"Queer Identities" -- Chapter 74 "Take Your Mama Out"
Emmett works his magic -- sort of...
This is Chapter 74 in the "Queer Identities" series.
The narrator is Emmett Honeycutt, and features Ted Schmidt, Justin Taylor, Wanda, Jennifer Taylor, Dylan Burke, Ethan Gold, Others.
Rated R and contains no warnings or spoilers.
Summary: Emmett makes plans for a party. Pittsburgh, December 2003.
Disclaimer: You know the drill. This is for fun, not profit. Enjoy.
Earlier "QI" chapters online and on the LJ are here:
http://www.fortruthis.net/gaelmcgear/Gaedhalficpage.html
http://www.fortruthis.net/gaedhal/
Most recent "QI" chapters on the LJ are here:
Ch. 71 "It's Too Late"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/419286.html
Ch. 72 "Independent"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/419501.html
Ch. 73 "It Ain't Me, Babe"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/420005.html
By Gaedhal
"When you grow up
Livin' like a good boy oughta,
And your mama
Takes a shine to her best son,
Something different,
All the girls they seem to like you
'Cause you're handsome,
Like to talk and a whole lot of fun.
But now your girl's gone a missin'
And your house has got an empty bed,
The folks'll wonder 'bout the wedding,
They won't listen to a word you said.
We're gonna take your mama out all night,
Yeah, we'll show her what it's all about,
We'll get her jacked up on some cheap champagne,
We'll let the good times all roll out.
And if the music ain't good, well it's just too bad,
We're gonna sing along no matter what,
Because the dancers don't mind at the New Orleans
If you tip 'em and they make a cut.
Do it!
Take your mama out all night,
So she'll have no doubt
That we're doing, oh, the best we can!
We're gonna do it!
Take your mama out all night,
You can stay up late,
'Cause, baby, you're a full grown man..."
***
When things get oh so depressing, my philosophy is...
Have a party!
And I'm not just saying that because I'm a professional party planner, either. Parties are good for you. They lift the spirit and sooth the soul. They put a smile on your face and make you able to face all your problems. A party is nature's way of saying: "You go, Girl!"
At least that's what it says on my new promo material.
The promo material Vic and I were working on before Thanksgiving, planning for Christmas and the New Year and beyond.
So I know he'd approve. No one loved a party like Vic. I mean loves a party -- present tense. Vic is going to be awake in time for Christmas, I know it. A coma has never stopped him before. And Christmas parties are his favorite, but after that he loves birthday parties. And he loves Justin, too. So I know he'd want us to have an amazing party for the boy's 21st birthday. After all, you don't turn 21 every day! I mean, some Hollywood divas think they can have a 39th birthday party every single year until they're 75, but that doesn't mean they're fooling anyone -- and yes I'm looking at you Joan Collins!
A surprise party. That's the way to go. Everybody loves a surprise party.
Now l admit that surprise parties don't always turn out well. Michael's 30th birthday was supposed to be a surprise, but Ted ruined that with his big blabbermouth -- and anyway the surprise turned out to be mainly on Brian. But you can't let a few teeny little glitches stop you. At least they can't stop me!
Vic will be fine. Vic's only in the hospital. He'll be back in the kitchen, pumping up some puff pastries and frosting a batch of pink cupcakes by Valentine's Day. He always says that you can't keep a good faggot down -- and Vic won't be kept down. He survived the Stonewall Riots, he survived Reagan and the Bushes, he survived AIDS, and he survived 'Dynasty' being canceled -- and he'll survive this.
He has to survive this. He has to.
"I'd rethink this if I were you, Em," Ted says glumly. "I think I need some Maalox. My stomach is gurgling again."
"Don't be such a party pooper, Teddy -- literally!" I retort.
"Believe me, Em, no one's in the mood for a party." Ted stirs the ice around in his Sprite. "Deb and Tim are practically living at the hospital, Michael is freaking out, and Justin..." Ted shrugs. "I don't think he's in the mood to celebrate, either."
"Just because the boy had a little tiff with the Big Bad Wolf?" I sniff. "So what else is new? They're always fighting! I think they create a lot of melodrama just so they can have hot make up sex!"
Ted looks at me with that sour expression he always gets when he wants to trample on your great ideas. "Justin's moved out of the loft. Michael says he's living in some studio apartment over by the Institute. That suggests something more than a mere tiff."
"Pish tosh!" I snap my fingers under Ted's nose. "Drama princess versus drama queen. I'm wise to that dodge. My Great Aunt Lula used to have the vapors whenever things didn't go her way -- and it worked every time! But I know how to bring everyone together -- an artfully prepared array of snacks, some carefully chosen musical selections, a festive theme -- any intimate get-together can truly become a fabulous event!"
"Maybe you should lay off this time, Em," Ted suggests. "You're starting to believe your own publicity."
