Femme (12 page)

Chapter Eighteen

My first completely unsupervised shift at V-Bar was Thursday. Everything went incredibly smoothly. I set up, opened the doors, the regulars rolled in, Connie and Barb managed not to get into a knock-down drag-out fight, and I had my lunch delivered—a veggie pizza bianca from a place down the street, major yummy. The morning crowd had their fill and staggered off. Around two o’clock, the only person in the bar was Connie. She’d had six mandarin vodka and crans, and was now shit-faced. After only three days of working as a bartender, I’d begun to think the terms we used for drunkenness actually corresponded well to various legal states.

Lit was what you called someone who’d blow about a .04 on a breathalyzer test. Feeling it but still legal. Toasted was just over the line into illegal. Shit-faced was so drunk it ought to be illegal for you to operate your own two feet. Connie was shit-faced.

I was afraid she’d order another drink, so I went into the storage room to restock. While I was trying to decipher Pepper’s inventory sheet, I felt someone behind me. I turned to see Connie standing there.

“Connie, you shouldn’t be back here.”

“Lemme give you a blow job.”

“No. Thank you.” Why was I saying thank you? It wasn’t like she’d offered me a napkin.

“Oh don’t be like that, Leo. I can tell when a man is frustrated and you’re a frustrated man.”

“I’m fine, Connie.”

“I will not take no for an answer.”

“Um, that would be rape.”

She laughed. “Ah, you’re so funny! I’m not going to rape you! I’m gonna give you a blow job.” She reached out to undo my belt. I slapped her hand away. “Ouch. That hurt.”

“Connie, no means no.”

“It does not. You’re afraid of losing your job, aren’t you? Don’t worry I won’t tell Pepper.”

“Connie, no.”

She came toward me again and I jumped back. It wasn’t the idea of having sex with a woman that was so frightening. Well, all right, it was a tad frightening. But it was more Connie’s need. She needed to give me a blow job. It meant something important to her, some sort of validation. If she sucked me off, she’d have value. Now, don’t get me wrong, blow jobs are fun. But they’re only fun if they’re fun. You start layering on all sorts of meaning and they get to be a drag pretty quickly.

“Why are you acting like this?” she asked, getting on her knees.

“Get up. Off the floor.”

She planted her hand dead center onto my crotch.

“AH! Oh my Gawd! Get off me you crazy bitch!” I swatted her hand off me, and without thinking briefly rested a hand near my throat.

She looked up at me, surprised. “Your voice changed.”

Catching myself, I pulled it together. “Hey, if you go back to the bar I’ll comp you a drink, how about that?”

“You’re a faggot, aren’t you?”

Well, there was a dilemma. If I told Connie, then everyone at V-Bar would know I was gay, which was a problem. On the other hand, if I admitted the truth, then Connie would stop trying to force a blow job on me. That solved an immediate problem. I could deal with the bigger problem later.

“Yes, Connie, I’m gay. Go back to the bar. I’ll make you a new drink and we’ll have nice little talk.” Surprisingly, she grabbed at my belt again.

“Hey, knock it off.”

“You’re not going to be the first fag I’ve sucked off and you won’t be the last.”

I tried to imagine what kind of gay guy would let a drunk woman call him names and administer fellatio. I came up blank. It made a lot more sense that some straight guy faked being gay so she could feel like she’d made a conquest. Of course, it didn’t matter. I had to find a way to get her off me.

“Connie, you don’t need to demean yourself like this.”

“I’m not demeaning myself. I’m having a good time.”

“You’re on your knees in sleazy bar trying to have sex with someone who doesn’t want you. That’s not a good time. That’s hitting bottom. It’s time to take a good long look at your life.”

Finally, she stood up. “Jesus Christ. You could have just said no. You didn’t have to fucking attack me.”

I was sure I’d said no repeatedly, but decided not to argue the point. Maybe I was the one who needed to take a good long look at his life. Working with really drunk people wasn’t turning out as well as I’d hoped. In fact, why I’d ever thought it would turn out well was now completely escaping me. Of course, I realized I might not have to work with extremely drunk people for very much longer. Connie would very likely tell everyone in the bar, including Pepper, that I was gay.

