Femme (11 page)

Chapter Sixteen

My second day working at V-Bar was pretty much like the first, except Pepper left for most of it. She let me in and then sat at a table doing some bookkeeping while I set up. When I was done, she checked my work, made a few corrections, but still gave me a key so she could start sleeping in again.

“I’m going home to take a nap. I’ll be back around five. If you have any problems, you can call me. I won’t answer the phone, but you can call me.”

“Okay,” I said, realizing this was the straight guy way of expressing assurance, fear, hope, optimism and doubt. All in one word. I was in a pretty good mood. I felt confident in my newly acquired bartending skills, my ankle was improving and I could almost stand on it, and I had plans with Dog that evening.

Since dinner out had been kind of a bust and Dog’s cooking for me hadn’t turned out much better, we decided on pizza and a DVD. I tried to think about which of my DVDs I liked least so that we didn’t have to watch the whole thing. I hoped we’d be in bed having sex before the pizza had time to get cold.

At eleven, I let the regulars in: Connie, Tran and Bobby G. Within the hour, two more showed up. New to me but not to the other regulars. They were a young guy named John Michael, who had a tremor, and an older woman named Barb. As I kept them in drinks they asked the occasional question. After answering a few of them, Where was I from? Where’d I go school? What was my last job? I realized I was putting together an alternate identity. A me who was kind of me but not exactly.

I told them which suburb I’d grown up in, but I didn’t get too specific about exactly where. I told them which high school I went to, but didn’t talk about not finishing. In fact, I repeated my resume lie about doing a year at community college, just because I could. I told them my last job was on one of the cruise ships, since I didn’t think any of them could afford to travel. That was different from my fake resume, but I didn’t think Pepper had even checked, so what the heck.

I kept trying to turn the conversation around to them, but they all knew one another so that didn’t hold their interest. Each time one of them answered a question about themselves, the others interrupted and turned the conversation back to me.

“You have a girlfriend?” Barb asked.

“He’s broken-hearted,” Connie said. It wasn’t exactly what I’d told her, but it worked. I tried to look sad. Or at least as sad as a straight guy would look—which I guess wasn’t very.

“Tell us about it,” Barb insisted.

Ah, a fork in the road. I could refuse entirely. I could tell a story similar to my own life and just change the pronouns, which might be easier to remember. Or, I could just make up the most outrageous story I could think of.

“Lesbian. Dumped me for a chick with a Harley.”

“Harleys are cool,” said Tran.

“So are lesbians,” said John Michael.

“You are both heartless bastards. Can’t you see he’s crushed,” Connie said. “He’s sensitive.”

I tried looking sad again, but I think it came out angry. That’s when I realized the only emotion straight guys were really comfortable showing was anger. That was sad—not to mention exhausting.

I had to take a piss, so I got everyone another round of drinks. This was a trick Pepper told me about. “Make sure everyone’s got a fresh drink before you hit the can. That way they can’t jump behind the bar and pour their own refill.”

While I was in the bathroom I made a mental list of who I was becoming at V-Bar. Leo, broken-hearted, lesbian ex-girlfriend, local, a little college, sensitive. If it got too much more elaborate, I was going to have to write things down. When I walked out of the men’s room, I found Barb and Connie rolling around on the floor tearing at each other’s hair.

Yes, I wanted to scream,
CAT FIGHT!
but instead, I said, “Hey, ladies? Could you stop that?” Of course, they were screaming like banshees so they couldn’t hear me.

“Ladies. I’m going to have to call the police.”

Bobby G., Tran and John Michael stood over them egging them on. Mostly with “Atta girls” and “Get hers” so they could claim to be rooting for whichever woman won and was willing to buy them drinks.

“Ladies!” I tried a little more forcefully. Barb had her thumb up Connie’s nose and I had to do something before she ripped her nostril a la
Chinatown
so I screamed, “BITCHES, PLEASE!”

That got their attention. They looked up at me from the floor. I was afraid for a moment that I’d completely blown it. So I looked at them sullenly and said, “Hey. Cut the shit.”

They scrambled off the floor. Second day on the job and I had my first dilemma. I wanted to throw them both out and tell them to never come back, but they were regulars.

“I’m gonna give you one more chance. Behave or get out.”