"I need to call Justin's mother." I take out my planner and open it to make a note. "She'll certainly want to make her son's 21st birthday extra special. And she'll know what kind of cake he likes. And any other little details that will give this the personal touch that is the hallmark of Fabulous Catering and Party Planning. Do you happen to have her number?"
Ted sighs. "Why would I have Justin's mother's phone number? Ask Michael, he might know. I wouldn't bother Deb with this -- I think she has enough on mind right now."
I write "Call Michael -- Jennifer Taylor's number" on my To Do List. Then I order another appletini.
"How many of those have you had?" asks Ted.
Frankly, since he's been in rehab, Ted is pain-o in the ass-o when other people are enjoying themselves, especially when what other people are enjoying is an adult beverage. Ted has never known how to enjoy himself -- that's his main problem.
"Enough to make me happy, but not enough to make me loopy!" I laugh. The bartender brings me the appletini -- yummy! I bolt it down and order another as Ted rolls his eyes.
"You know I say this as your friend, Em," says Ted. "But sometimes you have to know when to butt out of other people's business." He pauses. "And also when you've had enough." He reaches to take away my new appletini.
"Why don't you butt out yourself," I reply. And I drink down the lovely green cocktail.
A pain in the ass, that's what he is.
I see something very interesting out of the corner of my eye. A tall, studly number with an interesting tattoo peaking out of his rolled up sleeve. I'd like to see that tattoo a little bit closer.
"I'll catch up with you later," I say to Teddy.
"I thought you were going to meet Morgan later?" he says. "You remember Morgan? That Englishman you're so crazy about?"
Oh. Morgan. I forgot about him.
"I'll catch him later, too," I reply breezily.
Ted catches my arm. "Emmett, what are you doing?"
What am I doing? What the fuck does he mean?
"I'm having a good time," I state. "Having a little fun -- while I can. Life is too short, my dear. Or haven't you noticed?"
"Oh, I've noticed," Ted growls. "That's all I thought about in rehab. How life was too short for me to be wasting it getting high, having bad and unsafe sex, and running aimlessly into walls like a jerk. Life is too short not to stop and think about what you're doing -- and where you're going."
"I'm sure a philosophy like that is fine for someone who doesn't know," I return. "But I'm fine! I'm great! I'm fucking fabulous! Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a party to plan -- among other things."
I shake off Teddy and waltz over to the cute trick with the peekaboo tattoo.
His name turns out to be Kyle.
Or Lyle.
Or Wylie.
Something like what.
But who cares? It's time to dance my cares away!
And I think I'll have another appletini.
***
That was a mistake.
I had one too many appletinis last night and my head feels like it was hit by a ton of bricks.
Or it feels like the actual ton of bricks.
I tiptoe around the strange apartment, looking for my clothes. I don't want to wake up Kyle. Or Lyle. Or whoever he is.
And I never caught the name of the other guy -- he's sacked out on the floor because there wasn't room on the bed. At least not for sleeping on the bed.
I hate the walk of shame. It feels so... so sordid. So slutty. And I thought I'd left my slutty ways behind when I retired Fetch Dixon. I guess not.
I can't find my socks. And it's snowing outside. Oh, well -- at least I have my rabbit coat.
I get outside and realize that I have no idea where I am. I could be anywhere in the Pitts. Or I could be in Scranton.
I trudge to the corner, looking for a bus stop.
Ho hum. Another day in the life of Emmett Honeycutt.
I check my cellphone. Three messages -- two from Ted, one from Morgan. Ouch. Ted is worried, Morgan is angry. Last night I was not at my best.
I keep trudging, looking for a landmark. I eventually come to Liberty Avenue -- the southern reaches of Queer Pittsburgh. I might as well march the rest of the way. I get to the diner just as my feet are about to turn into ice cubes.
Of course, Debbie isn't on duty. It's not the same at the diner when Deb isn't there. One of the newer waitresses, Wanda, takes my order. She's got the kind of unfriendly face you do not want to see first thing in the morning when you've partied a tad too much the night before.
"You look like something the cat dragged in," she comments.
Now, if Debbie had said this, I'd just laugh in that delightful way I have, but I hardly know this female and she rubs me the wrong fucking way.
"I'd just like my food -- and no sarcasm, thank you," I reply.
"Whatever, honey." And Wanda lumbers away.
Ugh. Things are not starting off well.
I take out my cell and call Michael.
"Huh? Emmett? What time is it?" he barks sleepily.
"Someone is an old grouch this morning."
"Jesus, Em! I was at the hospital half the night with Ma and Tim. What do you want, anyway?"
"Do you have Jennifer Taylor's phone number? And I need Justin's new address if you have it."
"What do you want Jennifer's number for?" Michael's a suspicious little devil.
"I need to ask her a few questions -- for Justin's birthday party."
