Second You Sin - Sherman, Scott

by Scott Sherman

“It’s an English show about a women’s prison. Same basic thing, lots of wild prison action, but without the blokes. ‘Blokes.’ That’s English for ‘guys,’ you know.”

  “I’ve heard.”

  “Heh. And they say you can’t learn anything from watching TV.”

  “That where you learned about pegging?”

  “No, I learned about that on Dan Savage’s podcast. And, boy, am I grateful to him.”

  My lunch shift with the work release candidates went smooth and easy. They were an amiable group, just happy to be out of prison. No flirting whatsoever, but some of the guys locked up on drug charges were cute in a stoner kind of way.

  BTW, it freaks me out that we imprison bright young people with their whole lives ahead of them for smoking weed. Really? What’s wrong with this country?

  After my shift, I headed to the hospital to check on Randy. Cody was back at his desk, and he smiled from one jumbo ear to the other.

  “Hey, Kevin,” he called. “It’s good to see you again.” An elaborate basket of fresh fruit sat at the nurses’ station courtesy of Mrs. Cherry.

  “I see Mama’s been good to your crew again.” I pointed to the basket.

  “She’s making sure we’re keeping a sharp eye on your friend,” he said. “Not that we wouldn’t anyway. Practically every nurse here is a straight woman or a gay guy. I couldn’t keep them out of Randy’s room with barbed wire. He sure is a fine-looking fellow.”

  “That he is.” I grinned back. “It’s nice to see Mrs. Cherry watching out for him, though. And how about you? Any hot dates?”

  “You kidding?” he said. “There are a million incredible-looking men in New York. Sure, someone like you has a boyfriend. . . .”

  “Semi-boyfriend,” I corrected.

  “I’m sure your friend Randy has them lined up like bad singers at anAmerican Idolaudition. Me? Not hardly.”

  “Don’t put yourself down,” I said.

  “Plus, when would I meet someone, anyway? I work about a million hours a week.”

  “So? I thought you said there were a bunch of gay male nurses here.”

  “No, I saidallthe male nurses here were gay. There’s only five. And they’re all in their fifties or older, not to mention married—two of them to each other.”

  “So, go out after work.”

  “What, so I can be ignored there, too? Please, I get enough rejection from credit card companies; I don’t need any more. I think it’s cool that you’re encouraging me, but I’m not exactly hot stuff.”

  We were going to have to do something about Cody’s self-esteem problem. I thought I had an idea. “Excuse me,” I said to him. I sent a quick text message.

  I decided to change the subject. “Any more visits from Patchy?”

  “No, not that I’ve seen, and there’s a note on the nurses’ station warning everyone to watch out for him.”

  “Good. Now, let’s go see the object of everyone’s desire.”

  Randy looked better. He had some color in his face and his eyes were open. I said hello but he didn’t respond.

  “We think he hears you,” Cody said. “That’s why we leave the TV on.” He pointed to the wall, where a soap opera played on a flat-panel screen. Speakers on either side of Randy’s bed relayed the audio to him, but it was only barely audible from where Cody and I stood. “The stimulation might do him good.”

  “He looks a little more alive,” I told Cody. “Yeah, he’s definitely on the mend. Being in such great shape helped him. He had a lot of hard padding to cushion the impact. There’s no sign of permanent brain damage, either. All in all, he was lucky.”

  He’s probably indestructible,I thought.After the bomb falls, it’s going to be the cockroaches and Randy left.

  Cody turned to the TV. “Hey, check that out.”

  I looked at the screen. Two boys, one an adorable boyish blond and the other an equally cute brunette, were passionately making out.

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “Is this pay per view? Because this is not my mother’s daytime TV.”

  Cody laughed. “No, this is a totally mainstream soap opera, believe it or not. That’s Luke and Noah; the show isAs the World Turns.”

  The dark-haired guy looked kind of like Cody. “Why didn’t they have this on when I was thirteen?” I asked. “I would never have gone to school.”

  “That’s why.” Cody laughed again. “They were looking out for your education.”

