Homunculus

by Wintner, Robert;

  “I haven’t had sex with a man in five years. I’ve been married twice and have a daughter fourteen who lives with her father in Philadelphia. I had this thing in high school with men, well, boys. I didn’t like them, but I wanted them to like me. I hated it when they touched me. They all tried. But I found out that if I put my hand in their pants and you know, released them, they could relax and be nice. For a little while anyway. That was a long time ago, and they all told their friends, and I had all these thirty-minute dates, and it was silly, and I never let a man touch me until my first husband did. But that’s … I don’t know. He was the worst of all. He’s not the father of my daughter, thank God.”

  He needs a drink, a short one.

  “She calls last night and wants to know, ‘Mommy, can I get pregnant giving blow jobs?’ Can you imagine? It just makes me think I need to see something. I mean, my daughter needs me. She looks to me for advice and experience, and frankly, well, I don’t have it. Well, I do, but I need to … you know, see. And, frankly, Señor, I think you’re the man I need to see it with. I need this, Tony.” Faint praise ripples her troubled pond. Whippet is confused and wants to share, yet her plea is much sweeter than Heidi’s bid for romance: Boy, your dick is bigger than I thought it ’d be.

  “You hardly know me.”

  “A woman can tell.”

  So can a man. Tony Drury knows what a woman can tell, with the rules, standards, sanctions, crimes and punishments. He knows woman politics, woman agenda—Whippet hates football, pussy jokes and men. What else is left, once you censor the male of the species who just wants to have fun? She wants him all right—balls on a platter. “I’m not sure I understand,” he says.

  “It’s simple. I need a man, now, you, for sexual relations, with respect.”

  How many women can he call with the same lovely request? It’s not fair. “Whippet I … I’m flattered. But I … I don’t …”

  “You knew all along.”

  “Jesus. It’s a bad day.”

  “Are you contagious? I will expect you to wear a condom. It’s your responsibility to bring one. I will suck your penis, so I will not floss before you arrive, and you may not come in my mouth.”

  That’s it; loony as a burro on locoweed. “I don’t know.”

  “You know. You’ve known all along.”

  “Whippet, the complications.”

  “I know. If we fall in love, complications go away.”

  “Love conquers all?” He laughs, but he stops, because you shouldn’t tease a loony. They grant you face value, and this unstable woman grants greater value than anyone has done in awhile.

  “I believe it does,” she says. “Don’t you?”

  “It’s a bad day. I got, you know, distiller’s flu.”

  “Don’t worry about that.” She purrs, “You come over and get naked. I’ll fix your flu.”

  “Whippet. I got to think this over. I can’t just jump right in, not like that. I’m not that kind of man.”

  “Ha!” She knows about Tony Drury but likes him anyway, the need is so great, the fit so good, and she’s talking carte blanche on a blow job. She hones in. “You should see my breasts now. You really should.”

  “I would like to see your breasts, Whippet. Frankly, I’d like to feel your breasts, perhaps touch nipples with you. I promise to think of that and you and call you as soon I can. I have to balance this out in my mind.”

  “In your mind? Do you think jacking off all those guys didn’t teach me how? Do you think I don’t know a lip lock from a tooth clench?”

  “No, no. Whippet, please. Stay sentimental. I don’t think any of those things.” Nuts. Four-star, bonafide brain-whacked. Here she is dealing tension, resentment and demands, and he only picked up the phone. Maybe he brought it on himself. He wouldn’t mind a look at her breasts. He doubts he’d want to feel them, but he conveys an open mind. “Whippet. I want you to know that you’ve given me quite an erection. You have. You. I would love to have sex with you …”

  “Good. I’m coming over there.” She hangs up.

  “Whippet!”

  No mas …

  He dials for drugs, wondering if she really called. Or is this another dream? The phone didn’t ring. Did it? The cat naps on the bed. His mood is still happy as a cartoon lark’s on a cartoon fence in a cartoon meadow under perfect blue skies whistling Zippity Do Da for no reason in the world; and yes, the pharmacist is in. They will meet in twenty minutes at the bar.

  He looks both ways out the door and steps into daylight briskly as a businessman with appointments to make, goals to ponder, commitments to keep, deals to finesse, until he stops at the corner on a reflection—lip lock? How long could that take? A minute or two?

