The Road To The Coat Closet

To Mr Duct Tape's way of thinking, there are no particularly great people. More or less everyone has some sort of seedy subtext. There are:

Real shits who are aware that they are real shits. Honest, straightforward folk, for the most part.

Real shits who don't really give much thought to their character, one way or the other. The amoral type: This was the realm of Greek gods, facist dictators and the type of theoretical individual idealized by German philosophers. He hadn't encountered very many of these in the everyday world, and certainly had never been picked up by one at a party.

Then, apparently, there are the really awful, utter shits that, god forbid, seem to labor under the delusion that they are nice, worthwhile people with something to contribute. These do pick you up at parties.

Tina is excited and horny. She smiles flirtatiously at the attractive young man she picked up at that horrible party. She is certain that the chemistry is there. She has to use the ladies, but decides to hold it. If she excused herself, he'd figure out what she was doing and it just wouldn't be sexy. Tina is, above all else, a good, considerate person with no interest in ruining anyone's illusions. Right now, small-talk: "What exactly is a Fuego Loco 120?" She is inspecting the long, white shaft she has been given. "Must be imported." She puts it between her lips and waits for Mr. Duct tape to produce a light. He doesn't.

"Western civilization had long been addled with afflictions: War, pestilence, most small-talk..,but there is possibly nothing more disgusting than someone who is coyly dubious about the quality of cigarette they're bumming." He might add something about one who subjects strangers to their scrapbooks within ten minutes of bringing them home to have sex with them, as if a "personality resume" was necessary, under the circumstanses, but he keeps this to himself.

Tina finds a book of matches in her purse and lights her own cigarette. She flips through the book she has placed on his lap, countenance glowing with self-satisfaction. He glances at a page she's settled on, then up at her then back to the book with a grimace of confusion and distaste. One image, labled 'National Organization Of Lesbians Against the Creation Of New Lesbians '98,' appears to show Tina wearing denim and picketing outside a Baby Gap.

"Pestilence does suck," mentions Tina. "And I'm totally not a lesbo, by the way. Never was. That was taken back when self-hatred was hip, and it did seem like good cause."

"Whatever gets you off, I guess," mumbles Mr. Duct Tape. "Does that sign say: STOP MUFFING IT UP?"

"I guess I'm just a born philanthopist. I just see so much in the world that doesn't agree with me and I can't stop myself. On the next page, there, that's a certificate of appreciation I received for my fund-raising efforts for the 'Ethical Purveyors of Real Fur.' Did you know that there's a breed of blind cinchilla in the Andes that regularly falls off of cliffs during the rutting season? You just have to wait at the bottom to pick them up."

"Hmm."

"Actually, that cheetah coat you were admiring on me tonight began by running afoul of a UNICEFF truck in Zaire. Of course they had to dye it pink to cover the bloodstains."

"Oh Christ...look..."

"Hang on, I have a couple of articles about my campaign to remove board games from prison rec rooms. I think they're in the other book."

"That's alright, really." Mr. Duct tape puts a hand up as she begins to get up fom the couch. "I think we should, you know, get to it."

"Well, okay, Tiger. Just give me a minute to straighten up and oh, I need to dose my cat." Tina disappears down a hallway. "Why do they call you Mr. Duct Tape, by the way?" she calls.

"Draw your own conclusions. Why do they call you 'Action Slacks?"

Tina reappears with a small, struggling, grey cat. "Oh, that's not me, that's the other Tina, the bitch."

"And which Tina would you you be?"

"Tina, the Let's Go-Go Girl, I guess because I'm always the life of the party." Tina has plucked a leaf from a bushy, angry-looking plant on a sideboard and is pushing it into the grey cat's mouth.

"What do they call that hot, nude girl who was chasing that topless chick around on the buffet table?"

"Oh, Joyce. You mean, what do I call her?" Tina seems short on the subject.

"Never mind. Um...interesting plant, some kind of fern?"

"Just like her to pull something like that, the slut. Deadly nightshade, actually. There you go, kitty," After it twice attempts to spit it out, Tina succeeds in forcing the leaf down the cat's throat with her index finger. The cat appears ill. "Let's try one more, sweetheart."

Mr. Duct Tape continues to observe this upsetting ritual. "I detected some sort of, I don't know, lesbian subtext between Joyce and that other girl. The one she was referring to as 'Mr. Judy'...um...hey, look, ethics aren't really my strong suite, but shouldn't you be waiting for little Earmuffs there to chew through a lamp cord or something?"

Tina pauses and blinks at him, quizzically. "Oh...oh, no. I'm just building up his tolerance. You know, just in case he tries to get into it while I'm not at home."

"Hmm. Does he have much interest in the plant?"

"None whatsoever. Avoids it, in fact." Tina places the convulsing cat on the floor and returns to the couch. "One can never be too careful, though. I had a neighbor once: A woman I befriended shortly after I moved in because I knew I had a trip out of town coming up and I would need a housesitter. Well I got more than I bargained for in that deal. It turns out that she was one of those whiners that could never stop talking about how depressed she was and how I was her only friend. I mean, come on. I'm flattered, but, like, get a job, right?" Tina scoots closer to Mr. Duct Tape. Mr. Duct Tape scoots away. Tina doen't seem to notice.

