by Zack Love
“I don’t understand,” Yumi replied mischievously.
“So the Japanese beauty banters with me for a little role reversal,” Jerry remarked. “I’m intrigued.”
“Intrigue is good,” she replied, with a slight blush, before bowing goodbye and walking over to Heeb.
After the gala, all of Heeb’s insecurities blew up into a huge fight.
“What the hell were you doing flirting with my boss?”
“I wasn’t flirting.”
“The flirting was all over your face. And his.”
“Don’t be so jealous, Sammy. We were just talking. He was there with a date.”
“She was an escort. No other kind of woman would talk with me for so long while her so-called date spends all night flirting with you.”
“And why were you talking to her for so long if you were getting so jealous? Maybe I’m the one who should be jealous.”
“Jealous of what? Did you see us exchange information the way you and Jerry did?”
“He wanted to stay in touch. I didn’t want to be rude. Especially since he’s your boss.”
“You could have just said that the two of you would get in touch through me…You obviously like him.”
“You’re just being jealous.”
“You like him because he’s more successful, more powerful, and more hairful.”
The hair bit was the most painful part of all for Heeb, because it was the one difference that immediately and dramatically distinguished two men who otherwise bore an uncanny resemblance. It was as if Jerry had been marked “genetically superior” on the top of his scalp.
Unfortunately for Heeb, things just weren’t the same after that night. A week later, Yumi decided that she wanted to move out of his apartment and end her eleven-month relationship with him. A few weeks later, Heeb learned from a co-worker that she had moved in with Jerry.
Heeb was crestfallen.
He sought solace with an abrupt trip to Boston, where he hoped that Titus would help put things into perspective. Initially, Heeb didn’t mention the Yumi situation, hoping that his close and familiar routine with Titus might get his mind off her for a while. As usual, Heeb helped Titus with all of the various tasks that were difficult for the blind, like dealing with accumulated letters and bills that didn’t arrive in Braille, and Titus quizzed Heeb to see how much of his Hebrew he had forgotten since their last visit. But Sammy couldn’t snap out of his funk, and he finally interrupted the Hebrew quiz with a desperate question: “Titus, have you ever had your heart broken?”
“Oh, son. How could you ask a man who used to play the blues a question like that?”
“How long does it take to go away?”
“A broken heart?”
“Yeah.”
“There’s no precise formula, Sammy.”
“Just give me an estimate.”
“A good rule of thumb is at least half the time that you were in love. Or twice the time. It all just depends.”
“I was afraid you’d say that.”
Sammy ended up staying with Titus for a few months, after deciding to quit his job. There was no way he could go back to his workplace and see Jerry again. The thought of seeing either him or Yumi made him feel homicidal or suicidal, depending on his mood.
During his time in Boston, he purposely avoided his alma mater, even though he had always stopped there for a visit during his previous trips to the Boston area. Now it felt too melancholy to roam a campus where he was just a sentimental visitor peering into an idyllic world where he obviously no longer belonged – a world that had passed from him to the next generation of students.
Fortunately, Heeb had saved plenty of money from his well-paying former job, and decided that he was in no rush to jump back into the working world. After three months in Boston, Sammy returned to DC, broke his lease, packed up his life, and moved back to Philadelphia, where his parents could spoil him a little, and he could complete his emotional recovery while figuring out what to do next. He stayed in Philadelphia for about nine months, volunteering his time at a local clinic for the blind and doing other community service work.
Heeb concluded that DC was definitely not the place for him, socially or otherwise. Were it not for the coincidence of sitting next to Yumi on a plane, he surely would have remained single for his entire four years in DC, he conjectured. He decided it was time to move to New York City while he still had three years left in his twenties to enjoy. His long weekend trips there (before Yumi) had always been memorably adventurous and had proven how much easier it was for him to meet women in Manhattan than in DC. Not that Heeb was so successful in New York, even with all of Lucky Chucky’s support. But Manhattan offered so many people from so many backgrounds doing so many different things, that even his odds, Sammy reasoned, could improve significantly if he just lived in the Big Apple. And probability means everything to an actuary.
