PUNKS Ch. 32: Just Own It

Roberto was a professor of anthropology and Lorainne was a writer, painter, sculptor, photographer, pianist... the list went on. She came from old money and never worked a day in her life not in pursuit of her art and personal growth.

Then Joe met Martin, a film and theater critic and maybe the only one at the party who knew who Joe was before the Rolling Stone interview. He knew music and literature also but didn't critique it professionally. Mila elbowed Joe when she sensed he might say something about Martin's chosen profession, but Joe had his manners along for the evening.

Joe moved with Mila during the cocktail hour, staying close. He did not want to be the baby gazelle wandering too far from its mother, prey for the intellectual lions. Joe felt he was way the fuck out of his element. He hoped he wouldn't embarrass himself, or Mila.

Joe took an immediate liking to Martin, the critic, and Mila's older gay dad-friend. Joe could not judge Martin's age because he clearly had plastic surgery, but good work. Joe had him around sixty but looking younger. Joe could tell Martin wanted to be friends. He was Joe's wingman when Mila slipped away.

The dinner table for twelve was so tastefully decorated Joe wished he had a paparazzi guy to click a photo. Susan, Greta, and a third woman at the party, Mona, had cooked Friday night and all day Saturday. Mona was a renowned chef and author. There was no end to Joe feeling less than. Mona's menu and dishes made Joe feel like a shitty short-order cook.

The conversation over dinner was centered on the three women hosts and the fabulous job they did. Feeling a little brave, Joe threw a compliment out there. "Some of these dishes are so simple, they're perfect and elegant."

Mona's smile made Joe proud, "That is my philosophy on cooking," she looked straight at Joe, "Keep it simple. And I love that you said... elegant. There is elegance in simplicity. Why add more when these five ingredients are perfect?"

Joe did not engage her further. He did a solid double with that simple compliment. There's no need to get caught stealing third.

He mostly listened to them talk, throwing in comments here and there when the subject matter fit his area of expertise, which was not often. When Greta mentioned something about seeing Sting in concert and how wonderful he is, they pulled Joe in. "You're a musician. Do you like Sting?"

"I love The Police, saw them in Providence and Boston, I don't follow his solo career."

"Why not? He's so talented."

"Because Sting broke up The Police," Martin said, "Joe's holding a grudge."

"I'm glad I didn't have to say it myself," Joe raised his wine glass to Martin.

Martin smiled, "I share your opinion. I love The Police. Their music is simple and elegant."

Joe smiled and nodded at Martin's adept call back.

Then Martin did what Joe hoped no one would do. "So, Joe. It seems you did well handling this unseemly business with that hack at The Post. Mila didn't even have to explain your play. Once I saw the image of you kissing, I thought, they're coming out of the closet."

"And we got The Post to open the door for us," Mila smiled.

"Yes, bravo."

Joe was grateful this conversation was at one end of the long table while the other end had its own thing going. Martin continued. "I understand you have a dirty history with Mister Levine."

Susan and Mona were the only guests who turned to see Joe look at Mila, eyes wide.

Mila placed her hand on Joe's. "I told Martin your story. He can be trusted."

Martin, Mila, Susan, and Mona all looked at Joe.

"It's not something I talk about."

Martin leaned in, being as discreet as possible. "Mila asked me, as a gay man, what I thought of your experience. I have seen straight men assault gay men, and I've witnessed gay-on-gay violence. Touching a man you don't know is gay as a first move is the dumbest thing you can do. Going at them after they've rebuffed you is asking for a fist in the face. Mila told me you're not proud of that moment. You defended yourself... the fact he likes dick is immaterial."

Joe didn't say a word. He barely nodded.

"I'm proud and out." Martin continued. "Levine is closeted. We all must decide for ourselves, but if you're going to hide your true self, you better not make enemies. The fact you haven't made a statement, ever, after all the years he's trashed you, says a lot about you. You could have exposed Levine long ago when he used his job to exact revenge on you."

"It wasn't to spare him. I still punched a gay man in the face for coming at me. I don't need the homophobe label... because I'm not."

