Chapter 29 of The Autobiography of Viva Doc Vegas: Broadcasting Legend


I woke up a little less than 100%.  A night of drinking and other I only assume some of which were illegal things with Amy Lee in the Big Apple will do that to you.  I remember doing parts of the show at WLIB.  I remember Al Franken laughing at some of the shit I said, so I must have been funny at least.  I remember Amy Lee being on the show and inviting me hang out with her and party.  But that was last night and this was this morning, I guess.  Amy was still in bed.  I let her sleep.  I got dressed and headed out the door of room 3202.

The hallway was so bright.  I’m glad I had my sunglasses on.  I walked down to the elevator and punched the little button with the down arrow on it.  The button lit up red as I pressed it.  I took a step back and tried to clear my head.  I heard something down the hallway.  The giggling sound of female voices.  The giggling voices grew louder as the three girls finally appeared from around the corner.  They were all dressed up like they were going out for the evening.  I looked them up and down.  Young girls.  Probably their first time in Manhattan.  You could tell a lot by just listening to people talk.  All three of these girls were amazingly hot.  I shook the cobwebs out of my head and turned on my charming radio smile.  I looked over at the three girls and used my classic opening line, “I’m Doc.  Do you like to party?”

They all stopped talking for a second and looked at each other before the brunette of the group said, “Yeah, we party.”

Jackpot I thought to myself.  Let’s mash the gas here.  “You got a couple more friends because I’m looking to really party.”

The short-haired blonde spoke up and said they were meeting a couple of other girls in the lobby.  The ding of a bell sounded and the elevator doors slid open.  We all entered and the doors eased shut.  We rode all the way down to the lobby without another stop.  When the doors of the car opened, there were two more amazingly hot girls, a ginger and another brunette.  I liked the way this was shaping up.

A quick round of introductions of names I had no intention of remembering and we all headed out the front door of the hotel.  It was dark outside.  What time was it?  How long had I been asleep?  Wonder what Amy is doing?  Anyway, no time to sort all that out.  Gotta stay focused on the now.  The long-haired blonde of the group raised her hand to hail a cab.

“What the hell are you doing?” I said, gently grabbing her arm and pulling it down to her side.

“I was–”

I cut her off, “Do you know who the hell I am!?”  She looked bewildered.  She stammered for words before I put a finger over her little lips.  “I’m Viva Doc fucking Vegas!  I have a moderately rated overnight radio show!”  The ginger and the short-haired blonde giggled with delight.  I pulled out my StarTAC phone, flipped it open, and raised the small antenna.  I called Dionjilo and had him bring the limo around.  The ginger and the short-haired blonde were already on my arms when the Caddy screeched to a halt in front of the hotel.  We all got into the limo, me and five beautiful girls.  “Roll, Dionjilo,” was all I managed to get out before the ginger started kissing me.

We drove around for what nearly wasn’t long enough.  By the time we reached Avalon over off of 20th, I’d made out with 60% of the girls in the limo.  Dionjilo dropped us off and we all strutted up to the front door.  I had been to the Avalon enough that the bouncer knew me so I wouldn’t have had to pay to get in anyway, but, with five beautiful women all around you, cover charges get overlooked at dance clubs no matter who you are.  I don’t remember much about the club other than it was like every other club I’ve ever been to–dark.  The manager of the club knew who I was as well and we were escorted to a private out-of-the-way area with comfortable couches, plush chairs, and free drinks.  As other girls made their way over to say hello and party it up, the five girls I arrived with headed out to the dance floor.

Time had little meaning.  I had had a dozen various shots that people had bought me on top of the three or four beers I had drank.  There were another five girls who were lounging all over me and the couch I was sitting on in various positions by the time the five girls I arrived with found their way back over to me.

The ginger walked around behind the couch and leaned in close to my ear and said, “We’re ready to go back to the room to have some fun.”  She lightly licked my ear and released a heavy breath.  I said, “All right, we’re fucking rollin’.  Who’s in?!”  The five new girls who were sprawled out all over the couch jumped up and we all headed toward the door.  Dionjilo had the limo parked out front when we poured out of the club.  Everyone piled in and we headed back to the hotel.

When we pulled up at the hotel the limo looked like a clown car of supermodels.  Ten beautiful ladies struggled out of the back of the black stretch and to their feet.  I was the last one to get out.  Before I left the car, I looked at Dionjilo in the rear view mirror.  “You lucky bastard,” was all he said and he saluted me.  I saluted back and got out of the car and closed the door.

The girls looked at me and I said, “Come on.”  We all went up to the convention level and wandered into some sort of convention cocktail mixer.  I had learned long ago that there’s never any reason to buy alcohol.  The girls were a delightful addition to the evening as it was mostly stuffy men in expensive business suits.  The girls mingled a bit while I kept wandering around and dumping free drinks into them from the open bar of this event that wasn’t even my event.  After 30 minutes and who knows how much alcohol, I rounded them all up and we headed back to the elevators.

