We had a great day on Saturday at the island. That was really the first time Krewe had been outside for any length of time. Brian was real strict about taking her out only to do her business, and so far it had worked perfectly. She hadn't yet had an accident in the house, and that's the way I knew Brian wanted to keep it. He had already taught her some basic commands, such as "here" and "down" and "no." She still licked, though, and Kyle hated that worse than anything. Just about everything Kyle did or said delighted me, and I thought the way he carried on about the licking was hilarious. Krewe was a retriever, of course, and Brian tested her instincts with little sticks. He'd throw one out and say "fetch." Trixie was sitting down on the beach right next to Brian, and every time he did that she stood up, like she was raring to go after it. He would say, "No, Trix," and she wouldn't go. It was hard for her, though. He let her go after it every now and then, and, when she brought it back, you could tell she was as happy as she could be. Krewe caught on pretty fast, and she was bringing the sticks back in no time. "You got this one trained already?" Justin asked. "No, Buddy. This is just instinct she's acting on. She's doing what Trixie does and what her own instincts are telling her to do," Brian said. "You love her, don't you, Little Buddy?" Justin asked. "Trixie?" Bri asked. "No, not her. There ain't a doubt in my mind you love Trixie. I mean Krewe," Jus said. "Well, yeah, I love her," Bri said. "Don't get too attached. She's staying here, you know," Jus said. "I'm not, and I know she's staying. Mind your own business," Brian said playfully. "Mind my own business? Like everything about you ain't my business?" Brian looked at Justin like he was seeing him in a whole new light. "You really care, don't you? You don't want me hurting," Brian said. "That's exactly right, because if you're hurting, I'm hurting," Jus said. Brian was grinning at Justin, but he also had big tears in his eyes. It was like they had just had a break-through to a new level of intimacy and love. I walked away because that was a very personal moment between those two, a moment not to be shared with anyone but each other. Kyle was talking with Brady when I walked up to them. "He's going to talk to Jerry tonight after Mass," Kyle said. "Oh, he's a great guy, Brady," I said. "You'll really like him, and he is so cool." "I told him Jerry's gay," Kyle said. "Er, Kyle, isn't that, like, outing Jerry?" I asked. "He told us all in public at one of the parties. Remember? It's public knowledge among us. But I did something bad last night, and I want to apologize for that to you, Brady. I outed you to Tim when we were talking in bed. I didn't even realize until just now what I did. You're going to have to bear with me on that, Bubba. I didn't do it on purpose," Kyle said. "Oh, that was okay, Kyle. We couldn't talk about what I wanted to talk about and me stay in the closet, now could we?" Brady said. "Well, not hardly," Kyle said. "Besides, I figured you two guys don't keep any secrets from each other," he said. "We don't keep personal secrets, but we don't necessarily blab everything we know to each other," Kyle said, "especially if it involves stuff our friends don't want told." "You can tell each other everything I tell either one of you," he said. "I know you're just trying to help me, and sometimes two minds are better than one in knowing what to say." "Well, in that case, Tim, have you seen his pathetic excuse for a dick?" Kyle said, teasing. "No, I haven't, and you haven't, either," Tim said. "Oh, I thought maybe you had some 411 to share," Kyle said. Brady laughed hard at Kyle's wisecrack, and I did, too. "Kyle, you're pitiful," I said. "I know," he moaned. Brady laughed hard. "Let's go play with the dogs."
When my brother killed himself, it felt as though a huge part of me died, too. Josh and I were closer than most brothers are, I think. I was at school when I found out about it. The principal came to my classroom with a policeman. The principal talked to the teacher in private in the hall, and then the teacher came over to me to tell me to go with the principal. She had a really sad look on her face when she told me to pack up my books, and I got really nervous and scared. "Brady, this is Deputy Butler. I'm afraid there's been a terrible accident, and your brother, Josh, was found dead in a ballpark near here," Mr. Creel, the principal, said. "What do you mean?" I asked. I thought I heard him right, but it couldn't be true. Who would hurt Josh? Why would anybody do anything bad to my brother? "We found Josh about two hours ago, Brady. He had been shot," the policeman said. "I'm here to take you home now." "Who did it? Who shot my