Last night I went to CBGBs. Grant sat with Kim, who is now a waitress there. She doesn’t seem happy and looks like she wants to rip off her apron and join me in drinking, although she’s already drunk. I kissed her on the cheek and she asked, “Have you heard from Alice?”
“No,” I said in a voice discouraging any further questioning. I ordered a vodka-tonic and sat next to the slim New Zealander.
“How was the Baths?” Grant loved going to the St. Mark’s Baths for anonymous sex with scores of men. No names. No stories. No visits to West Virginia, just cock, ass, and mouth and fists.
“It was heaven. You should come now that you’re single through the New Year. No one asks any questions. No one tells any lies. We are naked to the world.”
“Two years ago I would have joined you.”
More like a year ago. How you cure yourself of being queer? You’d make millions preaching the Cure to the South.”
“And the North, West, and around the world.”
“You could be the anti-Gay Messiah. The Church would love you. The Bible Belt even more. We’d be rich. Queer undercover.”
Kim sat down and pushed my drink at me. I caressed her grey top and her hand darted forward to pinch my penis hard. It was an unwarranted attack, but I took it as friendly fire and mauled her breast, although she squirmed away and said, “You beast.”
“What’s wrong?”
She says nothing and crosses her arms, as if to protected her bosom. She had been fun, but lately has been very morose at work and depressed out of there. Her working at CBGBs has ruined her nightlife. Her love life is a shambles. Messy too. She works late. I doubt she gets any real sleep. Into bed drunk. Wake up with a hangover. I know the feeling too well.
When I drove taxi in Boston, I started work at 4pm and finished after the go-go bar closed at 2am in the Combat Zone. Frank McGurty, Jay O’Brian, and I hung out at the Two O’Clock Lounge at closing. Drinking pony bottle beers and watching the headliner’s last dance. Our last ride of the night was go go girls, drunks, or the musicians. Afterwards Frank and I would play table hockey and drink even knowing we had morning classes at BC. It was a brutal schedule, but I wasn’t interested in college and sometimes wished I had joined the Marines. Not to fight the Commies, but to get out of Boston.
I reached over to touch Kim’s hand. She snatched away as if I had stolen her Barbie Doll. I shouted, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
No one turned a head. I finished my beer and walked up to Max’s in a cold wind.
I ran into Gale and Dale, twin sisters claiming to be Swedish, but looked as if they came from Manhattan Beach. Bleach blonde hair and the hook. True sisters of the tribe. I loved them. We sat together and I listened to their slagging off the clientele in their fake Nordic accent. Heading to another drunk and another hangover.