Besides, jumping back into the fray was the only way for him to get over Yumi – according to Carlos and everyone else he talked to, including himself.
So, in the late spring of 2000, at the age of twenty-seven, Sammy relocated to New York City, where he quickly landed a new job as an actuary.
Chapter 12
The Charlene Incident
While Narc and Trevor were getting through law school, Evan spent his post-college years working for a few different software start-ups. Evan’s social life suffered a bit, but he always managed to find some time for “the chase” – particularly with Narc living in the same city. Narc introduced Evan to Trevor in the fall of 1993 and the two quickly became good friends. The three men regularly met up for a bachelor’s night out or a game of weekend basketball.
In the summer of 1996, when it came time for Narc and Trevor to study for the New York Bar exam, the three musketeers lost their steam. Narc and Trevor disappeared into a two-month abyss of legal rules and multiple-choice exams. Their extended period of voluntary self-torture involved little daylight and lots of trick questions about the rule against perpetuities, and culminated in the two-day, pressure-filled, test-taking experience that is the New York Bar exam. The day after, the two friends cast aside their doubts about whether they passed, and went traveling together down the Latin American continent for two months.
Once they returned to New York City to begin legal careers that had virtually nothing to do with what was tested on the Bar exam, Narc and Trevor rarely saw each other. Both men worked at top, high-powered, corporate juggernauts where seventy-hour weeks were commonplace and boasted of with pride among the five hundred attorneys there. Narc joined the firm of White, Schue, & Krep, and Trevor joined Bartles, Arp, & Polka. Work at their respective law firms would occasionally slow down to a more humane forty hours per week, but Murphy’s Law always seemed to ensure that such a slowdown never happened to Narc and Trevor simultaneously.
Thus, for the first few years that Trevor and Narc worked as lawyers, they got together with Evan only a handful of times each year, although the three friends did enjoy a few vacations together. While Evan seemed overworked as a computer programmer, his exuberant optimism about early retirement in the New Economy kept him going – particularly in 1999. The twenty-eight-year-old lawyers, on the other hand, were distinctly miserable with their jobs, but handled their respective situations rather differently.
As Narc became busier at work, he developed a bold new dating philosophy. His idea of a perfect first date was doggy-style, followed by a cup of coffee. He just didn’t have the time or patience for anything resembling conventional courtship patterns and felt too depressed to be the charming smooth talker that he had once been. Consequently, he didn’t interact with females much during most of his law firm years, and – after a string of failed pick-up attempts – resigned himself to an ever-increasing reliance on Internet porn. Narc was patently bitter about the career and lifestyle choices he had made just to please his parents and saw the months of his precious twenties just passing him by in a blur of legal document
s and late-night deal closings. With a new junk food diet that suited his sedentary desk-life, Narc put on weight and had an ever-harder time getting out of bed every morning in exchange for the paycheck that was supposed to sustain him through the long hours and tedious work. Narc managed his chronic malaise only with fleeting forms of escapism: occasional marijuana or ecstasy, shopping sprees for designer clothes or fancy electronic gadgets, junk food binges, and marathon sessions of surfing Internet porn.
Trevor, on the other hand, used the little free time that he had to explore yoga, socialize, and research alternative careers. By the middle of his fourth year as a corporate associate, he had decided that he wanted to transition into an organization focused on African economic development. Trevor had also been steadily dating someone for a few weeks and was ready to introduce her to Evan and Narc.
