Freaks and Revelations

by Davida Wills Hurwin

  “At least I’m not ugly,” I yell, and hear Tommy laugh.

  Not even a minute later, a dirty white Dodge Dart pulls over and stops. Is this it? Another huge breath. The guy has dull brown hair and keeps looking around like he’s being followed. My stomach tries to jump out of my body, but I feel Adam smirking, so I pull myself together. We’re the same age and he does this all the time. If he can, I can. It’s just like being onstage, playing a character that isn’t you.

  I saunter over, lean on the car, peek down through the window. Sweat dots the guy’s forehead and outlines his armpits, which grosses me out, but he doesn’t smell, so that’s good. His car is tidy, a briefcase in the back. I glance to my right; Tommy’s watching. He scratches his nose with his thumb pointed up. It’s a go.

  “What will you do?” the guy asks, almost in a whisper. I’m about to answer, but remember to wait. When he doesn’t say anything right away, I get nervous. He clears his throat. “And how much?” I relax. Cops can’t ask—that’s entrapment.

  “Twenty for hand only. Forty if you want both.” I can’t believe how much I sound just like Nick or Adam. Like I’d been doing this forever.

  “How much if I want to—”

  “I don’t do that.” Good—cold, like I take no shit.

  “But—”

  “I don’t do that.”

  I move away from the car, like Tommy told me, thinking the guy’ll split, but he doesn’t. He backs up, leans over again.

  “Okay. That’s okay,” he says and swings the car door open. “It’s fine, really, just fine.” I get in.

  It’s happening.

  I shut the door but keep my hand on the handle, so I can jump out if he tries to lock it. I’m surprised how clearly I’m thinking.

  “Um, I want both. Where should we, um—?” he mumbles. He doesn’t look at me directly. I point around the corner, like Tommy said. We don’t talk. He bumps the curb as he parks. Sweat glistens on his top lip. Still not looking at me, he unzips his pants.

  Twenty minutes later, I step out with four ten dollar bills and he drives away. Tommy strolls up, grinning.

  “See?”

  I do three more that night, hand only. One guy cheats and gives me a ten but I don’t notice till after. Nobody’s mean and nobody’s too gross. By the end of the night, I’ve made ninety dollars! Tommy stays close the whole time. He’s going to be my protector. Lots of the younger kids have older kids watching out for them; not for money either, just somebody looking out. He already made me pass on one of the cars because he’d heard the guy’s an asshole. When he finds out about the cheat guy, he adds him to that list.

  It’s good to have him looking out.

  It’s even better the next day, to walk into All American Boy and get the tight parachute pants I’ve tried on at least fifty times, and a crisp white button-up shirt. Tonight I’ll make enough to get the black boots I’ve been wanting; the stacked heels make me taller.

  * * *

  Guys pull over—I’m making money. All of a sudden, life’s good. I can choose things. I’m not begging or eating garbage. I can shop. I can have dinner at restaurants. I can get supplies from Longs Drugs. Sometimes I can even stay a night at a hotel. I’m taking care of myself.

  I bleach my hair and gel it up. Once in a while I stay at this place on California around from The Masque or at the Royal Ambassador down by Market. You can only go where they don’t really care; legitimate places won’t rent to kids. Bathrooms are always down the hall. You got to be careful who sees you going in, and check out the hall before you go piss. Once I opened the door and this girl was getting beat up by her pimp. She wasn’t even yelling or fighting back, just taking it. I think she was high on H. Another time, I got lice, which I didn’t even know for a week. But it’s okay most times; at least you’re out of the weather.

  I keep meeting other working kids and pretty soon I know tons. I fit in. We hustle together on Polk and hang out on Castro, proud that we can pay and not have to steal. It’s important not to have a bad rep over there. Sometimes we get into clubs—the ones where we know the doorman, or our trick does. Except Nick, he never gets in. He looks even younger than me, like eleven or twelve.

  “So? I get more dates,” he says when I tease him. He does. Makes you wonder.

  My whole life’s at night now, from when people start cruising, as soon as it gets dark, until about four in the morning. The only part I hate is how tricks never look you in the eyes. How they seem to want to think it’s your fault they’re doing it.

