WIN

“When the public begins to associate your name with an act, Charlie, when that happens…that's the point of no return. There’s no coming back. You become that thing. Then and forever. And that’s what they talk about when you’re gone.”

“In my case I think it’s at least six or seven acts Dad. Three of which are illegal in the continental United States.”

“I’m not joking son. I know what I’m talking about.”

There’s rustling at the other end, but no reply. A distracted silence ensues. He's patting his pockets and finding the four gram rock of fish-scale cocaine in the inside pocket of his jacket. No bag, just the lonely rock. There’s an upside down Frisbee on the front passenger seat. It’s a Whammo.

“I know I know. Believe me - you’re one of two people I do actually listen to.”

“Me and Emilio…”

More rustling and then he’s looking around the center console for something else. He finds nothing. Karate-chops the rock till it becomes a pebbly, sparkling dust. He raises the Whammo to his face…

“Charlie? Hell-Oh-OO!? What the fuck?…”

A long SNIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIf. Then smaller, less productive sniffs.

“Emilio!? Dad fuck no! we haven’t spoken in years.”

“Charlie shut up.”

“Ok”

‘So what we’re at staples on Saturday? Courtside?”

“Not courtside. Better.” The flat black CL-700 crawling up the slanted switchbacks of a three story parking garage.

Here he is: glistening and stinky in the hot-smoggy LA noon. Charlie stalking the am, cracking off to the plebes and public servants. A legend! A man of the people. One of us…He’s a little wobbly. He’s got the scent of mischief on him. Mischief mixed with bodily fluids and four or five different kinds of rotting booze. He registers the wave of head turning and giggles that marks his trot toward the Palm and conditioned air. People phone-filming his every mood for u-tubing later. He tips the garage guy 200 dollars and the hostess 300. He's being led. His table is the literal and figurative center of the room and as he moves he’s seeing more of that wave. There’s hushed talking, much giggling. Someone yells out “Sheeeen !”. Its Chris Rock. Charlie wishes he’d come to the Palms to lunch with Chris Rock instead of the miserable ass-douche who’s table he’s being led to by a hostess who (like many waitresses before her) whispers something truly sordid in his ear. He raises his eyebrows, whistles out loud…Classic Sheen. Finally he sits and a cloud of intoxicant vapor sits with him. The restaurant breathes out.

“Honestly, when we made the lunch I did not expect the pleasure of your company”

“Oh Bill you big silly…Why book it then fuckwad?”

Uhm…Ah. Well, where do I start?.

Charlie moves the molecules in his body a fraction of an inch upward and just begins to slightly move his eyes that way. Coupling the move with the words: “not hungry”. It’s more than enough. Bill reaches out, places three fingers on an immaculate Sheen fore-arm. The restaurant - waiters, bussers, owners, everybody - gasp as one and then fall totally, completely silent.

“OK…Well naturally, we feel…He feels wronged. We try to talk to him,. We try to make him listen to reason but, well, you know how he can be. I spent the entirety of the last two weekend trying to fix this, and after that much hard going I wanted to come myself. Now Charlie: they’ve - how do I say this? They’ve empowered me to…”

And as the stooge is blabbering, CS is drifting. He’s traveling, first around the room, then around the building, and then up up and a-fucking-way. He’s high above everything there is. He’s fucking orbiting, and people are starting to notice. He waves downward and he’s beaming, smiling a hall-of-fame smile.

“…Of course we could never have that much of this thing fig…”

A crowd is gathering under him. He sees them running and swooning and screaming to him. From the houses and churches and schools they empty and spring toward a growing, seething, moaning mass. Mothers offering their asses and their mouths and cunts and tits. Fathers offering blowjobs and cocaine. Whole families offering their very children, their unwavering devotion, their hearts and minds. A planet focused in blissful agreement. A hand reaches up. Then another…

“…So my position was: why bother, you know? Who are we to…”

They’re gazing up at him and yelling his name and suddenly he understands. This is EVERYBODY. This is total, a thing with no end. The world has finally given itself over to him, and after so many jealous, scared, hating, and god damn doubting rat-fucks have tried to take him out. The world: below him by miles and apologizing by the millions. Charlie…Charlie…Charlie they chant. It’s you! You win…

“…So that’s the long and short of it: In a word: Yes”

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

“No”. The words: whistled out of grinning Sheen lips.

They stare at each other. There is no blinking. The restaurant is a silent motherfucking restaurant. Chris Rock says “awwwk-ward” in a silly falsetto. Nobody laughs. Sheen whispers, but in a silence so complete even whispers are broadcast:

“He wont”

“He won’t?”

“Nah…”

“What does that mean?”

“It means fuck you is what it means. Fuck you and fuck him and fuck all of you. Tell me something Bill: did you really need a Wharton MBA to sell auto insurance? Did you really have to spend 7 years of dad’s hard-earned so that you could one day be a car salesman who has to BEG people on behalf of OTHER FUCKING CAR FUCKING SALESMEN? Here’s what I want you to do. I…Wait are you crying?”

“I’m not…It’s sweat…I…I…”

“It’s sweat? I had sex with three separate people - that I KNOW of - last night. I did coke and ecstasy last night. LOTS of both. I was in fuckin‘… fuckin’ VEGAS last night you SHITHEAD! It’s 12:00 and I had my last drink of a three day rip in the car as I drove here to be ON FUCKING TIME. You can‘t just…”

And then, just like that, Sheen’s seen enough and Sheen acts. As he’s booking for he door he’s bellowing:

“Tell them they are invited - all of them and their assistants and secretaries and wifes and sisters and…And sons. Every is invited to gently nuzzle my moistened taint! There’s not enough room in this world for the money it would take.”

He says the last from the door with the door open and the air boiling one side of him and the AC still blast-freezing the other. He walks out to ringing applause.