Wolfy Chai

The smell of refurbished leather and exotic floral notes filled the air. The sun was setting on the tarmac; the light made the floor-to-ceiling windows glow with golden hues. A buffet was served; assortment of finger foods stacked in a pyramid shape on the perfectly pressed ivory tablecloth. Suzzie DiAngelo peered her eyes to browse the options, paying close attention to which were labeled “organic” and “gluten-free.” After a period of intense deliberation, Suzzie finally settled on the crab cakes and air-fried potato fritters—seed oil-free.

Once she stacked her plate up high, she hovered over to the bar and picked up a complimentary glass of Champagne. Now that she was settled in, she retreated to a seat in the corner where she could not be seen. She sat down and promptly gobbled up her meal, polishing it off by chugging all the champagne at once. She let out an audible burp when the last drop dripped down her esophagus, sparking a playful high-pitched laugh in response. “Heee, heee!”

“Disabled Veterans and 65+ please!” A voice called over the intercom. The first group was starting to board. She was always first in line—she made sure of it. In fact, Suzzie always had to arrive at the airport 5 hours beforehand. And like a Mayan ritual, the first thing she does, each and every time, is lay her eyes on the gate. It gave her a sense of comfort, but even more so, a sense of control.

She could not believe how quickly the time flew. She would have already been up there by now. Ordinarily, she kept better track of things. She figured she must be slipping. Or was it the booze?

After elbowing through a sea of unsightly coach passengers, she made it to the front of the line, proudly displaying her diamond preferred boarding ticket. A woman with a walker attempted to stand in front of her, cutting off her route to the door. A cluster of assisted living chaperones surrounded the woman. She couldn’t understand why they just stood there in her way. She could not stand the smell that they all seemed to give off… what is that shampoo called, Dove 3-in-1? She barfed a little inside, plugging her nose as she walked past.

While she thought it would be smooth sailing from here on out, while she was traversing the tunnel that connected to the plane, a heap of red marbles flew out of her handbag, scattering all over. One rogue marble managed to smack a fellow passenger straight in the eye after bouncing off the handrails. But instead of attempting to mitigate injuries to innocent bystanders, she was more concerned with collecting all of the marbles.

Before everyone knew it, Suzzie was on her hands and knees trying to gather all the marbles she could find, afraid that if she failed to, a dark spirit would attack her in her dreams and feed on her soul. She remembered what her personal psychic, Madame Ronda Mystique, said. “These are for your protection,” handing her a pouch of marbles, “If they break, it is a sign that a dark spirit is trying to attack you.” Then, she remembered a less savory piece of advice that barraged into her memory. “I’m sorry to be so frank with you, sweetie, but I gotta be honest, you have a black heart, like…really black… like… black hole type shit. Look. If the demons see red, they will be less inclined to attack, that is what the marbles are for.” She rolled her eyes at the memory and got back to business.

She dove onto the floor. Her mousey brown hair started bouncing around so much from crouching down that it evolved into a festering hive of curls; the product she applied several hours earlier began screaming, trying to prevent frizz from accumulating. “Don’t look at me!” She screeched, looking back towards the passengers who began crowding around and witnessing the scene unfold. At this point, she more closely resembled a rabid chimera than a woman. Her voice had gone from her ordinary raspy and valley girl to shrill and demonic. As soon as economy was called to board, she quickly put on her sunglasses so she could hide from the gaze of the common cattle class. Her assistants, Brook-Jones Schemel and Eunice Chan, finally made it to her. “I need help!” She instructed Brook-Jones to stuff his long arm down a crack in the handicap ramp to fetch a marble. His buttocks stuck out right into the crowd.

After she was done rummaging through the crowd to collect the last marble, Suzzie returned to a vertical position, her body re-inflated, as if a new dose of filler had been injected into her cheeks, and she promptly slivered into the first-class seating area. Her assistant, Brook-Jones, went to pick up her huge leather carry-on bag. Unfortunately, it was too fat to fit in the overhead compartment.

“What is taking so long?!”

Brook-Jones did everything he could to shove it in, pulling from his experience sucking his tummy in for photographs, but nothing worked. The bag was in desperate need of a liposuction, but there was no plastic surgeon on hand. Before long, he was throwing out paraphernalia from the bag: a bra, a scarf, a roll of Scotch tape, eyebrow tweezers, and a pack of organic fruit leather strips.

