Repairman Jack [05]-Hosts (9 page)

Kate gasped. She couldn't help it. She felt as if someone had just dashed a bucket of cold water in her face.

***

"It's not all that bad," Jack said, seeing Kate's shocked look.

He wondered at that. As a pediatrician she must have run into her share of teenagers who thought or knew or feared they might be gay. Maybe that was still a big deal in Kate's white-collar, middle-class-citizen world. Around here it was no deal at all.

"He flat-out asked you?" she said, her eyes still wide. "Just like that? When?"

"Couple of months ago. It was when he was planning to come up from Florida and visit you and Tom. I was trying to deflect him from including me in his itinerary."

"What did he say? Exactly."

Jack wondered at her sudden intensity.

"He said something about how he realized there might be aspects of my life I didn't want him to know about—which was dead-on right—and then he said that if I was gay…" Jack had to smile here. "He could barely get the word out. Actually he said if I was gay 'or something like that'—he never got into what the 'something like that' might be—it was okay."

"He said it was
okay
?" Kate couldn't seem to believe it. "We're talking about our father, the Reagan Republican, the Rush Limbaugh fan. Dad said it was okay?"

"Yeah. He told me, 'I can accept it. You're still my son.' Isn't that a killer?"

Not that it changed a thing. His father might be able to accept a gay son, but he'd never accept how Jack made his living.

He saw tears in his sister's eyes and asked, "Something wrong?"

She quickly wiped them away. "Strange how some people can surprise the hell out of you." Eyes dry again, she looked at him. "Well, are you:

"What?"

"Gay?"

"No. Strictly hetero."

"But you never married?"

"No. I kicked around a lot when I was younger, but I'm pretty much settled with one woman now."

"Pretty much?"

"Well,
I'm
settled, but let's just say she's got some issues about my work. How about you? I'll bet a lot of guys came around after the divorce. Seeing anyone?"

"Yes." A little nod, a little smile, but very warm. "Someone special."

"Are we going to hear wedding bells again?"

And now a sad look. "No."

Strange answer. Not at all tentative. Unless she was seeing a married guy. That didn't fit with the straitlaced Kate he remembered, but as she'd just said: people can surprise the hell out of you.

He'd never thought of his sister as a sexual being; she'd always been just… Kate. But smitten enough to be making it with a married guy… a sure recipe for hurt. He hoped she knew what she was doing.

"So much of what we do comes down to sex, doesn't it," he said. "Sometimes too much, I think."

"How so?"

"I mean it's a part of life, a really wonderful part of life, but not
all
of life. There's work, play, food, mind, spirit—lots of things. But I tell you, I run into so many people who seem to define themselves by their sexual preferences." "'So many'?"

"Let's just say I don't hang with too many members of the middle class, and no members of the upper class. So yeah,
many
of the people I know do not have what might be considered 'normal' lifestyles."

"'Normal' being within two standard deviations from the mean?"

"Sure, why not. Everything's a bell curve, right? I'm talking about people on either fringe of the curve."

"Give me a for-instance."

He thought a moment, then remembered Ray Bellson.

"I did a fix-it for this guy once who was totally into bondage. Always wore black leather, had a belt made out of handcuffs, paintings of tied hands and feet on his walls, furniture made out of chromed chain… it went on and on. You'd sit and talk to him and he'd be tying and untying knots in this piece of cord he always carried around. It had completely taken over his life."

She sipped her G and T, then said, "Where do you think I'd fall on that curve?"

Weird question for his big sister to ask her little brother.

"Never thought about it, but I assume somewhere right in the middle. I mean, I don't see you squeezing into black vinyl and brandishing a whip."

She laughed—her first real laugh tonight. "I don't see that either. But I'm just wondering what qualifies someone for 'normal' on your bell curve."

Jack shrugged, not comfortable with pigeonholing people. "How did we get on this subject anyway?"

"You brought it up."

"Actually Dad brought it up."

"How did you feel when he asked you if you were gay?"

Jack noticed her eyes fixed on his, as if the answer were very important.

"I remember being sort of glad he wasn't wondering if I was a rapist or a pedophile."

"But you've never been attracted to a man?"

"Never. I'm as attracted to guys as I am to sheep, goats, and chickens. Which is to say, not at all. Zero chemistry there. In fact the idea of getting cozy with a guy—
blech!

"But you're not a gay basher."

"I figure everybody's got a right to their own lives. You may own nothing else, but you own your life. So if you don't tell me how to live mine, I won't tell you how to live yours."

"You've got no problem with lesbians either?"

"Lesbians are cool." He tried to draw out the
c
like Beavis. Or was that Butthead? He always got them confused.

"Really." An amused smile played around her lips.

"Sure. Look at it this way. I've got a number of things in common with lesbians right from the get-go: we both find women attractive, and neither of us is interested in having sex with a man. Now that I think about it, I've got definite lesbian tendencies."

"You know many?"

"A few. There's a lesbian couple who're regulars at this bar where I hang. It's a workingman's place and a couple of the guys weren't exactly welcoming at first; but these gals weren't about to let that stop them, so they kept coming back and now they're part of the family. Anybody tries to hassle them now will find himself nose to nose with those very same guys who gave them a hard time at first. Carole and Henni. I sit with them now and then. I like them. They're brainy and funny, and you can, I don't know… relax with them."