At six feet two inches, Charlene Smith was the tallest female – and only the second of African origin – whom Trevor had ever dated, although he hadn’t yet had “intimate relations” with her, as he put it. Trevor seemed particularly pleased about her height. “I submit to you that it has made all of the difference,” he said to Narc, when he first told him about Charlene over the phone. “I feel more comfortable with her than I’ve felt with any other woman. And it’s absolutely brilliant how intuitively she understands me on an everyday level.” Charlene had essentially picked him up at a SoHo art gallery, after Trevor walked in looking somewhat lost, in the middle of a rare Saturday out of the office. A child of the South, the twenty-five-year-old African-American had moved to New York at the age of nineteen to launch her career as a theater diva and part-time fashion model. Four years later, she also began developing her own clothing line while working as a part-time receptionist in various art galleries. Charlene closely followed the latest female style trends and was constantly consulting a mirror to ensure that she looked just right. Her cramped apartment resembled a hall of mirrors populated by newly purchased women’s wear, fashion magazines, perfumes, plants, cosmetics, and cabaret memorabilia.
On a pleasantly cool Saturday night in April 2000, Evan and Narc met at the posh Pangaea club, a favorite among New York’s twenty-something model crowd. It took thirty minutes and several Andrew Jacksons for the unaccompanied males to get past the doorman and bouncers and into the chichi lounge. Once inside, it didn’t take long for Evan and Narc to spot the towering Trevor by the bar with his new girlfriend.
Throughout the night, Evan and Narc shared the vague conclusion that something wasn’t quite right about Charlene. Evan had met very few females taller than he was and so couldn’t stop thinking about how odd her height seemed. Narc, who was two inches taller than Evan and had been with a woman almost as tall as Charlene, was focused more on her behavior. Her playful enthusiasm in trying to get others in the lounge to flirt with Evan and Narc seemed slightly aggressive – even for an unusually confident and theatrical woman.
As Evan sat at the bar trying to convince Trevor to leave his miserable firm job and join him in the promising tech economy, Charlene took Narc around Pangaea saying, “What about her? Do you think she’s hot? I’ll make sparks fly!” Narc would smile out of surprised amusement at Charlene’s style, but she took this as an unequivocal green light and proceeded to accost or grab several target females and try to arrange a match.
When they went back to meet Trevor and Evan at the bar, Charlene then offered her pushy matchmaking services to Evan. Her success rate was as poor with him as it was with Narc.
Meanwhile, Trevor took advantage of the private moment with Narc to share his concerns about Narc’s appearance. “You don’t look so good these days, mate. You seem a bit depressed…And you’ve put on some weight since I last saw you,” he said, gently.
“I know. I know. The firm’s killing me.”
“That makes two of us, Narc. I don’t know how much longer I can take it. In fact, I’ve decided to apply for a job with the United Nations Development Program.”
“Hey, that’s dope, bro!” Narc said with a proud smile. “I could see you likin’ that kind of work. And it’s a good cause.”
“Indeed…But what about you, mate? What’s your exit strategy?”
“I don’t have one. My parents would freak if I left a six figure salary at a prestigious firm.”
“But you went to law school for them too…I know they’re very important to you, but how much of your life are you going to live for them? Are you still helping them out with their laundry business?” Trevor asked.
“About once a week tops. I feel like they never have enough help.”
“But you’re bloody miserable and you barely have time for yourself. Don’t they realize that you’re working full time now?”
“They don’t expect me to help. But I want to. All of their kids are out of the house now and they’re getting too old to run that business on their own. Especially with their broken English. Someone has to help them with all of the bills, legal documents, and business issues that go into running that place. What am I supposed to do? I’m their only son. I’m keeping this shitty job because I’m basically their retirement plan…But let’s change the topic…This is just gonna depress the fuck out of me and – ” He was interrupted by the abrupt arrival of Evan and Charlene.
“Hey guys!” Charlene said ebulliently. “Come on, Trevor!” She playfully pulled Trevor away and into the crowd that was grooving to the hip-hop beats playing in the lounge. Trevor charmingly and helplessly shrugged his shoulders as if to apologize, but Narc and Evan just smiled understandingly and gave him the thumbs up.