"Do you have gay friends?" Susan asked as if that mattered.

"When my first band started in Providence, some of our biggest fans were Rhode Island School of Design students, a lot of artsy gays and lesbians. They were cool and they loved our stage show. So yes, I've had..."

Susan smiled wide and raised her hand to interrupt, "I'm a RISD grad. There are more lesbians there than at Vassar. I should know, I fucked all of them."

"Then my band came here and I lived in The West Village for five years, not far from The Stonewell. We had gay friends and neighbors. It's the same in Venice," He looked at Martin. "Your tribe is everywhere I've been."

"There are gays in Venice, Italy?" Mrs. Stephensen asked from the other end of the table.

"No," Mila said, "Joe lives in Venice, California."

"I've had more than a few men hit on me. I'm straight. It's off-putting but I just deal with it politely and move on. Most back off, Levine didn't..."

"I know you feel you have to explain," Martin put his hand on Joe's arm, "but you don't. There is one thing you must explain. That little cunt aside, what's with this animosity you have for critics? Oh, I know you think we're all trash. I assure you, we are not."

"I never said all critics are trash."

Martin's gay energy took over, talking fast. "Mila explained your grievance with Levine and elaborated on your overall view of my profession. I don't disagree that many critics are not qualified to cover the art they critique. Some are simple hacks. Others are unnecessarily harsh. I just want you to know I was a drama major at NYU. We put on many productions at Tisch. I was an actor, in wardrobe and set design, and I've written and directed plays. Then I studied film in grad school and worked on film sets, but not many."

Joe smiled, "I know you feel you have to explain," He put his hand on Martin's arm, "but you don't."

Martin smiled and the women laughed.

"You know who agrees with me?" Joe asked. "Doc Jorgensen. What's the deal with you and Doc? There's some animus between you."

"Fuck, Doc. He and I go way back. He has an old grudge he can't get past like Levine has with you."

"Jesus, Martin," Joe laughed. "did you try to fuck him?"

"No! I did not, but Doc sees it differently."

"Mila is very upset about it," Joe noted. "two of her favorite men hating each other."

"Doc is not a favorite man of anyone. Ask his four ex-wives."

No one would tell Joe what the grudge was about. Martin was a critic. Doc was a writer roughly the same age. That had to be the source of their animosity... unless Martin tried to fuck him. That would surely piss Doc off.

As Mila did, Joe liked both men and felt it was a shame they loathed one another.

-- Friendly Ghost ---

Lying in bed after midnight, Mila ran her hands over the bedsheet, rubbing Joe's cock with the linen. This was her thing. She did it in Venice, and Joe liked it. His fat cock stood tall, her hands gliding over the sheet, massaging him lightly.

"Do you know who Casper the Friendly Ghost is?"

"No."

Joe pointed at his cock under the sheet. "He looks like that."

Mila let her fingers and palm slide over the sheets, massaging his fully erect, very hard penis. She had the soft tough he enjoyed so much. She looked up at him, smiling.

"I thought you were amazing tonight. Everyone liked you. Martin loves you."

"It was good. I didn't embarrass myself."

"You were thoughtful and seemed quite comfortable with my friends."

"That's what I showed you. Inside I was paranoid, too aware and self-conscious of every little thing I did, or said. I was deliberate and stiff, not myself."

"We need to work on this insecurity you have. It's not justified."

Mila continued to run her fingers the length of his cock, sliding over top and down the other side. Joe admired the softness of her quality linen. They felt nice.

"Well, tell that to the professors and PHDs. They know a pseudo-intellectual phony when they see one. I kept my mouth out of trouble rather than try to pass myself off as smarty pants. I know my limits, and stayed out of the deep end of the conversation."

"That is not true. They loved hearing your little speech on injustice and how poorly treated the homeless are in California. You impressed them."

"I was playing to an intellectual, New York liberal crowd. I can do that. That's why you call it a little speech. It wasn't big and I didn't impress anyone."

Mila squeezed Joe's shaft tightly, her palm wrapped around his head. "I hate when you put yourself down. It's bullshit." She squeezed tighter. "I don't know if it's fake modesty or if your're actually fucked up in the head."

