A story of one soul during two lives

I edge away from the entrance to the Cult of Cuckoo Ca-Ca, pick up my pace to quickly get beyond the horrible groaning inside the Masochist Gym & Sauna, and consider crossing the street entirely to avoid what I at first take to be an Episcopal Church, of all things-what on Earth is that doing here?-but calm down when I realize it is actually the E-piss-go-pal, a homosexual watersports collective and Ecstacy-drenched dance club.

The Temple of Psychedelic Judaism, with a golden-capped cubensi mushroom pictured on the window inside a day-glo Star of David. The Unified Synod of Solarian Synagogues. Satanists for Jesus. The First Second Church of the Third. Vegetarians Against Cattle Mutilation. Aliens Against Vegetarianism. And so on.

Radar reports two uniformed Five-Oh, on foot, at sixty degrees starboard. Oh, shit, don’t look at them! I duck in the doorway of the Church of the Eternal Glow, a raver cult from the early zeros that evolved out the old-time candy raves of the eighties and nineties. Warped electronic dada swirls piercingly from one end of the scale to the other; an overabundance of strobes and lasers make the interior a blinding time-lapse kaleidoscope.

A perfect place to get lost.

I beckon silently to a bushy-haired loiterer without success. He appears to be raptly absorbed in the task of doing absolutely nothing. Too free of grime to be a streetkid, he probably lives at home with mom and dad instead of here on the Row, though I bet he runs away every couple of months to squat with the snipes. His clothes are casual but free of holes, tan corduroy pants and a turquoise T-shirt with two dolphins with their noses in each other’s tail. He has a clean, wide caramel face, with huge droopy eyes. The sort of guy a straight girl might think is cute. Hell, the kind that might make me forget I’m not.

Cute, but not very bright, or at least not alert. I am forced to resort to chucking a small pebble at his temple to harness his attention. Annoyed, he glances around conspicuously for several agonizing seconds before he notices me flattened against the wall of the club/church, frantically waving him toward me while keeping a bugged eye out for the cops.

“Whatsamatterwitchyou, waddayou, some kinna crackhead?” he growls in thick Bronx, reminding me why I never stay attracted to a guy long enough to try one out; it’s hard to imagine not drying right up at the
grating chalkboard sound of that raspy, aggressive voice professing insincere bedroom love. And three thousand miles from the ruins of New York! He could at least learn to speak American.

“I’m so sorry,” I purr in my best imitation of the silly slut I want this walking hard-on to think I am, “but it was the only way to get your attention. I need your help.”

He stands with his arms crossed, one leg bent in his best stud pose, leaning against the doorway and openly appraising me. He nods noncommittally, figuring the least he can do is ogle me while I explain my problem. I drop the bimbo act and recruit him instead in the name of youth conspiracy to my cause. Being obviously under eighteen, he’s obligated to cooperate with fugitive runaways, whether he expects to get laid or not.

“Well, the thing is, I’m not here. And if those guys across the Row there-don’t look!-ask about me, you should say you saw me go that way.” I indicate the direction I had just come from. “Then, come inside, and find me and let me know what kind of cops they are-private or public. Okay?”

He just stares at my tits, which under the sweatshirt are merely two nondescript bumps, licking his lips with a what’s-in-it-for-me gleam in his eye. To think, two minutes ago I had to throw a rock at him so he’d know I was alive! In two more minutes I might have to throw rocks to keep him off me. His cute indifference has become, predictably enough, the ugly leer of the predator.

“I’ll kiss you, okay? In there. When you come tell me that the cops are gone.” I harden my face for a moment. “And you better not lie to me or tip them off, or I’ll have your balls for a necklace.”

For some reason that turns him on; maybe he senses the helplessness behind my vicious bluff. He leans forward to collect the promised kiss, but I avert my lips and offer him only a mouthful of hair. I grab his cheeks hard and put the stupid little bitch in his place. “After the poe-poes go bye-bye,” I babytalk at him. “I gotta scram. Thanks for watching my butt.” It only makes sense to be grateful for it, since he plans to do it anyway. What would it be like, with a guy? Probably messy and hairy and smelly and violent.

No human being greets me as I enter the Church of the Eternal Glow, but a giant, muscular mannequin, over three metes tall and wearing a black tee-shirt stenciled with “SECURITY” in gold letters, partially bars the way. A cardboard balloon, attached to his smiling mouth, reads:

Peace Love Unity Respect
NO weapons, markers or bad vibes.

His gnarled hands rest on either side of a metal detector, placed there to enforce the first part of this edict; presumably the graffiti implements and malicious intentions are on the honor system. I step between the columns and wait impatiently for the red light to extinguish and the green light to activate. The legs of the golem creak mechanically apart and I pass between them.

~ )))0((( ~