That would have been just fine with me, except I was making better money at V-Bar than I’d ever made before. And, I didn’t have to work nights. And, I hated looking for jobs. Of course, I was pretty sure it was illegal in California to fire someone for being gay. But, it was also legal to fire someone without giving them a reason. So as long as Pepper never said, “I heard you’re gay so I’m firing you,” she was probably okay.

“Are you going to tell everyone I’m gay?” I asked Connie.

She studied me, probably calculating what she might be able to get out of the situation. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“I won’t tell anyone about what just happened.”

“Oh, I don’t care about that. Please.”

“What
do
you care about?”

“My reputation. You have to tell everybody I sucked you off and it was the best you ever had.”

###

Bob Grottoli was one of those people everyone talked about but no one ever saw. I’ve been going to The Bird regularly for about five years and I’ve seen him maybe twice. You know it’s him because people tend to stop what they’re doing and just stare in his direction. When I arrived, the place was pretty full, and Fetch and Tim were sitting at a table in the back.

It was Larry Lamour’s night to host karaoke roulette. You signed up, and when it was your turn Lamour pulled a random song out of a glass bowl and you had to sing it. Lamour wore a Russian-style hat and a communist-red muumuu with an ermine collar. He looked even more ridiculous than usual, but he managed to pull in a crowd.

I sat down and said hey to the boys.

“You might want to go to the bar and get your own drink,” Fetch said.

“Service has really declined without Lionel.”

I looked over and saw the new waiter standing at a table of four guys, all much older and with very high incomes. He had a hand on the shoulder of one the guys and his other hand on his hip. He did not look like he was taking a drink order. Carlos, on the other hand, was fighting his way through the crowd with a full tray.

“Do you see Bob anywhere?”

“No”

Larry Lamour’s voice came over the speaker system. “All right, Ladies and... Ladies, first up tonight we have… Tarquelle Washington. Did I say that right, sweetheart? Tar-kell?”

A tall, good-looking guy got up and shyly whispered something to Larry.

“Oh, sorry, Tar-kwell. Tarquelle will be singing…” Larry reached into a fishbowl full of slips of paper. “Doris Day’s ‘Secret Love’… Do you have a secret love Tarquelle?”

He shook his head emphatically, but his friends hooted and hollered that he did. Larry hit a few buttons on the karaoke machine and Tarquelle began stumbling through the song.

Carlos swooped by our table and took my order for a lite beer. Then he swooped away. And then, unexpectedly, Bob Grottoli was standing at our table. Around fifty, with a bad toupee and over-scrubbed skin, he was fidgety and nervous. The kind of person who didn’t look right without a cigarette in hand, like he’d never learned to fit into a non-smoking world.

“You wanted to talk to me?” He looked around like we were in the middle of a drug deal. The three of us fell silent. I waited for Fetch or Tim, or Fetch
and
Tim to speak. They didn’t. Kind of annoying since they’d set up the meeting. They could have at least gotten the ball rolling.

“Look,” I said, not sure where I was going. “...A lot of the guys on the Birdmen are unhappy with Chuckie. They’re thinking they’d like him to step down as captain.”

“Didn’t you quit the team?”

“I did. Because of the situation with Chuckie and Lionel.”

“But the team wanted Lionel gone. So he’s gone.” Bob was clearly not enjoying the conversation.

“That’s not a hundred percent true,” Tim finally said.

“Yeah, Chuckie pressured people into emailing you.”

Bob seemed to consider for a moment then said, “Well, we can’t get rid of Chuckie.”

“Why not?”

“How come?”

“Because he’s Chuckie. Everyone loves Chuckie.”

“No, everyone does not love Chuckie,” I said. “Chuckie thinks that, but it’s not true.”

Bob looked confused. “Well, it’s mostly true, isn’t it?”

