Gotta Dance with the One Who Brung Ya - sex, scandals and sweethearts

by Jon McDonald

  John could hear a mumbled, “Oh shit.” from behind the door. He could hear a scurrying and the loud raucous shrieks of the birds as Pattycakes scrambled to escape.

  “She’s coming out.” John called out to Connie and the Sergeant. He dashed to the side of the house and just caught sight of Pattycakes fleeing from the back door and racing down towards the dock in the canal where she had a speedboat set for a quick get-a-way.

  Connie dashed after her - tackling and throwing Pattycakes face down with a thump. Connie had the cuffs on her in no time. John went over to the covered car, removed the tarp and there it was - the Oldsmobile in the photo.

  Connie and the Sergeant searched the house and found the room of roving computers, bogus checks, and a stack of credit card applications waiting to be filled out with stolen names. Pattycakes sat glumly on the sofa in her living room.

  “Whose gonna take care of my babies?” she asked John, indicating her birds.

  “I’ve called animal services. They’ll be okay.”

  Pattycakes studied John a moment, then asked, “So what tipped you off, huh?”

  “Dorothy’s ruby slippers.” John smiled. “Something just nagged at me after we left the first time. Then I remembered that back in 2005 a pair of the Wizard of Oz shoes had been swiped from the Judy Garland Museum in Grand Rapids. And I figured you might have been the one involved, or at least bought them on the black market. They were insured for a million bucks, you know. Don’t know why you would wear them around the house though, being that valuable.”

  “Well, a little vanity, I guess.” She looked at John for a moment. “Damn, you’re a gay cop. Am I right?”

  “Yes, ma’am, gay as a giggle.”

  Pattycakes shook her head. “Just my luck. A gay cop is the only one who could catch me out. But hey, it was a good ride while it lasted.”

  “Nice little act by the way, Miss Pattycakes – liked the Dorothy drag. Had me fooled me for a while.”

  “Well, you know what they say – Gotta have fun with your work.”

  “You should be a writer. Great imagination. But you’ll have plenty of time for that later – in prison.”

  ◘ ◘ ◘

  It was after six o’clock by the time John got back home. Phylicia came rushing at him. “Did you bring me a present, Daddy John?” she asked, indicating the paper bag under his arm.

  ‘No, honey. This is something from Daddy’s work. Did I miss dinner?” he asked Lorenzo.

  “Nope.” Lorenzo indicated the set dinner table. He came over and gave John a hug. “Just about to serve. Wash up.”

  John set the paper bag down on the dining table and went to the bathroom. When he came back Lorenzo was serving up dinner and Phylicia came shuffling up to him and grabbed his leg.

  “Oh Daddy John, these are just so great.” She was prancing around in the ruby slippers.

  “Oh no, honey. Those are not for you. They’re evidence from work. I have to do some computer research on these this evening. Please take them off now.”

  Phylicia burst into tears and scurried to her room and slammed the door.

  Lorenzo turned to John and laughed. “Well, sweetie, solving a major crime will seem like a piece of cake next to persuading Phylicia to give those back.”

  Silverskin

  Luke Tender strode up the walkway to the modest house with the imposing front porch. Arching elm trees created a cavern of shade along the street on this sweltering July afternoon. Handsome Luke was dressed in his finest Armani lightweight summer suit, crisp white shirt, and Valentino tie. He knocked soundly on the screen door and waited for a response. The knock was quickly answered by a slight woman in her early fifties. Her hair was covered by a floral scarf, tied at the back, as they tend to do here in Indiana when cleaning house.

  “Oh, Mr. Tender,” she greeted, smiling, “do come in, he’s expecting you.” She pushed open the screen door wide, giving an awkward curtsy, and admitted Luke. The door snapped smartly shut behind. Luke stood for a moment savoring the cool of the dark entryway with its slatted wainscot painted a pale yellow. Luke took in the surroundings. Not that much different from when he had been here as a kid of fourteen.

  “Laura, how’s your papa doing?” Luke asked in a discreet voice, in case Red was close by.

  “Oh, you know….best as can be expected. The stroke sorta shook us all up a bit. Doctors say he’s about as good as he’s going to get.” She pointed towards the living room, the blinds drawn against the heat and glare.