Michael makes a dismissive noise. "Birthday party? You're kidding, right?"
"Just give me the information I've requested, if you please."
Michael gives it -- but grudgingly. Why is everyone making this so damn hard? I only want to spread a little cheer in this drab, humdrum world.
Justin's mother is more receptive. "How nice, Emmett! I'm sure a party for Justin's 21st birthday would be splendid. Where are you going to have it?"
Now she has me stumped. We can't have it at the loft. Or Deb's. And Michael isn't volunteering his and Ben's place. "Woody's," I say. "I'll arrange it. Maybe we can have karaoke. Justin loves karaoke."
"That would be so nice!" she enthuses. And then she gives me all the details about what kind of cake and other things she thinks Justin will like. Almost as an afterthought she adds, "Emmett, do you know anything about... about Brian?"
That stops me. "What about Brian?"
"Well, Justin hasn't said a word about why they... they broke up. If they really did actually break up. I don't understand it -- everything seemed to be fine this summer and then..."
"I don't know, Mrs. Taylor," I tell her honestly. "I have no idea what happened. But you know Justin and Brian -- they might be on the outs today, but they always get back together. It's like Cher and her farewell tours -- it's never really the end."
"If you say so," she says. "Because Justin won't tell me anything. And I'm so worried about him. His new apartment is in a horrible area. At least the loft had a security system."
"Don't you worry, Mrs. T.," I assume her. "Who knows? Brian just may show!"
I make a note to find out where Brian is and send him a message about the party. He loves making a grand and unexpected entrance! And I know he wouldn't want to miss his boytoy's big day!
"You gonna finish those eggs?" Wanda grunts, her beefy hands on her hips.
"Yes," I reply grandly. "I am planning to do so, if you don't mind?"
The service here has gone way down hill without Debbie around.
I make another note to leave a complaint in the Liberty Diner suggestion box. If I can find the suggestion box.
And then I hustle. I have a lot of work to do before the party.
***
Justin blinks at me and yawns. "Em? What are you doing here?"
I sail into the apartment. "It's your birthday, mister, and I'm here to take you out for a celebratory drink. So get on your party clothes because we're going to raise the roof tonight!"
Justin's new apartment is, in a word, a dump. It's basically one room, with a tiny bathroom and what might be called a kitchenette if you had a sense of humor. And there's no furniture except for a card table with his computer on it, a folding chair, his drawing board, and a futon on the floor. And boxes -- lots of cardboard boxes full of books and clothes.
"I haven't had time to unpack yet," the boy explains. "I just moved in the other day."
"I didn't know you were looking for a new place." Yes, I'm fishing, but I want information!
He shrugs. "You know how it is."
"Not really. You should have let me know you were moving -- I could have thrown a housewarming for you." I open one of the cabinets in the kitchen. It's empty. "Don't you have any dishes, honey? Or glasses?"
"I have paper plates. And plastic cups," Justin offers. "Can I get you something to drink? I've got some cans of Iron City beer and a half-gallon of milk." He opens the fridge, which is almost as empty as the cupboards. "And some leftover pizza. I'd heat it up for you, but I don't have a microwave. And the oven doesn't work very well."
"I told you I'm taking you out for your birthday, sweetie! Now go and get dressed."
He looks down at his paint-stained sweatshirt and sweatpants. "I'll have to go through the boxes to find something to wear."
I look around for a place to sit. Futon or folding chair? I select the folding chair. "I can wait."
It's obvious he doesn't want to come with me, but I'm not taking no for an answer. His surprise party is waiting for him over at Woody's and I'm getting him there by hook or by crook!
I wait while he gets dressed. And he's dawdling.
"Snap to it, mister!" I call, looking at my watch. We have to get there before 8:00 because I have karaoke scheduled to start at 9:00!
While I'm waiting I see an open cardboard box sitting on the floor next to the futon. Clothes, mainly underwear, socks, and tee shirts, and some odds and ends like old video tapes and cassettes, a battered sketchbook, and an animal-like doll in a blue jacket. It looks vaguely familiar.
Then I recognize what it is. A little stuffed Beast from 'Beauty and the Beast,' like you'd buy at the Disney Store. Brian sent it to the boy over a year ago -- I think it was to celebrate the non-anniversary of their non-relationship. And he sent a DVD, too, if I remember correctly.
That Brian Kinney. He's a bastard, but he can also be a charmer, too. That's a dangerous combination for any boy to fall in love with -- a charming bastard. But why does Brian always decide to be a bastard at the worst possible moments? Birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, you name it -- that's when he's always missing in action.
I got his number from Michael -- after an awful lot of prodding. First he was in Toronto, then New York, next he'll probably be in Bora Bora or Kingdom Come! But never Pittsburgh -- not when Justin could use him the most. Needless to say, His Majesty never returned my call.