“Do you love Chuckie?” I asked.

“Sure,” he said. It was not convincing.

“Do you really?”

“He can be…difficult. But he’s been, well, sort of a friend.”

“It’s the ‘sort of’ that everyone’s having a problem with,” I pointed out.

“What do you want me to do about it?”

“Bob, you sponsor the team. You have a say.”

“No, I don’t think I do. I think it’s up to the players.”

“But they think it’s up to you,” Tim said.

“They do,” agreed Fetch.

Tarquelle finished the Doris Day song and everyone in the bar clapped except the three of us.

“So you want me to ‘fire’ Chuckie from the team?” Bob asked to clarify.

“And rehire Lionel at the bar,” I put in. Not that I thought Lionel wanted the job back, but he should at least have the option, right?

“Rehire—”

“The team doesn’t really want him gone.”

Panic filled his face. “Oh, did I say I fired him because of the team. I wasn’t supposed to say that. Lionel’s firing was completely unrelated to the requests I received from the team. And I can’t, legally, discuss his firing. I mean, people come people go without any regard to, well, anything. It’s all just, you know, a big coincidence.”

“Then Lionel could be coincidentally rehired?” I suggested.

“Possibly. Maybe. I don’t know. I’m not comfortable discussing any of this. I’ll need to make a few calls.”

Just then Larry announced, “Our next performer is…Chuckie Cooper. Come on up Chuckie.”

The three of us looked in horror over to Larry Lamour just as he was joined by Chuckie. Larry reached into his fishbowl and pulled out a small slip of paper from which he read, “And the song you’ll be singing Chuckie is… ‘I Enjoy Being a Girl’ from
Flower Drum Song
.”

The bar erupted into laughter. Chuckie put his hand on Larry’s mike and the two of them had an intense exchange. Finally, Larry said to us, “Apparently that’s in the wrong key for Chuckie.” Larry reached into the bowl a second time and came up with… “Oh, yes, this is a better key, Aerosmith’s ‘Dude Looks Like a Lady’!”

There was an even larger jolt of laughter and applause. Chuckie grabbed the slip of paper out of Larry’s hand and read it. Then he shoved it back at Larry who made a big show of reading it again. “You know, I don’t have my glasses, apparently this actually says ‘Stairway to Heaven’ by Led Zeppelin. My mistake.”

Chuckie grabbed the mike away from Larry, who put in the correct numbers for the song. As Chuckie began to sing I turned back to the table and realized that Bob was gone.

And we didn’t see him again that night.

Chapter Nineteen

I desperately needed to make more friends. After work, I just had to talk to someone about what had happened with Connie, but Carlos was busy working and Dog was out with the team. That left me at loose ends. I could have gone home and spent the evening watching old movies, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to concentrate. As I walked home I wondered briefly what Joan Crawford might do in my situation. It wasn’t that hard to figure out. She’d have lied to get what she wanted in a heartbeat. Hell, she’d have let Connie blow her. Or, you know, whatever.

Too antsy to just go home, I decided to go to The Pub. I knew that Dog was down at The Bird, but I thought I should leave him alone with the team. I decided I’d text him later about possibly getting together. When I walked into The Pub I saw Linda Sue sitting on the far side of the bar. I went over and sat with her.

“Hello darling, stunning outfit,” I said, politely. Actually, I meant stunning in the less flattering way, but didn’t make a point of that. She wore a zebra-print wrap dress and a pair of low-heeled, silver sandals. I did say, “Not to criticize, but a higher heal would do wonders for your calves.”

“Bad knees. How’s it going with you? You find a job yet?”

“I have. I’m working over at V-Bar.”

“Oh yeah? My wife and I go in there sometimes. When we’re slumming.”

I wondered if I’d recognized her if she came in with her wife. Or his wife. I was pretty sure the cross-dresser rule was to match pronouns to clothing. So if Linda Sue came into V-Bar dressed as... oh, wait, I might not even be there.

“You’d better hurry if you want to see me there. My job is hanging by a thread.”

