A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to My Sexual Orientation (15 page)

What? She'd stopped in mid-sentence. There was definitely something being left out here. What was it?

"And that's when I passed out?” I hoped.

"No, that's when you did your encore and sang ‘Boom Boom (Let's Go Back To My Room).’”

"And your telling me this is supposed to make me feel better how?"

"Like I said, don't worry about it.” She finished with whatever she was making—pancakes, it smelled like—and put them in the oven to stay warm. “They loved what you did. In fact, I think three or four people offered to take you back home with them so you could sleep it off."

That
sounded promising.

"Young women with bodacious ta-tas looking for a meaningful relationship with Mr. Right?"

"No.” Jenny gave me a strange look. “More like older men looking to play sugar daddy with Mr. Right Now, who happens to have a youthful face and tight ass."

"Sugar what?” Wasn't a sugar daddy a candy bar? I definitely wasn't up on all of this California lingo. “What made them think I had a tight ass?"

"Please.” She rolled her eyes. “Everybody saw your ass. Believe me, it's tight."

"I don't think I want to hear anymore.” I didn't want to be a pop star. I only wanted to be a writer, and singing wasn't a requirement, let alone drunken singing. The last time I'd done that was at Cedar Point in the little recording studio there. Soberly listening to me drunkenly singing Robert Palmer's “Addicted To Love” had convinced me never to do that again. Well, until now.

"My nephew helped us get you into the house, and he was the one who put you to bed.” Jenny shook her head again and chuckled. “You must watch a lot of horror movies or something because you kept referring to him as the ‘son of Satan’ and insisted that Kenny and I search his scalp for a scar in the shape of six-sixty-six then sacrifice him so the world could live. It gave us quite a laugh."

"It seems I live to amuse lately.” I was com-pletely exasperated.

Whoever her nephew was, I hoped he hadn't felt insulted. I also hoped he didn't believe in going by first impressions alone. Jenny or Kenny would have explained the situation to him, and the fact I was from out-of-state would surely add to his understanding of my behavior and stupidity.

"I'm going to go take my shower.” I turned to leave.

"That's fine,” she assured me. “I put a towel and washcloth in the bathroom for you and ... oh, listen.” She stopped me in my tracks. “I have to take the boys to baseball practice shortly, so the J-man will finish getting breakfast ready. You can eat with him, and then when we get back later on, we'll talk about where we can go while you're here.” She smiled warmly.

"I appreciate all this,” I told her sincerely. “Thank you."

"You're welcome.” She picked up her purse and called for the boys. “We'll see you in a bit."

I went back to the bedroom and opened my suitcase for all the things I was going to need. The first goal I had was to brush my teeth, then shave and finally shower. It was probably a good thing the kids hadn't seen me this morning looking like I did. They could see me later when I looked semi-quasi-normal. Somehow, though, I would have thought Jenny and Kenny would have enrolled them in a wine-tasting class instead of Little League. Actually, they probably did.

Drinking seemed to be a sport on this side of the family, and I could only assume they all started at a young age. I could never do it, mostly because I didn't have much of a tolerance. After last night, I didn't even want to think about drinking again, so I really didn't need to bother with working up a tolerance.

The shower felt wonderful! Combined with a fresh shave and the taste of toothpaste still in my mouth, I felt like a new ... person in my late teens.

Hopefully this “J-man” nephew of Jenny's hadn't eaten all the bacon I'd smelled earlier. Despite however much I'd drunk the previous night, I needed food. The pancakes smelled pretty good, too, and I think I knew why. There was the smallest hint of vanilla mixed in with the scent, and I loved pancakes with a bit of that in them. So, my cousin was a gourmet. It sure beat corn flakes or Special K or Cheerios at my great-aunt and uncle's place.

I finished dressing, did something funky with my hair then put all of my crap back into the suitcase. Someone—I suspected the J-man—could be heard setting out plates on the table. It was time I met this ... what was he, anyway? A second or third cousin by marriage? Whatever. It was time I met him.

