Can't Buy Me Love

by Chris Kenry

  I bit my lip and scrunched up my face, trying to think of some way out of it, but curious all the same and eager not to sound too Pollyannaish.

  “I don’t know,” I said, considering the consequences. “I mean, I guess I could. Yeah, sure, I’ll do it.”

  “Good,” he said. “Do you think you could drive, too? We kind of need to be discreet about this, and my car ... well, you know.”

  “Sure.”

  “Great. You’re a stud! Come over as soon as you’re done and I’ll fill you in on the rest of it. If I’m not there just go on in, make yourself at home.”

  I made it to Ray’s by one-thirty. I didn’t see his car so I let myself in. Curious to see how his project was progressing I went into the living room—as inappropriate as that name was, given its contents—and waited.

  Mary’s spaniel head was now attached quite seamlessly to her body and she sat in a blue robe next to Joseph, a large terrier of some sort dressed in a brown robe and brown turban, one paw somehow made to clutch a staff. He was, as yet, eyeless, a collection of glass possibilities staring up from an open tackle box on the floor next to him. The winged poodle still hung from the ceiling but was now in possession of a halo and a small toy trumpet. It hovered over a shepherd of German origin. The wise men were a trio of schnauzers partially dressed in gold brocade robes, their empty paws positioned stiffly in front of them to carry yet unseen offerings. All were present and accounted for except for the baby Jesus, whose empty manger was now the focus of every gaze. (Except for Joseph’s, of course.) As interesting as all that was, it was not enough to distract my mind from what was going to happen.

  Why am I so nervous? I thought. I’ve probably bad sex with thirty different guys in the past two months. Why should I feel nervous?

  I heard Ray’s car pull up and watched through the window as he unloaded some camera equipment and placed it in the backseat of my car. I went outside.

  “What’s all that for?” I asked.

  “Oh, hey!” he said, smiling broadly. “You ready?”

  “Yes, I guess so.”

  “I’ll explain on the way then. We’re kind of late—come on.”

  He explained that he wanted to take some pictures of me and the man together.

  “Nothing obscene,” he said. “Some art pictures.”

  My nervousness was replaced by a slight annoyance, but I said nothing. He had been extremely helpful, so I figured I owed him something in return. We drove for about twenty minutes out into the east suburbs as he gave me directions from a crumpled piece of paper and loaded a large thirty-five millimeter camera with film. It had snowed heavily the night before and was starting to snow again.

  “Look,” he said, trying to appease me, “I know I’m asking a lot but I’ll give you my take of the money, and I think you’ll actually like it. Oh, hey, turn left here; there it is.”

  I pulled in and parked next to the building, which appeared to be some sort of hospital or hospice, as there were groups of overweight nurses standing outside smoking, their smoky breath made all the smokier by the cold.

  “What is this?” I asked, feeling sure we must be at the wrong address.

  “Sit tight a minute,” he said, and scanned the group of nurses. “We’re supposed to just wait here for a guy named”—he uncrumpled the paper and looked at it once more—“Hector.”

  “If this is some drug deal,” I said, remembering similar meetings I’d driven to with Carey when we were in high school, my voice tinged with irritation, “I don’t want any part of it.”

  “It’s not a drug deal,” he said, “at least not between us. Oh, hey, I think that’s him.”

  I followed his gaze to a lanky Latino man, probably about my age, with long hair and a faint mustache, who was shoveling the sidewalk in front of the building. He was looking at Ray and Ray was looking at him, and then they both nodded slightly to each other. He approached Ray’s side of the car and Ray lowered the window.

  “You lookin’ for Hector?” he asked, tapping the shovel on the ground and looking around shiftily.

  Ray nodded.

  “Go to room two-oh-nine,” he whispered. “Anyone talks to you, tell ’em you’re visiting Mr. Johansen.”

  “And the money,” Ray said firmly.

  The man nodded and pulled a small envelope from his jacket. He dropped it through the window into Ray’s lap and went quickly back toward the building. Ray handed me the envelope, which I stuffed in the glove compartment, not wanting to touch it if it was drug money, but curious all the same how much we were getting. My heart was racing and I was sweating, but I said nothing.