  “Scope that,” I said, pointing out the screen to Randy. “Those two cuties are going at it like they just invented hot.” Randy remained unfazed.

  “Well, if he’s not responding to this,” I said to Cody, “we’re screwed.”

  “He may not be talking, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t responding. Look.” Cody arched his eyebrows and nodded toward the prodigious and slowly rising tent under Randy’s sheet.

  “You think?”

  “It could be a coincidence. But maybe not. If he’s an especially sexual person, that scene could be reaching some part of his brain that’s particularly responsive to stimuli.”

  That sounded about right.

  “Maybe,” I said, “you should reach under and give him a hand with that? Don’t you have a responsibility to serve your patient’s needs? Maybe it’d wake him up.”

  Cody scowled playfully. “I have professional ethics to uphold,” he said. “But I could leave you two alone if you’d like.”

  “Naw, stay around. With my luck, I’d kill him.”

  Luke and Noah’s romantic kiss ended and the scene faded to black.

  “You have rewind on that thing?” I asked.

  “Sorry,” Cody said.

  Even through the tinny sound of Randy’s bedside speaker, I heard the familiar sound of a children’s choir singing “God Bless America.”Oh no,I thought, another Jacob Locke commercial.

  “I hate this tool,” Cody said.

  “Who doesn’t?” I agreed.

  The droning narrator ran through his string of dull clichés and the now-familiar image of Jacob Locke stepped onscreen. “I believe in an America that tolerates everyone, but that maintains its core values. Good people can get along without giving in. One woman, one man, one marriage . . .”

  Cody stuck a finger down his throat and pretended to gag. Then he said, “Hey, that’s him.”

  How was he talking with a finger down his throat?

  “That’s who?” Cody asked me.

  “I didn’t say anything. I thought that was you.”

  We turned around. Randy was sitting up, his eyes not just open butseeing,and he was looking at Jacob Locke.

  “That’s the guy I was telling you about, Kevin,” Randy said. “The guy with the hard-boiled eggs!”

  I couldn’t believe Randy was talking. Cody’s mouth was open.

  He looked pretty good that way. Cody really was adorable. I bet he . . .

  Focus, Kevin, focus.

  I ran to Randy’s side.

  “Randy!” I said. “You’re talking!”

  “Of course I’m talking,” Randy said. Then he looked around. “Hey, where am I? Weren’t we just . . .” His eyes rolled back in his head and he fell back onto the pillow.

  “Press that,” Cody told me, indicating a button by the side of Randy’s bed. I did.

  “The doctor will be here soon,” he said. “Don’t worry, this is a good thing.”

  “But he didn’t stay awake,” I said, concerned.

  “People don’t come out of comas all at once. This is typical. He’s getting better.”

  I felt relieved but still concerned.

  “And it’s perfectly normal that he wasn’t making sense,” Cody added. “What did he say? That Jacob Locke gave him eggs?”

  If Randy meant what I thought he did, what he said might have been true. I was about to explain it to Cody when the door slammed open. I turned, expecting to see the doctor, but it was the other person I’d called in to consult.

  “Hey,” Freddy said, “what’s
the emergency? Your text said I had to get here right away and . . .”

  Freddy saw Cody and stopped in his tracks. “Well, hellloooo.”

  “Cody,” I said, “my friend, Freddy. Freddy, Cody. Cody’s the emergency.”

  “What?” Cody said.

  “Is he on fire?” Freddy asked lasciviously. “ ’Cause I got just the hose to put it out.”

  “OK,” I said, “that’s gross.”

  Cody beamed. “I don’t mind.”

  Freddy slipped an arm around him. “I hope not.”

  I was about to explain Cody’s crisis of self-esteem when the real doctor came through the door. Cody quickly slipped out of Freddy’s grasp. “How about you two wait outside while I fill the doctor in on what happened?” Cody asked. “I’ll be out in a few.”

  “I willdefinitelybe waiting,” Freddy said.

  Cody blushed again.

  I couldn’t wait to get outside and tell Freddy what Randy woke up to say.

  23

  Just Leave Everything to Me Seated in a waiting area outside Randy’s room, I told Freddy about Randy’s recognition of Jacob Locke.

