Read Online The Book of Stanley by Todd Babiak - Free Book Online

voice of his, and Kal paused. “Hello?” the man said again, as though he were auditioning for the role of James Bond. Since Kal had not remembered to block his number before dialing, the Ford-Mercury dealer who was having sex with the love of his life already knew who was on the phone. There was no point trying to prank the man. There was no point asking for Candace, as she would not speak to him. It was past Layla’s bedtime. “You must change your life,” said Kal.
    â€œWhat?” said Elias Shymanski, and Kal ended the call.
    Gordon Yang sensed Kal’s lack of interest in Halo 2 and dropped his controller on the chipped coffee table before them. “Let’s go to Vangelis, shoot some pool.”
    â€œI don’t want to.”
    â€œLet’s smoke a bowl.”
    â€œI don’t want to do that either, Gordon.”
    â€œWhat the fuck? So you got jumped in Kelowna, get over it.”
    â€œIt’s not them.” Kal bit his top lip and turned his video game avatar in circles until the Covenant swarmed and destroyed him. “I’ve decided to change my life, that’s all, and once you decide a thing like that you can’t take it back. It’s a venom.”
    Gordon Yang turned from the television. For a moment or two longer than usual, he stared at Kal. He chewed at his thumbnail quizzically. Then he winked. “Change your life tomorrow, man. Tonight, we get retarded.”
    With some rhetorical flourishes, Gordon convinced Kal that only a night at the strippers would cheer him up. So they phoned a taxi.
    The driver, whose name was Abdelahi according to his tag, did not speak. He listened to soft drum music. Gordon made lewd invitations to groups of university girls out his open window. When the car arrived at Showgirls, Gordon paid the fare and slid out. As Kal followed him, Abdelahi turned and said, deeply and slowly, “Prepare yourself.”
    â€œWhat?”
    Abdelahi seemed confused. In a different voice, an accented voice, he said, “I said nothing, sir.”
    â€œPrepare myself for what?”
    After a pause, Abdelahi smiled. His teeth were wonderfully white. “I do not understand, sir. Enjoy!”
    For an hour, Kal and Gordon sat at a table drinking very expensive Coke. Stringent liquor-control laws meant Showgirls could serve beer only in the adjacent bar, so most of the men shuffled in and out of the strip club. Gordon gave a standing ovation to Lana the Bulgarian Bombshell, themost beautiful woman ever seen in Plovdiv. “I want to go home now,” said Kal.
    â€œAbsolutely not. I heard the next chick’s only got one leg.”
    â€œGord, I can’t. Something weird’s happening to me and I can’t concentrate properly on strippers.”
    â€œOkay, wait. I got just the thing to cheer you up.” Gordon jogged over to the manager.
    It was clear what was happening here. Five minutes later, Kal was alone in what appeared to be a former accountant’s office. The fluorescent lights had been removed but there were two stand-up lamps, fitted with orange bulbs, one on either side of a red, faux-Persian rug. On the wall, framed photographs of nude and almost-nude women leaning artfully over motorcycles and Trans-Ams. The room smelled of cigarettes and perfume and cleaning solution. The small sign on the wall instructed Kal, in both of Canada’s official languages, to sit and stay in the padded lounge chair. If he stood up at any time during the performance, he would be forcibly removed and fined. Kal sat, inspected his fingernails and the cigarette burns in the chair arm, and wished, briefly, that he would fall asleep and not wake up for several years.
    With a quick knock, a tall Indian-seeming woman entered. Kal recognized her earlier, from the Kama Sutra and 1001 Arabian Nights performances.
    â€œKal, I presume?” she said.
    â€œYep. Hey, nice job earlier.”
    The woman wore tight black yoga