I have no idea what a scene like this would actually be like. All I know is that this is a phenomenon in among wealthy gays. The majority of gays do not act this way toward young guys! This chapter takes place in the early 90s when Geraldo Rivera had a talk show that was very much like Jerry Springer's.
At Seventeen
I put on my white dress shirt slowly. I really hate doing this. But I have to do it. If I want to have a place to live, that is.
I have my Armani pants on. They're starting to get a little tight. Now all I have to put on is the matching jacket. I examine myself in the full-length mirror. I don't look nearly as good as I did a year ago. Jason is starting to notice.
"Looking a little long in the tooth, Precious," he said to me yesterday. "Let's not make it a habit, shall we? Wouldn't want anyone to think you're getting old."
I wanted to claw his eyes out for that, but I couldn't. My job is to just stand there and take his abuse.
Speaking of abuse, my eye is healing up nicely.
There's a knock at my bedroom door.
"Who is it?" I call out, still examining myself in the mirror.
"The gentlemen will be here at 8:00," says Jason's voice in the hall. "Don't disappoint."
"I won't," I sing out. Don't disappoint. When have I ever disappointed? The only one left disappointed after Jason's little soirées was always me.
After giving myself a final once over, I look around the room. This has been my room for the past year. It's bigger than the apartment I grew up in. The one I was thrown out of exactly one year ago today.
My schoolbooks sit neatly on my desk. Oh yea, I'm back in school.
But this time, instead of Erasmus Hall, it's an all-boys prep school. Jason pays my tuition.
"I'll not have an illiterate fool embarrassing me in front of my friends," he said to me when he first brought me here.
"When one of the gentlemen engages you in conversation," he told me, "it's your responsibility to hold up your end with intelligence and wit. You're young, which is good, but please don't be ignorant. Ignorance is bad, very bad."
Conversation isn't the only thing these so-called gentlemen have engaged me in. In addition to being intelligent and witty, I've also had to be flirtatious and cute. Not to mention docile and obedient.
The housekeeper pokes her head in and announces that the guests have arrived. She looks worn out and she sounds worn out, too.
I take my place at the top of the winding staircase and await my cue.
"Yes, Angel is from Puerto Rico," says Jason, trying to give the correct Spanish pronunciation to both my name and the name of the island I did not come from.
"Angel," he calls. When he says it in front of his friends, it sounds like On-Hell.
Time to make my grand entrance. I walk down the stairs. Not so fast as to appear impatient and not so slow as to appear indifferent.
All the old bastards turn to look up at me. I hear "oohs" and "aahs". Come on, people, you act like you've never seen someone walk down stairs before.
As I've done so many times before, I walk right up to Jason and kiss his cheek. The housekeeper hands me a glass of champagne.
Before dinner is served, I will have spoken to about half of the men. There's six here tonight. The other three will have to wait until after dinner.
"So On-Hell," says the old fogey named Morris. "How do you like school?" Like he really cares what I think of school.
"Oh, I love it," I say, making sure I don't mess up the tired old line. "One never tires of learning."
"Oh, I could teach you a thing or two," he says, winking at me. Oh, I'm sure you could! Not that anything you have to teach me is anything I want to know.
"Hola On-Hell," says the one called Dennis. His Spanish sucks even more than mine. For one thing, he pronounces the 'H' in hola.
"Hola señor," I say, taking his hand and kissing it. "Mucho gusto a conocerle." I look over at Jason to see if he approves. He nods. The old dude smiles from ear to ear. Can he look any freakier?
"Yo me voy al Puerto Rico," he says in his sucky Spanish. "Me enchante." Enchante is French, dumbass. I give him my cheesiest smile. I hope he thinks I'm actually interested in what he has to stay.
"Please, señor," I say in my fake Spanish accent, "could we not speak in English, por favor. I am trying to learn and I need the practice." I look over at Jason, he nods again. Good save.