brother?" I was so nervous and so scared that I could barely talk. I wanted my parents. I wanted my brother. "We don't have all the details yet on what happened," the policeman said. "Come on, son. Let's get you home." He drove me home in his police car. He let me sit in the front seat next to him, so at least the people who saw me didn't think I had been arrested. We didn't talk on the way to my house, not even for me to give directions. The policeman knew where I lived. There were three or four cars in our driveway, and both of my parents' cars were there. I recognized the car of some good friends, but I didn't know who the other car belonged to. The policeman opened my door for me, and I got out. He walked with me to the front door. My dad opened it before I had a chance to, and he grabbed me into his arms. He was crying, and that scared me. My mother was in the living room. She was crying, too, and her good friend, Miss Sharla, was holding her. Another friend, Miss Thelma, was there, too, and Mr. Jim, Miss Sharla's husband, was on the phone in the kitchen. Mr. Jim and Miss Sharla were my parents' best friends. When my mom saw me, she started crying more than she had been before. My dad came in and asked me to go with him to my bedroom. "Brady, something terrible happened to Josh," he said. "I know. Somebody shot him," I said. "No, son. He shot himself. He used my .45. He put the barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger. He's dead, son," Dad said. Mr. Creel at school had said he was dead, but it didn't really hit me until my dad said it. I went to pieces when he said that, and tears and shrieks came out of me. I wasn't able to talk or to think or to do anything. My dad sat down on my bed and pulled me down, too. Then he and I lay down, and he wrapped his arms around me, trying to comfort me. He needed comforting, too, but he was thinking about me. When he had started being mean to Josh after Josh told him he was gay, I thought he had stopped loving Josh. He hadn't, though, and he hadn't stopped loving me, either. We stayed like that for a long time, and I must have gone to sleep. When I woke up, it was around five o'clock, and there were a good many people in the house. Somebody came to the door with a letter Josh had written him. At first my parents didn't read it, but later, when most of the people had left, they did. That made them even sadder, and my mother started screaming. I wanted to see the letter, but Miss Sharla said, "No, not now." That's really the last thing I remember happening. I know we must have eaten at some point, and I'm sure we talked. I just don't remember doing anything. At some point in the next couple of days my parents went to Josh's school to talk to the principal and some of his teachers, and they were gone for a long time. When they came back from school, they wanted to talk to me. "Brady, your mother and I want you to know that we loved Josh, just like we love you. We will always love you, no matter what. When Josh told us he thought he was gay, I overreacted and said things that I will mourn until the day I die. I said some terrible things that I once believed but that I now know were lies. Mom and I spent the last three hours with Mrs. Ortega, the principal of Beachside, and she helped us to realize how wrong we were about Josh and about homosexuality. We are terribly sorry for what we did to Josh and for what we didn't do to help him," Dad said. I thought they expected me to say something, but I didn't know what to say. For a second, I thought about telling them that I'm gay, too, but I decided to wait. At the funeral the preacher started talking about Josh going to hell, and my dad made him step aside. He finished the rest of the service himself, and I felt much better than I had before. That was a Saturday afternoon, and we all kind of hung around the house, not talking, not doing anything, the rest of the weekend. When I finally read Josh's letter, I cried for hours. The thing about that letter was it let me know that my parents really were to blame for Josh's suicide. They rejected him. They weren't going to support him. I got really, really mad at my parents, and I thought I hated them. I didn't want to hate them, but how could they have done that to Josh? I stayed home from school on Monday, but I went back on Tuesday. Almost everybody was kind and gentle toward me. Some of my friends had even come to the funeral, and they tried to cheer me up. As we were going back to class after lunch, one miserable little prick told me Josh got what he deserved for being a fag, and I lost it. It's a good thing there was a teacher nearby because I would have killed that bastard. She took me to the office. I was so upset and crying that I couldn't talk. They