San Diego Lightfoot Sue

by Tom Reamy

  I shrugged.

  “According to him everyone is either a fag or a closet queen.”

  “What about himself?” I asked.

  He rolled his eyes and laughed. “Getting him to talk about himself is like catching fairies in a saucepan.”

  Carnehan came in, pitching an apple core into the wastebasket. I could see why he had never been on the Pansy Patrol. Then… I don’t know why I thought of it, but the thought crossed my mind. I wondered what the guy at the wreck looked like naked.

  I left the station and got into my five-year-old Dart. It looked like a nice day. There was enough wind from the ocean to clear away the smog. Of course, the wind was packing it into the San Gabriel Valley, but that was their problem, not mine. I went straight home and went to bed.

  I was scrambling some eggs and watching The Price is Right when the phone rang. They were doing the one where the screaming dame has to zero in on the prices of two objects within thirty seconds. When she names a price, the MC says “Higher” or “Lower.” This keeps up until she guesses the price. You can get it in ten guesses maximum. She started at a hundred on a color TV and worked up ten dollars at a time.

  “Hundred and ten!”

  “Higher!”

  “Hundred and twenty!”

  “Higher!”

  “Hundred and thirty!”

  “Higher!”

  She got to three-seventy before her time ran out. Dumb dame!

  It was Carnehan on the phone. “Hey, Lou, Margaret wants you to come over for dinner tonight.”

  “Hell, Carnehan, I wish you’d said something this morning. I’ve already made other plans.” You stupid jerk! Don’t you ever wonder why your wife is always inviting me to dinner?

  “Got a heavy date, Lou?”

  “Something like that. Some other time, Carnehan.” No other time, Carnehan. Margaret’s a pretty good-looking dame for her age, but not good enough to take chances with. You didn’t even notice how her hand stayed under the table all through dinner last time.

  “Margaret says how about Wednesday?”

  “I’ll have to let you know later.” And you never even had a suspicion about what goes on after you fall asleep in front of the TV, Carnehan. If you ever found out…

  “Okay, Lou. I’ll remind you Tuesday night.”

  “You do that.” And I’ll have a good excuse ready. Not that I give a good goddamn if you do find out, but you could make a stink in the department. I don’t want to lose my job, Carnehan. I like being a cop.

  “’Bye, Lou. See you later.”

  “’Bye, Carnehan.” I hung up the phone in time to see a granny-lady have an orgasm over winning a dune buggy.

  I usually eat dinner about eight o’clock at David’s. I know it’s a fag hangout but the food’s good and, since I let it be known I was a cop, the service is even better. I spotted him as I was leaving about nine. He went into the gay bar next to David’s. It was called Goliath’s, of course. I only glimpsed him from behind but I was sure of the red hair and body. Wouldn’t you know he’d be a queer!

  I paid my dollar and a quarter cover charge and went through the black curtains after him. I don’t know what I was planning to do, but I hadn’t been able to get him out of my mind. I stood for a moment, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the gloom and my ears to the plaster-cracking music. There were three small stages with naked boys dancing on them, wiggling their little round butts for all they were worth. There were also five screens showing movies of naked boys doing everything it’s physically possible for naked boys to do and a few things I would have thought impossible before I joined the force.

  Then there were the customers. A few were at the bar and a few were scattered around but most of them were packed like Vienna sausages against one wall. There was plenty of room and no need for the press of bodies—no need but one, and the busy hands told what that was. A few watched the movies but mostly they watched each other. One of the dancers was waving around a hard-on and was getting some attention but not much. A couple of dykes at the bar watched him. I guess this is the only chance they have to see one.

  I spotted the back of the red head in the middle of the mass, so I waded in. There’s no way to move through something like that. No one can move out of your way; they’re just as trapped as you are. You just wait and move with the current because the pack is in constant eddy as they move from one body to the next, trying to touch everything.