"Why certainly," says Dennis. "But your English is much better than my Spanish." He could say that again.
"Gracias, señor," I say.
I move on to the next guy, Bernard. He doesn't say much, mostly he just smiles lecherously at me. I'm relieved when the housekeeper announces that dinner is served.
As always, my portions are considerably less than everyone else's. I'm not allowed to ask for seconds, either. I'll be getting tonight's leftovers all this week.
"No one desires a slob, kid," Jason once told me. At first, I didn't understand what he meant by "desires". Now I know all too well.
The men don't talk to me during the meal, but a few of them try to flirt with me. I'm not in a flirty mood. This game is getting played out.
After dinner, the housekeeper serves more champagne. Dennis, Brett and Curtis are all vying for my attention. They tell jokes, most of them raunchy, and tell me about themselves. I just keep drinking champagne.
Suddenly, the room is spinning. I'm giggling uncontrollably and falling all over Dennis. He just told me the most disgusting and tasteless joke I've ever heard and I'm pretending to be amused by it.
Dennis catches me and holds on to me.
"Whoa, Jase!" he chuckles. "I think this little boy is ready for bed."
"Be my guest, Denny," Jason replies. "You know where to take him."
I'm being led up the stairs by Dennis. I hear him fumble with the doorknob. He throws me down on the bed. My eyes are closed. He slaps my face hard.
"Wake up!" he shouts. My eyes pop open.
"Now listen, you little spic," he hisses. "I haven't had any in a while and I want this to be good."
I don't remember what happens next because I pass out. I wake to the sound of voices in the hall.
"Very disappointed, Jase," I hear Dennis say. "You said the kid was something special."
"He is, Denny," says Jason, kissing ass. "He just got nervous and that's why he drank so much." I've never heard Jason defer to anyone before.
"I thought you said he was disciplined," snaps Dennis. "Are we going to have problems like we did with that kid who did drugs?"
"Oh no, Denny," says Jason, nervously. "On-Hell is new at this…"
"New?" laughs Dennis. "That kid looks like an old whore!"
I now realize that I'm naked. Before I can get up from the bed, I hear Jason burst into the room. I turn my head so I don't look at him. I hear him take off his belt.
Thwak!
"What the hell were you thinking, bitch?" he shouts at me. Now that's the Jason I know and hate.
"Getting drunk off your ass is never acceptable!" he shouts as the belt comes down on my bare back again.
Thwak!
Well, if he didn't want me to get drunk, he should have told the housekeeper to cut me off when I started getting tipsy. He kept a close enough eye on me the whole time. He knew when I'd had too much.
"Now you stay here and think about what you did and why it was wrong." Yes, dad.
I wake up the next morning with a nasty hangover. The housekeeper comes in with my breakfast on a tray. I cover my nakedness with the bedclothes, but it's too late. She's seen me. She doesn't react. I wonder what she thinks about what goes on in this house. She has to know. Jason doesn't do a very good job of hiding it.
"Mr. Jameson wants you to hurry up and get ready for school," she says in her usual monotone. "The limousine arrives at 8:00 sharp."
"What time is it now?" I ask. God, the welts on my back hurt like crazy.
"7:30." Great, I have only a half-hour to get ready. I scarf down my breakfast, which consists of leftovers from last night.
When I get into my bedroom, the first thing I see is a huge bouquet of roses on the dresser. I take the card and read it.
"My dear," reads Jason's scrawl, "so sorry you had your little mishap last night. You handled yourself well. Have a good day at school and we'll celebrate tonight. Love Daddy."
Celebrate what? My getting drunk or my getting my ass beat? Since I don't have time to shower, I spray myself with cologne and put on my school uniform. The limo is waiting in front of the house when I get outside.
As I walk the halls of school, everyone stops and stares at me. Since this is a common occurrence, I don't pay attention. I'm not allowed to talk to my classmates and friendships are out of the question.