  “How you doin’? Been keeping yourself fit?” Luke asked, putting a hand on Laura’s shoulder.

  She smiled with a non-committal shrug, and disappeared down the hall towards the back of the house and the continuation of her chores. “I’ll bring the ice tea in a little while,” she said, and gave a wave just before she disappeared.

  Luke stood for a moment in the silence. The house smelled just as he remembered it – cabbage, carpet mildew and furniture polish. He hesitated a moment before entering the living room, took a breath, and then plunged forward.

  Red was hunched over in a wheelchair, barely regarding the flickering television where he was positioned. Luke walked over, turned off the set, and pulled up a chair to face Red.

  “Well, well, well, you sure are one tough old dog, aren’t you,” Luke opened.

  Red looked up with a twisted smile. He had lost a lot of weight because of the stroke, and looked like an old discarded suit. He was a big man – big beefy hands, towering over the fourteen-year-old Luke all those many years ago. He was almost completely bald, except for a Brillo fringe of red hair. He was most exactly not what you would expect a hairdresser to look like in a small Indiana town.

  Red reached over and patted Luke’s hand. He tried to speak but all that came out was an awkward tumble of sounds.

  Luke nodded, “That’s okay, Red, no need to talk. But you can listen. Let me tell you all the news.”

  ◘ ◘ ◘

  Waynesboro, Indiana was a small agricultural town buried in the hinterlands of rural Indiana. The locals pronounced it “Winesbura.” Luke Tender was fourteen and worked after school in his father’s butcher shop, cutely named Tender Cuts. But Luke figured half the town’s population didn’t even get the play on words. Luke was a smart kid. But he had recently had a growth spurt, and his parts were all mismatched. He had big ears that stood out from the side of his head like the plywood clown with the big mouth that one putted through at the miniature golf park out by the Dairy Queen. His nose was too long, and his hair grew in six different directions, like a wheat field plummeted by a hailstorm. And he had terrible zits. His arms were too long, and he had already outgrown the jeans bought just six months ago. His poor dad shook his head at his patchwork kid, and despaired of any girl ever finding him attractive. He sorely remembered how mean kids could be to one other. But he also forgot how quickly kids could grow into themselves and change out of an awkward stage.

  Luke’s mother had died giving birth to his sister when he was four and he could hardly remember her now. His father managed the butcher shop, took care of the two kids, and still found time to volunteer at the Little League, attend the Rotary, and play poker on Wednesday nights with the guys from International Harvester.

  Dad was tying up a Sunday roast for Mrs. Meeks, as Luke struggled with a side of lamb on the butcher block in the back of the shop. He had been instructed to cut it up, as Easter was fast approaching, and many of the customers wanted lamb for their holiday table.

  “How’s it going?” his father asked, as he came through the plastic strips separating the front of the shop from the back. He leaned over to look at what Luke was doing. He nodded approval. “Looks good, but see that?” He pointed to the translucent membrane covering the leg of lamb.

  “Yes sir,” Luke responded.

  “Silverskin - nasty stuff. Gotta get that trimmed off. Gotta let the meat be free. Gotta let it breathe. Here.” Dad took the slender knife from Luke, slipped it under the membrane
, and expertly sliced it away. “There, think you can do that?”

  “Sure, Dad,” Luke smiled.

  “Doin’ a great job there, lad.”

  ◘ ◘ ◘

  Luke felt like he, himself, was covered in silverskin. But he didn’t know how to perform the dexterous self-surgery required to remove it. Luke was pretty sure he was gay. But he had no idea what to do with this awkward bit of knowledge. He didn’t feel damaged. He didn’t feel guilty. Confused, yes. Horny, yes. But he had no idea where to find others like him. This was Indiana for chriz sake, before the lure of the Internet. And there were certainly no gay bars, Gay-Straight Alliances, or pride parades in his neck of the woods. What little he did know about gay life resided in the common stereotypes of the time - florists, hairdressers, airline stewards. That was about the extent of his knowledge about gay life.

