Sketchtasy

by Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore

  Then there’s a special night at Avalon—Polly and I are dressed as pregnant twins. Of course everyone wants to punch our babies, I mean literally three different guys we don’t even know, winding their arms around like we’re walking punching bags. Modeling fatherly behavior, I guess.

  Good news, though—Polly and I get our HIV tests back, and we’re both negative. Back at home, it’s time for more laundry—yes, crabs, but this time we have prescription-strength poison, and honey that shit burns. Then we’re sitting out in the square with the Latino families because the laundromat is sweltering, and one of the fathers looks over at me and says you have beautiful hair, which is kind of shocking to hear in East Boston and it makes me smile like we’re making a pact against everyone in the neighborhood who hates us both.

  After laundry and a few bumps to get back out of the house, we make it to Luxor before closing and then I decide it’s time for the Fens, I mean it’s always time for the Fens as far as I’m concerned but sometimes it takes a little while to convince Polly. But then just when we arrive of course I get a page. When I get to his place, he acts like he didn’t realize he had to pay me—he’s kind of hot, but the problem is that he knows it—somehow he bargains me down to fifty. Afterward he says my wife is away, so don’t tell anyone, but do you want some blow? I love it when straight guys say blow. So then I’m back at the Fens, flying off my ass, trying to smoke pot on the bench but it’s too windy, and I get a page from Polly, who says Joey’s in jail, he got arrested on the block, will you bail him out?

  So I walk all the way over to Berkeley and Tremont, figuring after my walk maybe I won’t seem so high, and I hide my pot in a planter outside the jail. It’s such a beautiful old building from outside, but inside it’s the usual scary hellhole, and I try to act really casual like I’m not coked out of my mind, I mean do you think they can lock you up for that? Anyway, I ask the cop on duty about Joey, and he says no one here by that name, and when I ask again it turns out Joey’s been released. I go to White Hen to call Joey to make sure, and when he answers he says what?

  Like I didn’t just go to the jail to bail her out. And I say I’m just calling to make sure you’re okay. She says I’m fine, it wasn’t a big deal, they made a mistake, and when I get off the phone I’m definitely ready to smoke some pot, but then I remember I left it in that planter and when I go back I can’t find it anywhere.

  A few days later I’m back at Michael’s house in Arlington, listening to Wagner—I can’t believe I agreed to do an overnight, I mean he always wants me to stay but I usually get out of it by telling him I need contact lens solution. Except this time he asked ahead of time, so now he’s telling me about his boyfriend George of seven years and how they used to lie in bed listening to this same Wagner opera—they knew they were doomed, but he didn’t think George was going to leave so soon, to leave, to leave just like that, and I’m wondering if Michael is going to start crying. But instead he says: You’re only here because I’m paying you.

  And I don’t know what to say, because actually he’s a pretty nice guy, but then he says I’m sorry, that’s not fair—I like you because you’re not pretending. The last guy I met on the block, he kept telling me he was straight, most of them are like that—he had a serious crack problem, he would show up at all hours asking for money and I could understand, I used to be like that but now it’s just alcohol, do you want another cocktail? I tried to stop drinking, but then I couldn’t have sex. Now I spend all my time on the internet, do you know much about the internet?

  Not really, I say, and he goes in the kitchen to get my cocktail. He says you know I work at MIT, right? I was one of the first people on GayBoston and gaysex and that’s where I befriend all these guys who don’t know what I really look like, I can be young and hung and on top of the world. But then I get offline, and listen to Wagner.

  He comes back with my cocktail: Want to go in the bedroom?

  When he starts to touch me, I can feel myself shutting off right away, pulling back, watching the coffee maker on his night-stand, why is there a coffee maker on the nightstand?

  But then it’s over, and I think okay, that wasn’t so bad. But of course I can’t sleep, and then I’m delirious at eight a.m. when Michael drops me off at the boy block, I mean he offers to drive me home but I figure this is part of our ritual. Except usually it’s not some horrible time in the morning when everyone’s rushing to work or wherever and then I’m totally emotional and dehydrated on the T, it’s like if anyone says anything to me I’ll just break. Then somehow I start thinking maybe I’ll call Michael and ask him if he wants to get dinner, tell him I’m an incest survivor, see if he wants to hire me to hang out without sex.