Narc was actually relieved to have a private moment with Evan, as Trevor and Charlene moved out of earshot.
“Tower’s girl is really buggin’ me out,” he began.
“I think she’s a man,” Evan replied, matter-of-factly.
“Word. I’ve been thinking that myself. We gotta save Tower.”
“But how are you gonna break it to him? I mean, he looks like he’s really into her. Or him. And we’ve gotta be one hundred percent sure…I mean, she does have a nice body.”
“Those tits actually look a bit fake,” Narc opined.
“Plenty of women get fake boobs.”
“And her shoulders seem kinda broad,” Narc persisted.
“That’s just because she’s so tall…Did you see an Adam’s apple?”
“I’m not sure,” Narc replied, suddenly unsure of himself for a moment.
“Well we should see if there’s an Adam’s apple, because – if there is – that would answer the question.”
“Right.”
“But if there’s no Adam’s apple, we’d still need to dig further.”
“Why’s that?” asked Narc.
“I read somewhere that you can get your trachea shaved off as part of a transgender operation.”
“What the fuck were you doing researching transgender operations?”
“It was for a screenplay idea I had.”
“Oh…So if there’s no Adam’s apple, how can we tell if it’s a guy?” Narc asked.
“I think it’s a guy. Look at the height. How many women have you seen who are that tall? And look at the mannerisms.”
“Yeah. They’re way too forward for a woman…I’ll bet there’s an Adam’s apple,” Narc said.
“Well, let’s check first,” Evan said. “We should really get whatever evidence we can, because if we say something to Trevor and we’re wrong, it’ll be really bad,” Evan said.
“Not as bad as if we’re right and we don’t say anything to him,” Narc replied.
“True.”
When Trevor and his new girlfriend finally returned from dancing, Narc followed the plan he had hatched with Evan. Narc engaged Charlene in a conversation about the ceiling of the club, so that she would look upwards and he could get a closer look at her throat area. Meanwhile, Evan discreetly asked Trevor if the male trio could enjoy some quality time alone, just for old time’s sake.
Narc pushed the limits
of his artistic observation skills, as he kept trying to generate new esthetic comments that would prompt Charlene to look up at the ceiling. After remarking on the club’s tall ceilings, he asked her to estimate their height; then he asked her about the precise color and texture of the paint, about the particular style of the roof beams, and about the decorative elements near the upper parts of the walls. But he found it difficult to discern whether Charlene’s slightly raised throat area constituted an Adam’s apple. He glanced at the throats of various men and women nearby, but they were each too far away and moving too much for Narc to make any useful comparisons. The need to remain subtle and avoid arousing any suspicion in Charlene was paramount to his investigative efforts, and so – when he had thoroughly exhausted all possible observations about the rather unremarkable ceiling above them – Narc gave up.
About twenty minutes later, Trevor began negotiating an early end to his night with Charlene. As she protested vociferously, Narc whispered his inconclusive findings to Evan, but insisted that he still had serious enough doubts about Charlene’s true gender that they had a duty to confront their friend with the issue. After some deliberation, Evan agreed.
Charlene finally and reluctantly agreed to leave the boys alone for the rest of the night. Trevor apologetically put her into a cab, and the three friends jumped into a separate cab. Narc instructed the driver to take them to Chinatown, where he knew of several small Chinese restaurants that effectively offered perfect privacy as long as the three friends spoke in English.
Narc picked out a small, circular table in the restaurant and then translated everyone’s orders into Cantonese for the waiter, who seemed to be moving in fast forward, like everything else in the place. Trevor and Evan were impressed with Narc’s Chinese language skills. Narc’s thoroughly American style and his fluency in both academic English and ghetto talk made his friends forget that he could still revert to an authentic Chinese mode. After the waiter left, Narc teased them for a few minutes about having the expression of bewildered tourists on their faces.