"Good morning.” I tried to sound as perky and good-natured as I possibly could to make up for the previous night. What I saw staring back at me made my entire life flash before my eyes ... or at least events from the previous thirty-six hours. “Son of a bitch..."

"Good morning! You
could
just call me by my real name, although son of a bitch is a bit kinder than son of Satan."

"Jordan...” I spoke the name just to make sure I wasn't still dreaming. “You're the J-man?"

He turned and faced me as if there could be no other.

"And you put me to bed last night?” The mere thought of that made me want to go and take another shower. Not really, but I should have been thinking that. After all, it would be a normal reaction, right?

"Yeah, I put you to bed ... even put you on the top bunk,” he informed me and then appeared to be in deep thought. “I always figured you for a top."

"A top what?” That I struck him as someone used to taking the top bunk was eerie, mostly because it was correct. I liked the top. I was used to the top. However, it really had nothing to do with anything.

"
You
know.” He put his hands in front of him, one on top of the other, then rubbed them together. I think I cringed a bit when I finally realized he was referring to sex, but he only raised an eyebrow and smirked at my discomfort.

"Don't go there,” I warned him.

"Oh, take it easy.” Jordan opened up the oven and took out a plate of pancakes. “I didn't even peek."

I relaxed a little.

"Well, maybe for a moment."

I tensed back up, and he laughed out loud, his way of telling me he was only joking. At least, he better have been joking.

"After all the stuff I heard you were mumbling on the way home from the bar, I was just glad my aunt and uncle didn't hear the stuff you were saying to me last night while I was trying to get you into bed."

"Oh, please."

I had to expect this from him. Now he would try to tell me I had confessed parts of my life to him that he had suspected all along and that I needed him to be my teacher in this new and trying period of my life. Fat bloody chance! How many other people had he done this to? How many times had that been said to him before he caught on to how well it worked as an easy way to get sex?

"Get a life.” I sat down at the table and grabbed a few pieces of bacon. Thank God there were some left.

"You don't believe me?” he asked playfully.

"I believe you're full of shit. Care to prove me wrong?"

He couldn't, and we both knew it. Again, that was what I was supposed to be thinking. After doing a striptease karaoke tribute, an encore, limbo contest and babbling about dolphins in the sky—hell, anything was possible. For all I knew, I told him the recipe for a baked potato.

Still, I needed to reassure my own ego. “You can't, can you?” I started taking some pancakes and considered telling him to eat my blueberries. It sounded too cliche, though.

"Well.” Jordan scratched his chin. “I understand that you've been having some dreams where you've got trouble keeping your swimming trunks up around me."

I hacked up a small piece of bacon that had suddenly lodged itself in the back of my throat. Nuts! He wasn't joking after all. Why couldn't I have been conscious during all this? I could have either changed the story a bit or just kept my damn mouth shut, but now there was no telling exactly how much of that story and dream he knew. Well, he knew enough, and that was way too much for my comfort.

Jordan was right about one point—it was a damn good thing my cousins weren't around to hear this exchange. I wondered if they knew about him, what he was.

"Are you okay?” He was staring at me with an expression of concern.

"I'm fine,” I said at last. “I'm just busy hating you right now."

"You really are homophobic.” Jordan frowned.

"Would you please stop calling me that?"

"It's the first time I've called you that.” Something dawned on him. “Do you even know what that means?"

I shook my head. It obviously didn't mean what I thought it did, and whatever it was sounded like a serious matter. This was really strange. I'd been correcting Uncle Chester like crazy, and all that intelligence was just gone every time I was around Jordan. He was obviously bad for me.

"It means you hate gay people."

"I don't hate gay people.” Of all the people I'd known in my life and disliked, even hated, it never occurred to me to hate someone specifically because they were gay. Maybe I avoided them more so than others, but I don't think I hated them. I don't even think I hated Jordan, not really. He was just a convenient target for me to take my aggressions out on, but I didn't want to hurt him.

I also think that he and I were a lot alike in that we enjoyed pushing limits and had unusual senses of humor, but that was where it ended.

"And I don't hate you."