"Give me that!"
Justin's face is bright red as he snatches away the Beast doll.
"I was only looking at it, sweetie."
"Mind your own fucking business, Em!" He stands there with the doll in his hand, staring at it.
"Are you ready to go, honey?" I say softly.
"I guess," he whispers. The doll is still in his hand.
I turn away and head for the door. "Don't forget your jacket, baby," I remind him. I glance back and he's following me -- slowly, but he's coming.
I'm not the world's greatest driver -- duh! -- and my car isn't that wonderful, either, especially in the December snow in the Pitts, but I manage to get us both to Woody's in one piece.
"Surprise!" I yell as we walk in. And Justin's surprised -- completely.
Unfortunately, the party is not as well-attended as I might have wished. Mrs. Taylor is there, and Michael and Ben, and Justin's two fuck buddies -- the tall good-looking one and the short, grungy one -- and a few friends they've brought from PIFA and Carnegie Mellon. And Ted, of course -- I can always rely on Ted.
But it seems empty without Debbie and Vic and Tim. And Lindsay and Mel haven't shown, either. Or Mr. You-Know-Who.
But I keep smiling. The host of a party must not let anything bring the festivities to a halt! Everyone has brought funny cards and gag gifts and Justin sits and opens them. He's smiling and even laughing a little, so it's not too bad. The two fuck buddies -- Dylan and Ethan -- keep cracking jokes. Dylan is a dishy one, that's for certain, and he's drinking a lot of beer, so hopefully Justin will get laid tonight and put thoughts of the Late Mr. Kinney behind him.
"Thanks for all this, Emmett," says Mrs. Taylor, pulling me aside. "Justin's been so depressed lately. This misunderstanding with Brian, and then Vic being ill -- it's distressing. I've been very worried about him."
"It's my pleasure, Mrs. T.," I reply. "A birthday is an occasion to be celebrated."
"Please call me Jennifer. I haven't felt like a 'Mrs.' for a long time now," she says. "I only wish Vic were out of the hospital. Then everyone will feel so much better."
"From your lips to God's ear, Jennifer."
Justin opens another card, this one from yours truly. It's got a wiener dog on the front and inside it says: 'From a Wiener to a Winner -- Have a Happy Birthday!' Not deathless prose, but I didn't have time to find a better one.
"Thanks, Em," Justin says, kissing me on the cheek.
I clap my hands. "And now for the Big Surprise!" Justin looks up at me expectantly. "I know it's something you'll be thrilled with, Birthday Boy! Something very, very special." I pause for dramatic impact.
Ted is at my elbow. "Emmett..." he says warningly.
But he's interrupting my big announcement. "Something you love more than anything else in the world!"
Justin's eyes stare at me, suddenly looking huge and unusually bright. He stands up slowly and looks around. "Brian?" he says. Then he shouts, "Brian! Where are you? I knew you'd come! I knew it!"
Oops. Perhaps I sold this surprise a little too forcefully.
We all just stand there, not knowing where to look. All of Woody's stops dead and watches the oncoming train wreck.
Awkward!
"Honey..." Jennifer Taylor touches her son's arm.
"Where's Brian? Isn't he here?" The boy's expression is wild. "Isn't that why you brought me here? Isn't that what all this stupid shit was for?" He sweeps the birthday cards and little gifts off the table and onto the floor. "Isn't it?" He turns and looks at his two friends. "Dylan? Ethan?" But they shake their heads. Then he looks at me. "Emmett?"
"It's... it's -- um -- time for karaoke, honey," I say. "I know how much you love it." I hesitate and then add exactly the wrong thing. "Like when we were up at Cardinal Lake this summer. Remember all the fun we had?"
Justin gapes at me, his face pale. "Fuck you," he whispers. "And fuck you, too, Brian." And then he dashes out into the snow without his jacket. Dylan and Ethan run after him, as Jennifer puts her head in her hands.
"Nice work, Em," says Ted. "That really put Justin in the birthday spirit -- along with everyone else."
"Oh shut the fuck up, Teddy!" I tell him.
Then I head for the bar and order another appletini.
Or five.
***
"It's a struggle
Livin' like a good boy oughta,
In the summer
Watchin' all the girls pass by,
When your mama
Heard the way that you'd been talking
I tried to tell you
That all she'd wanna do is cry.
Now we end up takin' the long way home,
Lookin' overdressed, wearin' buckets of stale cologne,
It's so hard to see streets on a country road
When your glasses in the garbage
And your Continental's just been towed.
We're gonna take your mama out all night,
Yeah, we'll show her what it's all about,
We'll get her jacked up on some cheap champagne,
We'll let the good times all roll out.
And if the music ain't good, well it's just too bad,
We're gonna sing along no matter what,
Because the dancers don't mind at the New Orleans
If you tip 'em and they make a cut."
