by Sam Lollar
“Okay. I guess if my services are no longer wanted around here, I might as well leave,” I said, calling his bluff. I stood to leave the room, hoping he would change his mind and ask me to stay, but he didn’t. I walked to the lobby to tell everyone good-bye. Mrs. Schuster was working with Bob on some papers.
“Hi Aaron, what’s up?” she said.
“Oh, nothing much. Scott just fired me. So I guess I’ll pack up and go.”
“What?”
“He’s really mad at me and told me to leave. He doesn’t want me working here anymore.”
“Well, that’s just pure nonsense,” Mrs. Schuster stated. “Anyway, I decide who stays and who goes around here, and I say you stay. That’s final. Bob, get Scott on the phone.”
Bob dialed up Scott’s room. When he answered, Mrs. Schuster took the receiver. “Scott, what in the hell’s come over you? Why on earth did you fire Aaron? He’s staying, by the way. You, I’m not so sure about. What’s going on?”
She listened for a while. “That’s no reason to fire Aaron. It sounds more like your problem than something he’s done. Why don’t you sit down with him and talk about what’s troubling you? You know you like him. Well! He just hung up on me,” she said with some indignation. Suddenly we saw Scott bolt down the driveway, jump in his Jaguar, and head out.
“Well, so much for meddling,” Bob said.
“Bob, I’m not meddling. He’s my son, and I’m worried about him. This is so unlike him. You know he never really gets angry. He blusters a lot, but everyone knows his bark is worse than his bite.”
“That’s what’s got me so confused,” I said. “I’ve never seen him like this before.”
“Neither have I,” said Bob.
“Well, I have, unfortunately. I do remember an episode that happened about five or six years ago in Chicago. Scott was dating some low-life character he met in one of those bars. After a few weeks, this lad was caught in another man’s apartment when Scott went to visit. That’s when he began acting like he is now.”
“So you’re saying he’s upset because of some love interest?” Bob asked.
“I’m afraid so,” Mrs. Schuster said, sighing heavily. “And I suppose that’s why you’re the target of his wrath, Aaron.”
“Are you saying that he’s in love with me?”
“Oh, Christ, Aaron, don’t play the naive child anymore,” Bob challenged me. “You’ve known that Scott has wanted to be more than friends with you ever since you started working here. Why act so innocent?”
I was quiet for a moment. “You’re right, I suppose. I was aware of strong feelings coming from Scott, but I had no idea how strong they apparently were or are. No, were.”
“Well, maybe he’ll cool off after driving around for a while. Then you two can discuss things more calmly,” Mrs. S said. “But do talk with him. Iron this thing out. I hate to see him hurting.”
At about ten that night, the Jaguar pulled up to Scott’s room and Scott parked within view of the lobby. I watched as he and some other guy got out. The guy was not much older than me and was really good-looking. They both entered Scott’s room and slammed the door behind them.
When I was leaving for school the next morning around seven thirty, I saw them both getting in the Jaguar. Apparently Scott had had a sexual tryst. They didn’t see me, as I had decided to drive the Falcon to class. I didn’t want Scott getting upset about me taking the Mercedes and coming to get it while I was in class. I knew he was fully capable of doing such things.
Class was uneventful, just more boring lectures on topics that held little interest for me. I was still musing over the events of the day before, and found myself getting more and more saddened over everything. When I returned to the motel, sure enough, the Mercedes was gone. Thank God I didn’t sell the Falcon, I thought.
Chapter Fifteen
The Pontiac GTO
A few days later, nobody was available to watch the desk, so I was given the responsibility. After about eight o’clock, Scott wandered into the lobby. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t stealing anything. I don’t trust your kind.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? I’ve never stolen anything in my life.”
“Ah, calm down. Why are you being such a shit?” he asked me.
“Me?” I asked in amazement. “You’re the one who’s been avoiding me. You’re the one who tried to fire me. You’re the one who apparently took back the Mercedes.”