They looked sheepish. Though each probably wanted the other thrown out for good, neither wanted it to happen to them.

“Don’t you want to know whose fault it was?” Connie asked.

“No, I don’t,” I said. If I knew whose fault it was I’d have to throw one of them out, and I didn’t want to do that. “Does this happen a lot?”

The two women shook their head no, while the men in the bar nodded their heads yes.
Great
, I thought,
bartender and referee
. My horizons were expanding.

My cell phone, which I’d left near the cash register, rang. I picked it up as I watched Connie and Barb sit back down at the bar. I did kind of want to know what had caused the fight. Was it over a man? Was it over one of the men at the bar? That was hard for me to imagine, but then I rarely understood women’s taste in men. In fact, how and why straight people hooked up was a complete mystery.

Dog was on the phone sounding contrite. “I’m sorry, but I think I have to cancel tonight. I have to go over to my parents. I think my dad might be coming around.”

###

I arrived at my parents’ house about seven, just as I was told to. My sister’s Odyssey was parked on the street. There was a green Ford Edge I didn’t recognize in the driveway, which should have told me something was up.

My mom answered the door, still dressed in pink scrubs, her face red. At first, I wasn’t sure if she was angry or having a hot flash. When she hissed, “Leave this to me,” under her breath, I knew it was anger. She led me back to the family room where my dad was sitting on the overly large sectional next to a neatly dressed guy in his early thirties. My sister was huddled around the corner of the sectional, glaring at them.

“Hey, Dad, what’s going on?” I asked.

“It’s a kidnapping, Dougie. Run for your life,” Maddy blurted.

My mother played hostess. “Would anyone like a cup of coffee? Tea? I have several kinds of soda—”

“I’d like a glass of wine,” Maddy said.

“Yes dear, you’ve mentioned that. Repeatedly. Anyone else?”

“I’ll have a cup of tea,” the stranger said.

“This is Hector Arcana,” my dad said. “He’s with Gay Anon and he’s here to tell you about their program and the remarkable success they have.”

“Gay Anon?” I said, dumbly.

“It’s a weird name, right?” Maddy said. “It makes me think of Shakespeare. Like, ‘I will be gay, anon.’”

“It’s short for Anonymous,” Hector said. “Our program is based on highly successful twelve-step programs. The only thing Doug needs to do is want to change.”

“Dad, this really isn’t okay,” I said.

“I’m only asking for an hour of your time. I raised you, gave you everything it was in my power to give, I think you can give me an hour.”

That sounded reasonable enough that I couldn’t find a way to say no, even though I wanted to. I sat down uncomfortably on the sectional.

Hector smiled in a friendly but creepy way. “By the time I was twenty-five I’d had sex with nearly five thousand men.”

My dad’s eyes got really big and he looked at me for the first time since I’d walked in. He was thinking I was twenty-six so that meant…

“I was miserable, desperate, hopeless—”

I had to interrupt him. “Hold on a minute. We need to do some math. There are three hundred and sixty five days a year. One guy a day for ten years would only be three thousand six hundred and fifty. So even if you started when you were fifteen and even if you were a prostitute…you’d have to be a really, really popular one who never, ever took a day off—”

“I didn’t keep a scorecard. It’s an estimate.” Hector scowled at me.

“I think you’ve over estimated by a lot and you’re scaring the crap out of my dad.”

“I’m fine, Dougie. If I need to subject myself to the tragic details of your life in order to help you get bet—”

“Ten. Ten, Dad. Ten guys. Three girls. Okay?” Information I did not ever want to give my dad, but I knew he was imaging gigantic crowd scenes at that particular moment.

“Ten? Are you kidding?” Maddy practically screamed. “I screwed thirty-two guys before Arthur. And three after. You’re such a lightweight.”

“Madison! You’re here to help. That is not helping.” There was sweat on my father’s forehead and he looked pale.

“We really shouldn’t get tied up in numbers,” Hector continued. “The important part of my story is that I was miserable, desperate, hopeless. The shame was crushing. I couldn’t live with it. I don’t know what would have happened to me if I hadn’t found Gay Anon.” Then he looked at me intently. “Doug, the first thing I want you to understand is that this is not entirely your fault.” He glanced at my dad uncomfortably and then said, “With all due respect, homosexuality is the result of an overbearing mother and an absent father.”