(Scissor Sisters)
This is Chapter 74 in the "Queer Identities" series.
The narrator is Emmett Honeycutt, and features Ted Schmidt, Justin Taylor, Wanda, Jennifer Taylor, Dylan Burke, Ethan Gold, Others.
Rated R and contains no warnings or spoilers.
Summary: Emmett makes plans for a party. Pittsburgh, December 2003.
Disclaimer: You know the drill. This is for fun, not profit. Enjoy.
Earlier "QI" chapters online and on the LJ are here:
http://www.fortruthis.net/gaelmcgear/Gaedhalficpage.html
http://www.fortruthis.net/gaedhal/
Most recent "QI" chapters on the LJ are here:
Ch. 71 "It's Too Late"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/419286.html
Ch. 72 "Independent"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/419501.html
Ch. 73 "It Ain't Me, Babe"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/420005.html
By Gaedhal
"When you grow up
Livin' like a good boy oughta,
And your mama
Takes a shine to her best son,
Something different,
All the girls they seem to like you
'Cause you're handsome,
Like to talk and a whole lot of fun.
But now your girl's gone a missin'
And your house has got an empty bed,
The folks'll wonder 'bout the wedding,
They won't listen to a word you said.
We're gonna take your mama out all night,
Yeah, we'll show her what it's all about,
We'll get her jacked up on some cheap champagne,
We'll let the good times all roll out.
And if the music ain't good, well it's just too bad,
We're gonna sing along no matter what,
Because the dancers don't mind at the New Orleans
If you tip 'em and they make a cut.
Do it!
Take your mama out all night,
So she'll have no doubt
That we're doing, oh, the best we can!
We're gonna do it!
Take your mama out all night,
You can stay up late,
'Cause, baby, you're a full grown man..."
***
When things get oh so depressing, my philosophy is...
Have a party!
And I'm not just saying that because I'm a professional party planner, either. Parties are good for you. They lift the spirit and sooth the soul. They put a smile on your face and make you able to face all your problems. A party is nature's way of saying: "You go, Girl!"
At least that's what it says on my new promo material.
The promo material Vic and I were working on before Thanksgiving, planning for Christmas and the New Year and beyond.
So I know he'd approve. No one loved a party like Vic. I mean loves a party -- present tense. Vic is going to be awake in time for Christmas, I know it. A coma has never stopped him before. And Christmas parties are his favorite, but after that he loves birthday parties. And he loves Justin, too. So I know he'd want us to have an amazing party for the boy's 21st birthday. After all, you don't turn 21 every day! I mean, some Hollywood divas think they can have a 39th birthday party every single year until they're 75, but that doesn't mean they're fooling anyone -- and yes I'm looking at you Joan Collins!
A surprise party. That's the way to go. Everybody loves a surprise party.
Now l admit that surprise parties don't always turn out well. Michael's 30th birthday was supposed to be a surprise, but Ted ruined that with his big blabbermouth -- and anyway the surprise turned out to be mainly on Brian. But you can't let a few teeny little glitches stop you. At least they can't stop me!
Vic will be fine. Vic's only in the hospital. He'll be back in the kitchen, pumping up some puff pastries and frosting a batch of pink cupcakes by Valentine's Day. He always says that you can't keep a good faggot down -- and Vic won't be kept down. He survived the Stonewall Riots, he survived Reagan and the Bushes, he survived AIDS, and he survived 'Dynasty' being canceled -- and he'll survive this.
He has to survive this. He has to.
"I'd rethink this if I were you, Em," Ted says glumly. "I think I need some Maalox. My stomach is gurgling again."
"Don't be such a party pooper, Teddy -- literally!" I retort.
"Believe me, Em, no one's in the mood for a party." Ted stirs the ice around in his Sprite. "Deb and Tim are practically living at the hospital, Michael is freaking out, and Justin..." Ted shrugs. "I don't think he's in the mood to celebrate, either."
"Just because the boy had a little tiff with the Big Bad Wolf?" I sniff. "So what else is new? They're always fighting! I think they create a lot of melodrama just so they can have hot make up sex!"
Ted looks at me with that sour expression he always gets when he wants to trample on your great ideas. "Justin's moved out of the loft. Michael says he's living in some studio apartment over by the Institute. That suggests something more than a mere tiff."
"Pish tosh!" I snap my fingers under Ted's nose. "Drama princess versus drama queen. I'm wise to that dodge. My Great Aunt Lula used to have the vapors whenever things didn't go her way -- and it worked every time! But I know how to bring everyone together -- an artfully prepared array of snacks, some carefully chosen musical selections, a festive theme -- any intimate get-together can truly become a fabulous event!"
"Maybe you should lay off this time, Em," Ted suggests. "You're starting to believe your own publicity."
