by Zack Love
Sammy Laffowitz wasn’t expecting company and was surprised that the doorman hadn’t informed him of any visitor. He quietly crept over to the door to see who it was, but the peephole was covered by the visitor’s thumb. The knock became louder.
Fearing the worst, Heeb walked over to the kitchen, pulled out a large steak knife, dialed 911 on his cell phone without pushing “send,” and walked back over to the door.
“Who is it?” he asked nervously. “What do you want?”
“I want you!” answered the muffled voice.
“What do you mean? What’s going on?” he replied anxiously, his thumb ready to push the “send” button on his cell phone at any moment.
“Open up!” bellowed the voice.
“Who are you? I’m calling the police if you don’t identify yourself!”
“I’m here to get you!”
“To get me for what?”
“For the posse! You’ve been neglecting us for far too long!”
The voice now sounded somewhat like Evan’s, and the reference to “the posse” reassured him. He put the knife and cell phone down.
“Evan, is that you?”
“Of course it’s me. Now open the damn door already.”
Heeb exhaled a sigh of relief and opened the door.
Evan, Narc, Carlos, and Trevor, filed into his apartment, each wearing a Giorgio Armani tuxedo and black “Ranger” sunglasses by Dragon Optical. Most startling of all, the top of each man’s head was shaved off so that the resulting hairdo looked identical to the large bald spot on the top of Heeb’s head; Trevor had even allowed the hair on his head to grow out a little so that he could shave only the top off. He also had a drum strapped to him, on which he rattled off a drum roll, as he used to do regularly over a decade earlier, when Trevor participated in his high school marching band.
“Your presence is requested tonight, for a festive night out with the posse,” Evan said with charmingly affected formality, using his best imitation of Trevor’s British accent. Outstretched over both of Evan’s hands lay a garment bag containing a Giorgio Armani tuxedo with Heeb’s measurements. A pair of Ranger sunglasses rested atop the garment bag. Trevor produced another drum roll after which Evan extended his hands towards Heeb, as if to offer him the tuxedo as part of some knighting ceremony. Evan drew closer to Heeb and declared, “Please, Sir Heeb, your raiment is waiting to be donned. And your posse awaits you for a night of revelry, in which the charming company of lovely ladies shall be sought.”
Heeb slowly took the tuxedo and sunglasses from Evan, as the rest of the posse broke into a hearty standing ovation.
“I…I…don’t know what to say…”
“You were not asked to say anything, Sir Heeb. You were asked only to don your raiment so that we may proceed with the evening’s festivities. Tarry not in search of eloquent speeches or elaborate excuses, Sir Heeb, for life is to be lived more through actions than words…Indeed, the fruits of life are to be enjoyed – above all – in the ripened present, rather than in the spoiled past or the unsown future.” Evan had no idea what he was spewing, but it all sounded good with that impersonation of an Oxford University president delivering a commencement speech.
Heeb, who was completely nonplussed, had no choice but to join them. He was informed after another drum roll that downstairs a white stretch limousine was waiting for them, so he needed to put the tux on quickly.
The elongated Cadillac, equipped with a full bar, a powerful stereo system, and every amenity, boasted an unusually large sunroof that was large enough for all five men to stick their torsos out at once. The perfect, vernal weather on that last night of March meant that more people were outside and in a good mood. As the posse prowled about the city, hopping from one hunting ground to the next, the five men turned heads everywhere they drove. The driver blasted a compilation, prepared just for the occasion, featuring the best of Bach and Beethoven mixed in with pop hits like Prince’s 1992 hit song “Sexy Mutha Fucka,” Right Said Fred’s 1991 success “I Am Too Sexy” and a collection of salacious hip-hop songs that only Narc could have compiled.
There was something irresistibly delightful and cinematic about seeing five half-haired adult men in sunglasses and tuxedos, sticking out of a stretch limousine, moving in synch to the eclectic music mix resounding from their vehicle. Women always smiled, whistled, waved, laughed, or wildly praised the zany limousine clan as it passed by; some even chased after it for a few blocks, as if it were full of rock stars or teen idols.
Walking the streets, with Carlos leading the slick and eccentric-looking pack, the men turned every head and attracted random followers. And the posse was admitted to every club, lounge, and bar they visited, as if they had innovated a fashion statement that was not to be reckoned with. Never had the posse shared so many laughs, provoked so many female smiles, and turned so many heads. And never had Heeb had such a good time. Luigi, now Trevor’s boyfriend, even took some time off work that night to follow a portion of the posse’s procession.
The group’s gesture of camaraderie and support for Heeb didn’t end with that night. The next day, which started at around 2 p.m., the posse reconvened at Columbus Circle, in front of the Maine Monument of Central Park. This time each member wore the same sunglasses, navy blue jogging pants made out of fine knit wool, and a slim-fitting white cotton canvas navy v-neck sweater. More importantly, each man had an Afghan Hound on a leather leash. These eccentrically aloof-looking dogs stood out for their aristocratically projected necks, their exotically attenuated snouts, their long silky topknots, and their unusual coat patterns.