  He needed a strategy. He knew he couldn’t rely on any of his friends for advice. They would drop him like a hot stone if he came out to any of them, or asked any of them for advice. What about teachers? He had a crush on his English teacher, Mr. Rightmeyer, and suspected he might be one of the tribe, but didn’t have the courage to come out to him either. Now the town florist was a lady, and there were no airline stewards this side of Indianapolis, so that left only one other possibility – Caulder Stark, the hairdresser at Quick Cuts Fashion Emporium, on Main Street, next to the pharmacy. Yeah, that’s what he’d do. Next time he needed a haircut he would shun Mr. Trimble, his father’s 60-year-old barber, and head straight on over to Quick Cuts.

  Luke was so nervous about this he kept putting off getting his hair cut till his father finally called him out on it, and insisted he get his hair cut, or he would take the shears to Luke himself.

  Luke promised his Dad he would go for a cut on Wednesday, but missed that day and Thursday. Finally under the threat of corporal punishment he relented, and headed on over to Quick Cuts Friday afternoon after school.

  With his heart in his mouth he quietly entered the shop. Lucinda May, who does nails two days a week, was intently engrossed with Mrs. Warner’s nail extensions as Luke slipped into Mr. Stark’s chair.

  “What’ll be, young man?” Mr. Stark asked, slipping the smock he used for his clients over Luke’s slender shoulders. “Let me guess, you need a haircut, am I right?” he asked, as he took the comb to Luke’s tangled mass of shaggy dark hair. “Boy, you got cowlicks growin’ every which way but Sunday.”

  “That’s what I’ve been told.”

  “I got some great stuff you could use on that acne of yours,” he added, as he took the clippers to the back of Luke’s neck. “How come I never seen you in here before? Huh?”

  Luke didn’t answer, and was silent during the rest of the haircut, as he wrestled with what he was going to say to Mr. Stark after the cut was over. He didn’t want to spill his confession out in front of Lucinda May and Mrs. Warner. He had to figure out how to get Mr. Stark into the back of the shop where he could talk privately. Luke kept glancing in the mirror at Mr. Stark. He had never really seen a gay man up close before, and he minutely examined him for any obvious “signs” of his being gay. Did he purse his lips? Did he flourish with his hands? Did he wear eye make-up? But Luke was having a really hard time finding anything that he could latch on to. Seemed like just some regular Joe to him.

  As Mr. Stark was brushing him down with the big, soft, talc brush after the cut, Luke asked, “You were telling me you got some Acne stuff...”

  “Oh yeah….” He disappeared into the back of the shop. Luke followed after.

  “Oh, you can wait out front. I’ll be right there.”

  “Please sir, can I have a word with you?” Luke asked, very nervous now, but with some urgency.

  Mr. Stark could see that Luke was concerned about something. “Sure, what’s up?”

  There was an old sofa on one side of the back room. There was a coat rack with smocks dangling like deflated ghosts. Mr. Stark indicated Luke should sit. “Okay, son, what can I do you for?” Luke was suddenly afraid Mr. Stark might make a pass at him, and didn’t know what he’d do if that happened.

  “Well, I…ah. I…ah…”

  “Come on - out with it. I’m not going to bite.” Mr. Stark pulled up a chair in front of Luke and sat down, giving him his full attention.

  “Well, sir….I’m….I’m that way. You know.”

  “No, what way is that?” Mr. Stark was truly puzzled.

  “I don’t know who else to talk to about it.”

  Mr. Stark was becoming impatient. “Son, you’ve got to speak up and tell me what’s troubling you. I can’t read your mind.”

  Luke stopped and looked intently at Mr. Stark. “Well sir, I’m like you.”

  Now Mr. Stark was even more puzzled. “How’s that, a Democrat – overweight – an Episcopalian?”

  Luke sighed with frustration, “No sir, I may be gay, and I need to talk to someone else who is gay too.”

  Mr. Stark slapped his knees and roared with laughter. Luke was mortified and stood up to leave. Mr. Stark waved him back down. “Son, son, sit down. I’m not laughing at you. Really.” He put his hand on Luke’s shoulder. “Kid, I’m not gay.”

  “You’re not? But you’re a hairdresser.”