  It was no more than thirty seconds before I felt feather touches on my ass. I thought about my wallet, but I knew that wasn’t what they were after. I pushed away the first hand that closed on my crotch and saw a pout of disappointment flicker across a face in front of mine. I put my wallet in my shirt pocket anyway.

  After five minutes and fifty gropes, I finally reached the redhead but he was turned the other way. I was pressed against him and could feel his hard body. By pushing with determination, I managed to get to the side of him. He was standing face to face with another guy. Both of them had their eyes closed and their mouths slightly open, occasionally coming together in a lazy kiss. Their hands were out of sight but I could feel the movement.

  It wasn’t him.

  This was one of the pretty ones. I might even have said beautiful if I hadn’t seen the other one. But, like Cunningham, he was ordinary in comparison.

  He opened his eyes and saw me watching him and he smiled dreamily. I felt a hand massaging my crotch but I couldn’t tell for sure if it was him. I was so disappointed I didn’t push it away. Then my zipper went down and fingers expertly scooped everything out. The press was so tight I couldn’t even get my arms down, much less move away. Whoever was working on me was very good and I couldn’t help getting it up.

  Jesus Christ!

  I had a wild urge to take out my badge and shove it in every face in sight. I enjoyed my mental image of the panic it would create. But I didn’t do it. I forced my arms down, pushed the clutching hands away, closed my pants, and got the hell out of there.

  When I went into the locker room about eleven thirty, Carnehan already had his uniform on, sitting there reading a copy of the Advocate and eating an apple. He looked up when I rattled my locker.

  “Hey, Lou! You missed a great dinner.”

  “It couldn’t be helped, Carnehan.”

  “Don’t forget about Wednesday.”

  “I won’t.”

  I took off my shirt and remembered my wallet was still in the pocket. I put it on the shelf and took off my pants. I grabbed a towel and headed for the shower. I felt clammy. I must have sweated off a pound in that damn bar. Those groping bodies can generate a lot of heat.

  Carnehan laughed out loud. He came toward me waving the newspaper. “Hey, Lou! Did you see this cartoon in the Advocate?”

  “Why in hell would I be reading the Advocate?”

  “Look, there’s these two cops standing before a judge with a handcuffed fag and a hooker. One of the cops is saying, ‘But Your Honor, you can get hurt chasing robbers and murderers.’ Isn’t that a scream?”

  “Ha ha,” I said and went on to the showers. He started rushing around the room showing it to everyone else.

  I was almost finished when Cunningham came in. He turned on the water and stood under it leaning against the wall with his eyes closed and a sappy grin on his face.

  “You look like the cat that swallowed the aviary,” I said.

  He sighed. “I am exhausted!”

  “Let me guess from what.”

  “I met the most fantastic girl! A waitress at the Hamburger Hamlet on the Strip. I’m gonna give it two weeks and, if I’m still alive, I’m gonna propose.” He rubbed his hand between his legs. “I tell you, Rankin, I didn’t know I had it in me. Boy, I’d like to see Wharton try to convince her I’m a repressed homosexual.”

  I laughed dutifully. He began soaping and glanced down at me.

  “You look a little shriveled up yourself. Have a big night?” He grinned goodnaturedly, wanting to share his sexual
excitement.

  “Yeah. Some women are just as happy with size as they are with technique.”

  He looked a little wistful for a moment, then the grin returned. “Shit! If I had your size and my technique, I’d quit the force, put an ad in the Free Press, and open a screwing service.”

  And I wondered about him again. With that face and that body, did he worry about size and technique? How did women react to him? Were they intimidated by his beauty? Was he as beautiful in bed?

  I saw him going into the Vogue Record Shop on the Boulevard. This time there was no mistake. I told Carnehan to park the car and meet me at the entrance. When I went through the turnstiles, I saw him leaning against the end of the counter. I walked into the book department and watched him from behind a rack of paperbacks.