“Yes, I did. It was still my car. And I gave it to my new friend.”
“Was that the guy I saw you with the other night?”
“Yes. He’s even more gorgeous than you. And he doesn’t go around screwing any old whore that comes along. He’s brave and trustworthy, and he likes me.”
I was stunned by the anger in his voice. “How long have you been going with him?”
“About three days. I met him in the bar.”
“Three days? And you gave him the car? Do you think you’ll ever see it, or him, again? Even I know that some guy you meet in the bar’s going to be trouble. I bet he promised to love you forever after you gave him the keys to the Mercedes. And what happened to that being my car ‘for ever and ever’? You said you’d never take it away from me.”
“Well, I changed my mind. I figured it was one way I still had left to punish you.”
“Punish me? For what?”
“For fucking that whore, that’s what.”
“Scott, that was your idea,” I said. “Why has it made you so furious?”
“Because I figured you’d change your mind at the last minute and…and…”
After a moment’s silence, when he didn’t finish his thought, I volunteered, “Go to you?”
Almost inaudibly, he said, “Yes. Aaron, I really thought you were beginning to like me.”
“But Scott, I do like you,” I said as firmly as I could manage.
“I mean like me the way I like you. Aaron, I told you before you knock me out. You still do. I want you so bad that it hurts.”
“Oh. Scott, I don’t like you that way.”
“How do you know? You’ve never even tried it with a man before. You’re so gung-ho on doing it with a female, but you’re too chicken to try it with a man. I think you’re being hypocritical here. This ‘I want to explore my sexuality’ bullshit that you’ve been spouting around here is nauseating. I mean, really. How many whores have you fucked since that night? How many women, period? Grow up, goddamn it.”
I remained silent as he continued his tirade. I suddenly realized he was right. I did only want to try it with a woman. I knew once I had done it, I wouldn’t want to bother with it again. But the idea of doing it with a man was too frightening. What if I liked it?
*
“So did you do it with other women?” Number Three asked.
“Well, yeah…uh, you’re here, after all. But, yeah, there were some girls at college. We’ll get to that after a bit.”
*
Scott continued his ravings when he finally noticed that I had tuned him out. “You’re not even listening, are you?”
“I’m listening more carefully than you know, Scott. I’m sorry if I’ve caused you any difficulties.” As if on cue, a green ’67 Imperial Crown Coupe and a ’63 Mercury Montclair pulled in. I got busy working with them and Scott wandered out of the lobby as he said quite loudly, “I’m going to meet Paul for dinner and some R and R.”
Little more than an hour later, Scott returned, alone. “What happened to Paul?” I asked a bit wickedly.
“I don’t know. He didn’t show up, that’s all. I probably got the days mixed up or something. I’m going to give him a call.” He picked up whatever papers he wanted from the business office and went to his room.
Several days passed, and I noticed that the Mercedes had never shown up at the motel. I finally got Bob alone and asked point-blank what had happened. He told me that the lad Scott had picked up apparently took the Mercedes across the border and sold it for a f
ew thousand dollars. When Scott caught up with him, he was getting ready to catch a bus to California. “Scott’s very upset about the whole thing. And believe it or not, he blames you.”
“I’m not surprised, Bob. He blames me for everything. I’m surprised he doesn’t blame me for Vietnam.”
Later that evening, Larinda came in early again and told me she had just finished dinner with Scott, and that they had talked at length about the problems he faced regarding the lost Mercedes and me. She said Scott didn’t really blame me for anything, I was just convenient and the root of his unhappiness. I guessed I did feel a bit of responsibility, indirectly. Perhaps if Scott hadn’t been so pushy for me to go to a whorehouse, none of this would have happened. And I asked Larinda to relay that message. Although I was sorry for whatever I may have done, Scott had to take responsibility for his actions as well.
Not many days later, Scott drove up in another ’67 Mercedes 230 SL, this one plain white, and strolled into the lobby while I was there. “Hiya, guys,” he chirped as he entered.