  I keep it fast and don’t think too hard. One night I make almost three hundred dollars. Some nights, I may only get twenty. Or nothing. Sometimes the cops are out and you have to literally run and hide from them. Always, the “regular” people look disgusted when they see us. Even kids our own age. They roll their eyes or laugh or make faces. I keep hoping I’ll get used to it, but I don’t.

  “Who cares about them?” Tommy says. “They don’t know shit about anything, Jason. Where were they when your mom kicked you out?”

  {2}

  Cruising down Polk toward us is a silver Corvette, low to the ground, sleek, awesome.

  “Is that Jetsons, or what?” Adam points as the car makes the corner and heads down our block. He still thinks he’s God’s gift but he’s so damn funny, I put up with it. The Corvette pulls to the curb in front of us. Adam pops up and smiles; the guy smiles back but beckons to me. He’s older, maybe forty, and very distinguished looking, with a great moustache and amazing thick eyebrows.

  “You look like you might enjoy Edith Piaf.”

  I have no idea what he’s talking about.

  “Of course I would,” I say, folding my hands across my chest, looking at him through my lashes. The guys opens the door—it goes straight up!—and I climb in. This could be a sugar daddy, for sure. Adam flounces away.

  His name is Barney. We go to a piano bar up on Nob Hill. I can’t believe how classy it is. They all know him there, the maître d’, the waiters, the guy at the piano. We sit at “his” table in the back near the stage, and I have my very first brandy. It makes my nose run. We eat hors d’oeuvres of shrimp and little pastries. A man who looks like a woman who looks like the painting my dad did of Judy Garland sings songs in French. Barney explains that Edith Piaf was a French torch singer and tells me about her life.

  I can’t stop staring at him as he talks—it’s like watching a movie star. The word “elegant” comes to mind. I feel very grown-up and want to say all the right things but keep slipping and saying “yeah” instead of “yes”—and then giggling like I’m ten. Still, he asks me to spend the night and offers me $200. I tell him $300 and he winks.

  “Smart boy,” he says, then tousles my hair and agrees!

  I’ve never stayed with anyone outside of the Castro, and definitely never for money. Barney lives way down on the Embarcadero, in a condo on a top floor where you can see the Bay and the city both. All white furniture with bright red and orange paintings on the walls, and squat African statues of men with big dicks and women with boobs. We have brandy on his balcony and he tells me about growing up in Chicago, about how he got into his career in film location scouting, then we go to bed.

  I wake up alone; Barney’s bustling about the kitchen. I love the feel of his sheets against my skin. The window curtains are drawn, patches of blue sky peek through the morning fog.

  “Breakfast!” he calls. I slip on his shirt from the night before and find him the kitchen. He serves me an omelet with mushrooms and Swiss cheese. He is as elegant in his bathrobe as he was last night in a suit. We sit on the couch inside the French doors to eat and watch the fog drift daintily across the bay.

  “Well, JJ, I like you. You’re a sweet boy.”

  I smile like my face might break.

  “I’m taking a few days off, going down to Carmel. I wonder if you’d like to come along?”

  “Sure.”

  “Not for money, though. I can’t afford three hundred a night
. But I will show you a good time.”

  “Oh, that’s fine. That’s just fine.” I float on air for the next hour. We pack up clothes for him, and stop by Macy’s to pick up a few things for me. The car ride down is heaven. He plays Edith and I try to take in this incredible turn of events.

  Barney’s got a house on the beach. We shop for food and I love how he keeps me close, almost like I’m his son. We spend the next three days exploring the shore, cooking meals with food I’ve never even heard of, and being together. When he takes his binders and notebooks out to work, I sit quietly across from him, like I used to with my dad. The last night we’re there, I creep out of bed sometime around three in the morning to sit on the balcony, wrapped up in Barney’s pale yellow sweater. The rhythm of the surf could be my own heart. Each star shines brilliantly. I never realized there were so many. I never realized I could be so happy.