The uniform dress (and dog) code created an enhanced “Spice Girls effect” as good as the one from the previous night. Everyone – especially women – stopped to look at or chat with the group. They were frequently asked if having hair only on the sides, with the top totally shaved off, had any religious significance or was connected to any cultish group. Naturally, the posse’s various members took much delight in answering this question with ever more absurd forms of creativity – particularly since it was April’s Fools’ Day. And virtually every female stopped to pet the dogs – a fact that amazed Heeb. “I just don’t get it,” he said to Narc, who contributed the dog idea. “Dogs repel pussies, yet they attract women.”
“Dogs are the oldest chick magnet in the book, yo. And I’ve seen plenty of single honies use dogs to get men talking to them,” Narc said.
“But it doesn’t make any sense to me, this whole New York dog phenomenon,” Heeb insisted. “Why the hell would anyone date me for my dog? It’s not like we could bring the dog to restaurants or art museums with us. I mean, the woman can’t exactly date my dog. And then there’s the whole dog shit problem. What’s so romantic about that?”
“But your choice of dog says a lot about your style. Like your clothing,” Evan tried to explain.
“But my dog could die at any moment. So does my style die at that point? Would I automatically get dumped when the dog croaks?”
“By then you’d probably get sympathy from her. And you could always go out and buy another dog.”
“Well that raises another point! She could always just go to a store and buy a dog for herself. She doesn’t need to date me to get the dog…I’m telling you it’s the most irrational thing I’ve ever seen.”
“They appeal to the maternal instinct,” Evan chimed in, offering his own explanation. “Like babies, they’re warm and cuddly and need lots of attention.”
But after hitting the Jackpot, Heeb was not a fan of any animal.
“Look, they may be warm and cuddly, but they’ve got sharp teeth, they shed hair, and they shit.”
*****
The unforgettable weekend with the posse was enough to make Heeb rejoin the clan in earnest and resume his pursuit of females with true Kojak confidence.
A few days later, by an overwhelming majority, the posse decided that its members would shave off all of the hair on their heads, because, the majority conclud
ed, this looked substantially better than leaving hair on the sides with nothing on top. The only vote against the measure was from Heeb, who vociferously objected to eliminating the little hair that he had left to enjoy.
“I’ve never shaved it all off,” he protested.
“That’s probably been a part of the problem,” Narc said.
“Narc’s right, Heeb. I think you’d look a lot better if you shaved it all off,” Evan agreed. And so the measure was passed and implemented. The posse embraced Kojakness like never before.
Evan’s elaborate charm offensive to bring Heeb back into the posse involved strenuous persuasion and a variety of promised favors to ensure participation from every member of the clan, given the significant sacrifice involved. As wild and entertaining as it all was, the plan had a variety of repercussions on each member of the group. The stunt’s impact was the least severe on Trevor and Narc, and the most taxing on Evan and Carlos.
Trevor was actually relieved when he could finally shave off all of the hair on his head, as he was accustomed to doing. Luigi had objected vociferously when Trevor began growing out his hair for the morale-boosting event on Heeb’s behalf. So – as a consolation prize to Luigi for having to tolerate Trevor’s new hairdo for a few weeks – and because he didn’t have room in his apartment for two dogs – Trevor gave an Afghan Hound to Luigi, who absolutely adored the pet. Trevor had ended up with two dogs because Heeb refused to sleep in any apartment containing any animal. After his calamitous experience with Jackpot, Heeb not only became a bona fide ailurophobe, but also developed a general paranoia about sleeping near any living thing that was not a human or a plant. So Trevor kept the dog for him and brought him out whenever the posse wanted to hound around together. After a few weeks, though, Trevor decided to give the dog to Luigi, on condition that he let Heeb walk it whenever the posse got together for a day in Central Park.
Narc was happy to keep his new pet, but would have to take a two-month hiatus from his budding pornography career so that his hair could grow back enough to resume production. For the sake of consistency, the various producers he worked with didn’t want to change his look so dramatically. They figured that, after two months of hair growth, the difference wouldn’t be too significant on camera. And Narc had already made six films over the last three months, so he didn’t mind taking a break and spending more of his time helping his parents with their laundry business.
Chapter 31
Carlos Gets Busted
Carolina, who had been away on business for a few days, returned home to discover Carlos’s dramatic haircut and the new Afghan hound running around their penthouse. She feared that her husband’s new hairdo signaled his conversion to some kind of ultra-religious Buddhist. During the five and half years since she first met Carlos, she had quit smoking and become an aspiring vegetarian. But she wasn’t about to become any more Buddhist than that, even if she liked the religion as a philosophy.
“What’s with the hair and the dog?” she asked.
“I did it for some friends,” Carlos said. “It’s a long story.”
Carolina furrowed her brow suspiciously.
Later that night, she strategically resumed her interrogation in the midst of Carlos’s blissful post-coital languor. “So tell me about these friends of yours, mi amor.”
Carlos knew, as a general matter, that there is no worse time for a man to answer probing questions from a woman than two minutes after she has sated him, when her soft cheek is resting on his warm chest. But he was so tired and happily carefree at that moment that he thoughtlessly dropped his guard, figuring that he would have to tell her everything sooner or later, and the longer he waited, the worse her reaction would be.
