PUNKS Ch. 32: Just Own It

Joe navigates Mila through a PR storm.

June 1996

Mila opened her apartment door on 106th Street at 10 AM, smiled, and grabbed Joe by the shirt. She pulled him inside and slammed the door. Before Joe could speak a word, her lips were on his. Joe dropped his bags and put his arms around her. They kissed sweetly, then passionately.

Mila leaned back and looked into Joe's eyes. "Did you assault Josh Levine years ago?"

Shit. Joe didn't see this coming, certainly not at this moment. "I was arrested. So I must have done it. Where did you hear this?"

"I told you we have people digging." She took one of his bags and led him into her apartment. "Why did you assault him?"

"I'm not proud of this story. I was twenty-two. I wish I handled it better." Joe paused. "You might judge me for this. I'm sorry."

"Just tell me. I won't judge." Mila pulled Joe by the hand toward her bedroom. As she did, he looked left and right, checking out her furnishing and decor. Standing in the bedroom, she threw his bag aside took his backpack from his hands, tossed it on top of the other, and began unbuttoning his shirt. She kissed his chest. Her hands found his belt buckle. "Go on," she said, "Tell me what happened."

"We're playing a gig in The Bronx, The Belmont Cafe. It's a Fordham crowd, near Little Italy."

Joe kissed Mila as she unzipped his jeans.

"Between sets at our show, Levine approached me at the bar, introduced himself as a journalist, and started asking me questions. We had a conversation about music."

Mila pushed Joe's jeans and shorts down. His cock flopped out. She went to her knees and untied Joe's Allstars, his cock inches from her face. She pulled his pants over his feet. Mila looked up, "Go on." She took his cock in her hands.

"Levine is a big guy, 6' 3' and maybe 240. Not a handsome man, a big round white pie face, but he seemed okay," Joe said as Mila lightly stroked him, watching his shaft swell. "We're talking and laughing and he puts his hand on my junk." She took his knob in her mouth, sucking him softly. "I put my hand on his chest and stepped back, keeping him at arm's length. I said, "Not interested!" and clear as day."

Joe stopped talking as Mila sucked him until she stopped and looked up. "And you assaulted him?"

"No. He got pissy. I guess I offended him and he walked off."

She went back to sucking, just his head, with both hands on his thick shaft. Joe paused, enjoying her warm, soft mouth. She stopped again, "Keep talking."

Mila went back to it, taking Joe deeper. She sucked him softly and sensually. Joe's hands found her hair. His fingers lightly caressed her as she softly moved down his long cock close to his base. Her lips stretched around his girth.

She stopped again and looked up, "Tell me what happened."

Mila went back to sucking Joe began explaining. She listened with her ears while the rest of her senses focused on Joe's cock, how he filled her mouth, poked at her throat, his salty taste, and the scent of manly crotch sweat. He had been sitting on a plane for six hours. When Joe stopped talking, distracted by his cock being sucked, Mila looked up. "Don't stop."

"I can't tell the story with you sucking my dick."

Mila smiled. "Okay." She stood and then sat on her bed. Joe sat beside her.

"For our entire second set, he's just staring at me from the bar. He's tall. He stuck out. It was very distracting but I plowed through it. "

"After the show I avoided him but he found me out front talking to friends. He got too close. I told him to back off. He tried to use his size to intimidate me, standing over me. It's a classic bully move."

Mila reached over and touched Joe's cock, running her fingers around his tip.

"I know how to handle bullies. I stomped on his toes, and when he slumped down I punched him in the face twice. He went down hard. It started a small melee, but Levine never got off the ground, because I stomped on him again and told him to stay there."

She kept stroking Joe's shaft through the violence.

"There were cops just up the street. I was arrested for assaulting Levine and resisting arrest, which I definitely did. My business partner bailed me out. Levine dropped the charges because he didn't want my version of the story told."

Mila stopped, "Why didn't you tell me this?"

"Did you just hear that story? Do you think I go around telling people I punched a gay man in the face? I felt threatened and threw the first punch. But still, it's not a story I tell."

"And you never told anyone about this?"

"There were twenty witnesses, Mila. Everyone knows I punched him in the face, few know why. They just saw him towering over me like a jerk and then going down hard. My bandmates knew why, but I didn't tell anyone else I was molested by a large bear."

