Turning Idolator
Chapter Two: Coffee Ceremonials
The night sounds and sights of the city funnelled into the Village making it the heart that all life lovers hold as a pulse. Never at slumber, these crisscrossing lanes and by-ways sang the same song throughout the ages - the song of alive and free; the song of adrift and wandering. All songs at all times in a chorus of awakening and acceptance, where one needs no map for understanding and no liturgy to keep us holy. Here was the manure bed for art and soaring, for introspection and fireworks - a place in the sun at midnight as no one ever knew what time of day or year it was. To know would recognize the liturgy to keep us holy.
Down Christopher Street the lovers strolled, hand in hand, finger filigreed entwined between the rings and palms. Men with men; womyn with womyn; and here and there, the opposite sex found freedom as well. Drag queens ruled the sidewalks and the karaoke boxes. Sassy and fiery, they told the citizens of their bravery in the challenge. Leathermen and bears, swaggered but for their sweetness to the dark clubs and the sweat pools. The accountant fell swiftly into his Shirley Temple watching a dancing gym-bunny who sported jockstrap and not much more. The twinkies hopped from corner to corner looking for some quick fun and quicker cash. Nonetheless, the street teamed with the strollers, the dog walkers, the cruisers, the general trash and fine dessert, just strutting to show that their workout was top notch and worthy. Nelly was fine and butch was great. Piercings were examples for the world. This was the vortex of all that shook loose, all that defied the night's dictate to sleep. Sleeping was for the suburbs, not for Gay Central.
While dance bars and drinking was the rule of the night, first meetings called for coffee. The Imperial Coffee Mug was a fine place for such protocol. It faced the street with a broad window where the java juiced could watch the parade of strollers; and the passer-by could manage a glimpse of the wares within. There were a number of coffee drinkers this evening, including an anxious Thomas Dye, who sat on his stool watching the strollers for his appointment. Tom looked younger than the birth date on his driver's license, although the license picture did not do him justice. He drank some water while he waited. Beside him was a rather fat, older gentleman with unkempt hair and a hacking cough. This man was dressed rather ratty and slobbered in his coffee clearly needing it after several bar hops. Tom was too focused on his appointment to give the man much attention. Tom was so focused that he missed Sprakie's entrance into the shop.
"Now, now - here's a question," thought Sprakie seeing both Tom and the slob. "Which one? I told him so!"
Sprakie spied Philip and quickly pulled him aside out of view.
"What the fuck? What's going on," said Phil.
"Look, miss Romantic Notion," said Sprakie, "I bet your lover troll is that shabby guy with the snot hanging out of his nose. Distance is his friend."
"Shhh! Not so loud. But what if it's the other one?"
"Too young. You said on the phone that he was 48. That one's about 40 --- maybe 41, even in dog years. No, you'd best retreat before trolly-guy spies you. Remember that he knows what you look like."
"Shit!"
At that moment, the shabby guy got up and walked towards them.
"Too late!" said Sprakie.
Tom Dye suddenly noticed Phil.
"Philip! Over here," he said.
Shabby guy walked right by them and out into the night. Phil was relieved, while Sprakie pouted.
"Tom?" asked Phil.
"Ishmael?" asked Tom giving Phil a friendly hug.
"Ishmael?" said Sprakie.
"Shut-up Sprakie," said Phil. "It's from a book I'm reading."
"Well, pardon my breath," said Sprakie.
Phil pulled Sprakie back into the conversation, as the master of nelliness began to sulk.
"Tom - this is my sister, Sprakie."
"Robert? from manluv.com?"
"Just call me the chaperone," said Sprakie. "You see, Phil, he's seen all of us from top to - " .
". . . so, I'm glad to see its you," stammered Phil. "I mean . . ."
He looked back at the door.
"You thought that that older gent was . . . ," Tom said laughing. " Well, I take it you're surprised that I'm not on my last legs."
"Told you he'd have a wooden leg," said Sprakie.
"Shhhh. Tom, don't pay attention to him."
"I never do!" said Tom.
"Ouch!!," said Sprakie. "That's a low blow. I may turn out to like you after all."
Tom pulled Phil over to a table by the window. Sprakie managed to come as well in tow.
"Coffee?" asked Tom
"Never touch the stuff," said Phil.
"Then why . . ."
"Welcome to hustle central Mr. Dye," said Sprakie.
"They call it that," said Phil, "but that's not necessarily so in all cases."
"Well, maybe something sweet then? A turnover?" asked Tom.
Phil smiled. A turnover would be just the thing. Tom went away to the counter to get one.
"Well, Ishmael," said Sprakie, "he's obviously passed the looks test. Now find out whether he has any marketable securities?"
"Actually, Sprakie, when he gets back, you're gonna tell me that you have a hot date and need to leave right away."