  “Looks like we’re in business,” Ray said, getting out of the car and taking his camera bag. Reluctantly I followed and we entered a dimly lit lobby, the edges of which were lined with elderly men and women, some dozing in wheelchairs, others sitting on easy chairs, their walkers or canes in front of them. An algae-choked aquarium gurgled in one corner under a large bulletin board advertising a bus trip to a shopping mall. Some raised their white heads with a vague curiosity when we entered, but most just continued dozing or staring vacantly off into the distance. The smell of urine and disinfectant was nearly overpowering.

  Ray strode purposefully across the lobby to the reception desk. I hung back.

  “Hi, we’re here to see my uncle, Mr. Johansen. Up those stairs there? Thanks.” Ray motioned for me to follow. We went down a dark hallway, very wide, and lined on both sides with a handrail, until we reached the stairs. He went up a few steps till he was out of view of the desk and then turned to me.

  “How ya doin?” he asked, and gave me a pat on the shoulder.

  I shook my head and gave him a look of worry and annoyance, but continued up the stairs. On the second floor, we entered a hallway identical to the one below. Several TVs were blaring loudly, and someone was moaning, “I’m so thirsty; please can’t I have just a little water?”

  We stood looking around. It was dark and I couldn’t make out the room numbers on the doors. Then I spied the man from the parking lot standing at the far end of the hall beckoning to us.

  “There,” I said, pulling on Ray’s sleeve. “Let’s go.”

  He ushered us into one of the rooms and closed the door behind him. The view into the room was blocked by one of those track curtains used as a room divider. Hector grabbed this and pulled it back, revealing a small, very old man in a red cardigan sweater. He was sitting up on a hospital bed, his extended legs covered by a green afghan, grinning broadly at us and squinting through his glasses.

  “This what you wanted?” Hector asked him, “this” being Ray and myself.

  “Splendid!” he said, clasping his hands together. Hector leaned closer to him and whispered, “You got the stuff?”

  The man nodded and then reached in his sweater and removed a large plastic bag full of pills and handed it to Hector, who took it over to the window and examined it briefly before placing it inside the front of his shirt, just above his waistline, making him look like he had acquired a small paunch. He adjusted it until it looked natural and then turned back to us.

  “It’s two-thirty now,” he said gravely, looking at his watch. “He won’t get medicine till three-twenty, so you should be safe until a little after three. I’ll be watching the door outside, okay? And I’ll knock twice if anyone’s coming.”

  He adjusted his parcel again and left, quietly closing the door behind him.

  I looked at the little man on the bed and then looked to Ray, hoping for some indication as to how we should start or what we should do, but his back was to us as he fiddled with the camera. I looked back at the man, who was still beaming, and smiled weakly, the ends of my mouth twitching slightly.

  “What’s your name?” I asked, figuring I was in it now, so I might as well make the best of it.

  “Walter,” he said, wringing his hands together excitedly.

  “Walter, I’m Jack and this,” I said, reaching over and pinching Ray hard on the ass,
“is Ray.”

  “Ow! Fuck!” he cried, but did not turn around. “Hey, Walt, I’ll be right with you.”

  I pulled off my sweater and approached the bed. Obviously I wasn’t going to get much help initiating things from either party so I decided to start things moving myself. I smiled at Walter.

  “What do you like to do?” I purred suggestively. His eyes widened and his wrinkled hands reached out to me eagerly. He ran them slowly up and down my torso, over the ridges of my abdominals and up between my pectorals. They were large hands, traversed by large ropes of veins, and looked pale, nearly transparent, next to my skin, and felt somewhat rough and scratchy. I heard the click of the camera but it seemed muffled, or as if it were coming from very far away. I removed the rest of my clothes and got up onto the narrow bed, straddling his narrow, afghan-draped legs. He reached around me and ran his hands up and down my spine. I was surprised to feel that I was becoming aroused, and we both stared at the oddity of his hand as it encircled my hard shaft, his other now gently squeezing my ass cheeks. Click, click, click went the camera, but the sound was subtle, almost soft, like the uneven ticking of a large clock. I leaned down, removed his glasses, and kissed him gently on the mouth. His lips felt chapped and rough, and his scent was of an ancient shaving product that reminded me of a summer vacation years ago. Fishing. I’d been cold and my grandfather had given me his flannel shirt.