"Hey now." Joe put his hand on Mila's. "Please handle my package with care. I promise you I am fucked up in the head. I'm not faking anything. I know where I stand on the damn IQ scale. I was the dumbest guy in the room."

Mila released Joe's cock and stared at him, sternly. "Stop it."

"Who was the dumbest person in the room if I wasn't? And don't you dare say it was you."

"I'm not going to compare the intellect of my friends, including you. That's not what friends do."

Joe leaned close and kissed Mila, hoping to end the conversation by keeping her mouth busy. Her tongue darted inside his mouth. His tongue met hers, dancing.

He pulled back, "Thank you for believing in me, Mila. Thank you for being so kind with your words, not just the writing, but the wonderful things you say."

Mila smiled, looking into his eyes. "You're welcome. I mean every word."

"I'm not sure I believe them," Joe smiled. "You might be full of shit. Carlo asked me if your piece was fiction."

Mila punched Joe's chest. "I knew you were going to do that." She fell to her side, to Joe's right, staring at the ceiling, exasperated.

Joe rolled toward her, swinging his leg over hers. Mila spread her thighs allowing Joe to rest between her legs as he moved over her. He looked into her eyes. "That time I was just messing with you."

"Mila reached down between her and Joe where his hard shaft rested on her tummy. What was the name of the ghost under my sheets?"

"Casper the Friendly Ghost."

Mila opened her thighs wider and pushed Joe's cock lower. "Show me how friendly Casper is."

Joe guided his tip, slowly sliding it over her clit, pausing for a moment, rubbing his spongy knob against her. Mila kissed him. He slipped lower, moving his head over her vulva, pushing against her, parting her lips. He paused, his cock slightly probing her vagina.

"Te necesito dentro de mi," Mila sighed.

He pushed slowly but deliberately, knowing exactly how much he wanted to penetrate Mila. He listened to her breathing as he filled her, the tiny gasps, the holding of her breath. Mila didn't suck his full cock, but her pussy could take everything he had. Mila opened her legs even wider, her knees moving to her side. Joe pushed himself fully inside her, feeling her wet vagina welcoming him, wrapping him in warmth. Mila kissed Joe again.

Mila moaned. "Oh dios mio joe mi cuerpo esta lleno de ti."

Joe fucked Mila the way she sucks his cock, slow, deliberate, and gentle. Their lips and mouths tangled. She breathed into him when he pushed a little harder, making her gasp and then moan.

"Eres un hombre hermoso."

Joe realized that he rarely spoke when he fucked Mila or she sucked his cock. He just didn't. Maybe because he wasn't as confident and comfortable with her. Mila did the talking and Joe didn't understand a word she said.

******

Joe was brushing his teeth, and Mila brushing her hair. They had just showered together and Mila didn't have a big shower. They soaped each other up and rinsed off, Joe's hard cock between them. Mila washed Casper thoroughly while kissing Joe.

Looking in the mirror with her brush in hand, Mila smiled. "Last night I said you were amazing at the party, and you were even better after the party."

Joe spit the toothpaste out. "Yes, I was pretty spectacular between the sheets." Joe smiled. "I fucked you nice and slow for a very long time Miss Carrera. I gave you my best. I figured I'd better shine somewhere to make up for my shortcomings in the..."

"Stop." Mila interrupted, "This is what you do. You will pretend to be cocky and braggadocio and a minute later call yourself a piece of shit. You're in a love-hate relationship with yourself."

"You're not wrong. I suck."

She smacked him with the brush. "Stop. I love being with you. That's all you need to know about yourself. I decide if you're amazing or brilliant, and you are. Stop telling me I'm wrong."

"Okay, I guess I'm the cat's ass."

"What does that mean?"

"Do you know cats wave their asses at you, tail up, showing off their butt hole?"

"Yes."

"They are proud of their ass. So I'm the cat's ass."

"Am I the cat in this?"

Joe smiled. "And I'm the ass you're proud of."