"I need to call Justin's mother." I take out my planner and open it to make a note. "She'll certainly want to make her son's 21st birthday extra special. And she'll know what kind of cake he likes. And any other little details that will give this the personal touch that is the hallmark of Fabulous Catering and Party Planning. Do you happen to have her number?"
Ted sighs. "Why would I have Justin's mother's phone number? Ask Michael, he might know. I wouldn't bother Deb with this -- I think she has enough on mind right now."
I write "Call Michael -- Jennifer Taylor's number" on my To Do List. Then I order another appletini.
"How many of those have you had?" asks Ted.
Frankly, since he's been in rehab, Ted is pain-o in the ass-o when other people are enjoying themselves, especially when what other people are enjoying is an adult beverage. Ted has never known how to enjoy himself -- that's his main problem.
"Enough to make me happy, but not enough to make me loopy!" I laugh. The bartender brings me the appletini -- yummy! I bolt it down and order another as Ted rolls his eyes.
"You know I say this as your friend, Em," says Ted. "But sometimes you have to know when to butt out of other people's business." He pauses. "And also when you've had enough." He reaches to take away my new appletini.
"Why don't you butt out yourself," I reply. And I drink down the lovely green cocktail.
A pain in the ass, that's what he is.
I see something very interesting out of the corner of my eye. A tall, studly number with an interesting tattoo peaking out of his rolled up sleeve. I'd like to see that tattoo a little bit closer.
"I'll catch up with you later," I say to Teddy.
"I thought you were going to meet Morgan later?" he says. "You remember Morgan? That Englishman you're so crazy about?"
Oh. Morgan. I forgot about him.
"I'll catch him later, too," I reply breezily.
Ted catches my arm. "Emmett, what are you doing?"
What am I doing? What the fuck does he mean?
"I'm having a good time," I state. "Having a little fun -- while I can. Life is too short, my dear. Or haven't you noticed?"
"Oh, I've noticed," Ted growls. "That's all I thought about in rehab. How life was too short for me to be wasting it getting high, having bad and unsafe sex, and running aimlessly into walls like a jerk. Life is too short not to stop and think about what you're doing -- and where you're going."
"I'm sure a philosophy like that is fine for someone who doesn't know," I return. "But I'm fine! I'm great! I'm fucking fabulous! Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a party to plan -- among other things."
I shake off Teddy and waltz over to the cute trick with the peekaboo tattoo.
His name turns out to be Kyle.
Or Lyle.
Or Wylie.
Something like what.
But who cares? It's time to dance my cares away!
And I think I'll have another appletini.
***
That was a mistake.
I had one too many appletinis last night and my head feels like it was hit by a ton of bricks.
Or it feels like the actual ton of bricks.
I tiptoe around the strange apartment, looking for my clothes. I don't want to wake up Kyle. Or Lyle. Or whoever he is.
And I never caught the name of the other guy -- he's sacked out on the floor because there wasn't room on the bed. At least not for sleeping on the bed.
I hate the walk of shame. It feels so... so sordid. So slutty. And I thought I'd left my slutty ways behind when I retired Fetch Dixon. I guess not.
I can't find my socks. And it's snowing outside. Oh, well -- at least I have my rabbit coat.
I get outside and realize that I have no idea where I am. I could be anywhere in the Pitts. Or I could be in Scranton.
I trudge to the corner, looking for a bus stop.
Ho hum. Another day in the life of Emmett Honeycutt.
I check my cellphone. Three messages -- two from Ted, one from Morgan. Ouch. Ted is worried, Morgan is angry. Last night I was not at my best.
I keep trudging, looking for a landmark. I eventually come to Liberty Avenue -- the southern reaches of Queer Pittsburgh. I might as well march the rest of the way. I get to the diner just as my feet are about to turn into ice cubes.
Of course, Debbie isn't on duty. It's not the same at the diner when Deb isn't there. One of the newer waitresses, Wanda, takes my order. She's got the kind of unfriendly face you do not want to see first thing in the morning when you've partied a tad too much the night before.
"You look like something the cat dragged in," she comments.
Now, if Debbie had said this, I'd just laugh in that delightful way I have, but I hardly know this female and she rubs me the wrong fucking way.
"I'd just like my food -- and no sarcasm, thank you," I reply.
"Whatever, honey." And Wanda lumbers away.
Ugh. Things are not starting off well.
I take out my cell and call Michael.
"Huh? Emmett? What time is it?" he barks sleepily.
"Someone is an old grouch this morning."
"Jesus, Em! I was at the hospital half the night with Ma and Tim. What do you want, anyway?"
"Do you have Jennifer Taylor's phone number? And I need Justin's new address if you have it."
"What do you want Jennifer's number for?" Michael's a suspicious little devil.
"I need to ask her a few questions -- for Justin's birthday party."
