“My point exactly! Why make life even harder for them?”
“The world is what makes life hard, Tony. Parents are the people who teach you how to deal with it.”
“Again, why ask for more problems?”
“Because we don’t conquer bigotry by painting everyone white, and we don’t cater to idiots by al pretending to be stupid. The world needs more kids being raised by devoted parents who real y love them, no matter what genders they are.”
“Kids need a mom and dad,” Tony repeated.
“Right, because we know how fabulous Adolf Hitler and Ted Bundy and, I don’t know, Attil a the fucking Hun turned out. It’s like cake mix—add a penis and vagina, throw in a kid, cook for eighteen years, and it’s al perfect.”
“See,” Tony yel ed, slamming his fist against the wal . “This is why I didn’t want to do this. This is why I want it to just be us. I don’t want to be part of your movement, or join a crusade, or spend my life battling social injustice. I just want us . . .” His voice trailed off and he fel onto the couch. He put his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.
I felt myself choke up and asked the question I was afraid to ask. “You want what, Tony?”
“I just don’t want to do this. I don’t want to fight the world and I don’t want to fight with you, either.” He lifted his head and I sat next to him, close enough to touch but not touching.
“Tony . . .”
“Because whether we fight the world or each other, Kevin, we’re going to lose. Either way, we both lose.”
“Couldn’t we both win?” I asked.
Even though I was trying to be total y in the moment and responsive to Tony’s needs, I suddenly realized I was repeating a line from a Barbra Streisand movie.
Babs is a funky left-wing Jewish activist, trying to convince her play-it-safe WASP boyfriend (Robert Redford, BTW) that, despite their differences, their relationship is worth fighting for.
It didn’t end wel in the movie.
Oh. My. God. I was living The Way We Were.
Tony reached over and pushed my bangs out of my eyes. I scooted a little closer to him. He put an arm around me and I nestled in.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m just going through a lot right now. There are things I can’t talk about with you.
I didn’t mean to take it out on you like that.”
“I know,” I said, resting my head against his strong chest.
We sat like that for a few minutes and Tony kissed the top of my head. “I have to go,” he said.
“You’re not staying the night?” I pul ed away.
“No, I real y do have a ton of crap I have to get to.”
“OK,” I said coldly.
Tony pul ed me back to him. “I’m not leaving because I’m mad, I promise. I’m just on overload. I’l cal you tomorrow.”
“OK,” I answered, a little thawed out.
Tony kissed me on the lips then, a good kiss, like he meant it, and I hoped it might lead to something more. “They real y did seem like a nice couple,” Tony said. “I liked them.” He kissed me again. “I like you.”
“I like you, too,” I said, very butch and very serious.
I gave him a manly punch on the arm.
“You’re a nut,” he said, getting up. “I’l cal you tomorrow.”
“Sure,” I said, seeing him to the door. “Tomorrow.
But, Tony?”
“Yeah?”
“What you said before, about things you couldn’t talk to me about. You can, you know. You can talk to me about anything.”
“What?” He screwed up his face. “I didn’t say that.”
“Yes, you did. Just before. You said you were dealing with things you couldn’t share with me.”
“Huh,” Tony said, his expression innocent. “If you say so.”
Like I was the crazy one.
Tony never lied to me.
Right?
He gave me one last kiss and was gone.
OK, so maybe introducing him to Nick, Paul, and Aaron wasn’t quite as good an idea as I hoped it would be. But it didn’t end too badly, did it?
Was I pushing too hard? Not hard enough?
Why don’t relationships come with an FAQ?
What was it that he was so busy with lately? What couldn’t he discuss with me?
I hoped there wasn’t something else I needed to add to the List of Things Tony Wasn’t Wil ing to Give Up to Be with Me.
My iPhone rang, announcing it was my mother.
Wel , I could use a distraction.
“Hey, Mom,” I answered.
“Bitch!” my mother yel ed.
“Nice to talk to you, too.”
“That horrible, horrible bitch,” she continued.
“And we’re talking about . . . ?”
“Yvonne!” my mother screamed. “Guess who just left my front door?”
“Um, Yvonne?”
“No,” my mother said, sounding al annoyed with me. “Why would Yvonne be at my front door? We didn’t exactly part as friends.”
“I’m confused,” I admitted.
“Her lawyers came here. Or someone from her law firm or some such. They gave me papers!”
“Papers?”
“Papers! In an envelope!”
“What do they say?”
“How should I know?”
“Didn’t you open them?”
“No, why would I open them?”
“To see the words inside?”
“I don’t need to see the words. The men who dropped them off, and she sent two, the bitch, she must be scared of me, told me Yvonne was suing me!”
“Suing you?”
“Suing me!”
“Why is she suing you?”
“She says I permanently damaged her scalp and now half her hair won’t grow back in.”
“Ouch.”
“She was half bald when she walked in, the bitch! I told you, I’ve seen healthier hair on chemo patients.
She’s just being spiteful. You know what she wants?”
“What?”