“HA!” My sister guffawed. “We’ve got you there. My mom worked, she was never around enough to be overbearing. And my dad did everything with Dougie. Which, by the way Dad, might explain the thirty—”

“Madison! I’m going to ask you to leave if you don’t stop interrupting.”

Just then, my mom came back with two mugs of tea. She handed one to Hector. “I wasn’t sure, but you seemed like a two sugars and a splash of cream kind of guy.” Somehow she managed to make that sound like an insult.

“What did I miss?” she asked.

“You’re overbearing,” Maddy said. “I defended you by explaining we were latch-key kids.”

“Well, as long as I take all the blame I’m fine with it.” She handed Maddy the second cup of tea.

“This is tea. I asked for wine.”

“You can be an alcoholic when your children are grown,” my mom said in her sweetest do-as-I-say-voice.

“That’s sixteen years.”

“We’ve gotten off track. Hector is giving us his valuable time to share his experience recovering from the horrors of homosexuality,” my dad said. There must have been a brochure or website somewhere where he’d read that. I didn’t think he’d come up with ‘horrors of homosexuality’ on his own.

“Oh yes, dear,” my mother said. “Let’s discuss the
horrors
of homosexuality.”

“Hector just explained he’s had sex with five thousand men.”

“Really? Well that is horrible.” My mother smiled when she said it.

“Finally,” my dad said. “Finally, one of you is willing to listen.”

“Wilt Chamberlain. Do you remember, dear? You read his biography. Now, you told me he claimed to have slept with twenty thousand women. Would you call that the horrors of heterosexuality or the horrors of basketball?”

My father seethed. I almost felt sorry for him.

“Look,” Hector said. “Doug, the important thing you need to know is that there’s help if you want it. Like other twelve-step programs, the first step is recognizing you have a problem, and what I’m picking up on is that you’re not ready to take that step. So when you are ready to take that step remember that Gay Anon is here for you.”

The doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it,” my mom said, jumping up.

“Who is that?” my dad asked.

No one answered him. I realized this might be an opportunity to put to an end to this, so I said to Hector, “Thanks for coming by. I appreciate the information.” I actually didn’t, but he was more likely to leave if I did. “At the moment, though, the only real problem I have is my family.”

“I’m not a problem,” Maddy insisted. “Mom’s not a problem.”

My mom walked back into the room in time to hear Maddy. “Of course I’m a problem. Mother’s are always a problem.”

There was a very short man in his fifties standing next to her. She introduced him, “This is Chaplain Davis. I work with him at the hospital.”

“Dora, what are you doing?” my dad asked.

“He has a different opinion than the gentleman you’ve brought.”

“We don’t need other opinions.”

“If you can have surprise guests, so can I. Have a seat, chaplain.”

Hector stood up. “I should really go.”

“You have a few more minutes, don’t you?” My mom said, then turned to her chaplain. “This is Hector, he’s had sex with five thousand men.”

“Ah,” said Chaplain Davis. “It’s a shame he has to leave. But then it is still happy hour at The Bird.”

Hector was at least familiar enough with The Bird to be offended. “Actually, my wife is waiting for me. But I think she’d want me to stay.” Hector plunked back down.

Then they went at it for an hour and a half. At one point, my mom brought out chips and dip. Chaplain Davis clearly had the more logical arguments, something my dad seemed increasingly unhappy about. Either that or he had indigestion.

After a while, I stopped paying attention and started thinking about how lucky I was. I was a grown up. I didn’t have to stay. I could walk out at any time. If I’d come out when I was a teenager, I might have had to go through the same kind of thing. And if my mom hadn’t been supportive... If both my parents were thinking like my dad, then I’d have been stuck. Working all of the twelve steps with Hector.

Chapter Seventeen

It was nearly midnight and I was curled up in bed eating my absolutely favorite pizza in the whole world, Hawaiian double pineapple. After my first bite I had a startling revelation. I was twenty-three and the most significant relationship in my life was with pizza. Seriously, I spent more time with pizza than any one person. I had pizza several times a week. Other than keeping it warm, a relationship with pizza was very low maintenance. And it was certainly more satisfying than most of the men I’d dated.
Oh my Gawd!
I’d discovered a new sexuality. I was a pizza-sexual. Well, maybe not, I didn’t actually want to have sex with pizza. Okay, maybe a little oral, but I considered myself mostly pizza-romantic. Still, that meant I was going to have to come out to people all over again.