“Scott, what’s with the new Mercedes?” Bob asked.
“It’s for Aaron. My way of apologizing for behaving like such a shithead toward him. I realize most of what was troubling me was my own fault. I’m giving you another Mercedes. I hope you like it.”
Oh God. Here we go again, I mused. Aloud, I said, “Thanks, Scott, but I think I’ll stick with my Falcon. At least I hold title to it.”
“Ah, but wait till you see what else I have for you. It’s the title to the car. We’re going down right now and sign the papers and pay the fees, and it’s yours free and clear. You’ll have to pay a token amount for it so we don’t pay gift tax, but don’t worry. I’ll actually come up with whatever money’s necessary. Come on. You can drive it while we go downtown.”
With much trepidation, I got in with Scott in the driver’s seat. We drove to the DMV, and to my utter amazement, he actually went through with the process. The car was mine.
“Thanks, Scott,” I said. After a bit, I asked “What do you want in return?”
“An idea that you can’t refuse, Aaron,” he said.
Gulp. “Well, I’m waiting, what’s your idea?” I asked, beginning to get really nervous.
“Here’s my idea,” Scott said as we drove back to the motel. “You really wanted to try sex with a woman, and you succeeded. Have you done it since?”
“No, Scott, I haven’t,” I said truthfully.
“That’s what I thought. My idea is to have you try sex with me to see if you prefer men or women. Now, doesn’t that sound reasonable?”
For a moment, I was too stunned to speak. After what seemed like hours, I managed to speak. “It sounds reasonable, Scott, but there’s no way I can have sex with you. Just the thought of it makes me uncomfortable.”
“Here we go again,” he sighed, disgruntled.
“Scott, I’ve told you time and again that I’m not going to have sex with you. Why do you keep asking me to do so? The answer’s always no.”
“But you only said you couldn’t have sex with me, not with someone else. Is that right?”
Jeez, I suddenly realized that he was right. I really did want to have sex with a man now, and it could be just as much an adventure as it had been going to the whorehouse. “Okay Scott, I admit it. I am curious about sex with a man. But if I were to have sex with one and didn’t like it, would you quit trying to make me?”
“Yes. Yes, I agree to that. You’re going to have the best sex yet.”
“I actually don’t have much to compare it to, now do I? I’ve only had sex with that one prostitute. How are you going to get me someone to have sex with? Are there male whorehouses?”
“No, not actually, but there are ways.”
A few days later, Scott invited me to go with him to watch Regina’s new drag show at that gay bar, the Office. Here’s my chance at adventure, I told myself. Maybe my chance to have sex with a man. Although the idea of actually going where men meet was terrifying to me, I dressed myself up in a rather daring fashion for me: shirt half unbuttoned, tight jeans, and boots. I thought I looked good. Apparently, Scott did, too, as he whistled when he saw me.
We drove to the club in Scott’s Jaguar and parked surprisingly close to the entrance, considering how crowded it was. No sooner did we enter the club than we were confronted with a wall of men, making it almost impossible to get into the place. With what must have been years of practice, Scott ushered me through the crowds toward the bar, holding my hand. I suppose it made sense because if I lost him, I’d never be able to find him in that crowd. As we squeezed ourselves toward the bar, I was groped by several men. It was so crowded, I couldn’t even turn in time to find out who had done it. I didn’t like it and wanted to put a stop to it, but at just about every step of the way, someone was either patting my rump or running a hand between my legs. I was becoming more and more terrified. But we finally arrived at the bar and Scott ordered us two beers, which I’m sure he knew would go straight to my head. Get Aaron drunk, and he’ll fuck anything with a hole.
We continued to squeeze our way back toward the stage area and the back bar, where presumably Regina would do her act. We ended up with a pretty good spot right at the bar. Almost an hour later, after I had become completely bored and resigned to the reality of having my butt fondled, Regina finally walked onstage in a most regal outfit. She began her act with some raunchy banter with the audience. She told numerous ribald jokes. I was a bit embarrassed by the blatant sexual talk, but Scott seemed to be having a good time.