In the meantime, Suzzie was comfortably settled into her First-Class suite, yawning a bit as she was flipping through the latest Cosmo magazine, blissfully unaware of the ruckus Brook-Jones was causing, his fingers floundering through random apparel items at her feet. All of a sudden, her right hand left the page, and without flinching, slammed the flight attendant help button with her palm, turning the temporarily pacified lioness into a raging feline.

A flight attendant named Martha Jane Haggle arrived at the scene, squeezing her face around Brook-Jones and the crowd of people who were waiting to board the flight. It wasn’t until the flight attendant swiped the magazine from her hands that Suzzie noticed she was there.

“Oh yeah, I hit the button. Can I get some more champagne, my throat is as dry as a bone. Oh! And while you are at it, I can use a pack of gluten-free saltine crackers.”

Her eyes drooped slowly after placing her first round of demands, suddenly catching a glimpse of Brook-Jones’ brassy blonde hair, on her way back to her magazine, the roots already showing his revolting natural dark brown color.

“You need to do something about this,” she scolded, pointing at Brook-Jones, who now had the bag laying out in the aisle. She quickly got up, immediately identifying that she would have to take care of it herself.

“Brook-Jones, what is the problem here? Why is it that whenever something goes wrong it always must be your fault,” she accused. He covered his face to brace himself, knowing from his experience that the cobra was ready to rear its head.

“Your bag won’t fit. I need. . .”

“What?!” She screamed, cutting him off like a venomous snake stunning its prey. “Give it to me!” She thrust the bag up to the overhead compartment with superhuman strength.

“I could have hired 10 replacements by now. Do your job!”

“Help me push,” she instructed. “One! Two! Three!” The two pushed the luggage and managed to squeeze it in place. “See, now that wasn’t very hard, was it? I don’t want to see you again. Go to the back where you belong. I have had enough things go wrong today. I don’t need another mistake ruining my flight.”

She called out to Martha, flagging her down. “Honey, I am going to need to upgrade that Champagne to a vodka soda, and fast!” She noticed Martha staring into space for a moment. “Pronto! Get to it.” She clapped in her face a few times, and Martha quickly wrestled her way back to the beverage cart, retrieving Suzzie her poison of choice.

Suzzie was handed the vodka concoction. “Good God, finally, I can relax. It took you long enough. You know, I am pretty sure they don’t hire you to just stand there and look stupid. Now get out of my face!” She flicked her away with her hand.

The other passengers now flooded onto the plane. First, a fat woman with a wobble, then, a baby that cried all the way to the back of the plane, where it belonged, and then, an old woman. The old woman was named Darleen Sheriden. She was a socialite from Little Rock, Arkansas. Her late husband, Roy, owned the biggest cattle ranches in the State. She was on her way to Cancun for her grandson’s, Jeffrey’s, wedding.

Darleen stumbled out of her wheelchair and sat in the seat behind Suzzie. When it looked like she was going to ask her for help, Suzzie quickly hid behind her magazine. Luckily, a young man intervened, grabbing her cane and placing it in the overhead bin above, right next to Suzzie’s bag.

The plane took off. Suzzie began to fall asleep intermittently, but her eyes remained open. Her mouth was hanging out, allowing drools to slowly pool down her cheek. Then suddenly, a light flicked on. The old lady was crocheting a blue blanket for her grandson’s new baby boy. She was rudely awakened and not in a good mood. But this time, she decided she was going to let the old bitch off the hook.

She was bored, so she began looking across at the other passengers. A middle-aged lady with fat fingers pulled out an oily Cliff bar and started chewing through its fleshy interior with her mouth wide-open. Suzzie was horrified. Before the woman could pull a chunk off, Suzzie instinctively shoved the bar down her throat with her fingers and said, “How are you liking all that refined sugar, piggie!” The woman spat out the parts of the bar that she couldn’t deep throat all over her pink blouse that she no doubt fished out of a clearance bin at Marshalls or something. The pig woman peered across the room, her fat cheeks making her eyes thin, but Suzzie quickly re-opened her magazine, keeping one eye covertly on the scene of the crime from a safe distance. When the female was unable to determine which person shoved the bar into her mouth, she was forced to retire and began picking at the moist crumbles that fell into her blouse, making sure none of them went to waste.

The rest of the flight went smoothly—for the most part.

As soon as the plane made it to the gate, Suzzie got up from her seat. As she was aggressively grabbing her bag from the overhead compartment, she didn’t even notice the cane that was precariously placed nearby, because she was already on the phone with a client… As quick as a flash of lightning, the cane came tumbling down, and with almost uncanny accuracy, bonking the unsuspecting Darleen Sheriden on her head, causing her to dramatically collapse onto the ground, face down. She was knocked unconscious in the aisle of seat 2A. Her dentures, not far off, in row 5.