  “Wow,” Freddy said, “and I care about that why? Let’s talk about Cody. Is he available? Is he as edible as he looks?”

  “Can we hold off on that for one minute, Sluttyanna? Remember your theory—that maybe the boys who’ve been attacked had a closeted client in common? Someone with a lot to lose? Now we know that Randy, for one, was with Jacob Locke—a conservative presidential candidate whose campaign would not be helped by revelations that’s he’s been screwing with male prostitutes.”

  “Again,” Freddy replied, “topic for later. Did you see those ears on Cody? Like Dumbo. You know, sometimes big ears on a guy correspond with . . .”

  “They do in this case, but that’s not the point right now, you oversexed horror show—”

  Freddy cut me off. “How do you know he’s hung? Are you doing him? Did you bring me here to boast? Because that’s really immature, Kevin.”

  “Oh my God, would you stop making this about Cody?”

  “I thought you called me here to meet Cody.”

  “I did, but that wasbeforeRandy revealed the Big Bad.”

  “Yeah, and what I want to know is when Cody revealedhis‘big bad’ to you!”

  At least Freddy’s pissiness about this topic made it clear he was interested in Cody, which had been my plan all along.

  “It came up in conversation,” I assured him. “Totally innocent.”

  Freddy gave me a disbelieving look.

  “It’s a long story, but I promise you, I haven’t touched the boy. He’s my gift to you, all right?”

  Freddy wiped a mock tear from his eye. “It’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me. But, if I may approach the bench, why?”

  I told him that I really liked Cody, but that Cody had self-esteem lower than the success rate of abstinence-only programs (Hi, Bristol!).

  “I thought that if a guy like you showed interest, he might feel better about himself.”

  “And what made you so sure I’d be interested?” Freddy asked, deciding whether or not to be insulted.

  I gave him my best you-have-got-to-be-shitting-me look. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

  “I don’t, thank you for asking.” Freddy put his hands over his heart. “I accept this award on behalf of the Academy. And all the little people. Like you, darling.”

  “OK, now that we have that out of the way, can we get back to topic number one?”

  “Absolutely,” Freddy said. “You’re right, there’s way more important stuff to discuss. So, how big exactlydid Cody say he was? Are we talkingEight Is Enough, Deep Space Nine, Ten Little Indians,

  or, God help us, Ocean’s Eleven?”

  I shook my head at his relentlessness.

  “No,” Freddy whispered. “Cheaper by the

  Dozen ?”

  “I didn’t ask for exact measurements. Can we

  please discuss the life-or-death issues, now?” “Believe me,” Freddy said, “Cheaper by the

  Dozen isa life-or-death issue. Have you never heard

  of a punctured colon?”

  “I’m gonna puncture your head if you don’t . . .” “OK, OK,” Freddy said. “Angels mode it is. So,

  Randy wakes up to tell us he tricked with Jacob

  Locke, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Only, who knows if Randy was telling the truth?

  He’s not exactly sane in the membrane yet, is he?” I conceded that could be correct.

  “And even if he was, we have nothing to connect

  the other boys to Locke.”

  “True.”

  “So, we’re going to have to investigate. You know I

  love to investigate, right?”

  “I think I have an idea where to start.”

  “Good. What do you have in—” Freddy stopped

  midsentence as Cody walked over.

  “So, good news,” Cody said, sitting next to me. Freddy scowled. “The doctor says that Randy is definitely more responsive. His vitals are stronger, too. The doctor expects we’ll see more moments of lucidity like this as time goes on. Your friend’s going to be fine.”

  “That’s great,” Freddy said. “Now, if I may ask you, in your medical opinion, what are the odds of me taking you out to dinner tonight?”

  “Really?” Cody’s voice cracked like a twelve-yearold’s.

  “Well, yeah,” Freddy replied.

  “But you’re like, I mean, I’m just . . .” Cody turned from Freddy and looked at me with wide eyes.