Michael makes a dismissive noise. "Birthday party? You're kidding, right?"
"Just give me the information I've requested, if you please."
Michael gives it -- but grudgingly. Why is everyone making this so damn hard? I only want to spread a little cheer in this drab, humdrum world.
Justin's mother is more receptive. "How nice, Emmett! I'm sure a party for Justin's 21st birthday would be splendid. Where are you going to have it?"
Now she has me stumped. We can't have it at the loft. Or Deb's. And Michael isn't volunteering his and Ben's place. "Woody's," I say. "I'll arrange it. Maybe we can have karaoke. Justin loves karaoke."
"That would be so nice!" she enthuses. And then she gives me all the details about what kind of cake and other things she thinks Justin will like. Almost as an afterthought she adds, "Emmett, do you know anything about... about Brian?"
That stops me. "What about Brian?"
"Well, Justin hasn't said a word about why they... they broke up. If they really did actually break up. I don't understand it -- everything seemed to be fine this summer and then..."
"I don't know, Mrs. Taylor," I tell her honestly. "I have no idea what happened. But you know Justin and Brian -- they might be on the outs today, but they always get back together. It's like Cher and her farewell tours -- it's never really the end."
"If you say so," she says. "Because Justin won't tell me anything. And I'm so worried about him. His new apartment is in a horrible area. At least the loft had a security system."
"Don't you worry, Mrs. T.," I assume her. "Who knows? Brian just may show!"
I make a note to find out where Brian is and send him a message about the party. He loves making a grand and unexpected entrance! And I know he wouldn't want to miss his boytoy's big day!
"You gonna finish those eggs?" Wanda grunts, her beefy hands on her hips.
"Yes," I reply grandly. "I am planning to do so, if you don't mind?"
The service here has gone way down hill without Debbie around.
I make another note to leave a complaint in the Liberty Diner suggestion box. If I can find the suggestion box.
And then I hustle. I have a lot of work to do before the party.
***
Justin blinks at me and yawns. "Em? What are you doing here?"
I sail into the apartment. "It's your birthday, mister, and I'm here to take you out for a celebratory drink. So get on your party clothes because we're going to raise the roof tonight!"
Justin's new apartment is, in a word, a dump. It's basically one room, with a tiny bathroom and what might be called a kitchenette if you had a sense of humor. And there's no furniture except for a card table with his computer on it, a folding chair, his drawing board, and a futon on the floor. And boxes -- lots of cardboard boxes full of books and clothes.
"I haven't had time to unpack yet," the boy explains. "I just moved in the other day."
"I didn't know you were looking for a new place." Yes, I'm fishing, but I want information!
He shrugs. "You know how it is."
"Not really. You should have let me know you were moving -- I could have thrown a housewarming for you." I open one of the cabinets in the kitchen. It's empty. "Don't you have any dishes, honey? Or glasses?"
"I have paper plates. And plastic cups," Justin offers. "Can I get you something to drink? I've got some cans of Iron City beer and a half-gallon of milk." He opens the fridge, which is almost as empty as the cupboards. "And some leftover pizza. I'd heat it up for you, but I don't have a microwave. And the oven doesn't work very well."
"I told you I'm taking you out for your birthday, sweetie! Now go and get dressed."
He looks down at his paint-stained sweatshirt and sweatpants. "I'll have to go through the boxes to find something to wear."
I look around for a place to sit. Futon or folding chair? I select the folding chair. "I can wait."
It's obvious he doesn't want to come with me, but I'm not taking no for an answer. His surprise party is waiting for him over at Woody's and I'm getting him there by hook or by crook!
I wait while he gets dressed. And he's dawdling.
"Snap to it, mister!" I call, looking at my watch. We have to get there before 8:00 because I have karaoke scheduled to start at 9:00!
While I'm waiting I see an open cardboard box sitting on the floor next to the futon. Clothes, mainly underwear, socks, and tee shirts, and some odds and ends like old video tapes and cassettes, a battered sketchbook, and an animal-like doll in a blue jacket. It looks vaguely familiar.
Then I recognize what it is. A little stuffed Beast from 'Beauty and the Beast,' like you'd buy at the Disney Store. Brian sent it to the boy over a year ago -- I think it was to celebrate the non-anniversary of their non-relationship. And he sent a DVD, too, if I remember correctly.
That Brian Kinney. He's a bastard, but he can also be a charmer, too. That's a dangerous combination for any boy to fall in love with -- a charming bastard. But why does Brian always decide to be a bastard at the worst possible moments? Birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, you name it -- that's when he's always missing in action.
I got his number from Michael -- after an awful lot of prodding. First he was in Toronto, then New York, next he'll probably be in Bora Bora or Kingdom Come! But never Pittsburgh -- not when Justin could use him the most. Needless to say, His Majesty never returned my call.
"Give me that!"