  I get in bed as soon as I get home, and when I wake up I don’t feel as bad as I thought I would. I unpack all my books, and I go back to that piece by Severo Sarduy where he says, “AIDS is a stalking.” And there’s that feeling of everything going to my head, the way the silence makes the violence and I know I’m getting ready to confront my father—that’s what I’m trying to focus on, that’s what I need to do in order to heal, but am I just distracting myself from the violence around me?

  Polly and I go to the new Todd Haynes movie, Safe, at the Coolidge Corner. It kind of surprises me because I was expecting the shaky camera edginess of Poison but instead it opens with a slow drive through gated suburbs and then a het fucking scene—he’s thrusting and you see her face, no emotion while her hands move as if to calm him. Big almost-still shots of their empty Southern California suburban lifestyle. Everything moves so slowly you want to gag, and that’s what happens to Carol, she gets sick from all the poison around her.

  Polly leaves in the middle of the movie—she’s bored, she’ll meet me at home. She leaves just before Carol passes out at a dry cleaner’s because of the chemicals, blood pouring out of her nose. Carol ends up at a retreat center in Albuquerque and it’s hard to say which is worse, her life of wealthy nothingness or the vacant positive thinking she searches out. There are so many eerie asides, like a woman who says she made herself sick because she didn’t forgive her abuser and I hiss loudly at that, want to leave the theater but I realize that means the movie is working. And then the guru with AIDS who’s supposedly living healthfully from positive thinking alone, he sees lesions in a dream and they turn into pansies. In the movie it’s the positive thinking that works—Carol says I love you to herself in the mirror as the movie closes.

  The most disturbing thing is that there’s no allowance for rage as a healing option. Maybe that’s what makes it feel so suffocating. Afterward I’m a wreck and I wish Polly were here so we could talk about the movie but I guess to her it was just boring. I’m on the way home and this boy stops me just as I’m getting on the train at Government Center, he looks me right in the eyes and says: You look beautiful.

  Thanks, I say, and he says no no sit down. So I sit down with him, and he says: I’m always afraid to dress up on the T, I saw you and I thought I had to say something—I was out with my friend George last night, we were going to Chaps for his drag show, you’d like my friend José, he does crazy stuff.

  We get to his stop, and he says sorry, I’ve got to go. Then he turns around as he’s leaving and says: You look fierce. Like he’s trying it out for the first time. And I wish I could just stay in this moment, I really do.

  Melissa calls to say she’s finally moving out, she’s moving in with Teresa on Church Street but she still feels scared. Of her father. She says: I keep wanting it to happen again, my whole body wants it—I don’t want this body.

  In therapy, I’m talking about how I’ve always been afraid to relax, but maybe that’s starting to change, and Barry says why do you think you’ve been afraid? And right then I get that scared feeling, I can’t say anything. I look down at the corner of the armchair cushion, I keep trying to look up but my head is stuck. Eventually I say: I was always afraid my father would rape me, that’s what happened when I relaxed. And when I finally get mys
elf to look up I wonder if those are tears in Barry’s eyes, or mine. I look back at the shadow in the corner of this armchair, remembering to breathe, but something has changed in the room, is that my father in the therapist’s chair? Don’t look, don’t look up, don’t look up at his face. Look at his shoes, oxfords with laces, oh my father never wore shoes like that—but I still can’t get past the corner of the armchair.

  Lately it seems like Polly’s working all the time, or getting ready for work, now that she has a pimp or something—it’s the guy who gives her coke for sex so at least now she never runs out of coke. She’s been on a trip with him for three days now, and tonight when she gets back we’re doing ecstasy for the first time in a while—there was a shortage, and that’s when everyone started doing more coke, and no one’s really gone back. So it’s getting kind of depressing.