“She wants my shop. My shop! That bitch! She could buy one hundred Sophie’s Choice Tresses if she wanted to. Not that there isn’t a lot of value in the business, mind you. It was voted the third-most popular beauty parlor by the readers of Hauppauge Today, if you remember.”
“I have the article framed,” I said. I had been too tense during dinner to eat anything. I opened my refrigerator. Nothing. I needed a wife.
“And we would have been number two if it wasn’t for Hair-Cuttery. How am I supposed to compete with twelve-dol ar haircuts, I ask you?”
I found a Clif Bar in the cutlery drawer. Good enough. “What are you going to do?”
My mother heaved a beleaguered sigh. “I don’t know. Your father said Yvonne could probably tie us up in court so long that we’d lose everything anyway, even if she doesn’t win. You don’t think she can win, can she?”
“No,” I lied. What world did my mother live in?
Yvonne was one of television’s most beloved personalities. My mother was a crazy Long Island harridan who scarred her head with caustic chemicals in a premeditated attack. It sounded like an open and shut case to me, and not in my mother’s favor.
This was bad news. What if my parents real y did lose the shop? Or, for that matter, their life savings?
Where would they live? My sister had a husband and three kids in a two-bedroom house—no way they’d go there.
I looked around my apartment and put the Clif Bar back in the drawer. I’d lost my appetite.
“Maybe you could settle,” I suggested. “She doesn’t need your money. Maybe she just wants an apology.”
“An apology? From me? I’d sooner chew glass than apologize to that bleached hussy. The words would choke in my throat like poison. My lungs would fil with blood and col apse. My heart would explode like a—”
“Al right, al right, I get it. But, you know, some fights aren’t
worth having. Not if you can’t win.” I experienced a moment of déjà vu. Huh.
“It’s always worth fighting for what you believe in.
Have I taught you nothing?”
Huh.
“No,” I said, “you’re right. Without your principles . .
.”
“ . . . You’re nothing. I’m not afraid of a fight, Kevin.”
She may be a crazy woman, but my mother sometimes makes me proud.
“So, you’re OK?” I asked.
“What are you, meshugana? I’m a wreck! I’m being sued by a rich witch who can take everything I’ve worked for over the years and flush it down the toilet without a moment’s thought. I’m terrified.”
“I thought you weren’t afraid of a fight.”
“I’m not afraid of a fight, ” my mother insisted. “It’s just the possibility of losing that scares the you-know-what out of me.”
“Listen,” I said. “We’l figure this out. I’m not going to let that woman hurt you.” I had an idea.
“My Kevin,” my mother said.
“And this place is much too smal to share with you and Dad, anyway.”
“Kevin?”
I hadn’t meant to say that last bit aloud. “Nothing.
Just listen to me: We’l figure something out. We always do.”
“You’re right,” my mother said. “Thank you. I feel better. There’s no way that Hol ywood hag is going to take down the woman who built the third-most popular beauty parlor in Long Island!”
Wel , real y the third-most popular beauty parlor in her town in Long Island, but this didn’t seem like the time to correct her.
“That’s the spirit! Should I say hel o to Dad?”
“It’s not a good time. He’s locked himself in the bathroom. He may be throwing up. It’s hard to tel over the sobs.”
“OK, wel , I’l cal you later.”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
I had to share the news from Crazy Town with someone. I cal ed Freddy.
“Yo, ho,” he answered.
“Funny.”
“I thought so. Why are you bothering me? It’s my date night with Cody, remember?”
I did now. “Sorry. I’l let you boys get back to . . .
whatever.”
“No, it’s cool. He’s not here.”
“Oh, sorry about that.” Guess I wasn’t as good a matchmaker as I thought. “It didn’t go wel ?”
“No, it was great. He’s great.”
“I don’t understand. If he’s great, why isn’t he there? Was he not into you?”
Freddy laughed. “‘Was he not into you?’ That’s a good one, sweetie.”
“I know how you work, Fredster. If you liked him, and he liked you, you two should be banging like explosions in a Michael Bay movie by now. What are you not tel ing me?”
“Nothing. We had dinner. We real y enjoyed each other. I walked him home, we hung out for a while in his apartment, and then I left.”
“That was quick. Was he bad in bed? Because he looked like he’d be smoking, but sometimes you can get fooled. Again, sorry.”
“Listen, dummy, we didn’t have sex, al right? We just made out for a while and then I decided to . . .”
Freddy’s voice trailed off.
I gave him a minute. “Freddy?”
“I can’t think of the word . . .”
“Leave?”
“No.”
“Shower?”
“No.”
“Run to the corner store for some lube and an enema kit?”
“No!”
“What?”
“Wait!” Freddy triumphantly exclaimed.
“Wait for what?”
“No, that’s the word. I decided to wait! ”
“What? You decided to wait? You don’t wait.
You’re not a waiter. If you want a guy, you take him.
There. Then. End of story.”
“I know,” Freddy said, laughing. “It’s insane! But I like him. He’s sweet and tender like a part of your body that’s been covered by a bandage for a while.
