Simple Simon

by William Poe

  “So, do you think I was brainwashed?”

  “If you were, we fixed that, didn’t we? Now you’re just fucked up like the rest of us.”

  “Well, I’m glad that’s settled. Anyway, I came to find out what you know about Norman Wilkes. Why is David Jetter at his center?”

  The earth shook a little as I said David’s name. Scott and I both laughed.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t say anything,” Scott joked. “The house might cave in.”

  “That’s the risk you took making friends with an apostate.”

  “I thought you were a drug lord. And, by the way, you haven’t even taken me backstage to see the Vinyleras. Now, that’s why I shouldn’t talk to you.”

  “But you don’t like the club scene.”

  “Only because I get too drunk before making it that far down Sunset Boulevard. There’s a lot of bars between Hollywood and the Whiskey A-Go-Go.”

  A strong breeze rolled up the hillside and blew open the fly of Scott’s loose-fitting shorts. His half-hard dick popped out. Feigning embarrassment, he quickly tucked it in.

  “What did that earthquake interrupt?” I asked. “Were you having sex with Toga Boy?”

  The blond stood in the doorway, keeping an eye on us.

  Scott turned around and waved. The flimsy shorts slipped to the base of his cock. He halfheartedly pulled on the elastic to hold them up.

  “This is important, Scott,” I said, trying to get him focused. “What’s the story with David Jetter?”

  “I don’t know,” Scott whined. “I guess I heard that he left the MFT because he had sex. Like that’s a crime.”

  “Sex with whom?”

  Scott started to walk toward the house, but I caught his shoulder and turned him around to face me.

  “Come on, Scott. Sober up and tell me what you know.”

  “Okay, okay. Don’t get your panties all tied in a knot. Someone in Texas found David in bed with a guy on his team.”

  My heart sank. That “guy” had to be my spiritual son, Bruce. “Scott,” I said with a stern voice, “I was the commander in Texas. I need to know if he said anything about me.”

  Scott drunkenly saluted at my saying I was the commander. His shorts slipped precariously low on his waist.

  “Damn it, Scott. Hang on to those shorts.”

  Scott lazily tugged on the front of his boxers, tenting them in my direction.

  “You are such a fucking drunk tease.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Please, Scott. I’m in a situation here. I need facts.”

  Scott started speaking without a slur, making me suspect that his drunkenness had been an act. “Maury made me swear an oath not to talk to you about it.”

  “Spill it, Scott. Maury will never know you told me. I promise.”

  “All right, all right.”

  I considered what a bind Maury must have been in to swear Scott to secrecy.

  “What I know is that Mitsui called David to New York and demanded that he leave the church when David wouldn’t repent. David threatened to sue. He said that if they forced him to leave, then the church owed him money for his years of labor. David called Bozeman and complained. He said he wanted to speak directly to Reverend Moon.”

  “Good for David,” I said.

  “Because he threatened a lawsuit, Mitsui talked to Maury, who suggested a meeting with David to discuss the issue. Mitsui, Bozeman, and David flew out here to meet Maury. I never saw so much animosity. David was glaring at Mitsui and Bozeman with utter contempt in his eyes, and Mitsui could have bored a hole through David with that laser stare of his.”

  “Homosexuality is the only thing Mitsui despises more than Willard Bozeman.”

  “He’s probably queer himself,” Scott said, speaking of Mitsui. “My gaydar sensed something going on.”

  “Scott! Please don’t put that thought in my head. Just tell me how the meeting turned out.” The idea that Mitsui could be a closet queer was more than I could handle—and yet, he had turned down several opportunities to be matched, remaining one of the few Japanese leaders still single.

  “Mitsui railed that David was the one who had to pay, whether he was in the church or not. He used a banking term—I forget.”

  “Indemnity,” I said. “It’s like penance.”

  “All I can say”—Scott grinned—“is that I would have gotten into David’s pants if he were my captain.”

  “I’m sure you would.”