Once we all got up to room 3261, I looked at the girls and said, “Okay, let’s get down to business and party.”  I explained what I was looking for.  The girls whose room this was were all in, but one of girls I had rounded up from the club looked at me and said, “It’s gonna cost ya.”  Typical club girls.

“Fine,” I said, “How much?”

The raven-haired club candy replied, “Seven.”  Never flinching, I reached into my pocket and threw out seven big ones.  She looked at the bills laying on the small coffee table and said, “No, seven each.”

I looked at the ginger who was clenched to my left arm and said, “Do you believe this shit?  Fine.  Let’s get comfortable and get this thing going.”

So 35 bucks later we are all playing the biggest game of Monopoly I’ve ever been in.  If I haven’t mentioned it before, I fucking love Monopoly.  It’s by far the best game Parker Brothers has ever put out except for maybe Rack-O.  And technically Hasbro puts out Rack-O, but Parker Brothers is a subsidiary of Hasbro, so cram your technicality.  But I do have to say this, eleven people playing Monopoly is a fucking wreck.  And girls are loud.  And even louder when they’re being competitive.

Right around hour number three of the game was when hotel security knocked on the door.  Apparently the hotel had gotten calls and Chaz, the head of hotel security, said other guests had reported that it “sounded like someone was being murdered in room 3261.”  Whatever, Chaz.  Then Chaz started asking a bunch of questions about whose room this was and how long they were staying at the hotel and who all these other people were.  I kissed the ginger on the cheek.  She giggled and batted her eyes.  I patted her on the top of her thigh and got up from the couch.

I decided now was a good time to go get some ice.  I took the shiny metal ice bucket and headed out the door.  The ice machine was on the floor below me, so I had to wait for the elevator.  I looked like hell, wearing my sunglasses, standing there in just my Dr Pepper t-shirt and my green and orange striped boxers, holding a metal ice bucket.  As the bell dinged and the elevator door opened, I heard a familiar voice, “I have ice in my room, you know.”  I looked up to see Amy standing there looking me over.  She walked out of the elevator and shrugged her shoulders, “You could always come cool off there.”  She turned and walked in the direction of room 3202.  I dropped the ice bucket in the hallway and jogged to catch up.

About BatDoc

I’m a dynamic figure, often seen scaling buildings and crushing ice. I have been known to remodel train and bus stations on lunch breaks, making them more efficient in the area of heat retention and reducing high-traffic areas. I translate ethnic slurs for Cuban refugees and write award-winning plays about pastry. I manage time efficiently. Occasionally, I make meatloaf. I have been known to woo women with my sensuous and god-like electric air-guitar playing. I can pilot riding lawnmowers up severe inclines with unflagging speed and accuracy and can cook 30-Minute Brownies in 20 minutes. I am an expert in stucco, a veteran in love, and an outlaw in Brazil. Using only a hoe and a large glass of water, I once single-handedly defended a small village in the Amazon River Basin from a horde of ferocious smaller-than-your-pinky-finger fire ants. When I’m bored, I build full size models of airplanes out of Popsicle sticks. I enjoy urban hang gliding. On Wednesdays, I repair TVs and VCRs free of charge. I am an abstract artist, a concrete analyst, and a ruthless bookie. Last summer, I toured Wisconsin and Minnesota with a traveling centrifugal-force demonstration. I bat 400. My deft floral arrangements have earned me fame in international botany circles. Children trust me. I can hurl coat hangers at small moving objects with deadly accuracy. I once read War and Peace, Moby Dick, and Great Expectations in one day and still had time to repaint the exterior of my house that afternoon. Though not a narc, I have performed several covert operations with the CIA. I can recalibrate and repair gas lines with blinding speed and precision, and I don't require a face mask. I still find time to sleep eight hours a night; when I do sleep, I sleep in a chair. While on vacation to Canada, I successfully negotiated with a group of terrorists who had seized a small bakery. The laws of physics do not apply to me. I balance; I weave; I dodge; I frolic; and my bills are all paid. Years ago I discovered the meaning of life but forgot to write it down. I have made extraordinary four course meals using only a jello mold and a toaster oven. I used to breed prize-winning killer dolphins. I have won bullfights in San Juan, cliff-diving competitions in Sri Lanka, and spelling bees at the Kremlin. I have played Hamlet, performed open-heart surgery, and have spoken with Elvis. I have been to Area 51 and seen the complex. I enjoy cake and my best friends are Edmund the Penguin and Dr. Narco the Intelligent Thermos. I tied Jose Canseco in home runs last week, and I’m mere words away from completing a New York Times crossword puzzle I started on in 1988. Volumes and volumes of written works have been produced about me, but they were all lost in the fire. I am an extrovert. I’m marginally more popular with feminist than Rush Limbaugh. I don't scrape my vegetables onto my grandmother's plate when no one is looking. Hard as it may be to believe, I have never lost a pole-vaulting competition. I was nowhere near the grassy knoll on November 22, 1963. I’ve never hit a silver-medalist in the knee with a club. I wear sensible clothing, and I did not mastermind Julius Caesar's death. That was Cassius.

Posted on July 24, 2014, in A BatDoc Original, Original Series, Short Essays and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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