Suzzie shrugged for a hot second before pushing her way off the plane, making sure Darleen’s aging flesh didn’t contaminate any of her personal items. She had better things to do. By the time the gate door was opened, she had already taken 10 calls in a row.

She rushed her way into a town car, not knowing where her assistants were with her luggage. Still on a phone call. Finally, she saw Brook-Jones and her other assistant, Eunice Chan, running towards the car with 8 bags in hand. “Well, it took you long enough. Hurry up!” Suzzie screamed.

Brook-Jones started talking. “We were in row 35…” Eunice cut him off by covering his mouth. “Nice save,” Brook-Jones said. Sometimes Brook-Jones just did not know when to keep his trap shut. His candor and honesty were more of a liability than an asset.

The car started driving before Brook-Jones could get his foot into the car. Suzzie tried to slam it shut five times. “Why isn’t the door shutting?” Suzzie said, blissfully unaware.

After finally thrusting the door shut, Suzzie began fisting through her medicine bag, which served as her personal pharmacy, taking out an Adderall. “Ok, you guys…” she started, shoving an Addy into her mouth with one hand and searching for her water bottle with the other. “I need some juice, you guys.”

The two assistants looked at each other, knowing this was going to be a long, long night. It was only 7 p.m., and she was already popping stimulants.

Brook-Jones went on Google Maps, trying to find a cold-pressed juice place that doesn’t use plastic containers. He finally narrowed it down to one 75 miles away… but they haven’t eaten anything all day. He was not very inclined to share it.

“I can’t find any nearby,” Brook-Jones said, now half-alive because his blood sugar had dropped so low that he was about to pass out.

“Well, where is it?” Suzzie asked, grabbing his phone, clearly not buying it.

“75 miles away. Oh! That is not too bad, put in the address!”

The assistants looked at each other in dismay. Here we go again.

After driving for what felt like 7 days and nights, they arrived at the juice shop called Green Goddess Juicery. Suzzie got out first, tugging the door hard as she usually does. It wouldn’t budge. Brook-Jones apparently misread the hours. It closed at 8 p.m. on Saturdays, not 10…

Suzzie blew up into a hissy fit. “I knew that something had to go wrong, it always does when I rely on you. I should have asked Eunice to find a place. She is Asian, she always does things right.”

Brook-Jones collapsed inwards. Without many options left, the three decided to go to an Italian place across the street instead, Mamma Mia’s Pizzeria. Italian was their mutual favorite.

Mamma Mia’s had a dilapidated sign, with a few letters unlit. It had blacked-out windows and a tattered overhang. Once inside, they observed that the seating area was lit with tacky antique chandeliers with fake leather booths. Just before sitting, a cockroach crawled under a table, but Suzzie luckily didn’t see it. Brook-Jones was too tired to point it out.

“Is there anything we can get started for you?” The waiter smiled unassumingly, placing a breadbasket filled with freshly microwaved baguettes in the center of the table.

Suzzie’s eyes started bulging out of her head. “Are these gluten-free!?”

“Uh, no ma’am, we don’t have any gluten-free bread…”

“Can’t you get that I do not do gluten? I have Celiac disease. You could have killed me. Take them away!” She put on a disposable nylon glove from her handbag to hand the basket back at the waiter, throwing the used gloves into the basket on its way out. She then proceeded to lather her hands up with a Costco-sized Purell bottle.

“Anyone want any?” She asked, more as a demand rather than a suggestion.

As per usual, Brook-Jones ordered a caprese salad to start, Eunice asked for an Insalata Mista, and Suzzie ordered gluten-free flatbread, clams, and lobster bisque.

After taking one slurp of the bisque, Suzzie commented.

“Does anyone know the ratings at this place? Look it up.” Eunice said, 4.5 stars.

“I want you to give it 2 stars. And make it under your name; I don’t want to be associated with it.” Eunice complied, of course.

For the main course, Brook-Jones just had to get a pasta, Pasta Primavera to be exact, with garlic knots. Eunice got the Chicken chopped salad while Suzzie ordered the Eggplant Parmesan.

“Brook, you better make sure to wash your hands good after eating that. We aren’t sharing drinks tonight.”

During the dinner, Brook-Jones took out his phone under the tacky checkered tablecloth to text his best friend, Gina Rosenberg. “Hey, did you want to hang out tonight? I just got into town.”

Suzzie caught him laughing at something. “What are you laughing at?” An eyebrow lifted. “No phones allowed at the dinner table, it’s rude.”