"Relax?"

"They know I'm not coming on to them, and I know they're not the least bit interested in me. Take sex off the table and a lot of games disappear."

"So being with them is sort of like being with the guys."

"Not quite. Guys have a whole different set of games. No, it's more like… like sitting here with you."

Kate's eyes widened. "Me?"

"Well, yeah. We may have a lot family baggage between us, but neither of us is trying to slap a move on the other."

She narrowed her eyes and gave him a sidelong look. "You're absolutely sure about that?"

"Hey, don't go weird on me, Kate," Jack said, laughing. "I'm the family weirdo, and one is enough."

"You still haven't told me where you think I fit on your curve."

"You're not going to let this drop, are you?'

"Not until you tell me."

"Okay. Let me ask you a couple of questions first. You can have love without sex, and sex without love, agreed?"

"Of course."

"What if you had to choose between them? What if you had to live the rest of your life with either no sex or no love? And by no love I mean loving no one and no one loving you. Which would you give up?"

Kate barely hesitated. "Sex."

"There you go. That's normal."

"That's it? That's your sole criterion for normal?"

"Not mine—yours."

"I never said it was mine."

"You chose love over sex, and the very fact that love is your choice makes it normal, because you're one of the most decent, honest,
normal
people I've ever known."

"That's not just circular reasoning—it's spherical."

"Works for me, Mrs. Wife-mother-pediatrician."

"Ex-wife."

"Which is probably even more the norm these days. Hey, if I'm wrong, prove it."

Kate opened her mouth, looked as if she was about to say something, then closed it again. She glanced at her watch.

"I've got to go."

"But what about your friend and the cult?"

"I'll work something out."

She seemed afraid. Of what? What was she hiding?

"Is your friend into something illegal?" He couldn't believe Kate would be involved with someone who was but… you never knew. "Because that's okay. Most of the people I know—"

"No-no, nothing like that. She's recovering from cancer therapy and she's acting strangely. It's more psychological than anything else."

"Some of these cults can play rough if you interfere."

"It's nothing like that, Jackie… Jack. Really. I was upset when I called; now I think I was overreacting. I don't think I need to get you involved."

"Involve me," he said. "I'm here for you." Before she could put him off again, he grabbed a cocktail napkin and said, "Got a pen?"

"I think so." She fished one out of her shoulder bag and handed it to him.

"I'm putting down my number and the numbers of two people I've worked for recently—both women and, coincidentally, both doctors.

Before you write me off, you call them and see what they say. If you still don't want my help, I won't like it, but at least it'll be an informed decision."

She took the napkin but didn't promise to make the calls.

"Come on," Jack said. "I'll walk you home."

"I'm practically there already."

"Little brother does not let big sister walk the mean streets alone at night."

"Jack—"

"I can walk beside you or six feet behind you, but you might as well resign yourself to the fact that I'm seeing you safe home."

Kate sighed, then smiled thinly. "Let's go then."

Out on Seventh they walked and talked about getting together again during her stay in the city and keeping in touch afterward until a neon sign down one of the streets caught Jack's eye: FYNYL VYNYL. He thought he knew all the used record shops in the city but this was a new one. Almost 1 A.M. and it was still open. He couldn't pass this up.

"Mind if we stop in here for a sec?" he said.

"Not at all."

Inside, a guy with a shaved head and huge muttonchop sideburns looked up from behind the counter as they entered. "We're closing in about fifteen minutes."

"We'll only need one of those if you really know your stock," Jack told him.

"What I don't remember, this baby does," he said, patting the Mac to his left.

"Great. It's a single from 1971. A&M Records. 'Tried So Hard' by the Flying Burrito Brothers."

The guy snorted. "Yeah, right. The Dutch 45? I've got a waiting list for that one. Still haven't seen a copy."

Jack waved and turned back toward the door. "Thanks anyway."

"Flying Burrito Brothers?" Kate said as they returned to the sidewalk. "They're from my time. How'd you get interested in them?"

"You."

"Me?"

"Sure. You had all those Byrds albums."

"Oh, right. Back when I was horse crazy. They did that song 'Chest-nut Mare' and that got me into them and buying up all their old records. But how—?"

"You played their stuff so much I got to be a fan. And my favorite Byrd was Gene Clark. Still love his songs. So a couple of weeks ago, after buying myself a dual-deck CD burner, I decided to make the ultimate Gene Clark disk. And I want the version of 'Tried So Hard' that he sang with the Burritos. Trouble is, it was only released in Holland on a 45. The group took his voice out when they put the song on their third album."

"So you're hunting a 1971 record that wasn't even released on this side of the Atlantic. Kind of obsessive, no?"

"All your fault. The enduring influence of my big sister."

"Wow. Should I feel pleased or guilty?"

"Guilty."

"Thanks a lot. As if I don't have enough…"

She never finished the thought because someone behind them said, "Hey."

Jack turned. He was pale, dressed in dusty black jeans and a rumpled long-sleeved shirt; looked all of twenty.

He said, "A spear has no branches."

Jack stared at him, baffled. "What?"

The guy blinked, as if coming out of a trance. "I need some money."

"Sorry about that," Jack said.

"You don't get it." He raised a shaky hand, showing a box cutter. "I need some money
now
." His desperation was palpable.