  He turns back but in two steps turns again like Curly Joe with one foot nailed to the floor; whoop whoop whoop whoop whoop … Forever and ever is the answer.

  God exists in special moments so that we can know what to do. We learn this today, and this is a moment of one such, he thinks. “Thank you,” he says. Thank you for this wisdom in the wasteland of my making, the tundra of my choice. His stride widens, walking with God.

  Cisco laughs. Tony hasn’t told him but only asked if he thought Whippet filled out lately. “Whippet? What the hell you poke your nose in that bush for?”

  “I didn’t. I’m only asking.”

  Cisco calls for rum and sodas, testing rum and soda as a potential theme for the evening. “Whippet craves the same as us. She’s been getting it on with Suey for a long time now. That’s why Suey split from Lawrence. Alcoholic my ass. He kicked her out. Said he didn’t mind her gnawing the bone, except when it interfered with the home life, meaning she wore herself out on Whippet, got headaches at squisheroo time. He threw her out.” The drinks come. “Besides, Whippet’s got her eye on Marylin these days on account of Marylin not getting it nowhere and looking so sad. Whippet likes that. She knows who caused it and who can fix it.” They sip, contemplating sadness and its cure. “I’ll tell you what though,” Cisco says. “You get down with Whippet you get the only filly in this town old Chuckeroo didn’t leave tracks on.” He laughs. “She told him he had penis envy and she didn’t. It was pretty good. Not that I mind Chucky, except for him getting first dibs on the snatch. But shit. I suppose … Shit.” At bottoms up they contemplate tolerance and first dibs. Cisco turns and asks, “Suey got to you, didn’t she.”

  Tony blinks. “No.” But Cisco knows. Tony says, “Hey …” But you can’t explain to Cisco that you were drunk or it was late or she was sad or it was right there in your lap. Cisco knows that stuff. Tony shrugs.

  “It’s cool,” Cisco says. “You don’t have to lie. Not around here. Not with old Ciscoroony. It’s like, you hang out in a place long enough … I fucked Suey. She’s a fine little woman.”

  “You?”

  “Yup,” Cisco shrugs. “It was late. We were drunk. She was sad.” He calls for another round and pulls Tony by the sleeve down the hall to the stalls beyond the trough. They squeeze into the back stall and lock the door. Cisco dips into his sample bag with his mini-shiv. “You know for years I couldn’t see what good one of these little fuckers could do you.” This with the blade on Tony’s septum. “I’ll tell you Tony, you got to relax with this pussy business. Suey. Heidi. It’s all the same. You get weird about it, man. Old Chuck don’t give a shit. He’d be fresh-fucked and half-tanked by now. But you, carrying on about how somebody thinks somebody looks. You could take a lesson.” Tony knows what Cisco means, that it doesn’t matter who has whom. Cisco chuckles, scoops another for old Tonyroony and three for himself before folding up and walking out. Tony follows a few steps back.

  Back at the bar they sit. They wait. They groove and drink and have another line on a plastic menu with another drink and wait for things to pick up.

  Heidi arrives hard-ridden looking the better for it, relaxed, forgiving. Tony doesn’t ask if Kung-fu-chicken is still doing his potted-plant number in the courtyard. Instead he says, “Hi, sweet
ness.”

  “Hello, stranger,” she says, stopping to kiss her worthless lodger. They make up that easy, like tension was only a bad idea. Let Cisco get between that. Whippet stands nearby with her riding crop looking hardly ridden but also wet. Her smeared lip gloss twists against the pain and rejection contorting her smile. Whippet? Lip gloss?

  Tony sucks Heidi’s lip and says, “Hi, Whippet.”

  “Whippet wants to ride,” Heidi says.

  “I know,” he says. “I can tell.”

  “You filled out,” Cisco says. Whippet pulls her jacket tighter, then lets it fall open. The hurtful smile eases into a smirk: no wrinkles below the neck, no freckles, no sun damage or birth control splotches, only a soft blue mesh on translucent skin.

  “How did you do that?” Tony asks.

  “Do what?” Heidi asks.

  “It’s private,” Whippet says. “Tardiness is rude.”