Not only does Jason not want anyone to know what goes on in his house, he's afraid of any competition from guys my own age.
Of course there's the whispering. There's always the whispering. I just have to pretend I don't hear it.
"There he is again, acting like he's too good for us."
"Looks like a fuckin' queer if you ask me."
Well no one asked you, so why don't you just shut the hell up?
The limo isn't outside when I get out of school. I wait for half an hour before I realize that it's not coming. That's strange.
I hail a cab back to the house. My key won't go in the front door lock, so I ring the doorbell. The housekeeper answers.
"Oh," she says, stone-faced. "I forgot you were coming this afternoon." She opens the door wider and lets me in.
Forgot I was coming this afternoon? I come home around this time everyday. What the hell is going on here?
I walk into the living room and see a young black kid lounging on the sofa in my bathrobe. He's drinking tea and watching T.V. I can hear the "Geraldo" show.
I clear my throat and the kid looks up.
"Oh, hello," he says nonchalantly.
"Who are you?" I ask.
"Anthony," he says, all snotty. "And who might you be?"
"I'm Angel," I tell him.
"Oh you're Angel!" he squeals and then erupts into a fit of giggles.
"How old are you?" I ask.
"Fifteen," he says, with a smirk. Just as I thought.
The housekeeper comes in and hands me two shopping bags.
"Go and change into these clothes," she says. "Mr. Jameson wants you out by 5:00."
"What time is it now?"
"3:15," she says. "Leave the uniform out so I can wash it. Anthony needs to wear it to school tomorrow."
But he's too short to wear my clothes.
As I go upstairs I can hear Anthony cheering on Geraldo's guests.
"You go girl! Rip that bitch's hair out!"
Fifteen fucking years old. It would be interesting to see how much of that attitude he still has a year from now.
The bouquet of roses is still on the dresser, but a new card is attached. It says "Anthony" on the little blue envelope. I look into the wastebasket and see the pieces of the other card in there.
I'm being dumped. I don't know whether to jump for joy or bawl my eyes out.
I pull the clothes out of the bags. There's a pair of Calvin Klein jeans and a Harvard sweatshirt in one and a pair of hiking boots and a Gap denim jacket in the other. They're clean and in good condition, but they look like they've been worn before.
I take a shower before I get dressed. Might as well take advantage of the hour and a half I have left in this place. I use up all the shampoo and body wash. When I get out of the shower, I spray a whole bottle of cologne on myself.
When I get back downstairs, I go into the kitchen and help myself to some of last night's leftovers. I've just poured a big glass of milk as the housekeeper comes in.
"Hurry up and finish," she says. "Mr. Jameson says if you're still here when he returns from work, he's calling the police."
For the first time since I first got here, I wonder what he does for a living.
I finish eating and put the dishes in the dishwasher. The housekeeper is still standing there watching me.
"Well," I tell her. "I'll just go upstairs and get some things to take with me." I really want to take advantage of this.
"Mr. Jameson says that if there's anything missing from that room when he returns from work, he's calling the police." The bitch sounds like a robot.
"Well, can I at least have my allowance for this week?" I ask.
"No!" she shouts.
"No?" I shout back. I've never had the guts to talk back to her before and this is feeling good.
"Absolutely not," she says, unfazed. "Mr. Jameson says that you're to have nothing from here but the clothes you're wearing now."
"But what am I going to do without money?"
"Not my problem," she says. "I think it's best you go now."
"But it's only 4:30," I tell her. "Maybe I'll just go into the living room and chill with Anthony."
"You'll have no contact with that boy!" she shouts.
"Listen, bitch," I hiss at her. "At least give me some money if I have to leave this hellhole. If you don't, Mr. Jameson will have to call the police because I beat the shit outta you!"
She swallows hard and walks over to the counter. She pulls a wad of cash from a cookie jar. I thought only poor people like my parents kept a stash in a cookie jar.
She hands me the money and I count it. Thirty dollars. Not much, but it'll have to do. I walk toward the front door but she stops me.
