Second You Sin - Sherman, Scott

by Scott Sherman

  “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 myshop.My shop! Thatbitch!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 ofHauppauge 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-dollar 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 really 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 fill with blood and collapse. My heart would explode like a—”

  “All right, all 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 afight,” my mother insisted. “It’s just the possibility oflosingthat scares the youknow-what out of me.”

  “Listen,” I said. “We’ll 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 small to share with you and Dad, anyway.”

  “Kevin?”

  I hadn’t meant to say that last bit aloud. “Nothing. Just listen to me: We’ll figure something out. We always do.”

  “You’re right,” my mother said. “Thank you. I feel better. There’s no way that Hollywood hag is going to take down the woman who built the third-most popular beauty parlor in Long Island!”

  Well, really the third-most popular beauty parlorin her townin Long Island, but this didn’t seem like the time to correct her.

  “That’s the spirit! Should I say hello to Dad?”

  “It’s not a good time. He’s locked himself in the bathroom. He may be throwing up. It’s hard to tell over the sobs.”

  “OK, well, I’ll call you later.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  I had to share the news from Crazy Town with someone. I called 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’ll 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 well?”

  “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 telling me?”

  “Nothing. We had dinner. We really 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, all 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 towait!”

  “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 all soft and clean and new? Only he’s like that all over. I wanted to drill him like Sarah Palin wants to drill 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 really glad for you,” I said.

  “I’m glad for me, too. Thanks for introducing us.” “My pleasure, Fredmeister.”

  “Why does it seem like all 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 bealready.”

  “OK,” I said, “can we get to my drama now?”

  “Shoot.”

  I filled Freddy in on what had happened with Tony and with my mom.

  “So, you didn’t tell 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’ll 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 volleyed 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 full 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 magically appeared since last night.

  I really had to go shopping.

  Then I remembered—the cutlery drawer! I opened it gleefully 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 million 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 million four hundred sixty thousand. A quick perusal of the headlines didn’t reveal anything juicy about him personally. Although, it was pretty clear he had gays on his mind quite a lot, not to mention on his tongue. Well, not literally. 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 fromBrokeback Mountain.”

  Moses taught about homosexuality? Really? 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 call “kinder” conservatism. What the hell 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 totally alienating the moderate voters in the middle. If a patient in a mental hospital said this, they’d up his medication.

  “So-called 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 allow the collapse of the family here at home.”

  Yes, because we all know how equal marriage rights for gay people will 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 willing to recognize him in our bedrooms, as well?”

  Hey, I’ve slept with a lot of guys, but I was still 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.

  “My dad would lay out the hose at work and smack us with his hose at home,” he told Barbara Walters in 2001. Boy, did I wish Babs had a better ear for a double entendre.

  Despite being taught through high school by an academically limited mother, Locke attended and graduated, with C’s, from Brother’s Baptist University before going on to St. Simon’s Seminary in Austin, TX.

  Although headed for a life in the clergy, Locke apparently decided that God’s true plan for him led to show business: Locke dropped out of seminary with one year to go to take a job in Christian broadcasting. HisAsk Father Jacobshow became an instant hit, despite the fact that he was only a “father” at that time to his first-born daughter.

  From aPeoplemagazine article in 2002: “Jacob Locke is not your typical talk show host. Mixing folksy common sense advice with Biblically inspired teachings, Locke’s humor, humanism, and downhome charm have even non-believers tuning in daily.”

  Unhelpfully, the article didn’t specifically address whether he takes it up the ass.

  Locke’s need for attention (still looking for Daddy’s hose, buddy?) wasn’t satisfied by the pulpit or the radio show. By 2004, he was the star of Father Jacob Speaks the Truth,a strange little show on the second-most popular conservative cable news channel. Here, he interviewed many world leaders and celebrities, lecturing each on how God would want them to behave.

  Like all narcissists, however, Locke craved more and bigger mirrors. In 2008, he began building a political operation, and now, he was launching his first presidential campaign.

  When asked why voters would support a presidential candidate with no previous elective experience, Locke replied, “Well, when you buy a bar of soap, you don’t want one that’s covered with slime, do you? I’m here to clean up our country. The fact that I’m not part of the current mess makes me morequalified for the job, not less.”

  Who knew that “folksy wisdom” was synonymous with “bat-shit crazy”? But the truth was, millions of people were buying his shtick. While no one considered his bid for the presidential nomination particularly serious, he was definitely up to something. Setting himself up for a more credible run in the future? Building up his donor database? Who knew? He had some kind of plan.

  My guess was it was for something bad.

  I was still on the computer when the sun rose. I hadn’t turned up anything scandalous or useful.

  But I did have an idea.

  According to Locke’s site, his campaign headquarters were in New York City, near the Times Square area. It seemed incongruous—shouldn’t a conservative candidate with his credentials be running his campaign from Arkansas or Mississippi or somewhere else they taught creationism in the public schools? His Web site addressed the issue:

  “We’ve chosen to establish our beachhead in New York City for a reason—to show that good, Godfearing people who want this country to return to its core principles are everywhere. The beating heart of America’s financial and media empires mustn’t be left to the liberal elite. Father Jacob’s messages of faith, fidelity, and family values are for all Americans to hear. But we need your help! Click below to make a contribution of time or money to help us take back America.”

  Below were links to “Contribute” or “Volunteer.”

  I clicked on the latter. The linked page explained that perspective volunteers should feel free to come by the office any weekday, from nine to six, to fill out an application.

&nbs
p; Sounded like a plan to me.

  27

  Ordinary Miracles At seven, I headed out to the gym and punished myself through a heavy back and legs routine, followed by thirty minutes on the elliptical. I picked up a protein drink and drank it on the way home. On my corner, I stopped at the local deli to get some milk, bananas, and bread.

  “Hey, Kevin,” I heard from behind me. I turned around and saw a face I never expected to see in my neighborhood grocery.

  Or anywhere else, for that matter. “Marc!” I said, giving him a big hug. “I can’t believe you’re here!”

  Marc looked down sheepishly. “Ta-da.”

  Marc Wilgus was a former client of mine. Handsome, charming and supersmart, Marc was a computer genius. His specialty was hacking. But he was no crook. Marc could break into any computer system anywhere in the world. Companies and governments paid him hundreds of thousands of dollars to identify the holes in their networks and develop the tools to patch them.

  You’d never think anyone with his looks and money would need the services of a professional sex worker such as myself except for one small problem—he was a total agoraphobic.

  Marc lived his whole life in his spacious, high-tech apartment where his every need was either met online or delivered to his door. Like I used to be.

  I really liked Marc. So much so that, after Marc helped save my life a few months ago, I had to stop working for him. It was pretty obvious he was developing feelings for me, and likewise, me for him.

  I was honest with him. I told him that what was growing between us was more than a business relationship, and that we had to figure out what we wanted to do about that. Marc admitted he was falling for me and that he thought it was best we stop seeing each other.

  After one last fling in the sack, and a somewhat teary good-bye, I thought I’d never see him again.

  “What are you doing”—I couldn’t think of a polite way to put it, so I just said—“out?”

  Marc looked a little pale and wide-eyed. “Pretty amazing, huh?”

  I couldn’t help but hug him again. “I’m so proud of you.”

  Marc hugged me back. Tightly. I could feel his heart pounding. “You still like that chai tea?”

  “Live off the stuff.”

  “How about I take you to that Starbucks down the street and tell you about it?” He blushed furiously. “Unless you have somewhere else you need to be? I’m not sure what the protocol here is.... It’s not like I run into a lot of people in my apartment.”