called my parents, and my dad came and picked me up. Once I was in the car going home, I calmed down. My dad asked me what had happened, and, when I told him, I started crying again. He didn't drive me home after that. Instead, he took me to the marina where our boat was, and he and I went out on the boat. That was the first time I had ever done anything like that just with him. When we went out before, it was always the whole family or dad, me, and Josh. It felt good being out there with him, though. I was still angry at him, and I still hated him, but at least he seemed to be trying with me. "Son, I've been talking to Mr. Goodson and to Kyle. Do you know him?" "I know who Kyle is," I said. "Josh evidently trusted Kyle and thought a lot of him. Kyle gave a speech at an assembly they had at school the day Josh died, and he read his letter to the whole school. I'm not sure I would have done that, but that's what your brother wanted. I want you to talk to Kyle. Will you do that?" "Yes," I said. "I'll make arrangements to pick you up at school around nine tomorrow morning. Mrs. Ortega, the principal at Beachside, is the one who suggested this, so I know it will be okay with her. It's okay with Kyle and his parents, too. I think he can help you." * * * Kyle helped me a whole lot when we talked. I told him I'm gay, for one thing, and just saying that somehow made it easier for me to live with it. Kyle said he's gay, too, which I already knew, or had heard, at least, and that helped me, also. I told Kyle I hated my parents, but I didn't know if I did or not. I was still very mad at them, but they were trying to help me. How could I really hate them? A few days later, I was with Kyle and his boyfriend, and two other great friends, on Dune Island playing with their dogs. Kyle and Tim knew I was gay, and I told Justin and Brian that I was. They didn't blink an eye when I said it, either. In fact, they teased one another, and me, too, about it, but it was playful teasing, not hurtful or mean teasing. I liked that. We went to their church for Mass at six. That was the first time I had ever been to a Catholic service, and Brian helped me to know what to do to follow along. It was kind of complicated. Kyle didn't go with us because he had to go to Mass the next day for something special, but he was going to meet us after Mass to go out to eat. After we ate, Father Jerry took me back to his office to talk. We had already made plans for me to spend Saturday night with them, too, and Kyle said he would come pick me up when we were through. Father Jerry told me to call him just plain Jerry, so that's what I did. He was real kind and real nice. We talked about what had happened, but he already knew a lot about it. I think Kyle must have filled him in. I told him I'm gay, and he didn't seem to react. "How do you feel about your parents?" he asked. "Not good," I said. "You know about the letter Josh wrote to Kyle, don't you?" "Yes. I've read it, in fact," he said. "Well, I'm still really mad at them for making him feel so worthless and unwanted because he was gay. A few days ago I told Kyle I hate them, but I'm not really sure if I hate them or am just so mad at them that I don't trust them or respect them anymore," I said. "I think that's a perfectly normal reaction, and it's not something to be ashamed of," he said. "Psychologists and counselors have studied the grief process, and anger is one of the stages a person typically goes through when something like this happens. How do your parents seem to feel about their role in it?" "Oh, they feel terrible. And they have made a complete turn-around on how they feel about gays," I said. "Have you told them you're gay?" he asked. "No, sir," I said. "I started to the other night, but I held back. My dad told me they would love me no matter what, though." "I think it might be a good idea to wait to tell them," he said. "They're going through a lot right now, and, while I'm sure they'll take the news a whole lot differently than they took Josh's news, it's not a bad idea to give them a few months to adjust." "That's what I figured. I'm out, now, though, to you, and to Kyle, Tim, Justin, and Brian, so I don't feel the same need to tell them that I used to," I said. "Now I have people I can talk to about it." "I'm sure Kyle's already told you this, but in case he hasn't, I want you to know that I'm gay, and so is my younger brother," he said. "I sort of went through the same kind of isolation and loneliness you and your brother did until I finally told someone. I take it you don't have a boyfriend." "No, I don't. Kyle and I were talking about that this afternoon. I'm kind of scared about having sex," I said. "You can have a boyfriend without having sex, you know," he said. I