“Oh, it is just my friend Gina. We were going to meet…”

She interrupted with a loud squeak, “Gina! Oh my God! You should totally tell her that she can sleep over tonight! I can send her a car. I am doing it now.” She took out her phone and dialed a number. “Oh, us four are just going to have so much fun tonight!” She said while the call was ringing.

The waiter came by to drop off the check. “Brook-Jones, will you give him my black card? Thanks.”

Brook-Jones almost forgot to wash his hands before handing the waiter the card. “$595.67.”

“Yeah, yeah, that is fine. Just don’t leave a big tip. Okay. Okay.” She hung up the phone. “Alright, I am ready to get to the hotel, let’s go.” Brook-Jones was trying to pack his leftovers but was forced out of the booth by Suzzie.

“I got us a helicopter. We don’t want to keep Gina waiting.” All of a sudden, flood lights blinded their eyes. Leaves started stirring up. The ground shook a little. A helicopter came to land right in the parking lot.

“Alright, everybody get in.” And the three were off.

They finally landed on the hotel’s premises. It had a long entrance that was framed by two sets of Royal Palms. At the front, an enormous fountain at the center of a roundabout. They entered the lobby; polished marble floors, stylish lighting, and the center held a vast koi pond with bridges. Live plants hung from the interior balconies. An enormous aviary in the corner housed dozens of exotic jungle birds. It appeared that the property had a jungle theme.

“We are checking in,” Suzzie instructed.

“Oh, for two rooms, the Jungle suite, and a regular?” The front desk lady, Maritza, had a thick Mexicano accent that Suzzie could barely understand.

“No, make sure they are connecting. They must be connecting. Do you even speak English? No Hablos Espanoles.”

“Room 309 and 311. Across the hall?”

“No, not that, a door that opens.”

“Ah, yes, okay. Here you are, Miss DiAngelo.” Suzzie manhandled the keys from of Maritza’s stubby hands, applied a generous helping of purell, and they were off.

The gang made their way to the center of the lobby where Gina was sitting on a bench. “Gina!” Suzzie was the first to see her. “Oh my God! Honeyyyyyyyyy, I am so so sooooo glad you decided to come, please give me a big hug. Mwah. Mwah.” She gave a kiss on each cheek. “Come on. Let’s head up to the room. I am tired.”

Suzzie slid the key in the door. It clicked open. At first, it was very dark and silent. They turned on the lights and opened the connecting door. “Who is sleeping with me tonight? You, Eunice, or Gina?” She asked. “Never mind, of course Gina, you go with Brook-Jones. Silly me. Oh, you know, just a little fantasy of mine!” She winked. The two went in their room.

Suzzie jumped into bed and laid down. She was sprawled out rubbing her legs and then her face against the Egyptian cotton sheets. That is when everything changed. Just when she was about to relax for the first time all day, after 30 minutes, the room started to rumble with sound effects. At first, they thought it was an earthquake. But then, a dinosaur roar. “Is that your white noise machine, Eunice?” Brook-Jones and Gina heard Suzzie call out in the distance. Eunice shook her head.

She was ready to ignore it, but the growls got increasingly loud. Baboons began to join in. Then squawking birds. Now the sound of thunder.

Lightning bolts started flashing from the ceiling. “Okay, what the fuck is going on here?” Suzzie said. The thunder cracked. Then water started to drop on her face… the sprinklers began showering rain in the room. “I am calling the lobby.” But right when she was about to dial the number, it all stopped.

“Thank god.”

Suzzie undressed and climbed into the shower. Thinking that she could finally relax, she let her shoulders decompress under the hot water. But like clockwork, 30 minutes later, the cycle started again. This time, the shower began shooting jets of cold water. The stream was so powerful that Suzzie’s face got pressed flat against the shower glass. “Eunice,” she called. She began choking on the water and violently coughing.

Eunice came into the bathroom; Suzzie was butt naked. “I can’t turn it off; I can’t turn it off!” The jets of water shot her in the face every time she tried to turn the shower off.

Soon thereafter, the bathroom misters began humidifying the bathroom. Eunice, now soaking wet, managed to thrust the shower door open, sending Suzzie back on her ass. Eunice fought Suzzie to keep her seated so she could reach the handle and successfully shut it off. Eunice’s hand slipped, causing a glob of shampoo to shoot into Suzzie’s mouth. Suzzie gasped for air, now choking on both the water and the shampoo. “I need the Heimlich, give me the Heimlich, Eunice, NOW!” Eunice got behind her and slapped Suzzie in the back 15 times. Each time, Suzzie threw up more and more water.