You know how you peel it off, and the skin underneath is al soft and clean and new? Only he’s like that al over. I wanted to dril him like Sarah Palin wants to dril the Alaskan wilderness, but I just decided to . . . wait.”
I was speechless. “Wow.”
“I know.”
“You going to see him again?”
“We have a date this weekend.”
“Holy shit. You’re dating!”
“Am not!”
“Are, too!”
“I don’t ‘date.’ ”
“You sure about that?”
Freddy paused. He whispered, “I think I want to date him.”
“Aaahhh!” I screamed, but it was a happy scream.
“I know! Aaahhhhh!” Freddy screamed back.
Now we were two screaming queens on the phone.
“I’m real y glad for you,” I said.
“I’m glad for me, too. Thanks for introducing us.”
“My pleasure, Fredmeister.”
“Why does it seem like al the best things in my life somehow connect back to you?”
“You are so going to regret saying that at some point, aren’t you?”
“That point would be already. ”
“OK,” I said, “can we get to my drama now?”
“Shoot.”
I fil ed Freddy in on what had happened with Tony and with my mom.
“So, you didn’t tel Tony about Jacob Locke or anything else?” he asked.
“No, I don’t think I can. Tony barely tolerates my work as it is. If I give him even a little more reason for concern, he’l break my legs to keep me off the job.”
“Seeing as how most of your work is done on your back, why would that slow you down?” Freddy asked.
“Wow,” I said. “Ever since you started ‘dating,’
you’ve become so catty.”
“Like you can talk, whore.”
“Hussy.”
“Tramp,” Freddy countered.
I played my ultimate card. “Dater.”
“Oh, Jane,” Freddy groaned. “You wouldn’t be able to do these awful things to me if I weren’t in this wheelchair.”
“But you are, Blanche,” I vol eyed back. “But you are!”
26
Who Are You Now?
The next day was Friday, and at four in the morning, I gave up on my fitful quest for sleep. My head was too ful of Tony, Freddy, Cody, Rueben, and, mostly, Jacob Locke.
Too many men in my bed.
Never thought I’d say that.
Jacob Locke. So, he was The Eggman. I should have seen that coming.
Other than his odious gay-baiting commercials, I didn’t know much about him. Who was he?
I got up from bed and opened the refrigerator.
Hmmm . . . nothing had magical y appeared since last night.
I real y had to go shopping.
Then I remembered—the cutlery drawer! I opened it gleeful y and found the Clif Bar I’d put there last night. I grabbed a bottle of water and headed for the computer.
Sitting in the dark, eating my chalky breakfast bar, I had to wonder: Could my life be any more fucking glamorous?
Sigh.
I booted up my Mac and opened Safari. On the Google home page, I entered “Jacob Locke.”
Five mil ion four hundred thousand results came up for the conservative candidate. That seemed a little unwieldy, so I tried to narrow it down. “Jacob Locke gay.” Why not? Maybe someone had outed him along the way.
Somehow, that only brought the number of hits down to two mil ion four hundred sixty thousand. A quick perusal of the headlines didn’t reveal anything juicy about him personal y. Although, it was pretty clear he had gays on his mind quite a lot, not to mention on his tongue. Wel , not literal y. At least, not that I could prove.
What I could prove was that he talked
an awful lot about homosexuals.
I decided to see what wisdom he had to share on this matter to which he was so obviously drawn. Here are some of his choicer quotes:
“On the subject of homosexuality, I’m more inclined to believe the teachings of Moses from the Mount than the boys from Brokeback Mountain. ”
Moses taught about homosexuality? Real y?
Where—in the book of Leviticus/Club Remix version?
“Homosexuality is an aberrant, unhealthy, and sinful lifestyle that we have to tolerate but are under no obligation to accept.”
This struck me as what they cal “kinder”
conservatism. What the hel is the difference between tolerating and accepting us? Why do either if we’re so irredeemably twisted? It’s just a bunch of words thrown together to simultaneously appeal to his rabid religious base while not total y alienating the moderate voters in the middle. If a patient in a mental hospital said this, they’d up his medication.
“So-cal ed gay rights have about as much in common with real civil rights as gay marriage has in common with normal marriage.”
I kind of agree with him on this one, but that logic leads me to the opposite conclusion. Move on.
“America cannot continue to build the family of nations around the world if we al ow the col apse of the family here at home.”
Yes, because we al know how equal marriage rights for gay people wil cause every heterosexual union to immediately splinter and fail.
“America’s culture is based on the fact that we are a religious people. If we recognize God in our Declaration of Independence and our currency, shouldn’t we be wil ing to recognize him in our bedrooms, as wel ?”
Hey, I’ve slept with a lot of guys, but I was stil pretty sure if God showed up in my bedroom, I’d recognize him. Bet he’d be hot.
“They say ‘go gay’? I say ‘no way!’ ”
Way!
I could go on, but I think you get the point.
What makes someone like Jacob Locke? I read his bio. Born in Utah to a religious fireman father and a stay-at-home mom who only made it though the sixth grade. He was homeschooled, thus ensuring no new ideas could enter his tiny little head. His father was a strict disciplinarian.
Second You Sin Page 19