by Ryan McCord
CHAPTER 6 THE POSSE & THE GENTLEMAN’S CLUB
Christy will pack her little lunch cooler full of mini Corona bottles. Abby will bring a dessert and some gourmet ground coffee like she always does. Melinda, who will be accompanied by her girlfriend who believes she was abducted by aliens, will bring some Avon (codename for grass). Olivia will bring her most recent poetry drafts and read it while everyone is getting high. Susana will bring a six-pack of Sam Adams seasonal brew, a bottle of wine, and her cocker spaniel. And since Sherrie is a Red Sox fan, Patty will show up like she always does donning her Yankees cap. And as sure as the sun rises in the East, Cassie will show up with a new date and the same old large cup of coffee from the neighborhood Dunkin’ Donuts in hand. Picture 10 more from the same social walk and by 9:00 pm we’ll be right smack in the middle of your routine New England, middle aged lesbian basement party.
By the time everyone shows up, James, Gerry and Sherrie are more than ready to commingle after hours of languidly enjoying a combination of a Final Four game, Lucky Inn Chinese food and a couple rounds of beers in front of a crackling fire.
Many first time visitors of Sherrie’s pub say it reminds them of the basement from the film Animal House. Only instead of a mermaid breasted fish tank and Otis Day & The Knights, you’ll see a great deal of vintage Red Sox merchandise, antique Irish décor, as well as an assortment of kitschy pub signs and accessories hung on wood paneled walls.
Gerry has no problems relating to or maintaining conversation with any of the lesbians, as most of them are big baseball fans to begin with. They are particularly engrossed when hearing him talk about the ebbs and flows of being a professional athlete.
“I’ve gotten to know a lot of junkyard dogs in my day,” Gerry says to a small circle of ladies. “And so many guys, with ballplayers lead the pack, get so lazy and unenthused with their relationship that it gets to the point where everything has become a chore-right down to trite ‘I love you’ before ending each and every phone call.
“I guess what I’m trying to say is, eventually the female race as a whole will smarten up and realize that, hey, women by nature are already more attractive, so if the shoe fits…
Collectively, this generates an acceptable response with the lesbians, but even they know that Gerry’s flattering theory is far fetched. They still consider him sweet for saying it.
Soon enough, one of the lesbians wants to know how much time the average ballplayer spends in strip clubs. Gerry assures his crowd that due to the excess of both R&R and income, it’s the mostly the Big League guys rotting their time and talents away in there. He further adds that even the big spenders would rather shell out their money to have girls come to them in VIP rooms at their favorite nightclub.
“You’re paying through the roof for privacy, booze, and hookup time with just about any gal in the building you’re willing to tip the club’s mover and shaker for.”
As an afterthought, he admits that on average, he probably went to one strip club a season, “Just like any guy does.”
That’s when the light bulb came on for one of the gals.
“Hey Sherrie, let’s take the limo to a strip club!”
Sherrie is the kind of person that reacts to crackpot propositions like that as a dare. So without flinching or smiling, she modestly responds with a nod.
“Okay,” she begins to crack. “Just let me put some make-up on!”
The collective reaction that soon follows proves to be James’ saved by the bell moment, as he was in the middle of a controversial subject of conversation about whether or not married gays should legally be allowed to raise children.
“Think about it, everyone needs a mother,” James states. “So I have no qualms with any kid being raised by two mothers. Just get he or she a Godfather; a legitimate male role model.”
He pauses to conclude his statement. Nobody interjects during this time.
The first thought that runs through his mind is, “But to be raised by two dudes…”
Then he diplomatically retracts that thought and continues with a plead of ignorance, “I don’t know, I’d really have to sort this out on paper some day.”
The lesbian’s now nod and smile in reaction just seconds before the strip club idea takes command of the pub’s attention.
If you plan to be stopping by a southeastern Connecticut cantina anytime soon like James, Gerry and eight lesbians in a limo are right now, don’t be alarmed by any number of the Rottweilers barking at you from pickup beds throughout the parking lot. Each one is simply guarding his owner’s vehicle, and in the process substantially limiting the chances that the goods inside will get stolen: elaborate stereo system, child playing his Nintendo DS, and/or mind-bending drug of choice.