Brook-Jones and Gina heard something was going on, so they both ran into the bathroom. “What is going on here?” Eunice finally shut off the shower. While she was hoping for a moment of peace, all of a sudden, an extremely bright heat lamp came on. The water evaporated, turning the bathroom into a blistering hot sauna. It was so bright everyone was blinded by the light.

“Turn it off. Turn it the F off. Somebody just do something. Be useful!” Eunice grabbed her bathrobe and gently put her arms through the holes.

Brook-Jones reached for the light switches but kept on pushing the wrong one. The first switch made the toilet flush, the second engaged the floor heaters, the third ushered in a tropical breeze from the air vents. As time went on, the breeze increased in velocity. Soon, the four were struggling to stand, as the soap from Suzzie getting out of the shower now coated the entire bathroom floor, making the surface extremely slippery.

“Brook-Jones!!! What the actual F are you doing.”

Brook-Jones reached for the light switches again, with only one left to hit. Instead of disengaging just the heat lamp, though, electricity was cut from the entire room.

“Great. Now look what you did?”

“It is better than the alternative,” Eunice said. “Are you going to call to get a new room? No, no, I think I have had enough. And with the electricity cut, at least this means no more rainstorms. I just need to sleep. We have our first client at 6 a.m.”

Suzzie put on her robe and slipped into bed, passing out cold turkey. Everything was going well. Well, until 2:15 a.m.

At quarter past 2, a furry eight-legged tarantula found its way into the room. It began crawling up to Suzzie’s mouth. She was snoring loud. On a snore inhale, the spider opportunistically crawled into her mouth, triggering Suzzie to start coughing. The spider flung across the bed, landing on her foot. The furry creature had her freaked out. She violently kicked the spider against the wall, but even with that substantial blow, it was far from injured, easily regaining its traction on the wall. Instead of trying to kill it, Suzzie baited the spider with Rice Krispy treats to the connecting room where Brook-Jones and Gina were sound asleep in each other’s arms. She slammed the door shut and flopped back into bed.

30 minutes had gone by without a whisper. But just like that, the power turned on again.

The dinosaurs started growling, the baboons started shrieking, the birds started cawing. Lightning was flashing even more violently than the first time. Boom! Boom! Boom! The thunder roared. At this point, Suzzie had enough. She took out a mini-fridge Red Bull and began chugging. She had one, then two, then four. She was wired up, banging her head against the lid of the toilet and brushing her teeth repeatedly. She started having convulsions and hyperventilating—a manic episode.

When the morning light came in, Suzzie’s rampage led her to begin banging against the wall. Brook-Jones and Gina were awakened by all the noises and flashes going on in the adjacent room, and the two sat up in bed. Brook-Jones got a good look at Gina—without the makeup. Her hair was extremely frizzy and floppy on her head. Her eyes had dark circles under them that made her look like a stoned skunk. He was so distracted by her hideous face that he barely noticed the creature that had climbed its way onto her head. Out of the corner of his eye, Brook-Jones saw a dark figure move in her hair. “Don’t move,” Brook-Jones instructed. He pulled out a flat iron from his luggage and carefully moved it through her hair. Unfortunately, the device got ensnared by Gina’s unkempt mass of keratin. “Oh, fuck. Don’t move.” Because the spider looked like it was about to leap. He reached for it, smacking Gina in the face instead of getting the spider. With each passing moment, the hot iron began burning through Gina’s hair. Brook-Jones forgot about it as the fear took over his body.

“WTF,” Gina snapped. “What is it?” But before she had time to retaliate, Brook-Jones smacked her again. Another miss.

Going in for a third time, Brook-Jones managed to get the spider out of her hair and flung it off the balcony into the ponds below.

Before they could recover, Gina’s hair had burned off, and Suzzie was at the door. Banging and banging. Trying to get in, but Brook-Jones remembered that he had put on the safety latch when he went to the bathroom a few minutes earlier to make sure she wouldn’t try to join them in bed. With one violent swoop, Suzzie pulled the latch straight off the wall and barged in.

“I don’t like to be ignored, Brook-Jones,” she said, furious, standing at the door. Her eyes were bloodshot and bulging out of her head. Her hair made it seem like she had been electrocuted. “This is the last of you I will see, mister. You are fired!”

Gina and Brook-Jones looked at each other. Equally scared, the two dove under the comforter to hide. But they knew that she would call him in just a few hours to do a house call after her morning trazodone had kicked in.