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    Business Up Front, Party In The Back
    Business Up Front, Party In The Back
    Business Up Front, Party In The Back
    Ebook54 pages49 minutes

    Business Up Front, Party In The Back

    By M. Stephen Lukac

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    About this ebook

    Originally published as a Limited Edition Chapbook for the Horrorfind Convention in 2005, this double-shot of mullet madness resurfaces after half a decade of oblivion.

    Reluctant hairstylist Eddy Domer encounters the client of his dreams in "Business," and middle-aged Mike Grabel realizes there are worse things than going home for your twenty year high school reunion in "Party."

    These horrific halves constitute a terrible tale of wasted lives, missed opportunities, barber shops and strip clubs. Vandeburg Pennsylvania is a small town, forgotten by all except the followers of Bacchus and Kissy Mantrap.

    Bring your appetite and a stack of ones, but don't worry about a designated driver.

    You won't need a ride home. Ever again.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherM. Stephen Lukac
    Release dateFeb 20, 2011
    ISBN9781458191670
    Business Up Front, Party In The Back
    Author

    M. Stephen Lukac

    Steve is a married father of three, a professional bookseller and a still-aspiring writer. OOGIE BOOGIE CENTRAL was released in 2003, followed by BUT THEN AGAIN, YOU'LL HAVE THIS... later that year. In February 2008, Delirium Books released the long-awaited sequel OOGIE BOOGIE BOUNCE, simultaneously with a new edition of CENTRAL. Steve's also a bit of a smart ass, which will come as no surprise to regular readers.

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      Book preview

      Business Up Front, Party In The Back - M. Stephen Lukac

      Copyright 2011 by M. Stephen Lukac and Drew Williams

      Smashwords Edition

      CHOOSE YOUR STYLE

      Business Up Front

      Party In The Back

      Business Up Front

      by

      M. Stephen Lukac

      I am an artist, Eddy pronounced from behind his newspaper. The Weekly Record wasn’t good for much, but at least it made effective camouflage.

      Eddy Domer continued to scan the Local Announcements, digesting the births, marriages and deaths that masqueraded as news. He didn’t need to look to know how the Quintet would react to his statement. They were dirty, they smelled bad and none of them possessed one of their original teeth, but they were predictable.

      Benny would roll his eyes and turn his head as far to the left as the arthritis would allow. He’d ignore the protests of his vertebrae and hold the pose until Jack acknowledged the look with his customary shrug. The up and down of Jack’s shoulders would start Charlie’s upper plate clacking, the moist, rhythmic beat signaling his agreement and sending the disdain further down the line.

      Artie would shudder at the sound of Charlie’s dentures and shift his ass to the far left edge of the plastic chair to distance himself from the wet sucking sound, but only after blowing a phlegmy blast across his lips. Artie’s sudden exhale always started a coughing fit, which was just enough to wake Frank, who felt -rather than heard- Artie’s jag because he was too cheap to replace the battery in his Miracle Ear. The vibration would travel from Artie’s lungs, through the metal frame supporting the row of seats and up Frank’s curved spine, triggering an answering wheeze and the only response Eddy ever received.

      Jimmy’s boy calling himself an artist again?

      Right on cue.

      Jimmy’s boy. Why did mom and dad even bother to fill out the birth certificate? Why had he wasted all that money on monograms? Inside Vandeburg’s city limits, Eddy’s identity –which he had spent his life defining and refining- didn’t amount to fuck-all. He should have dug a hole at the base of the Welcome to Vandeburg sign along Route 120 and buried the contents of his wallet before crossing the border. No need for his driver’s license or credit cards. No use for his union card or the miniature copy of his diploma from Keystone Cosmetology. While he was at it, he should have ripped the tags off his luggage and thrown those in the hole too. In Vandeburg, his name was unnecessary, as unnecessary as his talent, fashion sense and libido. As he had been as a child, he was now and would ever be.

      Jimmy’s boy.

      The newsprint rattled as Eddy switched from pages B2 and B3 to B4, the last page of the section. Section B; Jesus what a joke. What passed for journalism in Vandeburg was nothing more than a sanitized regurgitation of the bile and innuendo available for free in every back yard, and without the seven-day wait. Twenty years ago, when Eddy had delivered the Record (back when it was a daily), folding the mass of news, sports, weather and advertisements into an aerodynamic missile was more time-consuming than walking his route, and toting the weight of seventy-five papers had put a permanent crease in his shoulder. Now, the sum total of Vandeburg’s Fourth Estate would fit in a number 10 envelope and not need extra postage.

      Eddy skimmed the rest of Section B, and then tossed the tissue-thin local news on top of the equally anemic world news already resting on the padded seat of Station 2. Section B. Station 2. As if an arbitrary designation could make a dearth of options more palatable. Why divide for division’s sake? Why have two stations for only one barber?

      The answer to that one wasn’t as simple. Jimmy’s Barber Shop had always been a one-man operation, even back when the Gang of Five had hair, teeth and functioning prostates. Vandeburg men didn’t mind waiting their turn, and even if they had,

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