  Heidi smiles, “Everyone’s entitled to some privacy.” She agrees that rum will be good for a change and allows that late is often better than never. Whippet mumbles malediction but goes along with rum. And then there were four, sitting, drinking, no need for small talk. Heidi leans into Cisco. “You guys got blow?”

  “Why are you pressing me?” Tony whispers the other way.

  “I need this,” Whippet says.

  Cisco nods. “Yeah. You want some?”

  Heidi will not dignify such an insensitive question, but she laughs. She tells Cisco something or other of needs waiting fulfillment. Cisco nods. Tony cranes, but issues to the east preempt his eavesdrop. “I need things all the time,” he whispers to Whippet. “I can’t make demands on others. Consider my feelings for chrissake.”

  “What the hell,” Heidi says. “It’s the weekend.”

  “It’s Thursday,” Tony corrects her. “Isn’t it?”

  Whippet softens. She looks down. “I’m sorry. You’re right. God, I hate it when these macho fuckers strut around like pole-vaulters.”

  “It’s uncouth and insensitive, and you know me.”

  “Yes, I do. It’s why I want you.”

  “Whippet, please.”

  “It’s an experiment.”

  “What if you want it regular?”

  “I’ll get a boyfriend. Don’t be like the rest of them.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. It’s too early for that.”

  Cisco leaves for inventory and Heidi makes three. “Too early for what?”

  “Just discovering we’ve been less than nice to each other,” Tony says.

  Whippet takes his arm. “Don’t you love him?” she asks and waits with Tony for an answer.

  “Sometimes I do. Sometimes he pisses me off.”

  “They all do that,” Whippet says, taking off her jacket, billowing her blouse, releasing a few buttons to cool off and show off. Still a string bean, she looks like a healthier string bean. Her chest looks white as snow, cold and untrodden with two baby moguls east and west where snowshoe bunnies stick out their little brown noses and twitch their whiskers. Heidi watches Whippet and then Tony, perhaps catching on. Tony watches Heidi, avoiding Whippet, who also watches Heidi and then Tony. “Feel them,” she says.

  “Not here,” Tony says. His gaze at Heidi is a plea: This wasn’t my idea. Back to Whippet he says, “It’s not nice for adults to feel each other up in public.” Heidi waits and watches.

  “Be discreet,” Whippet says. “The way I’ve seen you be.” Heidi arches an eyebrow. Tony doesn’t move.

  “Go on,” Heidi says. “I’ve never seen you discreet.”

  He proceeds but doesn’t want to. He feels Whippet’s chest, tweaks her little nipples. “What night is this?” he asks. Heidi doesn’t smile. Whippet makes noises, high-pitched and unstable. “Excellent breasts,” he says, withdrawing carefully.

  She grabs his wrist. “Just a little more,” she says.

  “Whippet.” Heidi to the rescue. “Later. We’ll work something out for you later. Okay, now?” Whippet sighs big and breathes hard. Heidi is patient. “Whippet, what?”

  Whippet droops. “I don’t know. It’s time, I guess. I like him.”

  Heidi slurps the dregs from under the cubes as if seeking insight there. She comes up with, “We all like things, Whippet. We can’t just … step up to the hot buffet. Can we, Tony? Yeah, Pancho! I’ll have another!” Pancho brings three more. They sip into an evening of thoughtful format, drinking more and letting things unfold, reflecting on life and the hot buffet. Tony rubbed Whippet’s nipples while Heidi watched. It will be retold for a long time. It will become memorable in the retelling. It will color the social fabric in town.

  “Double dating, hotshot?” No one turns. Suey climbs the stool beside Heidi and orders a drink. So does Cisco, just back. Suey eyes the scene and says, “I’m in.” Cisco won’t have to work this crowd.

  A few more rounds go down slowly, because seasoned drinkers take time to find the feeling. The feeling is what sets them apart from the rabble. Anyone can rough it, kill a pint and scratch the itch. But would that be nice? Or mature? Or cultured? No; better to approach the thing like Kensho in a courtyard. Drinking slowly you gain more time for maximum return.

