The Fuck-Up

“Why such a big secret about his identity?”

“Sergei is very nervous about his privacy being invaded.”

“And what exactly is his need for a gay?”

“Well, other than the fact that he thinks they’re cleaner, I think his girlfriend might be coming to town. I’m not sure. He might feel insecure about that.”

“So he wants a court eunuch?”

“I guess so,” Marty replied with a grin. “But you’re gay, so all that is settled.”

In his mind I was gay and in this instance that meant I was invincible. I could witness the interlocking of the sexes and remain unfettered. So after I had polished off my pierogis, Marty explained that the celebrated but insecure Sergei would be notified and we’d all have a meeting.

SEVEN

The long ride to Brooklyn that night seemed much shorter. When I got in, Helmsley was deep asleep. He had slept silently during my voyage to and from Manhattan. Silently I undressed and cuddled to sleep with the thought that this hard couch under me would soon be replaced by a king’s bed. Sleep came quickly.

The lights were suddenly flipped on. Through squinted eyes I made out the figure of Angela.

“Hey! Turn off those lights,” I moaned, and then pulled a pillow over my face.

“I oughta throw you the fuck outa here!” she yelled back drunkenly. “Who the fuck you think you are?”

“What is going on?” I heard Helmsley say, and looking up I could see him knotting a bathrobe over his pajamas.

“This cocksucker cursed me out and I’m go

“Christ, Helmsley, she’s drunk.” Looking into Helmsley’s puzzled face, I knew he was in for a tough one.

“Ya just go

“Look Angela, I didn’t give you my key so that you could barge in here like a lunatic.”

“You faggot! God wasted a dick on ya.”

“Let’s go to bed,” he replied. Grabbing both her shoulders, he slowly tried to steer her into his room.

“I oughta get my brothers to kick the shit out of ya. That’d put hair on yer chest.” In a moment Helmsley succeeded in enclosing her in his room, but several seconds later, I heard a scream—hers. A moment later, a cry, his, and once again the door smashed open and she reemerged, stopping before me.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“I want you out.”

“This ain’t your house,” I replied.

“Don’t tell me what the fuck house this is, I’ll bash ya.” Helmsley now limped out of his room, cupping his testicles over his pjs.

“Angela!” he winced. “Stop this now!”

But she was beyond him. Her eyes were targeted toward me now. Helmsley proved himself ineffective as a protectorate. I looked to the floor and saw my shoes and pants. Glancing toward the window, I noticed it was almost dawn.

“I want you out of this fuckin’ house,” she repeated as she stared at me.

“I ain’t going.”

“Please,” Helmsley appealed. “Go.”

“I ain’t going.”

“I’ll give you money for a hotel,” he implored.

“No.”

“I’ll get him out for you,” Angela said, taking a step forward.

“No,” Helmsley commanded.

“Then call the fucking police!” Angela yelled. Helmsley stood still and looked about miserably. She screamed louder this time, “Call the fucking police!”

Helmsley went over to the phone and looked at me pleadingly. “For God’s sake, please go. Just for now.”

“No, Helmsley,” I replied. “If you can’t rule your own house you should go into your room and let me handle it.”

“YOU DIAL THE POLICE GODDAMN YOU!”

Helmsley snatched up the phone nervously and started dialing. As he did, a victorious sneer smeared over the bitch’s face.

“I got your own friend calling the cops on yer, yer a pair of fucking faggots.”

“I thought you were going to bash me,” I taunted.

Her face started lacing back and tightening. Before I knew it, she jumped forward and tore the bandage off my right arm. When I stood up, she clipped me, a right cross to my head. Falling backwards, I reached out to grab her, trying to regain my balance. Accidentally I shoved her. She fell backwards right through the old oak coffee table. Now she was screaming and hollering.

“He hit me! The bastard hit me!”

“It was an accident,” I replied as I tugged on my pants. Helmsley hurdled over his fallen lover and was punching me all over. He was bigger and stronger than I, so I tried ru

Quickly and instinctively I kicked her in the face, catapulting her against the wall and onto the floor in a heap. She lay still now. Helmsley saw that she was badly hurt. He bolted off and attended his beloved maniac. Grabbing my shirt, shoes, and coat, I wobbled out the front door.

Several yuppies walking in an unintentional formation must have thought it a strange sight on their way to work, when they saw me wearing little else but pants, madly limping down Clinton Street. Suddenly a police car with sirens blaring turned a corner and screeched in front of Helmsley’s door. The son of a bitch had actually called them. Goose pimples or not, I wasn’t going to dress until I was a couple blocks clear of the serpent’s love nest. I dressed in a doorway and inspected my leg. Both the upper and lower bridge of her teeth had sunk deeply into my calf. Upon careful inspection I noticed a tiny patch of flesh and sinew ripped off altogether. It was probably sitting in the bottom of Angela’s leathery stomach. I tied a tourniquet around my knee and hobbled to the F. Not knowing where else to go, I got off at Broadway/Lafayette and walked up Broadway, finally ending up at the Loeb Student Center at NYU. I limped my way to a booth in the cafeteria downstairs. There, I recuperated over four cups of tea squeezed out of a single tea bag. My jaw had a deep bruise, my neck and chest pulsated and everything else swelled. But the bloodiest gem of my lacerations was the tear in my right leg. With napkins and rubber bands, I was able to sop up and control the ooze of blood, but I was still worried about infection. I finally decided to go to one of the most merciless and dreaded places in the city, a hospital.

Since I owed Saint Vincent’s money for repairing the cut arm, I started hobbling northeastward toward Beth Israel. As I walked, the wound reopened. I kept stopping and trying to curtail the bleeding.

I wasn’t in pain, but by the time I reached Second Avenue I was numb and dizzy. I paused a moment in front of the Saint Mark’s Cinema, just to catch my breath. I didn’t recognize anyone inside. By the time I finally arrived at Beth Israel, the self-applied battle dressing along with the hem of my pants and right shoe were all soaked in blood. I staggered into the emergency ward. Quickly a novice nurse laid me on a gurney and started cutting away at the pants.

“He hasn’t been admitted yet,” I heard the head nurse remark. Someone questioned me, and then the young nurse returned to the wound. She cleaned it out and brought over an intern, a young Indian woman. She quickly stitched all the frayed flesh ends into an integrated calf, and dashed off to the next impatient patient. As a final fuck you to that wimp bastard, I told the hospital people I was Helmsley and gave his location as my billing address.

After a couple of hours of recuperation, it was time to go. The Zeus Theater was only a couple of blocks away, and it was already late afternoon, so I slowly staggered there for work.

I arrived a half hour before my scheduled time. Today was going to be my first solo flight. I was supposed to manage the theater alone. But when Miguel saw me his mouth fell open in disbelief.