The term Gentlemen’s Club is the most hallowed charade out there: they don’t actually attract men brimming with social graces or sound taste in women. A Gentlemen’s Club is a magnet for psychopaths.
At this moment, at least one of the guys who bought your sister or female cousin wine coolers and cigarettes from the time they were 14-18, respectively, is either getting or thinking about getting a lap dance in his neighborhood gentleman’s club.
Psychopaths such as these have an innate ability to sniff out people in a crowd who were fortunate enough to grow up with all the advantages they had only seen on TV (e.g.: non abusive parents, a car at 16, your own room, regular visits to the dentist, the thought of pursuing a college education). And Psychopaths always resent people who never have done time and probably never will do time. So when you enter a venue full of ex or soon to be cons, in this case a strip club, its important to know your place: keep it cool, mind your own business and draw no attention to yourself. Put your cell phone on mute silent and pull your cap rim down low if you have to.
For James and Gerry, should any truculent nonsense develop, they know by intuition and man code that they are the ones subject to the malignancies at the first line of defense. So just in case they were breaking any unwritten strip club patron codes that they weren’t already aware of by showing up with a troop of lesbians, they insisted to play it safe and allow the ladies to go in first.
They also needed privacy to change into their sweatpants for the occasion.
On the ride across the river from New London to the club in Groton, James and Gerry spent a good 10 minutes explaining the gentleman’s club conduct and they agreed to be back in the limo no later than an hour from now, which would have been 11:45 pm.
At $30 a pop each one of the lesbians got themselves a lap dance. A few of them even pitched in to pay for Sherrie’s private lap dance with Joni. James and Gerry managed to blend in, lounging near the main stage long enough to see the performances of Picaboo, Tiff, Cupcake and “The Incomparable” Kimi before the hour was up. They muse over which one of the dancers is most likely to go along on the rest of their road trip if invited. They conclude that Kimi probably has too much at stake here to even consider it, even if they dangled the little known carrot that Portland is the strip club capital of the U.S.A.
Everyone ends up making it back to the limo with no complaints. Now its time for the nightcap, and Sherrie knew just where to go.
“Hear yee, hear yee,” Sherrie yelled after tapping a champagne glass with a pen in a silly attempt at quieting the crowd, “Let’s do the Bank Street Shuffle, that way I can send the limo driver home.”
A convenient 10-minute walk back to Sherrie’s place, Bank Street offers a cluster of bars in downtown New London. The first stop on the Bank Street Shuffle, and what would turn out to the be the only one for James and Gerry, would be Happy Kim’s Beer and Rest, an eclectic restaurant and lounge with a deck view of the New London Harbor.
Tonight is the night when James will be courted with a life-changing offer that, given his current indigent position, most people would not think twice about. The man who, in theory, will propose to make James’ life better is Sherrie’s boss, Dwayne Beckus. The genial, scruffy looking contractor happens to be tre
ating his construction crew to drinks, having spent most of the day on the mainland working at a friend’s home.
After Sherrie and Dwayne catch up for a few minutes, she heads over near the pool tables to grab James. He and Gerry initially seat themselves at a table near the pool playing area, where Dwayne’s rugged crew, consisting Flyin’ Brian, Tommy, Kenny, and Oscar are playing on the adjacent table.
Dwayne is wearing a black hooded sweatshirt under heavy-duty pair of overalls. Cheap black sunglasses rest on the top of his pony tailed sandy blonde hair. The moment James first meets Dwayne, he notices the guy is efficaciously full of cheer. And because he’s under the spell of a party buzz, James’s unbridled inner dialogue debates over who Dwayne bears a closer facial resemblance to: Dickens’ Ghost of Christmas Present, a member of the rock band ZZ Top, or a bridge troll. Fortunately, he’s still a drink or two away from actually inquiring for answers to such juvenile thoughts out loud.
In life, we probably meet one or two people like Dwayne, who most friends and acquaintances alike would describe as 100% genuine. The first impression you have of him is sure to be as complementary as the 31st time you meet with him. If anyone knows too many people to actually keep in touch and keep happy with, it’s him.
While Dwayne’s formally established educational background comes in the field of culinary arts, growing up he also learned the construction ropes from his father, a retired union carpenter. His mother has been in real estate in the Southeastern Connecticut area for over 20 years. Some years ago, Dwayne’s parents purchased the two office buildings located on Fishman’s Island and turned one of them into an apartment complex and the other for Dwayne’s contracting business and storage.