"Bitch. You won't even let me come along and watch. I can make change you know. Who's gonna work the credit card machine? Who's gonna operate the winch?"
"A hot date," said Phil staring directly into Sprakie's eyes. "You have - hear me - you have a hot, hot date!"
"Well, little Ishie," pouted Sprakie, "if you insist. What's this hot date I have look like? Well, whatever my date is --- will be --- he'll be age appropriate."
"Why are you pestering me about his age? It isn't the first time I've seen an older man."
"This one's much older. If I didn't know better, I'd say he cruised Miss Nancy's Schoolyard after work to get you."
"Shhh. He's coming back."
Tom returned fumbling with the turnovers in waxy napkins.
"What none for me?" said Sprakie.
Tom shrugged and sighed.
"Robert," he said, "why do they call you Sprakie?"
"My name is Robert Sprague," he said cocking his nose. "My Dahddy used to call me the little sprig. That became Little Spraguey - and that became a little pukey - so I changed it to Sprakie and it stuck."
Phil laughed.
"Be careful," said Sprakie, "Little Ishmael can stick too."
"I was wondering, Tom . . ." said Phil looking at Sprakie hoping he would get the hint. After a while, he did.
"Oh! Oh! I forgot," said Sprakie. "I met this wonderful guy last night and I promised to give him a blow job tonight - and if I don't go he'll start without me. Pardon my sudden flight of forgetfulness. You don't mind if I slip out gracefully. Then onward I go. Gee I hope this cutie I met last night is not married - but what's that to me. If you can't make a new family - break one up!"
Sprakie glided out of the Imperial Coffee Mug like the Empress of Russia.
"Is he . . ?" asked Tom.
"Always."
"I mean, is he always with you?"
"He's with me a lot," said Phil. "But we're just good friends. He helped me when I first came out - and he's guided me to better things."
"So, you're not together."
"Me and Sprakie?"
"He looked protective," said Tom.
"He's always protecting me. Don't give it another thought."
Phil chowed down on the turnover.
"Mmm, this is good, thanks," he said.
"Don't mention it," said Tom watching the crumbs fall away from Phil's lips. "Do you know what I like most about you?"
"My eyes," said Phil.
"How did you know?"
"Everyone likes my eyes. They say they are compelling."
"They're more than compelling. They are non pariel."
Phil shrugged at this.
"Without comparison," said Tom.
"That's sweet. And do you know what I like about you?"
"My business?"
"How can you say that?" said Phil hurt by the comment.
"Well," said Tom, "you have been very honest with me. You have clearly stated over the last two weeks that we are a business arrangement. Only tonight the meter was shut down."
"Because, every once and a while I like to stop the entertainment crap and touch something real," said Phil. "What I like most about you is that you haven't asked THE question?"
"What question?"
"Well, you can't imagine the bastards I put up with in this business," said Phil. "But since the Internet's been around, it is a helluva lot safer than before. I've had some tight spots with some weird people."
"I bet."
"But when I bump into someone who's gentle and seemingly kind, they ultimately ask me the Question?" said Phil. "Why do I need to sell myself?"
"How judgmental!"
"Exactly. I like what I do. I can do dozens of other things. I like to show my body off to others and let them pay for the pleasure. I have fun. But you haven't asked that question yet, unless you were about to?"
"What is a girl like you doing in a place like this?" said Tom.
"Stop," said Phil laughing.
"Then, why is a man like me with a girl like you?"
Phil hugged the man.
"Exactly," said Phil in a whisper.
"There's something else I like about you," said Tom.
"I bet," said Phil holding his crotch.
"Well, I like that - but I also like the way you respond to me and others on-line. You're kind and sweet, but honest and intelligent."
"Intelligent?"
"Yes, intelligent. You don't take yourself so seriously as to ignore the needs of other people. When we did our first One on One - I told you I was a One on One virgin - and you guided me step by step."
"Well, we are taught to slow you all down," said Phil.
"Taught?"
"Well, manluv.com tells us to slow One on Ones down so you'll run out of time. Then you'll be hot and bothered and be willing to extend the time and it costs more per minute then. There's a different rate when you're extending. And my commission's better if I get someone to run out of time and extend."
"That's highway robbery," said Tom. "You're bursting my little fantasy."
Phil stroked Tom's arm.
"Does this feel like a fantasy to you?"
"I don't know. You can touch fantasies you know. Remember, when you read books, you go into a virtual world. But the whole time you're holding something in your hand."
"Well, all I know, is our One on Ones have been gentle and respectful."
"Yes, you danced like Salome around my head," said Tom.
"Lost your head, eh?"
"Intelligent boy."
"Boy with candy," said Phil holding up the remains of the turnover.
Suddenly, there was another person at the table. He was a tall man about Tom's age. He had approached the table with stealth and a bit of zeal.