  With a snoot jag on deck, tonight can make history or at least separate itself from the nights. Because a night this primed this early with toot to spare is infused with potential. You can feel it in the air, from the warmth in your being to the numb in your nose. The yellow brick road looks mopped and waxed. Good friends playing together on an evening so young has the feel of meaning. When the bathroom gets tedious, Whippet says Heidi’s place would be better. Tony says, “Nah! Just toot it off a menu.” He demonstrates, explaining, “Be cool.” So everyone has a toot off a menu in the unique antic a night like this one can acquire. The evening will be referenced as the one when we tooted off a menu at La Mexa.

  But for now the sobering realization is that a lively crowd tooting off a menu is uncool, possibly dangerous. Suey counsels discretion, making discretion a co-theme with rum. So everyone takes another turn in the bathroom, staying cool, avoiding danger, lining up like a bladder-control support-group. Settled at the bar again, all twitched up with nowhere to go, Tony says, “Well. This is it.” Nobody argues. “This is what happens,” he says. None respond. “This is what happened to us. This is what became of us. Any questions?”

  “Yeah?” Cisco asks. “What happened to me?” Whippet orders a drink. Cisco says come on, he needs to move, plenty drinks at the liquor store on the way to Heidi’s place, bottles full of drinks. “Fuck this one drink at a time and paying for singles when they all pour from the same bottle.”

  “But,” Tony points out, “Heidi hasn’t invited us over for a party.”

  “Since when did that bother you?” Suey asks.

  “You’re invited,” Heidi says, “but I have to finish my drink.” So it’s new drinks for those gone dry to get through the wait, then drinks for those gone dry while waiting for drink alignment. They sit. They stand, mull, chat and drink. They wait like spores in a bog, enjoying the moisture. Eight o’clock could be twelve or six; the hours melt like cubes in a forgotten drink. Ashtrays fill like hourglasses.

  “This is two nights running,” Tony says. “Wait. No, three.”

  “What?” Suey asks.

  “Ah. Nothing. Fuck it,” he says.

  “Yeah,” Cisco says. “This place …” He shakes his head and sums it up, but he doesn’t mean this place in the larger sense. He squirms in immediate confinement. Cisco doesn’t doubt the big picture. He only needs refraining from time to time. He’s seen a few bite the dust. They had to leave. No, he only needs more comfort for tonight.

  The toot revives like an old family remedy: add toot, liquor and nicotine to eight hours and let it sit. Skim thoughts from surface. Add more liquor and toot to taste, reefer optional. Stir. Serve with loud voices and hell-raising good cheer. If it doesn’t set well, move it.

  The stroll to Heidi’s house in the cool nigh
t air under the stars is a setback. Tony stops. “I’m done,” he announces with a sad smile. “I don’t want to be a party pooper, but I don’t want some drinks and smokes and toot. Not tonight. I can’t.” He looks glum and beat. “I’ve had it. I want to lay down.” He looks at Heidi apologetically, like an old dog who can’t keep up.

  Cisco steps near and lights a smoke. He’s seen it before. He gives it a minute, so it can pass. Heidi looks down. Whippet stares. Suey runs her chops on a change from rum back to tequila. There, all better. They walk again more slowly. Tony laughs. His companions laugh too, now that his spirits are up.

  In no time it’s Heidi’s with ice, rum, wine, beer and some tequila for backup. The party troupe comes in loud, lighting up the hacienda. Kensho flits from one perch to another. They hear him. They know he’s around and find him in a chair in the dining hall with a glass of water in low light. Cisco sings, “Oh, Kenny boy, your Irish eyes are smiling.”

  Tony sniffs the liquid. “What? No saltines?”

  “It looks like another festive occasion,” Kensho says.

  “Fuckinay,” Cisco confirms.

  “I like this man,” Whippet says.

  “It won’t work,” Suey says. “He drinks water.”

  So the evening cranks into yet again, one mo time, another round better than the last. Kensho says he’s heard of cocaine but never tried it. What? He could have announced his betrothal or the priesthood or a terminal disease. Never tried cocaine? He gets advised, re-advised and duly advised on what it can do for you, what it takes. He’s mostly advised that nobody uses cocaine like they used to do, it’s so expensive and taxes the body and ruins tomorrow and makes you talk bullshit. Kensho ponders cost/benefit.