“My parents bought it on a hunch in the early 90’s,” Dwayne tells James before he pauses the conversation to order a double vodka and ginger ale with lemon and lime wedges.
“It turned out to be an ingenious move, James,” he says once the two clink their glasses in cheers. “You know why?”
James shrugged. “You’re rich?”
“Oh I don’t even know about that,” Dwayne laughs bashfully. “I know we’re living comfortably month to month anyways. But the reason why it’s such an ingenious move is because of the long-term security it comes with. A paycheck will always be there for my family and for anyone who works for me, for as long as they want to work for me.
Dwayne sips his drink before regaling on.
“These folks we work for are so filthy rich. And these summer homes are coddled for like its one of their own kids…who will go on to own the place some day…followed by their grandkids. For that purpose of continuity, there will always be enough work out there.
“And it helps that the place is recession proof.”
James is not feeling as tipsy as when they got there, as Dwayne now has his undivided attention.
“I’m not trying to sound disrespectful Dwayne,” James responds. “But is that even possible? I mean everyone slows down spending a little bit this-”
Dwayne waves his hand dismissively, “Dude these are 30%-ers. These are the people who have their fingerprints on or around 70% of the printed U.S. currency out there every year.
“And when it comes to their summer vacation homes, they don’t fuck around. It’s their warm-weather fortress, and they expect it to look perfect, stand perfect, and stay in the family for eternity.
Dwayne further punctuates his point after sipping on his vodka & ginger ale, “And even when the place is perfect, and there’s nothing else to do, that’s when we have a meeting where they want me to pull out a This Old House Magazine and massage their ass into building a tree house for the kids or god willing an actual addition to the home itself fully equipped with a screened-in porch.
“And you know what they do once the tree house is finished?”
“No clue.”
“They have a cocktail party,” Dwayne laughs in his own disbelief. “Catered by someone on the island; valet parking, nannies, the whole cabob.”
On paper anyways, James was convinced that Dwayne’s company, Better Business Investment, could provide him the opportunity for a simple life as a residential New England carpenter. You could live a good life as Joe Schmoe here, he thought.
But James explained to Dwayne that while he liked his disposition, and respected his insight and ability to make an impromptu pitch for a job offer, he would be remiss not to play devil’s advocate. So why doesn’t he have people in line for this job offer to begin as early as Monday?
Dwayne starts by addressing the obvious reason as to why Fishman’s Island is not an ideal place to work: few actually want to take a 45 minute, 7:00 AM ferry out to work everyday.
“I wouldn’t either,” Dwayne admitted. “That’s why I made myself an apartment in one of my buildings out there.
“I stay with my old lady here on the weekends and out on the island during the work week.”
The second part of his argument for not wanting to work out there was formulated as his own school of thought: the average employee stays on the island for a year at best, therefore its difficult to maintain any sort of staff morale. Dwayne wouldn’t normally tell someone this, but since Sherrie works for him, he figured he would hear something like that from her sooner or later.
“I’ve seen every kind of worker God could create, James. And you will too,” Dwayne smiled.
“I’ve had at least 10 guys who think the sun comes up just hear himself crow. They usually don’t get along with the guy who could start an argument in an empty house.
“It’s difficult to find job-site chemistry with non-union workers, you know? But you know what, it’s the nature of the beast out there.”
Dwayne continues on.
“Oh and I can’t forget to mention the hundreds of guys who miss the ferry or call in sick all the time. I call them blisters because they always seem to show up re-committed once the hard work is finished.”
During a break in the conversation, James excuses himself to use the restroom. Upon finishing, he begins to look for Gerry, who happens to be playing pool with Dwayne’s crew. Gerry introduces him to Flyin’ Brian first, the assumed mouthpiece of the crew. James perceives Brian as a nice guy who happens to be a bit on the hyperactive side. Every time a good-looking girl walks into Happy Kim’s, Flyin’ Brian will disrupt the conversation by patting urgently at the nearest person’s arm saying, “Hey now!” repeatedly under his teeth.