Justin's face is bright red as he snatches away the Beast doll.
"I was only looking at it, sweetie."
"Mind your own fucking business, Em!" He stands there with the doll in his hand, staring at it.
"Are you ready to go, honey?" I say softly.
"I guess," he whispers. The doll is still in his hand.
I turn away and head for the door. "Don't forget your jacket, baby," I remind him. I glance back and he's following me -- slowly, but he's coming.
I'm not the world's greatest driver -- duh! -- and my car isn't that wonderful, either, especially in the December snow in the Pitts, but I manage to get us both to Woody's in one piece.
"Surprise!" I yell as we walk in. And Justin's surprised -- completely.
Unfortunately, the party is not as well-attended as I might have wished. Mrs. Taylor is there, and Michael and Ben, and Justin's two fuck buddies -- the tall good-looking one and the short, grungy one -- and a few friends they've brought from PIFA and Carnegie Mellon. And Ted, of course -- I can always rely on Ted.
But it seems empty without Debbie and Vic and Tim. And Lindsay and Mel haven't shown, either. Or Mr. You-Know-Who.
But I keep smiling. The host of a party must not let anything bring the festivities to a halt! Everyone has brought funny cards and gag gifts and Justin sits and opens them. He's smiling and even laughing a little, so it's not too bad. The two fuck buddies -- Dylan and Ethan -- keep cracking jokes. Dylan is a dishy one, that's for certain, and he's drinking a lot of beer, so hopefully Justin will get laid tonight and put thoughts of the Late Mr. Kinney behind him.
"Thanks for all this, Emmett," says Mrs. Taylor, pulling me aside. "Justin's been so depressed lately. This misunderstanding with Brian, and then Vic being ill -- it's distressing. I've been very worried about him."
"It's my pleasure, Mrs. T.," I reply. "A birthday is an occasion to be celebrated."
"Please call me Jennifer. I haven't felt like a 'Mrs.' for a long time now," she says. "I only wish Vic were out of the hospital. Then everyone will feel so much better."
"From your lips to God's ear, Jennifer."
Justin opens another card, this one from yours truly. It's got a wiener dog on the front and inside it says: 'From a Wiener to a Winner -- Have a Happy Birthday!' Not deathless prose, but I didn't have time to find a better one.
"Thanks, Em," Justin says, kissing me on the cheek.
I clap my hands. "And now for the Big Surprise!" Justin looks up at me expectantly. "I know it's something you'll be thrilled with, Birthday Boy! Something very, very special." I pause for dramatic impact.
Ted is at my elbow. "Emmett..." he says warningly.
But he's interrupting my big announcement. "Something you love more than anything else in the world!"
Justin's eyes stare at me, suddenly looking huge and unusually bright. He stands up slowly and looks around. "Brian?" he says. Then he shouts, "Brian! Where are you? I knew you'd come! I knew it!"
Oops. Perhaps I sold this surprise a little too forcefully.
We all just stand there, not knowing where to look. All of Woody's stops dead and watches the oncoming train wreck.
Awkward!
"Honey..." Jennifer Taylor touches her son's arm.
"Where's Brian? Isn't he here?" The boy's expression is wild. "Isn't that why you brought me here? Isn't that what all this stupid shit was for?" He sweeps the birthday cards and little gifts off the table and onto the floor. "Isn't it?" He turns and looks at his two friends. "Dylan? Ethan?" But they shake their heads. Then he looks at me. "Emmett?"
"It's... it's -- um -- time for karaoke, honey," I say. "I know how much you love it." I hesitate and then add exactly the wrong thing. "Like when we were up at Cardinal Lake this summer. Remember all the fun we had?"
Justin gapes at me, his face pale. "Fuck you," he whispers. "And fuck you, too, Brian." And then he dashes out into the snow without his jacket. Dylan and Ethan run after him, as Jennifer puts her head in her hands.
"Nice work, Em," says Ted. "That really put Justin in the birthday spirit -- along with everyone else."
"Oh shut the fuck up, Teddy!" I tell him.
Then I head for the bar and order another appletini.
Or five.
***
"It's a struggle
Livin' like a good boy oughta,
In the summer
Watchin' all the girls pass by,
When your mama
Heard the way that you'd been talking
I tried to tell you
That all she'd wanna do is cry.
Now we end up takin' the long way home,
Lookin' overdressed, wearin' buckets of stale cologne,
It's so hard to see streets on a country road
When your glasses in the garbage
And your Continental's just been towed.
We're gonna take your mama out all night,
Yeah, we'll show her what it's all about,
We'll get her jacked up on some cheap champagne,
We'll let the good times all roll out.
And if the music ain't good, well it's just too bad,
We're gonna sing along no matter what,
Because the dancers don't mind at the New Orleans
If you tip 'em and they make a cut."
(Scissor Sisters)