Scott Sherman - First You Fall

I told Freddy about my meeting with Roger Folds.

He listened careful y, only looking at Starbucks Boy half the time I was talking. When I told him about Roger Folds’s connection to Michael Harrington, he jumped in.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “I wanted to tel you I asked some people at work if they ever heard of The Center for Creative Empowerment Therapy.”

Freddy was the director of administration at a local AIDS services center.

“And?”

“Some of the counselors have clients who went there. They said it was a pretty fucked-up place.

They put al this pressure on you to ‘change.’ A lot of guilt and lecturing and nagging. You know, kind of like your mother.”

“‘Kind of?’” I asked.

“Yeah, wel, when I say ‘kind of’ I mean ‘exactly.’

But even worse, if you can imagine it. It sounds like they try to brainwash you. I guess it takes a lot to repress someone’s basic instincts, huh,” Freddy said. “Speaking of which, I wonder what Sharon Stone’s up to these days. I always did think she was underrated as an actress.”

“That reminds me, I have to tel you something about Paul Harrington.”

“He knows Sharon Stone?” Freddy asked excitedly.

“No, what you said about repression.” I told him about May’s comment that Al en thought his son might be gay.

“Wel, duh,” Freddy responded, bored. “I already told you that. I don’t understand how you can be such a big street streetwalking whore when you have the world’s worst gaydar.”

“I’m not a streetwalking whore,” I said a little too loudly.

Starbucks Boy, whose name tag read Colin, started cleaning the table next to us. Which, by the way, was already clean. I had the feeling he didn’t often walk out from behind the counter, but somehow, with Freddy around, he had a sudden urge to straighten up.

“Hey, I’m not putting you down. I love dick, too,”

Freddy also said loudly, and not for my benefit.

“Maybe we could start a club,” Colin chimed in, taking the bait.

“You know, you’d be charming if you could just get over your shyness,” I said to Freddy.

Freddy grinned, not taking his eyes off Colin’s butt as the coffee slinger bent over to pick a napkin off the floor.

“Don’t be petty,” Freddy cautioned.

Colin came over. “So, are you two together?” he asked Freddy.

“Only for the coffee,” Freddy said.

“Good.” Colin handed Freddy a card from his wal et. “Here’s my number.”

“Oh, I think I got your number,” Freddy said, taking the card from him.

Colin gave me and my outfit a long look. “Your friend is cute, too,” he said to Freddy, “but I don’t think I could afford him. You’re not a cal boy, too, are you?”

My mouth dropped open. “Excuse me,” I said.

“Sitting right here.”

They ignored me. “I know,” Freddy mock-whispered. “He’s a little obvious. But when you’re working the streets, you can’t afford to be discreet.”

“Hey!” I said.

“Doesn’t it scare you?” Colin asked me. “Just going with anyone?”

“I don’t just ‘go with anyone,’” I hissed. “I’m not a whore.”

“Wel, not that kind of whore,” Freddy clarified, smirking.

“I hate you,” I told him. Then, to Colin, “I’m glad to see you’re not afraid of catching my friend’s scabies.”

“Scabies?” Colin asked.

“Little mites that live under the skin. Extremely itchy and unpleasant. Very contagious, too.”

“Mites?” Colin wasn’t the brightest light on the tree.

“Bugs.”

Colin looked terrified.

“You have bugs under your skin?” he asked Freddy.

“My friend’s just funning you,” Freddy said. He stood and pul ed up his T-shirt. “See,” he said.

“Does that look like scabies to you?”

One look at Freddy’s flawless abdominals was enough to convince Colin that he’d suffer far worse than a skin infection to run his tongue down those furrowed ridges.

He put his hand on Freddy’s bel y. “Cal me.”

Then he turned to me. “Maybe you’re the one with the scabies. Given your line of work and al.” He walked away triumphantly.

Freddy snorted coffee through his nose.

“Very attractive,” I told him. “Now can we get back to work?”

Freddy and I talked some more about my conversation with Roger. Freddy asked to see my to-do list. He knows I’m lost without it.

I handed him my iPhone.

1. Fol ow up with Roger Folds-fight?

2. Talk to Randy Bostinick

3. Research Paul and Michael Harrington.

4. Look into those gay suicides-was that true?

5. Fuck Tony

“Hmm,” Freddy said, “let’s start with number five.”

“Magic Eight Bal says ‘future looks dim’ on that one.”

“Oh, sorry to hear that,” Freddy said. “You real y need to get laid.”

“I get laid almost every day.”

“I mean by someone who’s not paying for it.”

“Details, details,” I sighed.

Freddy gave the list another look. “OK, you took care of number one. Why not just work your way down?”

I took the list back. “Talk to Randy, huh?”

“He should be at the gym tomorrow.”

“You know, even before I talked to Roger, Tony had me halfway convinced that Al en real y did kil himself.”

“And now?” Freddy asked.

“Now, I guess I have more reason to think it might be true, but I stil can’t believe it.”

“Just talk to Randy. I’ve watched enough episodes of JAG to know that you fol ow up on every lead.”

“You watch JAG?” I asked. I couldn’t think of a straighter show. Wel, maybe Everybody Loves Raymond.

“Did you ever see that guy who plays the lead?”

“Jag?”

“I’m not sure if that’s his name, or just the name of the show. I don’t actual y have the sound on. But who cares about that. I have something to add to your list.”

“What’s that?”

“We should go to Michael’s Harrington’s place.

The Center for Creative Cunnilingus, or whatever it is. Check it out.”

“Talk with Michael?”

“Naw, that lovely little chat we had with him at the reading of his father’s wil was more than enough for me, darling. But let’s see what his organization is like. I think they have open houses where they tel you about their programs.”

“Do you real y think we should?”

“Honey, what would Farrah Fawcett Majors do?”

“Are we JAG or Charlie’s Angels here? You’re mixing your metaphors.”

“We watch JAG, but we are Charlies Angels, OK? I’m the glamorous Farrah and you can be the serious one, what’s-her-name? The one from that movie with that cutie from the Rookies. What was it cal ed? My Husband’s a Fag?”

“Kate Jackson. And it was Michael Onkean and the movie was Making Love. For its time, it was actual y a pretty daring film about a closeted married man who…”

Freddy rol ed his eyes. “Tangent, darling, tangent.”

“Whatever,” I said. “Like al that talk about JAG and Charlie’s Angels was so on topic. Speaking of which, how come you get to be Farrah?”

Freddy pul ed his T-shirt down, stretching it across his chiseled pecs. “Honey, check out the boobage.

It’s al about the nipples.”

The next morning I woke up at six, groaned, turned to go back to sleep, and remembered that I had to meet Randy at the gym. Shit. I dragged my ass out of bed and was about to make a protein shake when I realized something amazing. I heard no crashing pans, no loud snoring, and no invitations to “wake and embrace the day.” Just silence.

My mother was stil sleeping.