THE STRINGS ATTACHED CAN STRANGLE

FIVE

THE STRINGS ATTACHED CAN STRANGLE

 

Ferret wandered into Steamworks at seven the morning after his park visit. He’d tricked with Paul, the pale guy. Married, of course, and full of excuses. Paul had said something about running for council member of their ward, or some such. Ferret hadn’t been aware there was a ward.

 

“Oh shit, Dwight, what’re you doing here?” Ferret was surprised. Dwight had hooked up with a dry-cleaning solvent heir, and the guy had given Dwight a bright red ’74 Dodge Challenger.

 

“I’ll never be back to run this shitty little towel booth…fare the well, you nelly bottoms.” Dwight had said before he’d moved into Bruce whathisname’s spacious loft.

 

Dwight pouted. “Bruce caught me with his chauffer.”

 

Ferret stopped in the open door to the booth. “That fat fuck has a chauffer? I know he bought you a car, but he’s so rich and lazy, he don’t drive his own?” Ferret was agog. “But he doesn’t even work, does he?”

 

“Well, it’s his dad’s chauffer. Big blue eyes. His dad was visiting, and I went down to get a pack of cigarettes, and we ended up in the back of the limo.” Dwight’s eyes began tearing up. “And—and he threw me out, Bruce did, and Bruce Senior almost disinherited him anyway, when he caught us—me and NuShawn, the chauffer.”

 

“Nushawn?” Ferret giggled. “You are such a dinge queen. Too bad you couldn’t find someone who was colored AND rich, and then you might not, um,stray, Dee-wight.”

 

“Now I have to go back and live at my mom’s and I’m just lucky, Skimpole hired me back. Otherwise I would be driving a fuckin’ hack or something, Ferret.”

 

“Well, you were too dumb to get through beauty school” Ferret observed cruelly. “Maybe Bruce’ll take you back, though. I can’t believe his old man caught you guys doin’ it. Did he fire the chauffer?”

 

“Don’t know, don’t care, and  frankly, my shift is over, so the booth is all yours.” Dwight grabbed his jacket and  flounced out.

 

“Dwight, do you need some cash?” Ferret leaned out over the booth stall door. “I don’t have much, but you took me and Suds out a couple times on Brucie’s Master Charge.”

 

Dwight smiled cheerily. “Nope…Bruce took the keys to the Challenger, but I believe he’s misplaced his Rolex and his diamond tie-pin.”

 

THE CANDIDATE IS DISTRACTED

“Paul, you have to memorize these water and sewage statistics” Harmon said earnestly. “Bolsover wasted a lot of money last term, and I think you can really hammer him there.”

 

Paul tried to look attentive, but his mind was still in Tunstall Park, in the arms of Ferret, the young, but quite masculine towel manager at  the Steamworks Baths. Unfortunately, he’d not had much money that night, otherwise Paul might have taken Ferret to a hotel, or someplace more comfortable, where they wouldn’t have been rolling around on pine needles.

 

Harmon left the office, and Paul made an excuse and took the stairs to the street. It was a grueling campaign, and between running for Ward Councilman and trying to keep  Clarissa happy, it was horrific trying to get time to himself.

 

Paul thought of taking his car to the baths, but then decided the best thing would be to grab a taxi. He really didn’t need to have his Oldsmobile sitting out there in Sodomy City, as his father-in-law called it.

 

A LITTLE PALE, BUT THE WALLET’S FULL

 

Dwight leaned against the wall of Steamworks, smoking. He’d been able to trade Brucie’s Rolex to the dope man for a bag of optimism, but the pawn shop wouldn’t take the diamond tie pin, because Bruce had made some phone calls and so the pin was on some bullshit police list.

 

Mr. Skimpole wasn’t going to advance much ‘til Friday, and Dwight couldn’t just go filching peanut butter at Mom’s house, now could he? Why did he spend so damn much?
Since Bruce had shown Dwight the door day before yesterday, Dwight hadn’t quite adjusted to his new standard of living. No wonder the straights do alimony.

 

Eating too damned expensively, (but diner food gives one gas) taking cabs…and there was that amazing silk teal blouse…and then “I’m sorry sir, your card didn’t go through.”

 

Damn Brucie. Why was Dwight hanging around Steamworks anyhow? His shift didn’t go on until nine, and it was only two in the afternoon. But it was too much trouble to take the bus to Mom’s and then nap quickly and come back. Ugh.

 

The door to Steamworks opened, and a tall pale preppie stepped out, looking kind of down. He smiled at Dwight, who nodded back, winking sunnily.

 

The pale preppie stood in front of the bathhouse, staring into space, and then looked at Dwight again. “Are you going in there?” the preppie asked.

 

“I work in there, but my shift ain’t until later.” Dwight said, searching behind his ear for another cigarette.

 

“Oh, I’m…acquainted with one of the other employees, a nice fellow, uh, Otter O’Reilley?”

 

“You mean Ferret O’Neill?”

 

“Yes, that’s his name. Curious nickname, that. We got to know each other um, well, we’ve met a few times over the last few weeks and had, well we got closer, or so I thought, last night in Tunstall Park.”

 

“Yeah, by the statue of the colonel, right? Lotta getting to know there.” Dwight said, idly picking his teeth with a matchstick. There might be some cigarette butts in the gutter if he looked.

 

“Well, yes. But we-we seemed to have a connection. I’m, I’m in a marriage, and it’s one of those things, but Otter—“

 

“Ferret.”

 

“Yes, Ferret seemed very friendly, almost colloquial, we had a great conversation while we were, uh—“

 

“In the bushes. Yup.”

 

“But today, I came to see him, I wanted to tell Ferret that I’d like to spend more time with him, perhaps set up a place where we could get together that was safer, in an inexpensive single-room-occupancy place, but he was somewhat uncommunicative, as if he had associations with different people every night.”

 

“Yeah, I can see that, uh buddy, but—“

 

“Paul. My name is Paul, and you are—“

 

“I’m Dwight, Paul. Yes, I think Ferret, he’s got a lot goin’ on, his main man is in the joint, and he’s raisin’ the guy’s kid.”

 

“His-his lover is in prison?”

 

“Yeah, kind of a misunderstanding over the guy’s ex-wife and a pitchfork, and money. She lived, but  it was kinda serious. But Ferret is not really into commitment things.”

 

“Oh, that’s-that’s a shame.” A pause. “He-well, we seemed—“

 

“You know, I can see where a nice fella like you, might want to meet someone without a lot of complications. Why don’t we go over to the Orange Julius, and you can buy me a cuppa Joe, and we can talk a bit?”

 

“That would be splendid.”