So he came clean about his group of friends. He told her about each posse member, and some of their nights out together.
“You’re not upset are you, mi amor?” Carlos asked her afterwards, caressing her delightfully smooth and curved lower back.
“Not at all,” she replied calmly.
“Do you trust me?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Are you jealous?”
“Of course not,” Carolina answered, in a perfectly relaxed and matter-of-fact tone. “But it’s a shame because now we can’t have sex until I’m sure that you’ve been faithful to me.”
These shocking words – uttered with such pedestrian nonchalance – roused Carlos from his post-orgasm indolence. He sat up and looked at her, his face beginning to panic.
“What do you mean? What’s wrong? I didn’t do anything with those guys…I just joined them because of Sammy,” he began to explain, repeating the group’s original raison d’être and how Sammy had been disconsolate.
“And how would you feel if I joined a woman’s group like that? If I frequented the city’s bars and clubs with four single, horny women and kept it a secret from you for almost half a year?”
Carlos silently tried to imagine his reaction for a moment. The hypothetical definitely provoked jealousy in him but he immediately began searching for some way to claim that it was irrational and unjustified jealousy. Carolina continued on the offensive. “So there you have it. You would be jealous too, which is why – ”
“But I didn’t say that, mi amor, I just – ”
“You didn’t need to say it…It was all over your face as you searched desperately for some justification.” She looked away for a moment, as if to leave her husband alone in the spotlight, where some invisible audience could behold his shameful loss in the discussion. “But don’t worry,” she continued, looking back into his eyes. “There’s an easy solution to all of this.”
Carlos began caressing her shoulder and arm, “What is it, Carolina? How can we fix this?”
“We can have a child.”
Carlos stopped caressing her and took a hard swallow.
“Why does everything have to come back to that these days? I’ve already told you that I’m not ready yet.”
“Because you hurt me with this posse thing, Carlos. And you would be hurt if I did it to you. And because I want babies. With you.”
“Babies? How did we go from a singular child to plural babies?”
“Yes, plural. I want several babies. At least three. With you. And if you’re the father of my children you’ll be too busy being a daddy to go out with your single buddies, flirting with other women, shaving your head and buying exotic dogs for our apartment.”
“I can’t just become a daddy now, mi amor. I need more time. You just have to patient.”
“But I’ve been patient, mi amor. And my biological clock is ticking faster every day.”
“I’m just not ready at twenty-seven to be a father. And I’d rather adopt. It’s the moral thing to do.”
“We can have three babies of our own and then adopt some more.”
Carlos rolled his eyes.
“You really do want me to be a full time daddy.”
“I’ve been wanting it for a while now.”
“Since you turned thirty.”
“You know it’s not that!”
“Well I’m not thirty yet, and I hate it when people try to round me up from twenty-seven.”
“I’m not rounding you up.”
“And I’m not having kids yet.”
“How do I know you’re not cheating on me with those guys?”
“You’ll just have to trust me.”
“No, you’ll just have to convince me, unless you don’t mind going celibate until you decide to have kids with me.”
Carlos turned away for a moment, looked up at the ceiling, and then looked back at Carolina, exhaling in stressful frustration, like a squirrel cornered by a pack of wolves.
“All right. You win. How do you want me to convince you?”
“First, I want you to describe for me, in lots of detail, every night that you’ve gone out with this posse.”
“Every night?”
“Si, mi amor. And then I want you to answer any follow up questi
ons I have about those nights. And we’re going to video tape all of our discussions, for handy reference later.”
“Video tape?”
“Si, mi amor. And then I want a private interview, as long as necessary, with each member of this posse of yours.”
“Private interview with each member?”
“Si, mi amor. And I’m going to ask each of them individually whatever questions occur to me. Of course, the information that you will have supplied beforehand will be helpful in formulating my questions.”
“You’re going to depose my friends?”
“Si, mi amor. And then, if there are any particular interview portions that don’t quite match up with what you told me, you and I can watch that portion of the interview together. And then you’ll have a chance to try to explain away the discrepancy.”
“Explain away the discrepancy?”
“Si, mi amor. And after that, if there are no unexplained discrepancies, we can start having sex again without having babies.”
“Without babies?” he repeated, with some relief.
“Well, no babies for another five months or so,” she clarified. “Then we can revisit the issue properly.”
Carlos was silent for a moment. He felt overwhelmed, trying to imagine the days and weeks ahead. “I can’t believe this…Is this really the only way to reassure you?”
“Well there is one other way.”
“What is it, mi amor?”
“I start joining you on every posse outing, and you start joining me on each of my visits to married couples with children…And you sign up with me for some parenting 101 classes, and we start babysitting for my friends, so that we can get a little taste of parenthood together.”
Carlos took a moment to envision the second alternative. He quickly concluded that he would be powerfully pressured into paternity within a matter of weeks and there would really be no escape at that point. He told Carolina that he needed a few days to reflect on the options she had laid before him.
After explaining his predicament to the posse, he opted for the inquisition.