  “What’s with you?” Cody asked me. “First, Randy, who comes in all banged up but still looking like Michelangelo’sDavidcome to life, and now this guy shows up with all these muscles and that face and . . . are all your friends this ridiculously attractive? Because, if so, I do not fit in with this crowd. You’re all like boys in magazines and I’m just this ordinary . . .”

  I thought I could ramble. God knows how long Cody might have gone on had Freddy not gotten up, pulled Cody into his arms, and laid a kiss on him that got me turned on, and I was just watching.

  By the time Freddy let him go, Cody was breathless and even more flushed than before.

  “I’m sorry,” Freddy told him. “But I really had to shut you up right then.”

  Cody pulled down his gauzy white nurse’s shirt, trying unsuccessfully to cover his reaction to Freddy’s unexpected advance.

  And, yes, from the size of the bulge in his pants, he hadn’t been lying. He was going to need a much longer shirt.

  “Here’s the deal,” Freddy told him. “If you really think you’re ‘ordinary,’ you either need a couple of years of therapy, a really, really long look in a mirror, or shock treatment. Because you are one of the five sweetest things I’ve laid eyes on all year, and we’re already in November.

  “Or, you could save yourself some time, come out with me for dinner, and we’ll see if that leads to some opportunities for me to show you just how special you are.

  “Your choice.”

  “Are you really interested in me? This isn’t some kind of fraternity prank, is it? I’m not onPunk’dor anything, am I?”

  Freddy gave him a look that would have silenced a volcano. “You put yourself down one more time, and Iwillslap you.”

  Cody looked around, this was his place of work after all, and seeing the coast clear, leaned over and gave Freddy a quick kiss on the lips. “I would love to go to dinner with you,” Cody said. “And thank you.” A beeper he wore on his hip buzzed loudly.

  “I have to go check on a patient,” he said. “But this has been . . .wow.”

  Freddy handed him a card. “I’m an expert at ‘wow.’ Call me later and we’ll work out where to meet.”

  Cody grabbed the card like a drowning man going for the life preserver. “Thanks again.”

  “Thank me later,” Freddy said. “And remember: Actions speak louder tha
n words.”

  24

  All in Love Is Fair Freddy and I parted ways at the hospital, he anticipating an evening of boosting Cody’s confidence with what I could only assume would be a variety of prurient and possibly back-breaking acrobatics, and I looking forward to a less playful, but hopefully more productive and educational dinner with Tony and friends.

  What can I say—I’m a giver?

  I got home in time to make myself presentable for my semi-boyfriend. But first, I had a phone call to make. “I need to know if someone’s a client of yours,” I began.

  “My dearest boy,” Mrs. Cherry gushed. “No, ‘How are you, oh Queen of all that is Dark, Dirty, and Mysterious?’ No, ‘Oh, how I pine for the luscious scent of your satin panties?’ No, ‘You drive even a one hundred percent gay boy like me to dream of the infinite pleasure I’d find munching the fresh grass that blooms between your spread and generous thighs?’ Where are your manners, Kevin? You wound me.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “This is serious. I need to know if someone’s a client of yours.”

  “Darling, hundreds of men hire dates through me. It’s what keeps Mama off the streets and up to her elbows in pearls.”

  “I need to know about one client in particular.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, my dear, but you know Mother holds her secrets in the strictest of confidence. Even you don’t know the names of some of your longestterm clients—well, not their real names, anyway. Only I know that, and Mrs. Cherry’s lips are sealed.”

  “I wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t important.” I told Mrs. Cherry about the string of coincidences that resulted in the deaths of Sammy White Tee, Brooklyn Roy, and Rueben, as well as the possible attempt on Randy’s life. “I think they may have had a client in common, someone important.”

  “You have someone in mind?” Mrs. Cherry asked. I think it was the most direct sentence I’d ever heard her utter.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Jacob Locke.”

  Mrs. Cherry laughed heartily. “That horrible man from the television? The one who thinks he’s going to run a presidential campaign on a platform of Get the Gays? Oh, darling, Mrs. Cherry may insist my boys wear condoms, but that doesn’t mean I do business with scumbags.”

  “So, you’re sure he’s never been a client of yours?”