I knew Del would talk about winning the lottery. He’s old. He can barely walk. He’s illiterate and poor as a cockroach, so every time we’re together he goes into his fantasy about winning the lottery.
In his fantasy of winning tens-of-millions in the lottery, he hires the most beautiful women to fuck him. He buys all kinds of stupid shit. He has a beautiful home and a chauffeur to take him wherever he wants to go, whenever he want to go, to buy whatever in the hell he wants.
In this fantasy, he has more than enough money to fuck over his daughter, who’s the reason for all his current troubles. He tells me again and again how he wouldn’t give her dime. He says with all that money he’d pay somebody to ruin her life long past his own death. He says he’d have them sign a contract so if they fucked up her life and she got it back on track, it would be their duty to ruin her life all over again.
I’ve told him that’s cold-hearted.
He always says I have no idea how bad she’s treated him.
Every time we’re together, the old man wants to talk about his dream of winning the lottery. This day was no different.
Again, like all the other times, I told him it was dumb to think too much about it because it’s never going to happen.
Again, he said, “Well, I need something to dream about. Otherwise, I got nothing.”
But this time I was ready. I was prepared.
So when he asked, “I guess you got no dreams?”
This time I said, “Yeah. In fact, now I do.”
“What is it?” he asked.
“Fucking Selena Gomez,” I said. “And if things go right, maybe even marrying her.”
“Who’s Selena Gomez?” he asked.
“A singer. She might be in movies. Some kind of entertainer. Anyway, she’s young and famous and rich and gorgeous. At least gorgeous when she’s all made up. Otherwise, she looks a bit plain. When when she’s all dolled up, she’s gorgeous.”
“So that’s your dream, fucking this woman?”
“So how would it happen?”
“We’re sitting in an airport,” I explained. “We’re waiting on our flight. She just broke up with her boyfriend. We start to chat. I learn she likes old professional wrestling just like I do.”
“Wow. Rasslin?” the old man asked.
“Yeah. So we talk a bit about Ric Flair and Dusty Rhodes and Bruno Sammartino and all that shit. Then we get on the plane. Of course, she’s in first class while I’m in coach.”
“Well, after the flight, she’s waiting for me at the gate. She says she thought about old school wrestling for the entire flight. She wants to know if I’d like to carry on the conversation over dinner and drinks.”
“So we get chauffeured somewhere for drinks and dinner and more conversation about professional wrestling. Then she invites me to her hotel. Luxury stuff, you know. We get to the penthouse and we fuck.”
“You fuck her real good.”
“No. I don’t fuck her well at all. I’m old. Let’s be realistic. But she takes pity on me. She says she can tell I’m a tender, sensitive soul. She says she wants me to remain in her life, even though I’m old and ugly and don’t fuck very well.”
“Boy, this is good,” the old man said. “Then what?”
“Then we get married. That’s as far as I’ve gotten with it.”
“I like it,” the old man said. “Now, doesn’t it feel better to have that off your chest?”
“Not really,” I said.
“Because I know it’s all bullshit. I know it’s never gonna happen in a thousand fucking lifetimes. I know it, and I can’t pretend otherwise.”
I stopped at a red light.
“Well, if you’re done, can I go on about winning the lottery?” Del asked.
“Fuck it. Why not,” I said.