  “Ah. Back to work.” We’re in Barney’s apartment on our first morning after Carmel. “Would you like to drive up to the country with me?” he asks. “I’m scouting a location.”

  “Okay, yeah, sure,” I say, taking my last bite of breakfast, wondering how much better it can get. I’m glad I didn’t make up a totally different name; I’m looking for the best time to tell him JJ is short for Jason. We shower and dress and jump in the Corvette. He takes out part of the roof so I can look up and see the sky. Icy wind whips through my hair as we zoom across the Golden Gate Bridge. I stick my arms out and laugh. He plays jazz and smiles.

  An hour up the 101, we exit. The roads get smaller as we head inland. Cows graze, and dilapidated old houses are scattered around. He finds the address he wants, parks the car near a barn and pokes around a bit. He takes several pictures with his Polaroid camera, makes notes, and climbs back inside. He tells me I’m good luck; he found exactly what he needed the first time out.

  By the time we’re coming back into the city, I’m trying to figure out how to best get in touch with Tommy to let him know about Barney. Maybe he can come visit. I suppose I’ll be sleeping in Barney’s room, but I’ll be willing to go in the second bedroom too, when he needs his space. I’ll keep him company on his scouting expeditions. I’ll meet his friends, maybe even see a movie star or two when filming starts. I’d be cool with that. I can act right, not like some stupid little kid. Maybe I’ll even get my break and be on TV.

  Just off the bridge, Barney pulls into Clown Alley at the corner of Lombard and Divisadero.

  “Let’s get a little something to eat, shall we?” He buys us each a hot dog and we settle in at the little table on the side. He makes notes by the photos he’s stuck in his binder while I count colors on cars, nibble at my hot dog, and wait to hear his words.

  “So—JJ,” he says, smiling. “You’re a swell kid. I’ve had a really great time with you.”

  “Me too.” I smile, bat my eyes at him, ready to tell him yes when he asks if I’ll move in. He reaches for his wallet and I’m about to tell him don’t worry about it.

  “Can you get back from here?” he asks, and holds out three bills.

  “Back?” My smile freezes. A stone drops into my gut.

  “You know, to your—street? I have an appointment; I’m going to have to take off.”

  “Oh. Yes, of course, sure.” I finally said “yes” instead of “yeah.” Somehow I take the money and keep smiling, even though my face now feels heavy and dead. He pats my cheek and climbs back in his car. I finish my hot dog, wipe my mouth carefully, and toss the trash in the can. I’ve got to stop being so dumb. I wonder who will get to wear all my new clothes.

  * * *

  Tommy catches up with me back in the Castro, grabs me by both shoulders, sticks his face close to mine. “Where the hell were you?”

  I explain.

  “You can’t do that, Jason!” Adam jumps in. “You can’t just leave with some guy because he’s got a cool car. You gotta let somebody know where you’re going. Shit happens. Tommy’s been looking for you for days.”

  “I was fine,” I say.

  “You are so dumb,” Tommy rants. You’re going end up like Darren.”

  “Who’s Darren?”

  “A stupid kid like you. He went with some guy and didn’t tell anybody. He got tied up in a warehouse on the Embarcadero. Three guys raped him, Jason. He managed to get back here and we took him to the hospital but—” Tommy has to stop.

  “He died, Jason,” Adam says. “He got all ripped up inside. He bled to death.”

  “Oh my God.”

  “Yeah,” Tommy says.

  “But it wasn’t like that,” I insist. “Barney bought me clothes. We went to Carmel, he cooked for me, he took me up with him to do his work—”

  “Barney could just as easy have taken you into the park, done what he wanted, and dumped you.”

  “But he didn’t,” I say, as a chill surrounds my spine, creeps through the rest of my body. I think where we were today, down a road with no houses near; I remember the isolation of the cottage in Carmel. Nobody would have found me in either place, or known who I was if they did. Working boys don’t carry I.D.’s.

  “Please don’t be stupid anymore, okay?” Tommy says. “You tell us. Let somebody know.”