"Sure you do.” A spark appeared in his eye. “And they say that those who hate gays the most are usually the ones hiding their own repressed desires. That's why they hate them ... because they're reminded of what they might really be.” He was definitely pushing the limits of my temper.

"The only desire I'm repressing now is to kick your ass."

"
My
ass?” Jordan scoffed. “Seems to me that everybody's talking about
your
ass."

"Shut up!” I gave him a dirty look. “Nobody is talking about my ass.” How long had my cousin been gone? Shouldn't she be back sometime soon, and didn't Jordan have a job he needed to get to? Didn't he have a life, or did he feel he was making up for it by torturing me?

"You know...” A mischievous look I'd seen at the anniversary party appeared once more on his face. “...you're really argumentative and aggressive."

"I am not,” I insisted. “Fuck off!"

He grew quiet for a moment, probably enjoying the fact he'd won that little verbal bout. I'd been so worked up that I completely neglected to pay attention to how he was setting me up. That would be the last time I gave him that advantage.

Of all the people there were in the world, I couldn't believe this joker was my cousin. What had I done to deserve this? Who had I pissed off in life that I should be paid back with him? Meeting him once and then having him show up in a dream was bad enough, but to have to endure his company for the rest of the trip...

That was it. I was going to call Uncle Chester up, apologize, grovel, whatever it took, and go back there.

"My aunt said you might enjoy going out to the beach this afternoon and then doing some shopping at Tower Records later in the evening. Ever been there? It's the largest record store in the world."

Okay, maybe I'd go back later tonight or even real early tomorrow morning. I'd at least give it until then. Besides, Jordan was suddenly being nice, which made me both relieved and suspicious. At least he wasn't making sexual innuendoes anymore. That was a definite plus.

"Am I to understand you'll be going with us?” I might as well find out now.

"Uh ... yeah.” He looked as if I had just insulted him again. “You don't want me to?"

"I just wondered if you had a job or something to go to ... a home of your own maybe, or with parents, some brothers or sisters ... a life outside this sphere of my immediate existence.” I paused. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't stand being nice to him, and I didn't know why. It was as if I was afraid of him, afraid to let him see a certain side of me, a likeable side. I had opened up to him a bit during the party and the results were ... unexpected.

Before that, however, he had opened up a bit, too, and I'd heard things that, for research purposes only, I would have liked to hear him expand on. Asking questions, though, might give him the wrong impression, and I had to keep that distance between us perfectly clear at all times.

"Let's see,” Jordan began, “my summer job just ended, and the reason I don't have another one is because I'm still working on my degree and classes start pretty soon. As for parents, yes, I have some, but I left home the day I turned eighteen. From there, it was a matter of going from one dead end job to another just to make enough money to rent a room somewhere and eat an occasional meal. When Aunt Jenny found out, she and Ken took me in and helped me do what I needed to start taking classes and get this intellect of mine educated.” He paused for a breath. “I may not have had the easiest life in the world, but it hasn't been the most difficult, either, which is why you won't hear me complain. Any other questions or comments?"

"You mean now that you've made me feel like a total jackass?” I looked right at him. “Nothing really comes to mind.” A few moments of silence passed.

"It's amazing what happens when you begin to understand that there's more to a person than you first saw or thought, isn't it?” Jordan eyed me evenly. “A lot of people believe ignorance is bliss.” He shook his head. “But ignorance is just that—ignorance. We have to choose how much we really want to know before passing any kind of judgment."

He stood up from the table then and left me alone to finish my breakfast. I hated to admit it, but he had a point. It seemed everybody did lately, except me.

Luckily, I didn't have to wait very long for Jenny to come back. One of her kids was suspected of adding yellow food coloring to a cooler of water and telling everyone, including the parents, that they were drinking urine. It seemed no one was amused, least of all the adults.

I think that only a boy would come up with something like that, and only a mother would react like an escaped mental patient about it. Fathers would chastise the child, perhaps escort them home and even ground them if the prank was severe enough. Mothers, however, had an entirely different approach. They dealt with pranks the way Martha Stewart chastised her illegal immigrant workers—loudly, in a foreign language and with lots of obscenities.