  That set Mr. Stark off laughing even harder. He nodded, “Yes, yes, yes, yes. I know. But son that doesn’t mean I’m automatically gay. The world doesn’t work that way.” He thought a moment. “Oh my, it just never ceases to amaze me how silly, and closed mined people can be sometimes.” Luke looked shocked. “Oh no, not you, son. You’re too young to know any better. It’s the people around you - this town, this state, this world.” He looked down and thought for a moment. “But that doesn’t concern you, does it? What you want to know is how do you deal with being yourself. Isn’t that it?”

  “Yeah. That’s about right.”

  “So how can I help you?”

  “Do you know of anybody else like me?” Luke asked with such a plaintive plea. “I really need to talk to someone.”

  “Well there are the two ladies over on C Street.”

  “Yeah, but they’re ladies,” Luke complained.

  “See what you mean. Not much help for you there, I’d guess.”

  “Mr. Stark…” Luke began.

  “Hey, call me Red. That’s what everybody calls me.”

  Luke didn’t continue, but looked crest fallen and helpless. Red thought for a moment and then spoke up. “Now don’t get your shorts in an uproar. Thinkin’ there might be sumpin’ I might be able to do for ya.”

  Luke looked up with a hopeful smile. “Yeah?”

  “First of all take this.” He handed Luke a tube of acne cream from a storeroom shelf. “You’re never gonna get a boyfriend lookin’ like that.”

  “I only got a dollar for the haircut,” Luke explained.

  “Not to worry. It’s all on the house today - new customer discount.”

  Luke gave a big grin as he stood up to go. “Gee, thanks, Mr. Red.”

  “Now you get along. And don’t feel sorry for yourself, okay.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Give me your telephone number. I got an idea that might help. Will give you a call when I get sumpin’ lined up. You free Saturday evenings?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  ◘ ◘ ◘

  There was Mr. Gardner, from the hardware. And Clement Hardy the pharmacist. And from the train depot, Warner Stevens, who sold tickets. And there was even a junior from his high school, Paul Loomis. And finally, the small group was finished off by a salesman from John Deere, Burton Marcy.

  “Come on in,” Red urged Luke, as he hesitated at the door to Red’s living room. Luke edged into the room guided by Red. “You said you wanted to meet some folks like yourself, so I did a little scouting around, and invited these fine fellas.”

  Luke was amazed - he knew them all. Some were friends of his father - all were well-regarded citizens - and all were gay? Luke couldn’t believe it.

  �
�Come on in, baby, don’t be shy.” Burton patted the empty chair next to him, flashing a big smile.

  “Ooooh, somebody likes Kentucky Fried Chicken,” Clement Hardy acidly commented, as Luke inched his way towards the group, not at all sure how to react to all of this.

  “Now gentlemen, behave yourselves.” Red took hold of Luke’s arm and led him to a chair next to Paul. “We have a young man here who simply needs some help in figuring out how this gay business works. So save your cattiness for your potlucks and let’s give this young fella a helping hand. Okay?”

  Luke leaned in towards Red and whispered, “Thank you.”

  That night Luke found his standing. The event went far better than he could ever have hoped for. After the initial nervousness from the whole group they were able to settle into some really fun and constructive conversations. Luke got some good advice from the men, and made some new friends - and especially one.

  Paul befriended Luke at school and helped him deal with the rigors of being gay in high school. Their friendship blossomed and continued through college and the beginning of Luke’s medical studies in Bloomington, where Paul was teaching economics at Indiana University. They became a couple, and founded an organization to help young gay and questioning teens.

  Red had shepherded Luke through the rest of his high school year, and had helped set up a scholarship fund for Luke to go to college. Luke did indeed grow into himself, and was the handsome and engaging young man now sitting with Red this summer afternoon.

  Though Red could not speak coherently, he could still write, and had a small chalkboard he used to scratch out terse messages.

  “Good boy,” Red scribbled in response to Luke’s recital of his current life.

  “Thank you,” Luke responded verbally.

  “How’s Paul?” Red wrote.

  “He’s just great. We both are.”

  “Medical studies?”

  Luke nodded, “Very good. Just another year before I start interning.”

  Red seemed to hesitate. He looked for a long time at Luke, and rubbed at the chalkboard with his hand to erase the last message. But he didn’t start writing right away. Luke gave him an encouraging look, trying to lead him into further conversation, however limited.