  “Yeah, like you wouldn’t.” Scott scratched his head as if trying to recall something. “Oh yeah, like, you did!”

  “Did my name come up in their discussions?”

  Scott pretended to be sleepy and tried to get away, but I stopped him. “This is important, Scott. Please. Tell me. Then you can go to sleep, or get in the hot tub with Toga Boy over there, or whatever.”

  The young man had come back to the door, impatient that I was keeping Scott for such a long time.

  “Okay, but damn it,” Scott said, “I wasn’t supposed to tell you any of this.”

  “If Maury is worried that I’ll make trouble for him, I won’t, Scott. That would mean trouble for you and Sandra. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you two.”

  “It’s all so stupid, anyway,” Scott said. “By the way, Mitsui sure gave me the evil eye as I took notes during the meeting.”

  “I doubt he knows anything about our friendship. It wouldn’t have been in Maury’s interests to mention it.”

  “How did you live under that judgmental stare as long as you did? Typical of a closet case.”

  I audibly cleared my throat to remind Scott to drop the subject.

  “David got pissed at Mitsui’s accusations. He blurted out that the two of you had sex when you were his commander. He accused Mitsui of being a hypocrite. Mitsui was about to explode with rage. Bozeman didn’t flinch. I’ve no clue what’s up with that guy. He seems to have his own agenda.”

  “World domination,” I laughed. I took Scott’s arm and made him look directly at me. “This is important, Scott. Was that meeting before or after the marriage ceremony?”

  “Before,” Scott confirmed.

  I felt as if someone had walked across my grave.

  Bozeman and Mitsui must have had quite a discussion about me after that meeting. A homosexual team captain was one thing. It was quite another thing to deal with a founding member of the MFT, head of its fundraising legal department, privy to all the lies and forgeries and inside information that the church had to hide. They could send David to Norman’s center. But what could they do to marginalize me?

  Mitsui would have gone into a rage when he realized that I had, indeed, lied on the questionnaire before the matching, denying that I was homosexual. That anger must have driven him to intervene during the Jacob-at-Jabbok ceremony. He had probably hoped his action would drive me from the church. What a hypocritical and perverted way to use the church’s rituals.

  “Weren’t you just biding your time at the little bungalow before leaving the church for good?” Scott asked, interrupting my reverie.

  “If I was trying to keep the future at bay,” I replied, “it has definitely arrived.”

  At least now I understood why Maury gave me the cold shoulder when I returned from the wedding ceremony. When he had written to Reverend Moon, offering to sponsor me as an apprentice, he knew the church would probably drum me out, or at least marginalize me, for having had sex with David. And I was making hash of his effort to help me.

  “Sandra told you to call Maury, didn’t she?” Scott asked.

  “Yeah, she did. I’ll telephone tomorrow.”

  “Norman gave Maury a message for you, and Maury has some things to talk about.”

  “Sandra told me about your work on Norman’s merger with the San Francisco church. You’ve no idea how weird that is, Scott.”

  “Just another corporate filing to me.”

  “When I joined, the group was called the One World Crusade. Quite a joke, h
uh?”

  “I know what Maury wants to talk to you about,” Scott said. “He plans to make you another offer. Instead of apprenticing with the firm, he is going to suggest loaning you money for law school. Then he wants you to pay him back by working for the firm after you pass the bar. The idea is to get you completely away from the church and out of sight. He feels responsible for you, I guess.”

  “Or he’s worried about the problems I could cause and figures this is incentive to keep what I know to myself. Any insight into what Norman wants to talk to me about?”

  “I think so. Norman wants you to live at his center. No details. That’s all I know.”

  “Norman’s idea sounds like exile. Maury’s is more like expulsion.”

  “Let’s go inside,” Scott said. “Baby doll’s going to get mad at me for staying out here for so long.”

  I followed Scott downstairs to his room. “Baby doll” had crashed on the bed. His toga had fallen away, revealing a pretty round ass.

  “Looks like I won’t be getting any tonight,” Scott said. “Let’s jump in the hot tub.”