hadn't really thought about that, but all of a sudden that made sense. In all of the stories I read about gay guys who had boyfriends, they were all having sex. I was pretty sure that my straight friends who had girlfriends weren't all having sex, so why should me and my boyfriend have to? "Did that surprise you?" he asked. "Sort of. I just thought that if you have a boyfriend, you have to have sex with him," I said. "I think a lot of younger guys think that, but it's definitely not true. You can have a very warm, loving, and intimate relationship with somebody without having sex. I mean, I'm not necessarily against boyfriends having sex, but it should only happen when two people really care for one another and want to share physical intimacy. Both guys have to want it. If somebody tries to force sex on you before you're ready or before you want it, that's sexual assault, and that's a crime," he said. "I don't have a boyfriend, but what you said really eases my mind," I said. "I mean, I want sex, I guess. Eventually. I like it when I masturbate, but I think I'd have to know somebody really well before I could do sex with them." "What do you think homosexual sex is all about, Brady?" he asked. I'm sure I blushed. "Up the butt?" "Sure, that's one form that sex between guys can take, but there are a great many homosexual men who don't care for that, or even the idea of it. Kissing, holding hands, touching, mutual masturbation, oral sex; all of those are ways men can express their love and affection for their partners without doing anal sex. I'm not sexually active anymore by my choice, but, when I was, I had anal intercourse only three or four times. What's important about sex is the physical bonding, the physical contact with the other person, and that can happen in a hundred different ways," he said. I was quiet because I was thinking about what he had been saying. "Have I just undone several years of reading and exploration on the Internet?" he asked. That made me laugh. "I have, haven't I?" "Yes," I said. "But what you said makes sense to me. I thought I was a freak in more ways than one." "A freak?" "Well, gay, and gay and not wanting to have gay sex," I said. "There's nothing freaky about you on either point, Brady. How old are you?" "Thirteen, but I'll be fourteen pretty soon," I said. "I won't deny that there are thirteen-year-olds having anal sex, but my guess is the majority of gay guys your age feel the same way you do about it," he said. "The vast majority." That really made me feel good. I was so glad I had met him. "I want to give you some reading material. You have access to the Web, right?" "Yes, sir," I said. He gave me a disk. "There is a file on here with links to some Web sites that deal with the kinds of questions you're probably having. I've read every word on every one of these sites, and I think you'll find them very good and very useful. It's ten thirty, and I have to get up pretty early tomorrow morning. Can we get back together after you've had a chance to look at some of these sites?" "I'd like that very much," I said. "Here's my card. Call me any time. It also has my email address on it, and I check my mail at least twice a day. Together, and I include the Foley-Mashburn guys when I say that, we're going to get you through this, okay? You've taken two or three major hits, and it'll take some time. But you're going to be okay," he said. I thanked him for talking to me. I dialed Kyle's cell phone from his office phone. "Hello," Kyle said. "Hi. This is Brady. Can you come and get me?" "Where are you?" "I'm at Jerry's office," I said. "I'm not getting up," Kyle said. I didn't know what to say. He told me to call him, and that's what I did. That wasn't like Kyle. At least I didn't think it was. "Shut up and hang up," he said. He hung up. "Kyle won't come and get me," I said to Jerry. "Come on. I'll drive you home," Jerry said. We left his office. It was really an office in a house next to the church. We walked down the hall, and I followed Jerry into a room that was like a den. There, sitting on the sofa watching TV, was Kyle and a man. I was totally surprised. "Hi," I said. "I got you, didn't I?" Kyle said. He and the man were grinning. "Yeah," I said. "I thought you weren't coming for me," I said. "I wasn't. I've been here the whole time. Tony, this is Brady Stanton. Brady, this is Father Tony Larson. He's the pastor here," Kyle said. I shook hands with Father Tony. I was kind of weak. They were watching Saturday Night Live. We left their house in a minute or two, and Kyle asked me if I was hungry. I had eaten a big dinner, but I could stand something. We ended up at an ice cream shop, and Kyle and I both got big banana splits. Somehow, that ice cream was just what I needed right then.