  I get a trick at the Chandler Inn who calls himself Doug the Piano Player. He’s a big fat guy with bleached blond hair, so friendly it feels like I’m doing something worthwhile, but then after I leave I end up getting wired to hell, not sure what to do so I walk down Newbury but I’m not really in the mood for the Other Side or Trident or anywhere else so I take Commonwealth back the other way for the architectural tour and just as I get ready to turn on Dartmouth I look up at Jeannine so sharp against the sky she’s like a paper cutout of a building, a huge canvas with shifting parts in yellow and black. Or more like a video installation—if you look carefully you can see that some of the lights are big and white and ominous and probably fluorescent, but some are tiny little yellow dots in the ceiling like jewels, and the rooms with curtains drawn look like they’re glowing. And then as I’m heading to the T some kids are commenting on my hair, they want to know what I do.

  I tell them I’m a hooker, and they’re all excited—Do you have AIDS? Do you have condoms? Are there lots of people like you around here? Do you fuck guys in the ass? Do you stick them in the ass? How much do you charge? How old are you? Will you buy liquor for us? Do you fuck girls? When you have a boyfriend, do you still do this? Were you ever on Ricki Lake? What if a girl offered you a lot of money? What do you do all day? What’s in your bag? Are you on drugs? What kinds of drugs do you do?

  Okay, now I’m ready to go home. Polly’s waiting for me, and she’s actually in a good mood, not as coked out as I thought she’d be so I make red pepper linguine and when we sit down it almost feels like we’re a couple. Are we a couple? How was your day at work, I joke. And she says: How was your day at work?

  And then she says she’s decided to visit the cult, she already bought a ticket. She’s leaving tomorrow at two p.m. but don’t worry, she’s still going out tonight, that will give her plenty of time. So then we’re on our way to Juniper and Sage and Lisa’s new place in the South End anyway. Except I’m pretty sure the South End ended a few blocks ago. Lisa opens the door, and oh my she’s flying. Her lip ring is vibrating and when she holds out her arms for a hug it looks like she’s going to sing. Juniper and Sage are on the sofa in the living room, leaning into one another like they’re merging. At first I thought they were watching TV, but the TV isn’t on—Juniper starts clapping, and then she runs to her room, comes back with a little glittery box.

  I kind of like the way they’ve decorated, even though it’s all earth tones: corduroy sofas and patterned pillows and seventies ceramic lamps shaped like animals on Formica end tables and even a big lava lamp on the orangeish shag rug covering the brown carpet. Juniper hands us two capsules and then sits back down and starts petting Sage like a huge cat, and then Lisa comes in with two glasses and a yellow pitcher of bright pink liquid, what is that?

  Yes, Lisa says, yes. Polly and I swallow our drugs with the Kool-Aid—I thought maybe it was a cocktail but it just tastes like sugar. The buzzer rings, it’s Joey and one of her most annoying friends. Avery, that’s his name. Like an eraser. Or a hole puncher. I look at Polly to see if she wants to go somewhere, but she just sits down on the sofa and closes her eyes. Joey is coked out of her mind, and Avery starts to introduce himself like we haven’t met ten times. He’s wearing some kind of silky button-down eighties stockbroker shirt that just looks like hi, this is expensive—plus an ascot, in case you didn’t get the first part.

  Pass the Kool-Aid, Joey says, and then we’re all sitting down until Juniper and Sage get up and say they’re going to their room for a little while. And then Lisa says she needs a nap—what, a nap on ecstasy, what kind of ecstasy is this? She says oh, we’ve been up, we’ve been up for a while—make yourselves at home.

  Well, Joey says: Well. Come. Should we go somewhere?

  Yes, I’m thinking, yes, but then Polly says let’s wait for it to kick in and go to the Loft.

  The Loft is closed, Joey says. Shut down. The cops. They weren’t paying off the right people. What’s in this Kool-Aid, anyway? Tastes like ass.

  Somehow Joey’s the first one to feel the X, even with all the coke—she’s walking around the room saying oh, yes, oh. Then she goes into the hallway and starts telling us how fabulous it is. Music, Polly says, we need music, and when I look at her eyes I realize this is going to be good. Except no one can figure out the stereo.