I was on my third slice and still giggling about being a pizza-sexual when Dog called.

“It sounds awful,” I said after he told me what had happened at his parents.

“It was. But listen, I was wondering, did you ever have anything like that happen to you?”

“Oh, um…” I tried to think. “You know I have a vague memory of my dad bringing a minister home once. He left us alone in my room and the guy put his hand on my knee. I thought he was making a pass. After that, my dad tried playing catch with me in the backyard a couple of times. That was a disaster.”

“I just, I sort of had this moment where I realized that life has been easier for me, you know, since people can’t always figure out I’m gay.”

“Easier than it’s been for me, is that what you mean?”

“Yeah, I mean…were you ever in the closet?”

The answer was no, of course, but I hated that he was assuming that I couldn’t—“I’m in the closet right now. At work.”

“Oh yeah, I know that.” He waited for a moment, then asked, “So you actually told them you’re straight.”

“Not in so many words. I let them assume.” Actually, I did more than that. I told them my ex-girlfriend left me for a lesbian.

“How do you feel about that?” Dog asked.

“What do you mean, how do I feel about it? I feel like I’m paying my rent. I don’t think you get to criticize, you didn’t come out to your parents until a few days ago.”

“My dad has a heart condition, I thought—”

“But you were wrong. He hasn’t had a heart attack and he hasn’t died. Maybe you were taking the easy way out?”

Why was I being mean to him?
I wondered. Probably because I didn’t want to think too closely about what I was doing myself. And thinking that made me think a little harder. Why was what I was doing okay? Did I really want to lie about myself? Nothing would ever get better if I kept lying, now would it? Fortunately, no one had said anything nasty about gay people in the two days I’d worked at V-Bar, but I had to assume someone eventually would. And what would I do when that happened? Would I let them get away with it?

“Maybe I
was
taking the easy way out,” Dog said.

“What?” I was too busy thinking to follow the conversation.

“I said, maybe I was taking the easy way out.”

“Oh Gawd, I’m sorry. You know, how you came out to your parents is your business and I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s okay. I can take it,” he said, and then a moment later asked, “What are you wearing?”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously, what are you wearing?”

I had on a pair of flannel pajama bottoms, a T-shirt that said, “I’m so GAY I can’t even think STRAIGHT” and several pizza stains. None of which were even remotely sexy.

“I’m wearing a navy blue jock strap and a crisp white wife beater that shrunk in the laundry. It barely covers my belly button.”

He laughed. “No you’re not.”

“I could be.”

“What are you really wearing?”

“Flannel pajama bottoms.”

“Mmmmm, sexy.”

“You’re teasing me.”

“I like flannel. Pull them down a little.”

“You want to have phone sex?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“Darling, you know, we could cam.” As soon as I said it I regretted it. If we cammed I’d have to take shower and fix my hair and actually dig out that jockstrap which I thought was in the bottom drawer of my dresser but might not actually be.

“Let’s do it old school. That way we don’t have to spend half the time trying to find a good angle.”

“Oh my, you know me too well.”

“Pull your pajama bottoms down.”

“All right,” I pulled them down part way.

“I remember your ass, how round it is.”

“From the night we met? I thought you didn’t remember.”

“I remember the next morning very well.”

“What are you wearing?” I asked. Tit for tat, after all.

“Boxer briefs. That’s all.”

I thought about him almost naked; his hairy belly, his thick thighs. I slipped my hand in my pajama bottoms. “Leave them on. I want you to rub your dick through them.”

“Okay.”

“Are you rubbing it?”

“I am.”

“Good boy. Slip your hand in and grab your cock by the base.” I’d jumped ahead and done that to myself. “Have you got it?”

“Uh-huh.”

I pushed my pajama bottoms all the way down. My prick was hard and oozing a tad.

“What do you want me to do now?” Dog asked.

“Pump it. Move your fist up and down. Slowly. And squeeze.”