Next, another drag queen came on stage as Regina went behind the curtain. This gal sang a Patsy Cline song about walking after midnight. I told Scott I was amazed at how much she sounded like the real Patsy. He laughed at me and said most drag queens lip-synced to a record. Only professional drag queens sang in their own voice. This drag queen was dressed in a long formal, a beautiful stole around her shoulders, and what I assumed to be fake diamonds everywhere conceivable.
She was followed by two other similarly dressed singers who also lip-synced. Finally, Regina came back out in a completely new outfit and even a new hairdo. Her dress was bell-shaped, narrow and tight around the bosom and ballooned from the waist down. “I could be getting a blow job under here and no one would notice,” she said. Everyone laughed uproariously. Finally, she began singing a song from one of the movies that was out, and I commented to Scott I didn’t recognize the singer on the record. He informed me Regina was actually singing. I was really impressed and remembered that Regina had been a professional in Chicago.
The evening progressed, and Regina did several more numbers and gags for the audience. The show ended around one, and many of the revelers left the club. After the beers, I was beginning to feel relaxed. That’s when Scott mentioned I would meet the man I was going to have sex with.
“Who?” I asked. “You haven’t really arranged anything with one of your friends, have you? I refuse to do anything with a drag queen,” I said. “They’re a bit too weird for me.”
“Actually no, I haven’t arranged for anyone to meet you, and if you don’t want to go to bed with a drag queen, you don’t have to. You have plenty of men around to choose from.”
“So how do I choose? What do I do, just go up to someone and say, ‘let’s have sex’?” The bravado I was exhibiting was really not indicative of the terror I was feeling. My heart was beating a mile a minute, my mouth was dry, and I was getting a bellyache.
“It might surprise you to know that is one way to do it. I’ve had friends who have gone up to some man and said just that, and then would stand not far from their prey. When it got late enough, and it was clear there were no more desirable opportunities coming, the men often would get together at closing time. It works. And believe me, all you would have to do is indicate an interest in some man, and he’d be yours for the taking.”
“Trust me, I’m not going to do that,” I said with finality. “Besides, I don’t think this is such
a good idea, anyway. Let’s go back to the motel.” I was all but pleading with him at this point. I was really scared.
“Oh, come on, Aaron. You said you were willing to try sex with a man, and this is your chance. Surely you see some attractive men here. Just decide on which one you want, and believe me, he’ll come over to you.”
“Scott, I can’t do that. I’m very embarrassed and actually frightened. Please, let’s go home.”
“Just ten more minutes,” he pleaded. “If you don’t find someone in ten minutes, we’ll leave. I have to go to the bathroom anyway.”
So I was determined to wait it out, sipping yet another beer and trying not to feel too conspicuous. Sure enough, within a couple of seconds after Scott went to the restroom, over came a very handsome man, some years older than me. He looked to be about thirty-five, with beautiful auburn hair that had brilliant gold highlights. He had a beautiful beard and big mustache, which was pretty unusual at that time, but something I absolutely loved. His shirt was unbuttoned to the waist, revealing a wide expanse of chest hair. I suppose that was the first time I realized that I liked hairy men.
“Is Senior Rita a friend of yours?” he asked when he got in front of me.
“What?” I gasped, trying not to show how stunned and terrified I was. I was completely mesmerized by his eyes. His irises were completely black and seemed to devour me while simultaneously trying to let me know that he was friendly and harmless.
“I merely asked if Senior Rita was your friend? Or should I say Scott. Are you two boyfriends or lovers or something?”
“No. No, of course not,” I stated too emphatically.
“All right, just friends. My name’s Rick, what’s yours?”
“Aaron,” I managed to say, my mouth getting drier and drier by the second.
“Hi, Aaron. That’s a really great name. Do you spell it like the character in East of Eden?”
Not being familiar with what that was, I guess I just looked blankly at him.