  Toga Boy, disturbed by the talking, yanked some covers over his body. He was punishing Scott for his long absence by playing possum.

  Scott threw me a pair of boxers to wear in the hot tub.

  “In case lover boy over there decides to get up,” Scott said, lowering his voice, “better at least have on shorts so it won’t seem like we’ve been doing anything.”

  Scott pushed open the glass door to the balcony and rushed to jump in the hot tub. I put on the shorts and joined him.

  As the jets churned the water, we grew quiet. Then, as if just remembering, Scott blurted out, “Did you know about the secret ceremony?”

  “Secret ceremony? What now!”

  “After your wedding at Madison Square Garden, some members gathered in San Francisco for a different wedding. Norman’s people were there.”

  “Amazing.”

  “Maury can barely keep the players straight. All I know is that it’s good for business—that is, as long as Maury can manage the different parties.”

  “That’s a tall order,” I said.

  Scott turned up the jets, whipping the water into a bubbly froth. I allowed the water to massage my back. Suddenly, Toga Boy appeared and plucked Scott from the water.

  That brought an end to our conversation.

  I stayed the rest of the night on the couch upstairs. I needed to think, away from Lyle. Between my tortured thoughts and the fear of an aftershock sending the house sliding down the hill, I hardly slept.

  By morning, I figured the best course of action was to meet Norman and play things by ear. If David was at Norman’s center, I needed to see him. There was Masako to consider. We were married, no matter how I looked at it, and with that commitment came responsibilities. Perhaps Masako could live with me at Norman’s center. David, Masako, and I under the same roof—that would certainly be interesting!

  I first went to the little bungalow.

  “Here’s the thing,” I began, nearly losing my resolve as I looked into Lyle’s sad blue eyes. “Something has come up, and I have to deal with it. The rent’s not due for another three months. And I can leave you with some cash.”

  “Leave? Where’re you going, man? Damn. Again? You wake me up and drop this on me out of nowhere?”

  “I haven’t told you much about myself, Lyle. I have a lot going on.”

  “No shit, Sherlock.”

  “I never told you that I’m married.”

  Lyle laughed so hard he choked.

  “Come on, Lyle. Is it so hard to believe?”

  “Uh, yeah, it is. Simon the dick-meister. I’d say your wife is missing a vital organ. Do you even know what to do with a woman?”

  “It’s complicated, Lyle.”

  “Not for most guys. You stick it in. You pump. Simple as cherry pie.” Lyle laughed even harder.

  Nothing about the situation struck me as funny.

  “I won’t be coming back after I leave,” I said.

  Lyle stopped joking around. His hard-coated hustler facade took over, the armor that had for so long shielded him from pain and which I had not seen since the night I picked him up on Santa Monica Boulevard.

  “Whatever, dude. It’s been a trip.” Lyle reached under the couch and took out a baggie of pot. He ground a sprig onto his bong and fired it up. Smoke crept from the corners of Lyle’s mouth as he held his breath. His face turned red before he exhaled a mighty cloud.

  It was best to leave quietly. While he loaded another bong hit, I packed the Mustang with my few belongings. By the time I had my bags in the trunk, Lyle was passed out on the couch.

  Dreams don’t last, Sandra had said. You have to deal with facts.

  “Good-bye, Lyle, sweet boy.” I ran my hand across his forehead and kissed him on the cheek.

  CHAPTER 41

  Idrove away from Beverly Hills, heading on the freeway past downtown, making my way to Pasadena. My resolve grew shaky as I neared the neighborhood of Norman’s center. For an hour, I drove in circles arguing with myself. My decision had seemed clear, but now I wasn’t sure.

  Norman had always listened. If anybody in the church could help me decide what to do, he was the one.

  Parking down the street so no one would see the car, I approached the house feeling like an escaped criminal about to surrender to the authorities. What would Norman see when he looked at me with those piercing eyes?

