King Babysitter (Working Title)
12:45 We drive to Dr. Eichwalds oncology office in Beverly Hills, he’s vaping and the car fills with smoke like a Cheech and Chong movie. I open all the windows and he says, “oh god not you too, this is fine, it’s a vape, it’s not cancerous, the other companions are the same, you guys are pussies…’ I say nothing. The smell is disgusting, and my skin is getting an oily sheen. We park, get out and now he lights up a cigarette and is slurping the coffee loudly, we walk into the lobby of the medical building, he still has the lit cig. The security guard calmly tells him to put it out. He takes two big drags opens the front door and flicks it onto the sidewalk almost hitting a woman in a wheelchair. “Whoops,” he says sarcastically. Now we’re in the waiting room, he takes elephantine vape hits. The room is crowded with people, mostly elderly, it’s a small room and the vape clouds hang like a Manhattan beach marine layer in June. An old woman on a walker, wobbles her way up to him legitimately coughing and says, “please sir, I have an upper respiratory infection can you not do that here?” He takes another long pull off the extra-large vaping unit and as he’s blowing it out says, don’t worry this doesn’t cause cancer like cigarettes it won’t harm you. Just then the receptionist calls him in. He comes out and says he received a B-12 shot and a testosterone shot. He then says that he needs a testosterone shot because Serenity is too fat to fuck without dick pills or testosterone. He says this quite loudly and a couple of children are in the waiting room now, they turn their heads and look at him quizzically. A woman comes up to him and says, “really? are you kidding me? Can you watch your language?” He takes a massive vape hit and says, “What? It’s true. She may have an eating disorder. Are these your kids? You look great, your body is amazing for having all those kids.” He looks at me and whispers “Milf.” She looks at me, then looks back at him and says, “you are disgusting.”
“Let’s go, Stephen.” Hold on he says I need a Toradol shot. So now we wait for Dr. Eichwald to give the nurse clearance for Toradol shot – he keeps alluding to Dilaudid or Morphine and I tell him many times it’s not happening, that he will be in even more hellish pain then ever if he does. And he will just end up getting strung out again. Yeah, Yeah, he says. We leave. I just want to get back to the apartment. This guy is truly a fucking embarrassment. But he wants to stop and eat.
2:00 pm We arrive at Kings Road Cafe. He’s told 4 times not to vape or smoke in the restaurant, they threaten to kick him out, so he finally stops. He orders eggs and he’s slurping coffee and chewing his food loudly with his mouth wide open, and I mean really chewing his food. Other patrons are disgusted and seem to be spreading out in a diameter, moving to other tables and whatnot. He tells me he had stomach cancer years ago and he has to eat slow, and really masticate his food. He says that they built a pouch for him. He has a pouch for a stomach. He says he thinks they used parts of his bladder and intestines…hell, I think they even used part of my asshole. The place is small, and this guy speaks loud or louder than the volume of the room. I can’t eat. 7:00 pm is still 5 hours away.
2:45 we get back to the Apartment. He says he’s going to nap. 3:30 he’s sleeping in a mummy like pose on his back, his eyes are partially open. He looks dead. I walk closer. He’s breathing. But his eyes are partially open. It’s all very eerie.
5:00 He wakes up, and immediately makes a pot of coffee. This is the second pot of coffee today so far. He pours in about half a jar of Coffee Mate Vanilla Powdered Creamer. I imagine his ‘pouch’ just completely resonated with the Coffee Mate, it’s like vanilla cream spackle, even the parts of the pouch that were fashioned out of his asshole are fucked. I administered Suboxone and Lyrica and Gabapentin and he says he missed his 7:00 am dose of suboxone and needs that dose as well and said if he doesn’t remember nobody will. I immediately refer to previous notes on a group e-mail and see that he got his morning sub, he did. Then I also send a text to ask the overnight companion miles. He immediately texts me back with “HE’S LYING.” I tell him that he got it, and he must have forgotten. He flies into a rage. “You fucking people are the worst! I never got it, you’re fired I’m done with all this.” He’s a med seeker. I walk away. I walk out to the deck and he’s still screaming, you fucker you piece of shit I’m sick of all this I’m done with you people I leave the sliding door wide open. It’s summertime in California and I look out at into the pool area. Nice and quiet people are laying in the sun, swimming, playing with their children in the shallow end of the pool reading magazines and books just enjoying life. Stephen K is missing all of it because he’s stuck in the madness of addiction, want and need. He walks out to the balcony and continues the tirade. I sit there quietly while he continues his barrage of scorn insults ridicule and threats. You fucking people, HA! Sunnyside Companions, you’re all a joke You charge to keep people sober, that goes against everything AA is about the owner of that criminal enterprise you work for is a fucking con artist he ripped off all kinds of people. All eyes are on us now from the pool area and I don’t care. I say nothing. I get up and walk into the living room he walks in and says fuck off I’m leaving and walks into his room and slams the door. Now there’s a knock on the front door. I get up to go to the door I look through the peephole. Security guards. I let them keep knocking, I ain’t answering it. They keep knocking, “Hello, HELLO!?” He comes out of the room. “Aren’t you going to answer the fucking door,” I say nothing. He lets out a monumental sigh and he opens the door. They’re both strapped and look like no fuck around types. He asks them what they want. They ask if everything is OK. He Says, yeah except my sober companion says I got my suboxone at 7 am this morning but I know for a fact I didn’t. They cut him off, “Sir that’s between you and him.” Then him, “Well can you get him out of here?”