"So the morning I was leaving, she calls and tells me, in this husky, low voice, that no one loved her and that she shouldn't be left alone right now, blah-blah-blah. And I told her that no one ever would love her if she didn't own up to her commitments. I told her to take a St. John's wart and to get her ass over here. Do you want a drink or something?"

"No thanks."

"She drags herself over, and at this point I'm about to miss my flight, right? So I give her the fast run-down: Feed the cat, get the mail and water the plant. And I tell her, only half kidding, in the King's English: Don't eat this plant. This plant is poisonous."

"It seems funny you'd even bring it up." Mr. Duct Tape has an idea about where this is going.

"Well, it seemed like it merited a warning to me. I didn't know what the creepy bitch was in to, plant-wise."

"She ate the plant, didn't she?"

"No, she boiled it up into a kind of tea and drank it with some leftover tiramisu I had in the fridge."

"Oh shit..." Mr. Duct Tape chuckles sardonically.

"No, it gets worse. I came home a week later and, of course, the first thing I noticed was the smell. The cat is starving, the plant is almost dead and her naked, bloated ass is sticking out from underneath the table, over there.

"So the first thing I do is to check my underwear drawer to make sure she hadn't gone through it or anything. She hadn't, fortunately. Then I call the police. I tell them that I'd just arrived home, that I'm expecting some people for a little housewarming thing I'd arranged, and if I just dragged her back to her own, nasty apartment, could they pick her up there?"

"What an awful," Mr. Duct Tape was shaking his head, slowly. "Unbelievably awful person."

"You're telling me. It was one of the most thoughtless things anyone could pull, under the circumstances. The police started freaking out with that whole, 'Don't touch anything' deal. Then they took forever in getting here. Meanwhile, I have people showing up..." Tina recalls her mortification with an expression of self-pity. "I mean, you realize who your friends are. The way I was raised, no matter how bad a place smells or what happens to be sprawled in the middle of the living room rug, when you're a guest in someone's home, you don't start gagging and screaming as soon as you walk through the front door."
"Awful person. This is going to be fun."

Tina's attention returns at once. "Oh, you bet. Let's go."

"Right. I need you to stand up and turn around. I'm going to tape your wrists behind your back like we discussed at the party. Don't worry, you'll enjoy it. Um, like, all the kids are doing it."

"Hey, I know a bandwagon when I'm jumping on one. Shall I strip first?"

"Oh, no, that won't be necessary." Mr. Duct Tape has produced a roll of duct tape from somewhere and tapes Tina up, post haste. "There we go."

"Kinky. Now what?"
"Well, now I'm going to put you in your coat closet and leave you there."
Silent, blinking. Tina is visibly confused.

"You know...like we discussed? At the party...?" Mr. Duct Tape's tone is polite, apologetic.

"Yes, well...what about the...um..the sex?"

"Oh, no. There will be none of that. Another time, maybe. Like I explained earlier, my intention was to go back to your place, tape you up and leave you in your coat closet. That's it over there, right?"

"Yes, but, when a girl invites a gentleman home for a little 'duct-taping,' she assumes that she will get some ass out of it."

"When you 'assume,' you make an 'ass' out of 'u' and 'me,'" Mr. Duct tape observes, sagely. "In this case, mostly 'u.'"

Tina and Mr. Duct Tape share an akward silence. Mr. Duct Tape fishes a Dunhill from a pack in his pocket and lights it.

"I think you'll have a clearer picture once we get you in the closet. Here we go." Mr Duct Tape leads Tina across the room and deposits her on a stack of photo albums on the floor of the coat closet. He tapes her ankles. "Well, goodnight then."

"But, Where are you going?"

"Oh, um, back to that party. I need to give that Judy the five bucks I bet her that you wouldn't got through with this."

"But, I mean, I had no idea..."

"Well, that was the discussion I had with Judy. She was under the impression that you were so oblivious, starved for attention and sexully frustrated that I could actually tell you exactly what I planned on doing and you'd...well...I'm no psychologist. I'm very sorry."

"But how...I mean...how do you expect me to get out of here?" Tina begins to realize that, among other practical considerations, she really needs to use the bathroom.

"I'm sure Judy will be along, out of concern for your well being, no doubt, and possibly with a camera."

Tina begins to panic, causing her language to become coarse. "You warped-ass, mother-fingering..."

"Again, I'm very sorry." Mr. Duct tape closes the door.

Muffled: "LET ME THE FUCK OUT...!"

Mr. Duct Tape pauses on his way to the front door. He walks to the sideboard, collects the contentious belladonna, returns to the closet and drops it on the furious, struggling Tina's lap. He closes the door again.

The cat has dragged itself behind the couch. It's unconscious but appears to be breathing. "People suck, eh, Kitty."

Pleadingly: "IM CLAUSROPHBIC, I, UM, CAN'T BREATHE..."

"The road to hell is paved with good intentions."

"...I HAVE TO SHIT, YOU COCK-ROCKER!"

"Let's go." Mr. Duct tape scoops up the cat and heads for the door.