“I’m comin’,” I think I hear someone say. Probably some fat momma digging herself from the coach, tugging her raggedy sweats up over a sagging tummy, and adjusting her flabby boobs into a Dollar Store bra.
“Who’s it?”
Get your fat ass of your Rent-A-Center sofa and answer the freaking door. My balls are shriveling and your pizza’s getting cold. KNOCK. Knock. Knockity, knock, knock.
“It’s the man from The Pizza Place,” I says with a smile in my voice as the wind slams the storm door against the back of my head.
“Who ordered pizza?”
Hell if I know. Maybe your momma. Maybe her crack head preacher boyfriend whose only real reason for living is to shove scripture into some hot, sweaty, sweet chocolate—or vaniila, sex crazed cunt.
“Ty you order pizza?” the voice inside says as a cold breeze crawls up my leg and goose pimples my butt.
“Open the damn door,” an older female’s voice says, “Can’t you see it’s cold out there.”
Thump, thump, thump. Fee-fi-fo-fum. Here, here momma comes. A big eye ball, a wary weary eye ball, an elder eye ball surrounded by dark deep wrinkles peeks under the worn plum towel draped over the door window.
“Ty, you order or what?" the elder lady says. Click. The door opens. “Come on," the big, baggy lipped, round lady in a Black Hawk sweatshirt says.
“Thank you," I says as I place myself in the doorway, trying not to bump her nor the door with the pizza nestled in its bag. “It ain’t pretty out there.”
“All the way in now,” she says backing her hips up. The bird on the short shakes above her bosoms. “It’s cold out there.”
“Sure is,” I says as step onto a dirt and salt grayed wooden floor.
“Now, move,” she says, hipping her way past me to close the door.Click, thump, click. She turns around and waddles past me to the splintered and torn red carpet centered stairs to my left. “Ty? Boy you up there? Your pizza’s here.”
“I didn’t order no pizza,” the young man says.
“Who ordered pizza?” the stately elder says, looking up the stairs with one hand on her hip and the other propped on a chipped, polished rail. “You all knows I ain’t supposed to be moving around like this. Now, who ordered the damn pizza?” She turns her head and gazes her watery, stern eyes at me. She smiles. “Don’t you worry. I’ll get this figured out.”
Yah, sure mama. As soon as the good Lord arrives on his chariot with angles blazing in the saddles to take you home.
“I ain’t in too much of a hurry,” I says,“seeing that it’s all nice and warm in here. You been outside? Shhh—, it’s nearly a blizzard.”
“Nearly? Honey, I sure am glad I ain’t out there,” she says and turns her head. “Come on now, someone pay this man.”
“I’m coming,” a sweet, bitter voice says from below.
“What you doin' down there?” granny’s voice says as she stomps her foot.
I’ll tell what they’re doing granny.
“Ain’t none your business what we doin’.”
“You all ordered the pizza.”
Can’t you smell it? Dank, smoldering, acidic and sweet.
“Get up here. The man’s got better things to do besides wait for your ass.”
They’s hitting the kush chronic wrapped in a blunt blanket.
“Shi—t,” a bass voice whispers and snickers from below, “she’s gonna ...”
“Shut up….ain’t no one asked you.”
“Get your ass up here,” granny says, as she trumps and opens the white, chipped, and scuffed door a few feet to the right of me, “and pay this man.”
“I’m comin’. Just as soon as Jimar gives me some money.”
“How much is it?” another voice yells from below.
“How, much is it?” granny says to me, her behind knocking the door against the wall.
“23 dollars and 95 cents,” I says.
“It’s 23.95,” she says sticking her head into the dark stair well. “Jamir give her some money. You too Lehi.”
“I ain’t got but a few bucks,” the bass voice says.
“Give her the money. And you girl, you get up here so this man can get on his way.”
Yah, fat bitch give me some money or granny’s going to fall down them stairs and rip you a new one. Dumb asses, can’t even have the money ready. What? Why you order pizza if you don’t even know if you got the cash? Stupid stoners. Shit, like you’re the only run I got.
“She’ll be up here soon. Don’t you worry.“
“It’s all cool. Ain’t like I’m looking back into getting into the blizzard out there.”
“Ain’t it bad. Be glad when it’s over.”
“Just a few more weeks and hopefully the birds’ll be singing.”
“Hope so. Can’t stand this cold. And the snow…,” granny shakes her head then yells down the stairs. “Rissa, you got the man’s money. Pizza gonna get cold. Come on now.”
“Just wait,” the younger lady’s voice says as I hear the click of change, followed by some squeaky hinges and the tap, tap, tap of heels on concrete and wood, “I’m coming.”
Coming. Coming. Everybody’s coming. You're coming. He’s coming. She’s coming. I’ll be coming—sometime tonight—after I kiss the wife, eat supper, and take out the trash. Get your fat a….
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, my eyes flowing over the dark mounds peeping from under the pink shirt appearing at the top of the stairs. Ummm….damn. And, I thought she was a fat ass. Guess not. Looks she’s about a 9 or 10 and 22. Nice.
Granny glares at me as she moves aside to let the pretty lady through.
“Nice picture of Christ on the wall there, “ I say motioning my head to the Jesus picture hanging on the wall beside the door. “My momma’s got one just like it. Really nice.”
“Uh-huh,” the old lady says and shakes her head as she walks around the corner into the living room.
“Hi. How you doing today?” I says as I look the girl in the eye and smile. “Nice day out there, “ I pause as she fumbles the cash from her pants. Her big brown high eyes look up at me, “if you’re a penguin.”
“Yah,” she smiles. “Here’s the 95 cents.” She opens the palm that ain’t digging in her pants and drops the change into my hand that ain’t holding the pizza bag. “How much more do I owe you?”
“Twenty three bucks,” I says. Miss pretty pulls some bills from her pocket. She unfolds some, uncrinkles others. I catch my eyes looking down past the the dark plumb skin cresting above her shirt. She counts the cash in her hand. I move my gaze to her lips. Nice, plump and not too pouty. Sweet.
“20. That close enough?” she says as I flop down the flap, undoing the pizza bag.
“Sorry, can’t cover it. Ain’t had that good of a night,” I says, the smile in my voice lowering. Cheap ass bitch. What you think? I made of? Money? You’re hot, but not that hot. Shit. Now maybe if you gave me a hit of what you’re smoking down there, then maybe.
“Pshhhhaaaw,” she says rolling and lowering her eyes. She scowls a pout from her fat lips as her hand reaches into her 34 C, baby blue bra and takes out a five. “You got change for this?”
“Certainly,” I says as I look her in the eye—a long fat grin faking across my face. I take the cash. I pullout two warm, steaming, large pepperoni pizzas and place them in her hand. I place the bag under my arm. I reach into my pocket and fumble around . “Your change ma’am,” I says withdrawing two bills. “Two dollars. ” I nod my head, smile and place them in her hand. I turn around and open the door. The cold hits my face.
“Have a nice day,” the pretty woman says.
“I will,” I says as I step outside. I stop and turn back to her. “Hey, here’s the receipt. On the back is a webpage or a phone number you can use to give me feedback on my service. My name is Pizza Man. You might win and Kindle or 500 bucks. Thank you,” I says smiling as I start down the stairs. “Have a nice day and stay warm.”
“Oh, I will,” she says. Two pretty points poke from her now chilled mounds.
Nice. But not that nice. Cheap ass, no tipping, wanting-me-to-cover-two-bucks bitch.
“Rissa close that door,” the elder lady’s voice says. “We ain’t heatin' the outside.”
I pull my hood up, walk to my beat-up blue Escort and get in. I light a smoke and drive off to the next adventure.