The second half of the school year was just racing by, it seemed. There had been a lot of changes in our family. I don't mean my Goodson family, although my parents moving to Destin and my dad taking that new job at that hotel over there was part of it. I mean my Foley-Mashburn family. We had this new kid, Ron, and he was pretty easy. But we had Brady, too, and he was pretty fucked up. He wasn't living with us, but he was there a lot. He needed a lot of time, too. The thing I thought about the most, though, was Grease. I watched that movie like ten or twelve times, and every time I saw it I got more out of it. The people in my drama class never called me anything but Danny, and that was fine with me. I liked that name a lot, and I loved that character. That part was made for a gay guy like me to play because you had to understand what it was like to be tender and sweet to Sandy (the gay part of you) and tough and macho around the other tough guys (the pretend "straight" part of you). "Danny, you've had some kind of break through. I don't know what it is, but I'm sure glad it happened," Mrs. Storm said to me one day. "I think I finally understand Danny," I said. "I don't know what caused that, but I'm glad it happened," she said. "I'm very pleased with the singing and the acting, but we've got to start working on the dancing. Have you had any dance training?" "I don't know what you mean," I said. "Have you ever taken dancing? Like ballet or tap or modern jazz? Anything like that?" she asked. "No, ma'am. Not really. I took Indian dancing in the Order of the Arrow," I said. "I don't know what that is, but at least you've had some dance training. And you're pretty athletic. I only have budget to hire the choreographer for a week, and he'll be here next week. Come prepared to sweat, and if you miss a class, be prepared for your voice to go up several octaves," she said. Philip was right there with me, listening to that. He started laughing, but I didn't know why. "What's so funny?" I asked him, once she had walked away. "She just said she was going to cut your balls off if you miss a class," he said. "What do my balls have to do with my voice going up?" I asked. "I don't sing with my balls. At least, not here." He laughed. "Goodson, you know I love you, but you're a dumb son of a bitch." He was Kenickie in the play, Danny's best friend, and right then he was acting that part. "I know both of those things to be true," I said. "How'd you get the College Board to fuck up twice?" he asked. I knew what he was talking about. They made me a National Merit Finalist on the basis of my SAT score and some other shit. And that was truly a big mistake. "Don't you ever bring that up to me again, you hear me?" I said, poking my finger into his chest. "Kyle, who do you think you're talking to? We've been best friends for a hundred years. Don't you poke me in the chest. Better than anybody, I know how abysmally dumb and sorry and lazy you are. Oh, and did I forget ugly? I know you ain't worthy to lick the sweat off my balls, but you're still a fucking National Merit Finalist, Kyle, and I'm not. And I don't deserve to be. So there," he said. "You're embarrassed by that, aren't you?" "I'm not embarrassed to be a finalist, but I'm embarrassed by people making over it. I should have bombed the fucking test on purpose," I said. "Why didn't you?" he asked. "Because I promised Tim and my parents that I would do my best, that's why," I said. "They don't have the right attitude about this whole thing." "What kind of attitude are they supposed to have? It's a pretty major accomplishment, dude," he said. "Especially for you." I started laughing. "Are you implying that I ain't living up to my potential?" I asked. "No, I actually think you are. It's very low, but, hey! You do what you can." I laughed again. "I love you, Philip," I said. "The name's Kenickie. Don't wear it out." That was real close to a line from the play, and we both laughed hard. * * * I had several really big scenes where I had to dance and sing, more or less at the same time. They called those big scenes like that "production numbers," and they can really take it out of you. I was physically exhausted every day when I got home from school. My day started with weight training, and I tried pretty hard at that. Next was Individual Sports. That wasn't too hard. Third period was drama, and she worked our asses out pretty damn hard every day after the choreography started. Then it was lunch, thank God. Last period was Leadership. Part of a couple of periods of Leadership every week I did the ICC crap I had to do, but the rest of the time I took a study hall. I needed it for the English class I was taking at the college. When I went home after school to Kevin