  He had his back to me and it took me a moment to figure out what he was doing. The cashier was playing the Symphonie Fantastique—it was the passage where the two shepherds are calling to each other on their flutes and, at the end, one doesn’t answer—and he was standing there listening to the music. Then he turned slightly and I could see his face.

  I could feel the skin crawling on the back of my neck.

  It wasn’t the same one!

  It was all there: the red hair, the magnificent body, the neutral beauty of the bland fade. But the features were different. He had to be the other one’s brother, they were so alike.

  The lights in the store were very bright. No one else was in the place but the cashier and she had her nose in a paperback volume of Toynbee. His clothes were clean and neatly pressed but they were old and hadn’t cost much when they were new. His hair was neat and not very long. His face was so smooth I doubted that he shaved. And his eyes were gray—just as beautiful and as neutral as the rest of him.

  Finally the record ended and he left. I glanced at the book I had been holding. The cover was a photograph of Burt Reynolds standing with his back to the camera looking over his shoulder. He was wearing nothing but a football jersey, with his bare ass hanging out. I closed the book, put it back on the rack, and for some reason thought of Betty Grable.

  The cashier never even looked up when he went out. Carnehan, standing on the sidewalk looking confused, never glanced at him as he walked by. The girl was watching me. She smiled but her eyes were guarded.

  “Did you know the man who just went out?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

  She glanced out the door, but he had turned left toward Las Palmas. She looked back at me. “I don’t think so, officer. Did he do something?”

  “No. I just thought I’d seen him before. Maybe in the movies or on television.”

  She shrugged. “Movie stars come in here all the time. Joanne Worley was in yesterday. Wendall Burton comes in every once in a while.”

  “Thanks.” I left before she could give me a complete catalogue of the celebrities she’d seen. She raised her voice as I went out the door.

  “Chad Everett was in a couple of weeks ago but I was off that day.”

  I looked down the Boulevard but didn’t see him. I told Carnehan to wait for me and went after him. At Las Palmas I looked in every direction but there was no sign of him. The hustlers standing around the Gold Cup pretended to ignore me, but a couple of drag queens gave me defiant looks.

  * * * * *

  There was another bad one that night on the off-ramp at Western. Four cars were scattered half a block. There were seven dead and two others who probably wouldn’t see morning. And there were two of them in the crowd. Two different ones.

  I motioned Carnehan over.

  “Yeah, Lou?”

  “Carnehan. See those two guys over there, the ones with red hair?”

  He looked confused, “Where?”

  “You see the black dame in the yellow dress? The one with pigtails all over her head that make her look like an upside-down johnny brush?”

  He snickered. “Sure.”

  “One of them is standing right beside her. On her left. You see him?”

  Slowly: “Yeah.”

  “What does he look like?”

  He looked up at me. “What d’ya mean?”

  “No! Keep looking at him!” He looked back. “You still see him?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Describe him to me.”

  He thought for a moment. “Don’t forget. Tomorrow’s Wednesday. Margaret’s expecting you for dinner.”

  “Carnehan! Concentrate on the redheaded guy. Don’t think about anything else. What does he look like?”

  “I don’t know. He’s just a guy.”

  “How old is he?”

  “It’s hard to tell. The light’s not too good.”

  “Is he under thirty?”

  He considered. “Yeah.”

  “Under twenty-five?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I’d say so.”

  “Under twenty?”

  He was silent for a moment. Good old Carnehan. His little pea brain was doing its best. “Maybe… but probably not.”

  “What about his face?”

  “What about it?”

  “Is it an ugly face?”

  “No.”

  “Is it a handsome face?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “How handsome?”

  “Golly, Lou.”

  “Very handsome?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Better-looking than Cunningham?”

  “Yeah.” His voice suddenly got excited. “Hey, Lou, is that a movie star or something?”

  We went through the whole thing again with the other one. Carnehan finally saw them the same way I did, but he couldn’t remember the one at the record shop. Later I asked him if he remembered the two good-looking redheaded guys.