Mila took a moment. "As a woman who's had too many unwanted touches, I understand your position and how you felt. This story is officially amazing. Why didn't you give me this in the interview?" She smiled and kissed him.

"Are you making light of my molestation?"

Mila pushed Joe backward. He fell to her bed. She pulled her dress over her head, tossed it aside, and followed him, taking Joe's side, looking down at him. She scratched Joe's chest with her red fingernails. "Josh Levine is hurt he couldn't have your big cock and then you knocked him down. He has waged a campaign of negative press against you for a decade, through two different bands, and now he's going after your girlfriend and the publication that refused to print his material." Mila stared at Joe with wide eyes. "That's a fucking story!"

"I broke his toe and busted his lip open."

"That's hot." Mila kissed him, her hand lightly massaging his cock.

"Did you just refer to yourself as my girlfriend?"

"Yes, I did." She kissed him tenderly again. "For the purposes of this story, I am your girlfriend."

"Are you using me, Miss Carerra?"

"Do you have a problem with that?"

"Nope."

She slipped lower, kissing Joe's chest, then tummy, and finally the tip of his cock, her hand firmly gripping his base. Mila's lips slid around his knob, taking Joe inside her warm mouth. Her ruby lips wrapped around his shaft. Joe pulled a pillow under his head so he could watch. Mila was a gentle cock sucker. She wasn't trying to perform feats of daring, no sword swallowing or trying to suck his soul through his cock. Mila was sensual, soft, and slow. Joe knew her head would rest on his tummy in a minute with his head being suckled lightly, her lips and tongue doing all the work. She was fantastic.

When her head found its comfy spot. Joe could no longer watch. His hands found her hair and he closed his eyes. Mila focused on the top third of Joe's fat rod, her hand massaging his lower shaft. Joe's body tingled, electric nerves going off in his cock, his loins, and his brain. He anticipated her next move from sharing his bed in Venice. After sucking him gently for several minutes, barely making a sound, she shifted to her side and got on all fours. Kneeling over Joe with her hands by his sides, Mila held his cock vertically between her lips. Very slowly she moved her lips down his wet shaft, taking his head deeper. Mila went as far down as she could, taking most but not all of Joe's length. With fingers wrapped around his base like a cock ring, she began to slowly stroke Joe with her mouth, not gripping too tight or sucking too hard. Mila slipped and slid up and down Joe's shining shaft, stopping on his head for an occasional suckle.

When Joe couldn't hold back and he was about to blow, he tapped Mila, "I'm close, baby."

Mila pulled off and began licking the underside of his cock, under his knob, while she stroked him. Joe shot off a stream of cum on Mila's face. Her nose took a direct hit. The second shot hit her upper lip and cheek. Mila held her mouth open, catching cum on her tongue, then sucking his head. When he was drained, she let his load dribble down her chin, looking Joe in the eyes with a proud smile on her face.

She swallowed a little, but that wasn't her turn-on. She liked to finish Joe with her hands and tongue, taking the cum she wanted and painting with the rest.

They spent Joe's first day in her apartment, mostly in Mila's bed. In the late afternoon, they discussed dining options for the evening. Mila wanted Joe to meet her friends, Joe was more interested in a one-on-one experience. They compromised and had dinner with her best friend, Donna, a literary agent who helped Mila with her two books.

Late that night, after dinner, lying in bed, they finally got around to discussing their tabloid problem. Mila wasn't avoiding the issue, but she was less inclined to press the matter. Joe wanted to settle it.

"You became my scandal," Joe said, lying on his back with Mila at his side. "as I predicted."

"I know! You were joking and then it happened so I blame you entirely. You conjured this.

It's so stupid and pointless. Who cares that we slept together?"

"I'm glad you've made no public comments, especially a denial. It happened, don't ever deny it. I want to be seen with you, Mila. Let them know we are in a relationship and we don't care what they think about us, professionally or personally."

Mila squeezed Joe's hand. "Thank you so much for saying that. I was afraid to ask you to go public."

"Why? Every lie is a secret. If we tell the truth there will be no secrets for them to gossip about. I say just own it."

"I agree, but I want to keep a low profile. I don't wish to make a scene and draw more attention to us."

"What if that attention makes it all go away?"

"I am relieved that you're okay going public, but can't we do so quietly?"

"What's the point? The Post isn't quietly trashing your reputation. Everyone has seen Levine's attacks on you and the magazine. They must see your response."

