"Plus, it's a free feed," I continue. "Marv might have forty grand in the bank but he still can't keep himself from freeloading. Believe me. He'll come."
"The tight arse," Ritchie affirms. This is Christmas spirit in its purest form.
"Should we call him?" Audrey suggests.
"No. Let him come to us," Ritchie says with a smirk, and I can smell it. This is going to be great. He looks down at the dog and says, "You all pumped up for the big one, Doorman?" The Doorman looks up as if to say, Just what the hell are you on about, mate? No one's told him about what's still to come tonight. The poor dog. Nobody asked him if it was okay.
Finally, Marv walks in, empty-handed.
"Merry Christmas," he says.
"Yeah, yeah," I say. "Same to you." I point now to his empty hands. "Jeez, you're a generous bastard, aren't you?"
But I know how Marv thinks.
He's decided that if he has to kiss the Doorman, that's more than enough for him to do this year. I can also tell he's still clinging to a faint hope that we all might have forgotten.
Ritchie destroys all notions of that immediately.
He stands up and says, "Well, Marv?" He's grinning.
"Well what?"
"You know," Audrey chimes in.
"No," Marv persists, "I don't."
"Now, don't you give me the shits." Ritchie lays down the law. "You know it. We know it." He's enjoying this. I almost expect him to rub his hands together with delight. "Marv," he announces, "you will kiss this dog." He motions to the Doorman. "And when you kiss him, you're going to like it. You're going to do it with a big bloody smile on your face or else we'll make you do it again, and again, and--"
"All right!" Marv snarls. He reminds me of a little kid not getting his own way. "On top of the head, right?"
"Ohh no," Ritchie asserts. He stands up, relishing every minute of this. "I believe the agreement was that you'd kiss him right on the lips, and that's just"--he points his finger at Marv--"where you're going to do it."
The Doorman looks up.
He looks uneasy as we all watch him.
"You poor fella," Ritchie states.
Marv sulks. "I know."
"Not you," Ritchie charges. "Him!" And he throws his head toward the dog.
"All right," Audrey says. "No messing about now." She hands me my camera. "Off you go, Marv. He's all yours."
With the weight of the world on his shoulders, Marv
bends down in horror and finally brings himself to get close to the Doorman's face. The Doorman looks nervous enough to cry--black and gold fur and watery eyes.
"Does he have to have his tongue out like that?" Marv asks me.
"He's a dog," I say. "What more do you want from him?"
Copiously disgruntled, Marv eventually does it. He leans in and kisses the Doorman on the snout, just long enough for me to take the photo and for Audrey and Ritchie to cheer, clap, and crack up.
"That wasn't so hard now, was it?" Ritchie says, but Marv's gone straight to the bathroom.
The poor Doorman.