  Wait, listen. There it is, really soft, somewhere deep in the speakers—Avery thinks we’re joking, but then he gets closer and we’re all holding on until wait, it’s slowly getting louder, do you hear that? Yes, yes, and then suddenly it’s all around us, oh, the lights, turn on all the lights, yes, the lights.

  But when I turn on the lights they’re ugly and fluorescent. No one knows what to do except maybe more Kool-Aid, yes, this Kool-Aid, yes, what is this song? And damn this hallway is good for runway. Avery wants me to teach him how to walk, so I give him sassy stockbroker-on-leave—I’m yearning, I’m spurning, I’m burning, I’m turning, I’m learning. And she looks at me. And I say: Investment, divestment. Investment, divestment. And she’s watching me close while I’m giving it, eyes wide, and then I lean up against her right arm turn back behind her and she turns with me, yes, bitch, turn.

  Feel your body, shake your body, move your body—did I just say that, or is it in the music? Avery unties her ascot and wraps it around her head. Give it, honey, give. It. Joey says oh, Alexa, I left my heels in the car.

  Polly’s swinging her arms in a circle in the living room, and Joey gets the pitcher of Kool-Aid and walks around saying welcome, welcome to the Factory. Now Avery’s doing jumping jacks, little kicks—wait, wait, wait Jane Fonda wait. And Joey says Gene Simmons. No, Richard Simmons. And we’re all doing it, whatever it is, and then I start throwing myself against the wall—it catches me, we tumble together. And then Polly’s doing it. And then Avery. And Joey’s doing it on the windowsill.

  God this sound system is good, the beats bouncing off the walls into your body another body. We just need a disco ball. Joey starts flashing the lights—oh, perfect, oh.

  I go to the bathroom to look at my eyes. And then Polly’s there beside me and we’re pointing at one another. You. Yes, you, bitch, you.

  Back into the living room and Joey’s still flashing the lights, announcing all her favorite T stops—Maverick, Maverick Station. Next stop, Maverick.

  What about Wonderland?

  Wonderland, Joey says. Next stop, Wonderland.

  “X, X, Xtrava …” so I start giving high-heeled falling-over runway and the music’s flashing with the lights, wait are the lights still flashing, and here’s the build, here’s the build and the bounce, here’s the build and the bounce and the dribble and those drums oh those drums and then suddenly the song skips like there really is a record and that’s when Sage comes out in her platforms, dressed to the nines in raver realness, complete with Day-Glo plastic watch chain all the way to the floor. And pacifier. And I realize she’s been deejaying from the bedroom the whole time. Now we’re all jumping up and down, even Sage, though I’m worried she’s going to hit the ceiling.

  We are the ceiling.

  But where’s Polly? I open the bathroom d
oor, and Polly and Avery are leaning over the tub. Oh, vomit, gray and mushy on the left, orange and chunky on the right—should I run the water? Are you okay?

  And then Avery starts to spasm, Polly’s petting his back and saying it’s okay, it’s okay, and then when they stand up I look at their eyes and it’s flying-saucer realness and I’m starting to feel nauseous too. Dammit, I didn’t think there was heroin in this X.

  Juniper comes in and says oh, it’s okay, sometimes that happens with the good stuff, let me just turn on the shower.

  Oh, the shower. Do you mind if I take a shower?

  Are you sure? It’s a little funky. Okay, let me get you a towel.

  Juniper comes back with a big fluffy pink bath towel—oh, I love it. If anyone needs to use the bathroom, just tell them to come in.

  Of course, Alexa, of course. Let me just make sure it’s clean. All yours.

  She leaves the room and I don’t feel nauseous anymore, just my stomach gurgling and yes, another rush—this ecstasy is so fucking good. I take off my clothes and I can hear the music coming through the window and under the door and up through the drain. Yes, especially the drain. Listen. The water’s so warm it’s like it’s pouring through my body is this all me I think it is but how do I know I mean I know these are my hands but what about the rest?