“That happens to you a lot, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. But it’s rude to point out.”

And then, over an Absolut and tonic, I told him the story of Connie and the blow job.

“You are in a pickle,” she said when I was finished.

“So what should I do, Linda Sue?”

“I can’t decide that for you. No one can.”

That was not a very satisfying answer. On the one hand, I needed to have money to survive; on the other, I needed to be myself. Of course, being myself in the gutter seemed like a terrible idea. And that meant I was going to have to go to work in the morning and tell people that Connie gave terrific blow jobs. And then on Monday I’d start looking for a new situation. Again. Something where being myself was an actual option.

“How come you’re not down at The Bird?” I asked Linda Sue.

“I walked in, but Chuckie’s there. Not my favorite person.”

“Nor mine.”

I’d heard something about Chuckie not letting her onto the Birdmen. Even though it was a gay softball team, Linda Sue wasn’t exactly like most straight men. I could see them not wanting to be overrun by a lot of straight guys, but, come on, Linda Sue?

I finished my drink but decided not to have another. The Pub was usually stop two after people got bored at The Bird. I didn’t want to be there when Chuckie got bored. I just wasn’t in the mood. As I walked home, I texted Dog.

WHAT ARE YOU UP TO?

As I let myself into my apartment I got a text back. OUT WITH TIM AND FETCH TEXT YOU LATER. I showered—since I smelled like bourbon and maraschino cherries—threw on my PJs, tossed a frozen pizza into the oven and picked out the DVD
Bringing Up Baby
just so I could see Cary Grant in a nightgown saying, “I’ve just gone gay!” I made it to that point in the movie—and rewound that section to re-watch it about six times—but fell asleep long before the dinosaur collapsed.

In the morning there was a sweet text from Dog and an invitation to go to the movies. Which was great, because I was too freaked out by work to be angry at him for semi-blowing me off.

Fridays were a little busier than the rest of the week. People took extra vacation days or called in sick so they could drink for an extra day on the weekend. I was beginning to have the feeling that if I spent enough time as a bartender I might stop drinking completely. I was spending my days staring at a bar full of cautionary tales.

All the regulars were there and a few new ones. Connie, of course, sat dead center wearing a fluffy pink cardigan and awaiting her accolades. I knew I should do what she wanted, but I had no idea how to casually work her amazing fellatio skills into conversation. I mean, seriously, “Isn’t the weather terrific and by the way Connie gives great head” wasn’t going to cut it.

After watching my every move for more than an hour, Connie couldn’t stand it anymore and asked, “So…did anything interesting happen yesterday?”

Oh my Gawd! What did she think I was going to say? “Yea, Con, you gave me a great bj?” I mean, really. The only thing I could think of was, “Um, I don’t kiss and tell.” That was enough, though. Connie beamed like she’d just won the lottery. Tran and Bobby G. glanced at each other. Bobby G. said, “Oh shit. Not again.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“Connie has a thing for bartenders.”

“Oh.”

“Maybe we should have told you to watch out,” Tran said.

I blushed reflexively. Fortunately, even in the dim lighting they all saw it and it got a round of laughter. Suddenly, I had a brilliant idea. Breaking Pepper’s rule against buying drinks for the regulars, I made a round of blow jobs for everyone at the bar. I set out seven shot glasses, poured Kahlua into the bottom of each, and topped that off with Baileys. When I got out the whipped cream everyone knew what I was doing and they sort of went crazy while I dolloped each shot.

I set the shots out in front of the regulars. Bobby G. reached for his. “Uh-huh. You’ve gotta do this the right way.”

“Oh, no, I don’t think so.”

“Connie will demonstrate.”

Pushing her stool back, she stood up in front of the bar. She moved the shot so it was right in front of her. She made a big show of putting her hands behind her back and then bent over the bar and opening her mouth carefully wrapped her lips around the shot glass. Quickly, she stood up, tossing her head back and downed the shot. That earned her a spattering of applause and a few catcalls.