and Rick's house, my first stop was the kitchen for a snack. I usually got me a piece of fruit or a handful of cookies, but if they had left-over fried chicken or pizza or something like that, I got me at least one piece. After the kitchen, it was a sofa in the den for me. Nap time. I was definitely out. On Monday and Wednesday, I had class at the college from five to 6:30. In late February we started having play practice at night on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, starting at seven. They had it on Thursday night, too, but they scheduled scenes that I wasn't in for Thursdays because I couldn't be there. It usually lasted until around 9:30, but it sometimes went to ten or even later. That was more dancing and singing. I was almost always on the go. On Thursday night I had RCIA class from seven to eight, and then I went out to eat with Doc, Sonya, and Tim. That always got us home about ten or 10:30. I lived for Friday. I was so glad we had decided not to run that marathon in Birmingham. "Well, hi, there, stranger," Rick said to me on the Friday night of the last week of February. "I haven't seen much of you lately. It's Kyle, right?" It was just the two of us in the den. I chuckled. "Yeah, it's Kyle the Exhausted," I said. "Has your drama coach been working you hard?" he asked. "Yeah, real hard. It doesn't look hard when you watch the people in the movie singing and dancing at the same time, but it is," I said. "And we sometimes do the same thing over and over till we get it right." "You like it, though, don't you?" he asked. I grinned. "I love it," I said. "How are you coming on your book?" he asked. He was talking about my book of photos I was supposed to be working on. "Shit, Rick, I haven't had time to do a thing on that. Well, that's not totally true. I sent them a CD with about four hundred pictures on it. I hope there will be enough there that I won't have to fool with it anymore for a while," I said. "How's everything with you and Tim?" "It couldn't be better," I said. "We haven't been doing that much together, though. I've missed that. In fact, do you know where he is right now?" "His car is outside, so I guess he's here somewhere. Unless he went out with Justin and Brian," he said. Just then the three of them, plus Denny and Ron came into the room. Kevin was right behind them. "This looks like a family," Kev said. "Who's the mama? You?" Justin asked. "Sometimes he's the mama, and sometimes he's the daddy," Rick said. "What's done in private, stays in private," Justin said. "Ain't that the rule?" Kevin, Rick, Tim, Brian, and I laughed. The other two didn't know what the hell was going on. "Who wants to watch Grease?" I asked. "Haven't you seen it enough?" Tim asked. "Well, it's just on my mind all the time. Oh, I forgot about something. Mrs. Storm gave me a CD with just the music on it. I left it in my car, though," I said. "What are you going to do with it?" Brian asked. "It's so I can practice my songs at home," I said. "Do it tomorrow when you're all alone," Justin said. "You and Trixie can sing duets out in the clubhouse." "Very funny," I said. They all thought it was, though, and they laughed.
Around the last week of February, the Spring Breakers started coming to town. The year before I got pissed off a bunch of times at them because they stiffed me when I took their stuff up to their rooms. They probably thought I was getting some grand wage and didn't need my tips, but they were mistaken. Working the front desk was pretty much fun. Basically, Jeff and I shared one full-time job, and we each worked twenty hours a week. I didn't make all that much money doing that, but that was the only way I could work and still go to school. I made ten dollars an hour, so my gross paycheck was $200 a week. Jeff made more than I did because he had been working the desk longer, since school started. I would get a raise to $12.50 an hour when I had been doing it six months. I probably would have had a hard time living on that amount of money on my own. I had made a lot more than that as a bellhop, but now I was in manager training. Kevin and Rick basically supported me as far as housing and food were concerned, and Goodson Enterprises paid my tuition and books at college. I was content with what I got. Brian got eighty bucks a week allowance, and he was soon going to start making some money training dogs with his friend, Mr. Mack. When I thought about all the boys who were doing what I used to do just to survive, I knew I was a damn lucky guy. I said "thank you" to God every day, too. One afternoon I was behind the desk, minding my business and doing my job, and these three boys came up. They had all been drinking, probably all day, and I could smell them from halfway across the