  My hair fell forward and he brushed it back from my face with both hands. With my hands, I eased his sweater and pajama top back from his thin shoulders and massaged them and his neck. His skin was dry, almost leathery, but his body went almost limp under my touch, and he emitted a soft, plaintive cry. It was evident that he had not been touched like that in years. Then I noticed other hands on me, moving slowly up my abdominals to my chest, and felt arms encircling me from behind. I was pulled back gently and felt Ray’s torso meet my back, his hardness firm against my spine, his goatee gently brushing my neck. I turned my head sideways to kiss him and it was then that I saw her standing in the open doorway-the stout, bug-eyed nurse, her chest heaving in its tight polyester casing, as she struggled to both take in and shut out what she was seeing.

  I gave a startled yell and squirmed from Ray’s arms. The nurse bolted from the doorway and we could hear her running down the hallway yelling, “Security! Security!” Ray vaulted off the bed and slammed the door. I looked back down at the poor man I was straddling. He looked concerned and a little disappointed, but was still smiling. His white hair looked windblown and his face was flushed. In that instant I had a glimpse of him as he must have looked as a young man. 1gave him a kiss and then jumped down off of the bed, frantically collecting my clothes, hearing fabric rip as I struggled to put them on. Hector came in quickly and shut the door, his face white with fear.

  “I tried to stop her. Oh, shit!” he hissed, peering back out in to the hallway and waving his hands frantically. “The window, the window!”

  Ray and I paused, looking at each other and then over at the window. I was in my boxers at this point and had one leg in my pants. I stumbled over to the window and looked down. It was only one story, but it was a sheer drop to the parking lot below, and it was snowing hard. I turned the crank and a frigid breeze entered the room. I looked back at Ray, who was busy again with the fucking camera bag!

  “Come on!” I hissed, pulling my other leg into my pants and buttoning the top button.

  “Okay! You go first and I’ll toss the rest down to you,” he said, indicating the camera bag. I then watched as he absently grabbed my T-shirt, mistaking it for his boxers, and stepped into it, one leg in each arm hole, his cock and balls totally exposed. I tossed a wad of clothing into the snowy parking lot and climbed up through the narrow window frame. Ipaused, trying to determine a suitable landing spot to aim for, when I felt a hand shove me from behind and I landed, doggie-style, on the hood of a car.

  “God damn it!” I said, pain creeping into my knees and wrists as I crawled off, leaving a sizable depression. I looked up and saw Ray’s face, mildly concerned, but smiling, his hand gently swinging the camera bag.

  “Catch,” he said, and I did. He quickly followed, landing feet-first on the pavement, but then he slipped and landed hard on his ass. Our shoes and socks followed, courtesy of Hector, and I left Ray to gather them up while I ran and got the car, fishing in my pockets for the keys.

  A small crowd was gathering at the smoking lounge, so I gunned the engine and put it in reverse. I couldn’t get much traction because of the snow, but eventually I backed out of the space and spun forward to where Ray, in his ridiculous outfit, hopped from one foot to the other, shivering. I slowed the car as I approached him, flung open the passenger door, and in he jumped. I pushed the gas pedal to the floor and we slid sideways, the open door smacking a light pole and slamming violently shut.

  “Jesus!” he cried, and nearly jumped into my lap. I drove fast and wordlessly out of the lot and toward the highway, thinking of the dent on the door and that I was glad I’d mailed my insurance payment on time.

  When we were at what I perceived to be a safe distance, I slowed down and looked over at the shivering Ray. He looked at me and started laughing.