“Sir your Father’s name is on the lease, we’ve been through this before, call your father if you want him removed.” He then goes into this whole story about being an undercover cop. The security guards nod and tell him they have to go. He tells me I’m off to a bad start. Whatever, I say. He tells me we need to go out and buy more creamer.
5:45 We go to CVS; the vaping is non-stop. As we’re driving he calls Wayne on the speaker to find out about his living arrangements in Malibu. Stephen starts asking about the furniture and what not. “I want real shit, good stuff! Not Ikea or Living Spaces garbage, I want good appliances and cookware utensils and silverware! Not Bed Bath and Beyond bullshit, you hear me? It should be a beautiful place with plenty of indoor and outdoor entertaining space. There was a pause on the line. “Hello? Where the fuck is this guy?” He looks at me, I just shrug. Wayne says, “I’m right here Stephen, I’m just flabbergasted that you would even ask me these things AGAIN when your father and mother made it crystal clear that you are on a budget and Ikea Bed Bath and Beyond and Living Spaces is what it’s going to be, as far as cookware utensils and silverware are you fucking kidding me? Who are you? Gordon Ramsey? Fucking Emeril Agassi!? What are you gonna host elite dinner parties?! You’re lucky you’re getting anything! Fucking kidding me! You have been in thirty plus rehabs, 3 od’s in the last year alone! We are all done with you if this doesn’t work out. Stephen loses it, “Fuck you, you lackey! We were friends for years and now you are an assistant for my Dad and you are in cahoots with him to punish me! Your shit, you never made anything of yourself that’s why you have to suck the ass of the golden calf, MY FATHER! Wayne says fuck off and hangs up. He gets out of the car and walks towards CVS I follow. He calls Wayne (on speaker) as he walks into CVS. Wayne picks up, “WHAT STEPHEN!?”
WHAT!! WHAT DO YOU MEAN WHAT? Don’t you ever hang up on me again, you servant, you shlepper, you, you, SERF!! I’ll have you fired, tell my Mom and dad to gimme’ my shit! My Range Rover! My Diablo! My 1000 dollar a day! You better tighten up your attitude or I’ll have you fired fucko!” He’s throwing 5 or 6 coffee mate vanilla powdered creamer into the small CVS basket. Wayne hangs up again. “YOU MOTHER FUCKER!” “Stephen can we not do this here?” I ask
“DON’T tell me what to do!” An employee and a guard are walking quickly toward us. The guard looks like he has pepper spray in his hand. I say, “Whoa, whoa, all good man, dude was just having a disagreement on the phone, no need for pepper spray.”
“If you pepper spray me I will sue the whole CVS corporation!! My father is…” before he can finish the manager says, “Sir please just leave.”
“Not without my creamer!!” He says this the way a father would as if his child was being held captive. He’s escorted to the register, he pays, and we leave. The ride home is filled with thick seething resentment, anger and vape smoke. He’s stuck in it and I just need to get him back to the apartment. We get back he says nothing. The night shift companion Miles relieves me, and I can’t wait to leave. I go home to my wife. She has dinner made, she’s calm, she’s beautiful. I tell her the job is great. I can’t go into it any more than that. I’m in a financial position that quells my complaining…for now.