"Our July issue is pressed," Mila said, lightly scratching Joe's tummy with her long nails. "It will be out in two days. We'll have to wait until August."

"You said there's no mention of Levine in July. I get it. I ignored him all these years. I have an idea. We don't have to print a word to explain ourselves and we don't need Rolling Stone to do it."

"How will we tell the truth without words?"

"We'll use their pages."

"Who?"

"The New York Post."

Mila propped herself up on her elbow and looked down at Joe, "What do you mean?"

"It won't be low profile. People will definitely see it. Do you know any paparazzi?"

The following morning they ran, jogged, and walked in Riverside Park along the Hudson River and had lunch at one of Joe's favorite spots on the Upper West Side, Stan's old deli, Fine & Shapiro. Mila could not stop smiling. Joe was delighted by how happy his visit made her. She was anxious about the tabloid mess, but that was being handled.

That evening, Joe and Mila got dressed up for a night on the town. They got out of a taxi in front of Cafe Dumond on the Upper West Side. As a doorman guided them into the restaurant, two men walked up, put cameras in their faces, and clicked photos. They enjoyed a fantastic meal. Joe had the duck and Mila went with scallops. After dinner and a nice bottle of wine, they stepped outside. The doorman hailed a cab. As Joe and Mila were getting in the cab, he kissed her, and the same paparazzi caught that image.

On Monday morning Joe sat in the Rolling Stone offices on Sixth Avenue drinking coffee and eating pastries he had brought in for Mila's colleagues. He met most of her work friends and chatted about the small-time scandal Levine created.

They had a few copies of that day's The New York Post with the images of Joe and Mila on page two under the headline, Is This Journalistic Integrity? When the phone rang at the magazine for comment about the photos in The Post, they simply said the publication was aware that Miss Carrera and Mr. Theroux were in a new relationship.

Joe looked at Mila, "I'm glad they gave us a color photo. That red dress popped. You were gorgeous." Joe enjoyed making sophisticated and educated women blush.

A reporter from the Village Voice, a friend of the staff, just happened to be there, because he was invited, and asked Joe about Mila.

Joe was quoted saying, "Yeah, she's pretty amazing... best interviewer ever."

Mila then said to that reporter that she had to relearn an old writing style for this piece that she had long forgotten, romance. "I used to write fiction romance," she said, "This time it was for real.

Mila's colleagues applauded that Joe had used the New York Post to kill the story they started by giving them the proof they were correct all along.

"Yes," Joe said, "Let them think they've won, as long as the story goes away."

Doc Jorgensen, the grizzled veteran of the staff, coughed hard. "It was brilliant in its simplicity. You gave them what they wanted." Doc had a worn face, chiseled by a hundred barrels of bourbon and forty years of smoking. He had the gravelly voice to prove it. He also had four ex-wives. That'll add some wrinkles.

Joe was fascinated by Doc after years of reading his work. That compliment meant a lot. He learned during his visit that Mila's coworkers had her back. They were supportive and friendly to him and joked about the so-called scandal. One woman suggested it might help Mila's career in the end. No one else saw that angle.

"So what do we do now," Doc asked. "We just ignore all the garbage he said about our magazine and predecessors, and Mila? He went after our family."

Doc was cantankerous and known for muckraking. He was the kind of journalist Joe would never interview with. He was more pissed off than his younger colleagues and felt a strong response was necessary.

"I say we tell Joe's story of how this all started." He cleared his throat. "It will explain a decade of his trash reporting on Joe's bands, and now Mila for being so kind in her writing on Joe." Doc looked at Joe. "Levine was right about one thing. Mila wrote that piece like a fucking schoolgirl with a crush." He glanced at Mila. "If you really wanted a story, I would have focused on that sweetheart Joe kissed at his last show." He turned to Joe with a wry smile. "There's something going on there."

That is why Joe would not talk to Doc when his name was attached to the Rolling Stone interview months before Mila took the assignment.

"But," Doc continued, "We're stuck with this Levine bullshit and the only way to put this to rest is to drop a bomb on him by exposing his personal grudge against Joe and how it started with an unwanted sexual advance."

"I don't feel comfortable printing that story," Joe said. "I've done well putting it behind me and ignoring Levine. I don't want that out there."

