilet lid. She flamed the X-ACTO like a salivated joint. Her lighter skills pure magic. She fossilized marijuana cigarettes and murdered any living goo about her scalpels. Her ankles bare like warm butter. Cotton balls swallowed the red drips. Her sketches of stray cats and faceless human eyes sundered flesh.

"Hold on," she said.

"You should be proud that your girlfriend has a body like this. Do you want me to be fat?"

The jacuzzi water still and drab. Peppered with Banana leaves but warm. Desmond flipped a light switch and poked a bubble button. Blue Green Bromine water bloomed and gargled. Like a gleaming oasis in a dingy jungle. From the front, Page's red bikini not so inflammatory. She carried two white beach towels. Placed them in a chair outside the bubbling murkiness. Outside the circle of garden flood lights. Staked in the soil spraying a small morning sun. Bright pink and loud enough to see from a helicopter. Her legs carried her into the new light. Her left hand caressing the handrail. Page's ripe onion booty absorbing the buzzing glow.

"Will you submerge that thing," he said.

"Just stop advertising for an influx of perverts. Am I not good enough company?" he said.

"What now?" she said.

"Look at those love birds," a voice said.

" Not you again! " it said.

"Yes. Ignore me Page!" It's male voice cracked from a tenor to a bass in mid-sentence.

The large black crevice of a Banyan trunk ceased to speak. Instead it moved. Protruding a bald man in a leather jacket. His head like a small moon with tiger eyes. His phone out in front for snapping a selfie. But the camera pinhole aimed at her. "Nice clear pic of you Page!"

"All I have to do is hit send to Mr. Clemons and the longitude and latitude of your whereabouts goes with it!"

"What the fuck is he talking about?" Desmond said.

"What do you want?" she said.

"I'm calling the cops right now," Desmond said.

"What do you want—Mr.—?" she said.

Desmond flopped out like a seal. He rose to his feet.

"I could give a fuck. I'm going to send you back to the nuthouse you came!" Desmond said.

Jake stood as a moonlit monkey in Speedos. He held is cell phone like a magnum. Desmond slapped the phone and jabbed Jake's belly button. His lungs tied themselves in a knot. His kneecaps nested in ferns. He coughed and crawled to his phone. Desmond punted his underbelly. "Stop it Desmond!" Page said.

Jake's testicles leaked out his Speedos. His eyes locked on Orion's belt. "Your little stripper girlfriend likes to gamble. She owes the boss eighty grand then she split. Mr. Clemons..."

"He will kill you both," Jake said.

"I have something of Mr. Clemons. I stole it. He thinks Page did it," Jake said.

Desmond reddened his fist and placed all his weight on his left leg. He stood to punt Jake's brain out of his skull. "Wait! Don't! Mr. Clemons will forgive you Page. He loves you. I will give you the crab so you may return it. The crab means more to him than a measly eighty grand. He spends that for one of his house parties."

"It is a solid gold crab. Beautifully sculpted, and the size of a pine cone. Its red ruby eyes smell like heaven. It sounds crazy but they do," she said.

"On one condition," Jake said.

"I have wanted to fuck Page for seven years," he said.

"Mr. Clemons has an army looking for it. He created a network to keep tabs on jewelers around the world. Who can I sell it too for what it's worth? Not a pawn shop."

"They would rat me out to the boss. I have thought about this a while and when I saw Page at the bar, I knew this was fate," he said.

"Desmond, come here," she said.

"Where is the gold crab?" Desmond said.

"I want the Crab here now in our possession or you get nothing!" he said.

"Then you can tell Mr. Clemons about it," Desmond said.

"Go get the crab!" she said.

Jake crawled back into his denim. Than slipped his phone into his butt's pocket. Bare feet slapped the pavement. He hopped a fence in the warm shadows of the Banyan. Two teenagers plopped in the Jacuzzi like penguins. The jet currents like soft aquatic hands. It tickled around everyone's bones. Desmond emptied his head to reload an image of his fiancés ass framed in a museum. But it submerged into the squirmy bromine stench. Her gold breasts, however, perched afloat. Beavis and Butthead took notice. Their braces streaked with blue moonlight. "You guys want to smoke?"