lobby. My ole buddy Stephen, from bellhop days, was working the desk then, too, and he was back there with me. Stephen is gay, and you don't have to have real strong gaydar to pick up on that. "Can I help you?" he asked the three. "Yeah, how about a blowjob," one of them said. "I beg your pardon," Stephen said. "You heard me, fag. I want a blowjob," he said. "I'm going to have to ask you not to use that kind of language in here," Stephen said. "I'll say any goddamn thing I want to say," he said. "This is a free country, ain't it?" "Yes, it's a free country, but . . . " Stephen said. "Don't argue with him," I said, stepping up to the counter. "How can I help you?" I said to the boy. "Get your friend there to give me a blowjob. All three of us, in fact, and one for yourself, too," he said. His two drunk friends thought that was hilarious. There weren't many people in the lobby, but those guys were attracting their attention. "Now, look, dude, nobody's going to give you a blowjob, at least not any of us. If you've got some business, I'll be happy to take care of it for you. Otherwise, I'm going to have to ask you to step away from the desk," I said. I used a very serious tone of voice. "Don't get pissed off, man. Jesus Christ! Can't you guys take a fucking joke?" he asked. "Can I cash a travel check here?" "Yes, sir, as long as you have ID," I said. He pulled out his wallet and his travel checks. I checked his ID, and it looked good to me. I made a photocopy of it, though, just in case I might need it sometime that week. While he was fooling around with the check, one of the other guys lit up a cigarette. "Sir, I'm sorry, but smoking isn't permitted in the lobby. You can step right outside, though, and you're certainly welcome to smoke there," I said. Where the fuck have you been hiding not to know that, I thought. "Oh, sorry," he said, and he went outside. I finished up with the travel check guy, and they went outside with their other friend. "God, I hate pricks like that," Stephen said. "We got to figure us some way to get some back-up, if anything like that happens again," I said. "We don't have a security guard, which I think is something we could use around here," Stephen said. "Why? I've been working in this lobby for a year, and that's the first time we've had anything like that happen," I said. "Except the time ole Wayne spray painted Tim's car, but Wayne was one of us. Let's go talk to Jason." We walked over to the Bell Desk to talk to Jason. He and two other guys were just standing around waiting for some business. I told them what had happened. "Bastards," Jason said. Jason was a man of few words. "Here's what I'm thinking. If we get something like that again, I'll start pounding on the bell as hard as I can. No, better yet, I'll pound out three sets of three taps. Kind of like SOS. When you and the other guys hear that, y'all just walk over to the desk. Don't do anything but stand there in case we need you. How does that sound?" I said. "It sounds damn good," Walt, one of the bellhops, said with a whole lot of enthusiasm. He was pretty weird, and I wasn't sure if I wanted him on my side or not. I didn't really have a choice, though. A couple of hours later, those same three boys came back, even drunker than before. They were sloppy, they were so drunk. I was on the phone, so Stephen stepped up to help them. "I'm still waiting for my blowjob, sweetie," the obnoxious one with the travel check said. Ole Stephen had his hand on that bell in a heartbeat. Ding-ding-ding. Ding-ding-ding. Ding-ding-ding. In two seconds here come Jason, Walt, and two other boys from the Bell Desk. I finished on the phone. "Can I help you?" I asked. "I lost my wallet. Did anybody turn in a wallet?" Mr. Obnoxious asked. "No, sir," I said. "Was your room key in it?" "Shit. Yeah, I didn't even think of that," he said. "What's your room number?" He told me the number, and I quick made him up a new key card. I checked the register to make sure he told me the right number, though, before I gave it to him. All I needed was him rooting around in somebody else's room. "That worked good," Walt said, after they were gone. "Yeah. Thanks, guys," I said. "Maybe one of these times we'll get to kick some ass," Walt said. "You don't kick any ass until I tell you to, you hear?" I said. "I won't, but I'm ready to," he said, sort of grinding his right fist into his left hand. "Okay," I said. That's psycho boy right there, I thought. I'm going to do everything I can to make sure he's on my side, at all times. I saw those three blowjob boys almost every day for the rest of the week, and every time I saw them they were drunk as skunks. We didn't have any more run-ins with them, though, and I was pretty proud of the way I had handled them. |