I shut my eyes and imagined him. His hand down his boxers, pumping his dick. His big body tensing. A surprised look in his warm brown eyes as a damp spot spread across the front of his boxer briefs. And then I clenched, spasmed, spurted up and across my chest, gasped a little and almost said,
Holy shit
.

I listened to him breathing heavily. I’d had no idea I was about to come. I was kind of embarrassed. It hadn’t taken any time at all. I didn’t want Dog to think I had a “problem.” I mean, I didn’t. I was just kind of into him and thinking about…wow, I was really into him. I didn’t know if it was a good idea for him to know that. Or to know exactly how—

“Are you not feeling this?” he asked.

“Oh. Um. You know, it is kind of silly.”

“It is, you’re right.”

“I mean, you’re only ten minutes away...”

“I know. I’m sorry. Bad night. We need to have sex again, though. How long has it been?”

“Decades,” I said.

“Two weeks, I think.”

“Feels like decades.”

###

After I hung up, I fell asleep. Didn’t even bother to change my underwear, which now had a big cum stain all over the front. I couldn’t believe Lionel did that to me. We were just talking and then boom. I really wanted to get the rest of my life under control so I could spend some time with him. A lot of time. In bed.

The next morning, I was driving to work when Fletch and Tim conference-called me. I hit the button on the steering wheel and said hello to them both.

“Something going on?” I asked.

“A lot,” Tim said.

“A whole lot,” Fetch upped the ante.

“Like what?”

“We’ve been talking to the team.”

“Feeling them out about Chuckie.”

“No one likes him.”

“Okay, that’s not a surprise,” I said.

“But—”

“Yeah, but—”

“But what?”

“We think Chuckie knows.”

“Yeah, he might be onto us.”

“Knows what? Onto what?” I asked.

“That the team wants you back.”

“And that we want you to be captain.”

“Oh. Okay.” This was news to me. “Um, well how do you know he knows that?”

“Because he’s selling Donny Talbert’s condo. For a reduced commission,” Tim said. Donny played center field.

“And he hired Wendell Winslow to redo his website,” Fetch added. Wendell was third base.

“Those could just be good business decisions.”

“Could be.”

“Maybe.”

“Either way though, Donny and Wendell aren’t going to make a move against him now, that’s what you’re saying?”

“They might still. If Bob does.”

“If Bob wants Chuckie gone, everyone will go along.”

“You know, guys…I’m fine going free agent. I don’t need to be team captain. Okay?”

“Right.”

“Oh yeah.”

They continued. “So what we need to do is sit Bob down and lay everything out.”

“Make sure he understands how the team feels.”

“We’ve set up a meeting for tonight.”

“At The Bird. Eight o’clock.”

“Okay. Let me know how that goes,” I said.

“Oh, no, you’re coming with us. Someone needs to teach Chuckie a lesson.”

“And that someone is you.”

Reluctantly, I agreed to meet with Bob and then hung up.

Crap
, I thought,
how was I going to convince Bob to dump Chuckie?
I’d never thought of myself as the persuasive type. I had no idea why Fetch and Tim thought I could convince anyone of anything. Then it hit me. My email. The one Maddy wrote. They thought I was the kind of person who said things like ‘intolerable situation’ and ‘coerce.’ Crap. I wondered if they’d mind if Maddy went to meet with Bob?

That’s what I was thinking about when I got off the elevator on the fifth floor. I turned toward Cardiac Testing and ran right into my father.

“Dad? What are you doing here? Is Mom okay?”

“Your mother is a pain in the ass.”

“But she’s healthy?”

“Very.”

“Good,” I relaxed, then wondered again what he was doing there. I had a bad feeling it wasn’t going to be good.

“I’ve found a therapist I want you to talk to,” he said, with too much concern in his voice.

“Dad, maybe
you
should see a therapist.”

“Well, yes, after you’ve worked with this gentleman for a time he’ll be inviting your mother and I to come in for a session with you. I’ve explained that your mother may be resist—”

“I mean, you should see a therapist for you. You’re having trouble accepting that I’m gay.”

“Accept it? You’re talking as though I’m the one who needs to change.”

“Dad, you are,” I said as gently as I could. And then I walked away.