The rest of the regulars refused at first, but eventually each of them put their hands behind their backs and did the shot. After all, it was alcohol and it was free. Connie was glowing like it was her wedding day.

I felt about three feet tall.

###

The first thing I did when I woke up was text Lionel an apology and invite him to go to the movies. My treat. Then I took an aspirin and drank a half-gallon of water. I had to get the softball thing under control. Once things calmed down there’d be a whole lot less drinking. To make matters worse, it was my early day. I had to be at work by eight, so I was up much earlier than I wanted to be.

When I got out of the shower, my cell phone was ringing. I dug it out of my jeans and saw that it was Maddy.

“I’m getting ready for work. Is it important?”

“What did you do to Dad?” she asked.

“What do you mean? I didn’t do anything to him.”

“He’s acting really weird.”

“And you just noticed? The whole intervention thing wasn’t a tip off?” Using one hand I tried to struggle into a pair of boxers. It didn’t go too well. I accidentally fell onto my bed.

“Weird in a different way. He called me and asked if I thought he was crazy.”

I switched my phone over to speaker and lay it on the bed. “What did you say?”

“What happened? You sound like you’re in a tunnel.”

“I put you on speaker so I can get dressed.”

“Ewwww…don’t tell me you’re naked.”

“Don’t call first thing in the morning. What did you say when Dad asked if you thought he was crazy?” I sat on the edge of the bed pulling on a pair of socks.

“Well, I said he wasn’t crazy. I mean, I think he’s wrong but that’s different than crazy. Why did you call him crazy?”

“I didn’t call him crazy. I said maybe he should see a therapist.”

“That’s not the kind of thing you say to Dad. He thinks only crazy people see therapists.”

“Um, he told me I should see a therapist. He has one all picked out.”

“Yeah, he mentioned that. I said I’d talk to you about it.”

I had my scrubs part way on but stopped when she said that. “You did? So, you think I should go to a shrink and get fixed?”

“No, I don’t think that. It’s just…Dad’s never asked for my help before.”

“So I should go to therapy to fix your relationship with him?”

“Would you do that for me?”

“No.”

“Okay,” she said happily. “I didn’t think you would. I told Dad I’d talk to you about it and we have, so I’ve done my daughterly duty. You don’t mind if I tell him I tried really hard to be persuasive, do you?”

“As long as you don’t actually try.” I was fully dressed, so I picked up the phone and clicked it off speaker while I wandered around looking for my wallet, my keys, my sunglasses…

“Oh, don’t worry,” Maddy said. “I’m just trying to improve my relationship with Dad. And if I have to lie to do it, that’s okay. Now, how’s the boyfriend situation?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“The guy you quit the softball team for. Lionel.”

It had been a real mistake to have her help me with that email. She now knew too much about my extracurricular activities. I was used to her not knowing much about that, and I liked it that way.

“Um, we kinda have a date tonight.” I mean, I’d invited him. I hoped he’d say yes.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to take him to the movies.”

“What are you seeing?”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to ask what he wants to see.”

“No, don’t ask him. It’s so much more romantic if you take him to a movie you know he’ll like. What kind of movies do you think he likes?”

“Old. Black and white. You know, classics.”

“That’s kind of a challenge. But you know there is that Kafka movie.”

“Kafka?”

“Yeah, you remember, they made us read him in high school.” I guess she forgot that part of the reason she wrote my reports in high school was that I didn’t read the books. “It’s playing at the Mega-Mega Twenty-Eight. Are you having dinner first?”

“He gets off at seven, so I’m thinking maybe a late dinner afterward.”

“Late dinners are so romantic.”

I had everything I needed and was standing at my front door ready to leave. “I have to go to work. I’m going to hang up now.”

“Call me from your car.”

“Don’t you have kids to take care of?”

“Arthur’s making them chocolate chip pancakes so I can have some me-time.”

“Maddy, your me-time should be about you, not me.”

“Men. You never understand anything. I wish I had a sister.”

“Sucks to be you,” I said. Then I hung up.