Before James and Gerry decide to move on to another bar or back to Sherrie’s altogether, he decides he wants to get Dwayne’s contact information. He goes on to notify Dwayne that while he has considerable interest in working for him and learning a trade along the way, he had to drive Gerry back home to Washington first.
After making sure they had enough grass to hold them over for the trip, Dwayne assured James that the offer is always on the table, and to let him know either way within a few weeks. James assured Dwayne he would do just that.
James also had one more question for Dwayne before the two would presumably part ways temporarily. He wanted to know how the average employee would assess him as a boss. More specifically, he points to the crew playing pool with Gerry and says, “When those guys are unwinding and venting about work like the common man does, what are they bitching at in regards to your performance as the boss?”
Dwayne looks straight ahead, chest leaning against the bar, cheeks filling with air.
“I don’t know, maybe that I give even the dumbest, lousiest workers-you know, the guy who thinks that asphalt literally means something is wrong with his ass-too many chances before shit-canning him.”
Dwayne continues on.
“All I can tell you is that I pour my heart and soul into my company every day. I cook lunch for the crew every day, free of charge. I let them stay out on the island whenever they want. I give them generous Christmas bonuses. I take them out for dinner and bee-ahs like you see here. I give them the occasional paid half days in the summer to
go to the beach. Any chance we get to party the night away we do it.
“If my guys are bitching because of me,” he smiles in defense of himself. “Then they got more problems then their boss, I promise you that.”
Now that James has heard everything he needs to from Dwayne, he’ll wait for Gerry to finish his game of pool before discussing once more whether to move on to catch up with Sherrie or head back home. With last call still more than an hour away, they agree to go conservative and just head back home to enjoy a nightcap of a few more beers, some Final Four highlights, and conversation recapping the evening behind them.
As they walked home, Gerry talked about the big surprise leading up to the party, and how it didn’t disappoint. The two also spoke in brief about James’ latest job opportunity. James assured Gerry that he was still committed to the trip back to Washington, no matter what. He also acknowledged to Gerry that if he were to move back to New England, he would devote his vocational life to carpentry and retire from writing all together. Gerry didn’t particularly agree with the notion of James giving up on his promising writing career at a young age. But not wanting to compromise any positive energy the evening had already provided, he decided to keep that to himself for another day.
After returning home, they went on to watch television, discussing the possibilities for the next day. The initial verdict would be to sleep in until noon and possibly head over to Mystic in order to enjoy some authentic New England seafood and sights. Tomorrow they could also discuss possible destinations of interest along their route home. Only two things were for certain by the time they went to sleep: 1.) both are pretty inebriated, or “cocked” as they say around these parts and 2.) they would be making their way back west early Monday.
The following morning at 10 AM, Gerry got a phone call from his agent who happened to be in Chicago on business for a few days. He heard about the influx of independent baseball teams in the midwest. After making a few phone calls, sure enough, an independent team in the greater Chicago area, the Joliet Hard Hats, is showing considerable interest in signing Gerry.
And since he and James were heading west anyways, Gerry figured in order to begin knowing if playing professional baseball was best for his future at this point, he would have to have a meet and greet with the skipper. So he attempted to set something up for the following afternoon.
Next step for Gerry is to bring all this to the attention of his driver. He begins initiating the communication at James’, currently laid out on the couch in the midst of a beer coma, by actually placing a refrigerated beer bottle at his feet
For James, every spoken word from Gerry’s direction went in one ear and out the other, except one: Chicago. After all, that’s where his mentor, Tina Chaffee lived.
He wanted to sleep on the idea of moving to New England. He did not want to wake up knowing he had a new obligation on his life’s menu.
James had never been in love. n fact, it was something he had avoided for most of his twenties. He views love not as a part of a rich lifestyle, but more like a responsibility- one that had posed as a threat to his sports writing aspirations. He always convinced himself that it was healthy to practice the philosophy of waiting for love until the paramount prize was reached.
He isn’t in love with Tina, nor is she with him. But they both share a healthy, concealed curiosity towards the idea of actually becoming teammates in life. Tina is the only female that James has befriended over the years that he did not completely reject as having soul mate potential. Besides her father and grandfather, James is the only male Tina knows and categorizes as a real man.
There is little doubt that, whatever the entity that connects the dots in our lives is, it has been working feverishly lately to get these two to actually meet before its too late.