  “It’s not funny,” I said sternly, but was beginning to laugh myself. He leaned over, put his arm around my neck, and pulled my head close to his. He bit my earlobe gently and whispered, “That was beautiful!”

  Then he returned to his seat and started sorting and putting on his clothes.

  While driving I thought of myself on the bed and how surprised I’d been when I felt Ray’s hands on my chest, his chest on my back. How disappointed I’d been that the whole thing was interrupted. Then I remembered the feel of his teeth on my ear just then....

  “Hey, what’s that?” Ray said, grinning and pointing to the rod that was poking out of my unzipped pants. I smiled and blushed.

  “Sometimes it takes a while to go down,” I said, and pushed it back inside. “And give me my shirt!”

  16

  LIES AND SECRETS

  My family and Andre were all growing curious about what I was doing for money, and my vague responses succeeded only in making them suspicious. So for lack of any better idea I decided I’d stick to the same line I was using in the microbusiness classes: that I was doing fitness training full-time but now had many more clients. This flew with my parents, who were both relieved that I finally seemed to be fending for myself. My father even got me a pager and a cell phone, which helped immensely, since it freed me from having to sit at home and wait for calls, and from constantly checking voice mail. It was also deductible as a business expense, as Tina informed me in class one day as my pager went off. The other students looked at me enviously, and by the following week there was a chorus of bells and whistles in the classroom.

  Over dinner one night, my first dinner at home with the family since my banishment, my dad mentioned that he’d be glad to send a few clients my way.

  “Some of the guys in the office could stand to lose a few pounds; maybe you could give us a corporate rate.”

  “Maybe in the future,” I said, and laughed inwardly as I pictured the “services” I could provide to my father’s associates, “but I’m too busy now as it is, and I’m concerned about managing the growth of the business, since statistically forty percent of small businesses fail in the beginning because they don’t have the infrastructure to support a rapid increase in volume.”

  His jaw dropped. “Why, yes, that’s true, but how—”

  “And furthermore, I think it’s vital to maintain the level of customer satisfaction I’ve established so far, since word of mouth can often be the most effective form of advertising.”

  “Hey, you’re really learning something in those classes of yours.”

  “Yes, sir, I am.” I said proudly, basking in my father’s awe.

  Unfortunately, all my entrepreneurial zeal set the wheels spinning in my mother’s head. The teahouse finished, her interest in th
e Japanese garden was on the wane. Mr. Matsumoto came by once a week to rake the leaves and trim the bonsai, so all she really had to do was feed the koi. Similarly, Bobby and Ethel, the pair of mastiffs that she had acquired, had been well trained over the winter months and sat quietly and obediently at her feet, no longer challenging enough to keep her occupied. For that reason, the focus of her curiosity lighted on me and the class I was taking. Only Andre knew about my food stamp folly, and I was not eager to share the information with anyone else, especially my conservative, welfare-bashing father, whose nascent respect I did not want to destroy by having him find out I was now leeching from the government instead of from him. This secret, I saw, was in danger of being exposed by my mother’s prying, so I tried, in vain, to change the subject.

  “That sounds so interesting, honey,” she said, regarding me intently from across the table. “Now where did you say you signed up for this class?”

  “Uh, I didn’t. It’s through the state. I don’t think they do it anymore.

  “Well maybe your teacher knows—could you ask her for me? Maybe I could sit in on one of your classes.”

  “No! I mean, I don’t think you’d like it.”

  “Oh, I know I would. Will you at least ask her?”

  “Sure, yeah, I’ll ask her, Mom.”

  “A small business! Imagine! It sounds so exciting! I bet I could do that.”

  I eventually put her off the scent by giving her a course catalog from the Free University, highlighting a business course and telling her it was the same one I was taking.

  “Is it exactly the same?” she asked skeptically, skimming over the course description. “Because yours sounds so detailed.”

  “Exactly,” I lied.

  “I thought you said yours was through the state.”

  “Uh, yeah, it was, but they, uh, lost the funding. You know, spending cuts and all, so they had to turn it over to the private sector.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s probably better, isn’t it? The private sector. It is a business class, after all.”