  I can’t help myself. I call the number Barney gave me, but it isn’t even his. The days get longer and tourists pour in, so there’s new tricks, but also more kids getting hurt. Nick gets a black eye from an asshole who then rapes him. Now, every time a car pulls up, I make a plan—what I’ll do if something happens. I keep a hand on the door handle and constantly check to make sure they don’t hit automatic lock. Sometimes, if the guy looks creepy, I open the window so I can crawl through if I need to.

  One day becomes the next and it’s hard to keep track; I’m tired all the time. More and more straight people come down to Polk Street to stare at us and act shocked, or laugh. I hate them. How they think we’re the freaks. I start to worry I’ll end up here, that I’ll never meet somebody and just fall in love. I want to stop, but I can’t go back to eating garbage.

  {3}

  “Let’s go.”

  Tommy raps on the bathroom door. We’re at the Shell station, me, Nick, Adam, Miles, and Dan, all finishing up our hair, crowding in to see the mirror. Tommy’s arranged a date. There’s a limo waiting. The guy’s a doctor. He lives in one of those huge mansions out in the rich section on Broadway. The car lets us out in the back alley and we go through what’s obviously the service entrance.

  “Tommy?” I ask, “are you sure about this?”

  “Shh. Yes. Stop complaining.”

  I’m not complaining, but I don’t much like how he’s been acting recently—like he’s tough shit and in charge of everyone. But how do I say no? He’s taken care of me all this time. I shrug and follow Nick into the house. We hang out in a huge living room while Tommy goes up the stairs. An ordinary-looking guy with glasses and a balding head comes back down with him, smiling at all of us. He’s tall and reminds me of my uncle.

  “Hello, boys,” he says. “Welcome to my house.” Another man appears, holding a doctors’ tray, the kind that usually has instruments to look up your nose. This one has syringes.

  “What the hell’s this?” Adam says.

  “What’s going on?” Nick asks.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Tommy says. “You’ll like it.” I’ve never seen him so pushy; I feel like I’m hanging out with Davy. The doctor’s friend picks up a syringe and looks over at us, smiling.

  “I’ll go,” says Dan, and we all watch as the guy ties off his arm, like a nurse does—or a junkie—and injects a vein in his arm.

  “Now, that didn’t hurt, did it?”

  Dan smiles, says “whoo” and plops down on the couch. I go next. He’s right, the needle’s not painful—but the second it’s done, I get a ringing in my ears and my heart starts to race. Then I have to puke, but the doctor’s ready for this and has a pan right there. What he’s given me is a speedball. I don’t know this until later, much later. It’s
cocaine and heroin mixed together. You throw up from the heroin, but after, you feel amazing, or at least I did—mellow but with energy and horny as hell. I laugh. I can’t seem to stop laughing.

  More people come, people we don’t know, but I don’t care too much. I dance with Nick. I dance with some short gray-haired man. Somebody plays Donna Summer, then the Village People—over and over again. Nick takes his clothes off, which seems like a great idea, so I do too. Pretty soon we’re all naked. I don’t see Tommy anywhere. Things happen in flashes but it all seems okay. I’m still laughing. We go to another room and the doctor takes pictures. Now it’s real flashes. This makes me laugh too. I think I must be a big boy, finally, because I can have my picture taken naked and it’s not at all scary. Tommy comes out of nowhere and takes my hand and leads me somewhere with someone—I don’t remember who. I smell something sweet, maybe a candle burning? We take more drugs, I’m not even sure what.

  Then it’s morning and I’m standing naked on a balcony by myself. I’m sore everywhere. I don’t know what time it is, what day it is even. I don’t know how long we’ve been here. I find Adam curled up asleep on a couch in a downstairs living room. At first he won’t wake up and I freak. What did we do? Where is everybody? Why did Tommy bring us here? Adam moans and turns over.

  The doctor appears in the doorway. He doesn’t look friendly now; he’s not smiling. He’s all business. “Okay, boys. Time to get dressed and go on home. The car’s waiting.”

  “Where’s our money?” Nick asks.

  “You’ve been paid. Now, please go.”

  “Where’s Tommy?” I ask.

  “Waiting for you in the car. Now go.”