"Tee," said the man, "here you are?"
"Flo," said Tom. "Phil, this is my agent. Not good timing, but still. Flo, come join us. Phil this is Flo."
Flo sat down, scarcely acknowledging Phil.
"Phil, glad to meet you," he said. "Now Tom, I'm glad I caught up to you. We had an offer for Bright Darkness - so I'll need you to look over a contract."
Flo produced an envelope from his inside pocket and was searching for a pen. Tom stopped him.
"Ah - actually Flo, Phil is my date. You know, this can wait until morning."
"Oh! Ah! Sorry. You know Phil, now that I look at you, you look familiar - have we ever met?"
"I don't think so," said Tom. "Phil, Flo is family."
"Gay as a goose," said Flo.
"In fact, he's the one who popped me out of the closet long before my career started as a writer."
"So you're sisters," said Phil, "like me and Sprakie?"
"Something like that," said Tom.
"I like that," said Flo. "Sisters. So, are you guys going out dancing? I won't be in the way."
Panic between the eyes.
"Actually, Flo," said Tom, "we're going to go back to my place . . ."
"Great," said Flo. "And we can pick up some Chinese food. Do you like Chinese?"
"Actually," said Tom, "we're going to go home and discuss Moby Dick."
"What? That old fish tail."
"He isn't a fish. He's a mammal," said Phil.
"Hey kid, I read the book in High School. So, Tom you're saying . . . "
"Excuse us a minute, Phil."
Tom took Flo toward the door and looked around to assure Phil could not hear.
"Flo," said Tom, "give me a break. I just met him and I like him and I think he likes me."
"Give ME a break!" said Flo. "You're twice his age. Is he jail bait?"
"Please Flo, don't get out of line. I want to get to know him. And if you come with us, you'll just rattle on about the army and the stories of us in the old days - and this is not about us in the old days. It's about me in the now days. So, please. "
"Tom, Tom, Tom."
"You sound like a friggin' bongo. Just. . I'll see you tomorrow."
"I just hate to see you get hurt," said Flo.
"Bye and wave bye-bye to Phil."
Flo shook with anger, snorted then bolted out into the night. Tom sighed, then returned to the table.
"I hope I didn't cause any trouble," said Phil. "You know you asked about Sprakie and me - but I never asked you if you were together with someone."
"Flo and Me? No, I don't see that."
"Somehow, I think he may."
"No, you have to know Flo," said Tom. "He's like my oldest piece of furniture. He'll be OK."
There was one of those pregnant silences that always grace a table without fail. It was, however, on the whole, a nice silence - a suitable cause for a change of subject.
"Well, what's next?" asked Tom.
"Shall we go to your place and discuss Dick?"
"You mean Melville's Dick? I mean Moby's," said Tom laughing.
"I like your smile," said Phil.
"You make me laugh. You make my heart feel . . ."
"Young?"
"Well, young - what's age anyway? Isn't that just another number somewhere out there that we're supposed to live up to?"
"Just a number - no other meaning," said Phil.
"Quite clinical. Even when we feel our age, and it makes us restless, we still need to . . . need to . . . "
Tom closed his eyes and saw the pages of Moby Dick:
"Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can."
"Ishmael! Loomings!" said Phil. "But Tee - can I call you Tee? The time for sadness is over. Come swim in the sea with me. Take a deep breath. What do you smell?"
Tom snorted the air deeply.
"Coffee."
"No do it again!" said Phil
Tom did so.
"Smell the salt air?" said Phil.
"Yes, yes - now I do. Guide me to it. Let me be a child again, guided to the senses I never felt when I was truly young. Guide me to the warmth of May days that I thought were long dead on the treeless plains. Show me the heart of youth through your beacon eyes. Take me to the edges of the Springtime Sea."
"That is beautiful," said Phil.
"I am a writer you know, sweetheart."
"Sweetheart," said Phil sighing. "Let's go find the book. My beacon eyes are dying to see your hairy ass."
"Lead on."
"I take MasterCard, Visa, and American Express."
At first Tom looked seriously, then Phil's eyes opened wide and his lips broadened to a full laugh.
"You make me laugh," said Tom. "Besides, I always pay cash."
They fell into each other's arms and kissed. They departed, brushing off the crumbs now that this little necessary ceremonial had been concluded. They could now join the strollers along the street, hand in hand swaying to the rhythms of night. If there were to be any liturgy of a sort, a presbyterian brand of same-sex courtship, like tea in Japan, coffee in the village would sanctify it and make us holy. But the very cobblestones of Christopher Street would protest too loudly to allow such thoughts to pass. This tribe was far too complex for modern assayers. Not since the planet began have such pragmatic elements defied settlement; not since Nineveh; not since the wharves of Nantucket.
