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.”
CHAPTER 11
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.
Final y, a little peace. I had my drink, took my meds, grabbed a quick shower, shaved the usual places, and began the important task of choosing my outfit for the gym. I needed something tasteful, yet erotic, simple, but seductive, revealing but not too… aw fuck, let’s face it: I needed to dress like a whore again. Randy wasn’t the type to be interested in my sparkling conversation.
I threw on a pair of skimpy, almost translucent white running shorts with side slits. Truthful y, they looked more like underwear than pants. I squeezed into a tight little white T-shirt that has a picture of a basebal player and the word “Catcher” on it. I put on sneakers with no socks, a combination I found unsanitary but sexy. I took a look at myself in the mirror and realized there was just one thing missing: Nipple action. Freddy was right: It’s al about the boobage.
There’s an old stripper trick I learned from the movi e Showgirls. If you apply ice cubes to your nipples, they’l harden and stick out. Knowing how much Randy liked juicy tits, I figured I better meet him with my headlights on high.
I grabbed two ice cubes from the freezer and held them to my chest. But they melted too quickly and started dripping onto my shorts. Shit, I looked like I wet myself. I wanted to look excited to see Randy, but not that excited.
