The Age of Cities (20 page)

Figure 1b.

Table of Contents

The Keys to Love and Sex (in Eight Volumes):

Volume 4: The Abnormal Aspects of Sex

by Joseph McCabe, edited by E. Haldeman-Julius

(Girard, Kansas: Haldeman-Julius Publications, n.d.)

Appendix II: “Obscenity”

Johnny stood behind the bar, all the while complaining in a low voice. Mixology was an art, he repeated, requiring an intuitive eye. The best bartender is no scientist stirring a beaker with his nose in a book. “Come and taste,” he commanded, and offered Ed the completed cocktail, his palm flattened into a serving tray. “It's no science, I tell you. You either have a feel for it or you don't.”

“Hmmm,” Ed replied, swishing the liquid from cheek to cheek. “A bit sweet, actually. If only you'd used the jigger….”

“Why don't you two give it a rest,” Dickie said with a tremulous voice, reclining on the armchair, legs crossed. “You know, I'm feeling a wee bit misty-eyed. The shenanigans between your nubile
nephew
—and just what possessed you to pull that fib out of the air?—and that busty thing a table over tonight got me to thinking about young love. It's been ages, I know, but I used to be a bright young lad, chock full of ‘will you be my valentine?'”

He made his way to the mirror and leaned in closely. “You'd never guess it now, would you? I see a veritable stampede of crow's feet before me.”

“You're glorious, Miss Desmond,” Johnny said from the bar.

“What about you two? Were you once fresh-cheeked maidens with delicate pink hearts all aflutter?”

“Is it true love you're speaking of or merely the beast with two backs?” Johnny asked. He squeezed a lemon wedge with a flourish.

“Let me see. Now that you've given me a choice, I say a plain old groping with the lights out story might liven us up a bit. Things have become
a un peu grave
since we left the Farmer at Bamboo Terrace.”

“You first, then.” Cocktail tray in hand he walked over to Dickie and then onward to the chesterfield. “Scoot over,” he said to Ed.

“I suppose you both know of the Captain and the Contessa? Well, my story is nowhere near so sublime. After I finished high school, I worked in the Shoe Department at Fields. It was okay. Anyway, one day a businessman—who shall remain nameless—came over.” Dickie strode away from the mirror at a purposeful pace and sat at the edge of the coffee table.

“He tried on pair after pair, all the while giving me the eye and asking questions about school, girls, what I planned to do with myself, and so on. When no one was around, he clasped my hand and placed it smack dab on his thigh. I could feel the heat right through his trousers. Then, in an everyday voice, he announced he'd come back at closing time. He left without even buying polish!

“When closing time rolled around, he hadn't returned. I was such a naïve thing!” He drew from his cocktail for a moment. “I had absolutely no idea what he had planned. The actual physical part, if you know what I mean. Back then I didn't know an iota about Greek this or French that. Why would I? Well, I had seen writing on the wall, but that's another story. Anyway, all the day, I imagined us kissing, but when I tried to picture what would happen after that, my imagination failed me. Completely. When he didn't show, I felt a bit miffed because it was an exciting prospect. Of course, nothing like that had ever happened to me before, so naturally I was on tenterhooks.

“I left Fields with a glum face, but the man was sitting behind the wheel of his car. He waved me over and asked me if I wanted to take a ride with him. Once inside he directed my hand right to his lap again, but this time I could feel more than heat. Quite a lot more. I'd have had to be daft to miss it. Like a cucumber, I tell you.” He placed his drink on the table and raised his hands to measure, fisherman-style.

“Oh boy, that's big alright.” Ed raised his eyebrows.

“When I got home my mother asked where I traipsed off to after work. She was happy to hear that I'd gone out with friends from Fields. Her little Richie was fitting in!” He stood up and walked toward the balcony door. Rain was pouring in sheets.

“Well, it's not a romantic story, but there you have it. You know, we went for drives for about a year. For some reason he'd always bring me donuts, a boxed baker's dozen each time.... It was hell on the figure, I tell you, but I didn't think it would be polite to refuse them. His wife must have suspected something. The poor idiot bought them from the bakery where she worked.”

“Very nice, Dickie. Now come back over here and make yourself comfortable. It must have been quite an education he gave you. Alright then, I have two stories, one bent and one straight,” Johnny said with a smirk.

“I don't want to hear a fishy tale,” Dickie grimaced.

“Both?” Ed asked.

“Another time.”

“Okay, here goes. The place: flat and ugly Flin Flon, industrial heart of northern Manitoba. The date: the last day of the blistering summer of 1937. War was in the air and my only dream was to get out of that backward mining town any way I could.”

“Oh, the drama!” Dickie was smiling.

“Like dearest Dickie, I was slaving away selling shoes and shirts to the wives of working stiffs. It was lousy, but it was either MacLeods Mercantile or in the copper pits with every other schmo. Those men looked old, I tell you, even when they were twenty-one. Poor Frankie would be stooped and weathered like a grandfather by now. We'd be beyond the pale, needless to say.”

“Anyway, Saint Johnny. Enough with the bleeding heart.”

“You've got the patience of a bird!” he said, glaring at Dickie. “‘I stuck it in him.' There you go. End of story. Satisfied?” He reached into his shirt pocket for matches.

“C'mon,” Ed said, interrupting the silence.

“Only if Impatient Griselda over there behaves herself.”

“Yes, ok, very well,” Dickie said, crossing his legs.

“I wasn't too close to anyone,” Johnny said. He slowly stirred his drink with his finger. “I think I was a wee bit obnoxious in those days because I was forever carrying on about Madison Avenue and the Big Life. If I met someone like my younger self right now I'd think he was a pompous fool. Give him a little smack and take him down a notch.

“Anyway”—Johnny swallowed the last if his cocktail—“There was another boy, a carrot-top also named John, who planned on getting to Europe. He joined the army in hopes of making it there sooner than later … and I suppose he did, and stayed there too, six feet under in Belgium.

“We knew each other well enough to nod a hello and to pass the time. He came into the store one day with an envelope in his hand. ‘I'm gonna get there, I know it' he said, and showed me the letter from the Department of Defense.

“I was proud of his escape and not a little envious. When he invited me to come to his house, I accepted, even though I'd never been there before. He lived with his parents still. I figured he was just celebrating his victory and wanted anyone—including myself—along for the ride.”

He paused and stubbed out his cigarette. “Gee, it's coming down in buckets,” Ed exclaimed, face slanting upward to the ceiling.

“So when I got there his mother answered the door. I introduced myself and she said they were expecting me. She led me to the living room. His dad and two sisters were there, the father telling his son about his time in the trenches. Afterwards, when I thought about it, I guessed the joviality was forced. They'd stationed his father in France during the Great War, after all, so everyone knew that going to Europe would not mean only sunsets on the Seine.”

Dickie cleared his throat loudly twice and checked his watch.