  The Pasadena center had once belonged to a wealthy convert who died soon after joining. The heirs fought to get it back. The court battle captivated Pasadena residents since Green & Green, the famous arts and crafts architects, had designed the house. Eventually, the church prevailed.

  I walked a path through the broad, sloping lawn, which had the same feeling as the gardens at Belvedere. Instead of rhododendrons and Chinese maples, the landscaping at this mansion included manzanita trees, stands of tournefortia, and long rows of bougainvillea. Date palms and eucalyptus towered along the sidewalk. The house itself seemed carved from a single tree, with no visible joints or edges.

  When I got close, I heard members singing a church holy song, “The Lord into His Garden Comes.” I went around to a side entrance. After a few timid knocks, the door opened and a familiar face greeted me.

  “Can it be?” a half-remembered voice asked with a German accent.

  It was Klara, from the One World Crusade. I noted with a laugh that I had knocked with my left hand.

  “Is boy from Arkansas?” Klara exclaimed.

  A sister standing in the kitchen behind Klara shrieked in alarm. It was Gretchen, also from the old team. Initially, I must have looked like a burglar, as unkempt as I was.

  “Hi, Klara,” I said, smiling at Gretchen as I spoke. “It’s been a long time.”

  Klara came outside and stood with me under the carriageway. She shut the door behind her. “What is doing here?” she asked, seeming nervous.

  “I was hoping to see Norman.”

  “Is still family?” Klara asked. She put her hand on her chin. “But of course you still family, somehow. I forget. Your wife mention you when I in New York. I forget. Just cook, now. That is me. I cook.”

  Klara had always seemed somewhat demented, but when I was eighteen, flabbergasted at her insistence that I become right-handed, I hadn’t realized she was mentally impaired. Ten years later, Klara’s eyes were unfocused and her condition more obvious. I got the impression that Gretchen had been looking out for her all these years.

  “My wife?” I asked, restating Klara’s words. “You saw Masako?”

  “Zee, zee. Masako.” Klara struggled to remember something. “She work restaurant. I go there to eat. Better I get Norman.”

  Klara went into the house, leaving me outside. Presently, the door opened and Norman appeared; his head nearly touched the top of the doorframe.

  “Simon Powell,” Norman said with a beaming smile.

  In an instant, my apprehensi
on vanished.

  “It’s been a long time,” I said. “That workshop in New York when Martin died, wasn’t it?”

  “That was a tragic affair,” Norman said, his face changing to an expression of sadness. He took me into the kitchen and gave me a bear hug. “I’m so glad to see you. I prayed that you would come.”

  Norman held me at the full extent of his long arms and placed his hands on my shoulders. “Have you been fasting? There’s not an ounce of meat on those bones.”

  “Something like fasting,” I said.

  “The attorney you work with, Maury, he said he hadn’t heard from you in a while.”

  Years of conditioning compelled me to confess everything and ask forgiveness—to plead to resume my life in the family as a disciple of Christ’s Second Coming. What stopped me was the counterconditioning of drug use and sexual license.

  “Working on the court case,” I told Norman, “I learned things about the church I never wanted to know.”

  “I never should have cut you off,” Norman said, holding back an outpour of emotion. “I’m so sorry, Simon. After the horror of Martin’s death, I should have been your friend. I wasn’t there when you needed me.”

  Norman was weighted by guilt, apologizing for his shortcomings, when I was the one at fault. How I wanted to tell Norman about the loneliness of my present life, the feeling of despair that I would never have a family with Masako, the disgust I felt toward myself for using and dealing drugs, and mostly, the self-loathing at not defeating my homosexuality.

  “Simon,” Norman began, as if speaking to a prodigal son, “I can see your heartaches. God misses the innocent young man who joined His family so many years ago.”

  “That innocence is long gone,” I said, and yet, his words struck home. I remembered the exuberance of the day I had accepted Father, recalled the elation as Stanley and I danced in circles and sang songs of joy. What a sense of mission I had felt when going to join the One World Crusade! My earthly father had failed me, but Heavenly Father had accepted me into a loving True Family.