"Wait!" she says. I turn around. She goes into Jason's office and comes back out again.
"Before you go, Mr. Jameson said to give you this." She hands me a business card. It says "Dennis Hargrove."
I turn and walk back toward the door.
"Don't let da do' hitcha where da good Lawd split ya!" Anthony shouts at me as I walk past him.
I pause and look at him. He's got tea spilled down the front of the robe. Jason's not going to like that. I decide not to warn Anthony of the impending lecture and possible beating.
"What are you looking at, you old ho'?" he hisses at me. "You've worn out your welcome, be on your way." He shoos me with his hand. I roll my eyes and continue walking out the door.
As soon as I get outside, I rip up Dennis' business card.
I walk through Central Park. I visit the zoo and ride the Merry Go Round a few times. Hey, I've got all the time in the world.
When it starts getting dark, I decide to leave Central Park and go find somewhere to eat. I've only got five dollars left of what the housekeeper gave me.
I keep walking until I find myself in Greenwich Village. I look around at all the people. This place is so cool!
I pass a bar that has a sign that boasts "live drag shows." Drag queens have shows? The place is called Miz Sherese's House o' Drag. I go in out of curiosity. The place is empty.
"Hello? We don't open until 9:00!" a voice sings out. From behind the bar emerges a tall black man dressed as a woman. He smiles big and wide when he sees me.
"Why hello Harvard. Whatchoo up to? Slumming?" he gives a deep throaty chuckle.
"Actually, I'm lost," I say. I don't know what else to say.
"Well, sit down, Sugar. I'll get ya somethin' to drink and we'll talk. Aw'ight?" He goes behind the bar and pours something into a glass.
"Coca cola for the young one," he says as he sets the glass down in front of me. Then, from out of nowhere, I start to cry.
Suddenly, it hits me that I have nowhere to go.
"Aw honey," says the drag queen, "things can't be that bad."
"But they are," I sob. "I have no place to go."
"Mama and Daddy kick you out when you dropped outta Harvard?"
"What? Oh, this isn't even my shirt. No, I got kicked out of some place else," I tell her.
"Well, my name is Sherese," says the queen. "I own this dive."
"I'm Angel," I say. Sherese smiles that wide smile again.
"That suits you," he says. "Now tell old Sherese all about it."
"Well, I don't know," I tell her.
"Aw come on," he says, "there ain't nothin' this old queen ain't heard before. Been around the block a few times and then some." He chuckles again. I could get used to that chuckle.
"Well," I begin. "I was living with this rich guy for a year and he just kicked me out when he found someone younger." I can't believe I'm telling this to a total stranger. But if feels good to finally talk about what could never be mentioned before.
"I know, honey," says Sherese. "I been there. You were entertainin' his friends right?"
I nod. I feel embarrassed.
"Baby, it's okay," Sherese assures me. "You ain't got nothin' to be ashamed of. That ol' bastard, now. He's the one should be ashamed."
"Thanks for understanding," I tell him. "But I still got nowhere to go."
"Well, can you sing and dance?" he asks.
"A little," I say. "I also play the drums." I haven't played in over a year. For the first time since I got kicked out, I'm forced to remember Erich. We had a garage band. He can play the guitar better than Jimi Hendrix, I swear.
"Well, there ya go!" Sherese says. "You got yourself a job here, if ya want it. I have a little apartment upstairs that I share with my man, Ernie. You can crash on our sofa."
I can't believe this is happening. Someone is offering me a job and a place to stay. Suddenly, I fell wary.
"But…"
"But nothin' Angel Baby," says Sherese. "I ain't never gonna make you do any kind of nasty things that terrible man made you do. Ernie won't neither."
"I don't know how to thank you," I say. Sherese chuckles again and puts his arms around me.
"Welcome to the family, Angel Baby," he says.
I haven't had a hug this good since I last hugged my mother.