  “Sure. How could you forget somebody who looks like that? Especially when there’s two of ’em. Hey, you suppose they’re twins?”

  “Are they still there?”

  “Naw. They musta left,” he said, looking right at them. “Don’t forget about dinner Wednesday night.”

  Then they both turned and looked at me with their expressionless eyes. Or were they expressionless? I thought I saw recognition and speculation, but I wasn’t sure. Carnehan was right. The light was bad.

  They kept us hopping the rest of the night. We’d barely get through with one before we were sent to another.

  An old hotel on Vermont burned to the ground. Half the department was there, keeping the curious out from underfoot, rerouting traffic. My eyes were burning and watery from the smoke, but it didn’t keep me from seeing them.

  I counted seven. Seven beautiful redheaded young men with perfect bodies.

  I leaned against my locker in pure exhaustion, wondering if I should take a shower. I was grimy from smoke and dust but I was so tired I only wanted to go to bed. Cunningham came in, looking as beat as I felt.

  He looked at me and sighed, shaking his head.

  “What are you doing in uniform?” I asked, not really caring. “You off the Pansy Patrol?”

  He started undressing. “Yeah. They called us in about three. What got into people last night, anyway? Seems like everybody was trying to get themselves killed.”

  The same thought had crossed my mind, but not seriously. I had other things to think about.

  Margaret called herself the next afternoon to remind me about dinner. But I’d already laid out my plan of action.

  “I’m sorry, Margaret. I was just about to call you. I’m leaving for Texas in about two hours. My father is very ill and I’ve taken a leave of absence from the department.”

  “Oh, Lou, I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

  “No, thank you, Margaret. Everything’s taken care of.”

  “At least let me drive you to the airport.”

  “I’m not flying. I’ll need my car when I get there.”

  “How long will you be gone?”

  “I don’t know. My father isn’t expected to live…” I let my voice break a little. “Say so long to Carnehan for
me.”

  “Of course, Lou. You’re sure there’s nothing I can do?”

  “No. Nothing. Good-bye, Margaret.”

  “’Bye, Lou, dear.”

  Well, it wasn’t all a lie. My father had taken three months to die seventeen years ago when I was in high school, but nobody out here knew that. The Lieutenant hadn’t much liked the idea of giving me an indefinite leave of absence, but what could he do? I packed enough supplies in the Dart to last two people six weeks, paid my landlady two months in advance, drove up La Brea to the Boulevard, and put my car in the underground garage near Graumann’s Chinese. I walked down to the Vogue and caught a double feature.

  It was dark when I came out. I could hear sirens in several directions. I got in the car and drove to David’s for something to eat. All I had to do was get in one place and wait, no driving around, no taking extra chances of being seen.

  I had almost finished eating when I heard the sirens. I didn’t pay much attention because there would be plenty of time and plenty of sirens, if tonight was anything like last night. When I came out of the restaurant there were little bunches of people standing on the corners looking south down La Brea. I walked over and saw a crowd around the Gordon, standing in that tense way they do when somebody’s had it. This was going to be a lot easier than I’d thought.

  I crossed over Melrose past the camera store, and eased my way through the press of bodies. The colored neon of the marquee made the blood look black. The guy was under a blanket, flat on his back on the sidewalk, one brown hand poking out from under the edge. The hand had blood on it and a spot had soaked through the blanket. More of it was smeared around on the concrete.

  One of the cops talking to a couple of people was named Henderson. I only knew him vaguely, so he probably wouldn’t know I was supposed to be on my way to Texas. I began sorting through a number of excuses for my delay just in case.

  He saw me and waved. The patrol car was behind him at the curb, the flashers turning hypnotically, but losing out. To the bright marquee. A young Chicano sat in the back seat looking dazed and surly. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand and I saw the glint of cuffs. A girl was hunched in the front seat weeping.