"So you're worried that people will think you bashed a queer?" Doc grunt-laughed, "Not if you tell the story properly. He had sixty pounds on you. He's a bear. He touched your dick and tried to intimidate you. You're not the bad guy." Doc coughed.

Megan, an RS staffer Joe took a liking to because she's an enthusiastic CoA fan, chimed in. "I think Joe doesn't want to out Levine. This story does that."

"I don't want to out Levine, but not because I give a fuck about him. The assault is something I'm not proud of. That's it. You're not printing that story."

Mila addressed Doc, "You're the old flame thrower. Why don't you write something that smacks Levine down short of exposing his... being in the closet. You can use his grudge against this magazine for rejecting him and his unjustified animus towards Joe... attacking him for no apparent reason."

Doc leaned back in his chair and stroked his chin. "I think asking why Levine has a grudge against Joe as the central question will be enough to make that little bitch shit his pants.

He looked at Joe. "Your boyfriend doesn't want that story told either."

"Martin has offered to write something but I told him we wanted to handle this in house."

"Fuck him," Doc said. "We don't need his help. This is our problem."

"He's just trying to help, as a friend."

"He's not my friend," Doc grumbled.

"He's my friend," Mila said, glaring at Doc. "And so are you. Please respect that."

Doc nodded, mumbling incoherently.

The staff unanimously nominated Doc as the head writer of the official response, which would be in August's issue.

-- Morningside Heights ---

Joe had a busy week in Manhattan. After the damage control operation at Rolling Stone wrapped up he and Mila had a few quieter days. She gave him a comprehensive tour of Columbia University. They entered several buildings, offices, lecture halls, and social gathering areas where Mila introduced Joe to her students.

Joe had no clue Mila was teaching a class. He was so impressed by this woman it scared him. Everyone she introduced was imposing, the smartest people in the room. He met two professors and a few administrators and too many students to count. Some kids knew who he was and the storm he and Mila had just weathered. They were all very nice and chill.

Joe was familiar with many hoods in New York. Morningside Heights was not one of them. It's the last hood before Harlem, a liberal academic enclave on the edge of the ghetto. Back in the day, Joe and his friends passed through on the way to The Bluebonnet Cafe for grits in West Harlem, but never really explored the heights.

Mila and Joe's jogs along the Hudson in Riverside Park became a regular thing. They spent most of the Fourth of July holiday in Central Park, on a blanket, in a meadow, talking and kissing and munching on a snack lunch Mila had packed. It was one of those days that made Joe love New York City.

That night, they stood on the roof of Mila's building with more than a dozen of her neighbors, watching fireworks in all directions and sharing drinks and snacks. Joe was seeing the best of Mila's life.

Mila took Joe to a student film festival, six short films, and a cocktail party afterward. Joe was blown away by three of the six shorts, very impressed, and the others did not suck. On the best nights, they stayed at home. Mila proudly cooked paella for Joe, a Catalan recipe her family often made at home. He happily accepted her warm hospitality in the kitchen and the bedroom.

A dinner party was penciled in on Mila's social calendar long before Joe's visit. She had mentioned she might cancel. Joe was hoping she would so they could remain home with her, a party of two. Considering they had so many hours together, talking over meals, in bed, and at the picnic, it surprised Joe that neither of them brought up the future. Joe wanted to have that talk.

Instead, Mila wanted Joe to meet more of her friends. Joe escorted Mila to a party of twelve. The host was a former lover of Mila's from her early days in New York who was now married to a grad school friend of Mila.

Joe had no clue Mila was bisexual. Susan and Greta were very kind and hospitable, welcoming Joe into their inner circle of Morningside Heights doers and thinkers. Their Upper West Side apartment was spectacular, with so many books it felt like a library. The decor was exactly what you'd expect from intellectuals... busy, learned, old-school art, framed maps, and family photos. Greta was Mila's age, and Susan was ten years her senior.

"Joe," Mila pulled him away from a beautifully painted globe on a pedestal. "I'd like you to meet Jan and Marie Stephensen." Joe chatted with an older couple who gave lots of money to Columbia and lived in the area for forty years. "We met in our junior year. We're the class of 1961," Marie said proudly.

"I was born in '61," was not the best reply, but that's what Joe said, and then cringed at Mila who laughed as the old couple walked away. "I hope that doesn't cost you a few million," Joe winced as Mila dragged him across the room. They approached another couple, in their mid-forties, closer to Joe in years, but in nothing else.