When Joe and Mila arrived at Guerilla Records, they first stopped in Marty's office where Joe introduced his elder business partner to the journalist he'd only spoken to on the phone. Marty was delighted to meet her and thanked Mila for the kind words she wrote about their little label.

"Those were my words," Joe noted, "she just printed them."

"Ignore him," Marty said. "He always takes credit."

When they walked into the main office where several guerillas toiled at open desks, all eyes followed them. Joe explained to Mila this was the tour group that books venues, travel, hotel, and logistics. "Without them, I would have died on the road," he said loud enough for the staff to hear and then I introduced Mila to the junior guerillas. When one of the girls said she enjoyed Mila's writing, Dawn chimed in, "You made him seem almost human."

The girl said, "Oh. I meant her other writing."

As they laughed at Joe's expense, he turned to Mila, "Ya see. Everywhere I go they break my balls. I get no respect." He pulled on his collar like Rodney Dangerfield. Joe glared at the young staff, "Get back to work."

As he turned toward Laura's office, "It's good to let them know who's in charge once in a while."

Laura was watching from her office. She knew better than to join the group thirty feet away. Joe would surely take a shot at her because he relished making the kids laugh at their boss. She had more control of the conversation at her desk.

"Laura, this is Mila. Mila, this is the Dragon Lady."

"Ignore him, Mila." Laura took her hand. "That's how you survive as his friend and partner for fifteen years. It's a pleasure to meet you. Please take a seat."

"Thank you," Mila sat down. "This place is not as small as Joe likes to pretend."

"We're so small Laura could only offer us one seat," Joe noted.

"You can stand," Laura said coldly.

"I told ya, Dragon Lady."

The conversation was similar to the chat they had with Marty, and the kids, the Rolling Stone piece and wonderful writing, and the aftermath. No one else mentioned the wannabe scandal, Laura did.

"So that photo of you kissing was quite a surprise with morning coffee, but I'm not the only one. I have a message for you from Tina."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah," Laura smiled wide and deliciously, then gestured at Mila. "Is it okay to say?"

"Sure," Joe said. "How bad could it be?"

"Tina is very upset. She told me to say... 'She cannot believe you would come to New York and not tell her or try to see her. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Is that all?"

"No. But that's all I'll say in front of Mila."

Mila looked up, "You should call her."

Joe exhaled, "Fuck. I don't want to deal with this."

Laura turned to Mila, "His love life is a flaming train wreck. After the train derailed, a Boing 747 crashed on that scene. Run girl." Laura smiled. "Run fast and far."

"These are my oldest, dearest friends talking," Joe said, "This is why I live in California."

"No, I'm not the reason," Laura smiled at Joe then turned to Mila, "But you'll meet her soon."

"I'm outta here," he looked at Laura. "Thanks for the message."

"You can use my phone to call Tina," Laura grinned. "I'd love to hear that conversation."

"No, but hey, thanks," Joe flipped Laura off.

Mila and Laura chatted a moment as Joe wandered to more friendly faces and waved goodbye. Mila joined him near the elevator.

"Everywhere you go is the same ass-breaking."

"I know. It sucks to be me."

"You love it." She kissed him on the cheek as the door opened.

-- Disarm and Conquer ---

Joe didn't give Tina a half second to get wound up. The moment she answered the phone he hit her with a preemptive strike. "Where would you like to meet for drinks? Mila will be with me."

"Oh, that's it. You decide?"

"That's my offer, T. I came here to help Mila through this bullshit tabloid business. You and I can discuss this after I get home, but we can meet you tomorrow for drinks."

"When are you leaving?"

"The day after tomorrow."

"You could have at least told me you were coming."

"Sorry. I flew here on late notice. Where do you want to get a drink?"

"Do you know Longfellows on the upper east side?"

"No, but we'll find it."

"It's on 93rd. Let's meet there. It's not too far for you or me."

"That'll work. Listen, T. We're not going there to have a discussion about me not contacting you. Save that for later."

"Yessir. You're the bossman."

"Is five thirty good for you?"

"Does it matter if it's not?"

Tina hung up the phone, slipped her heels on under her desk, and walked briskly through the gallery to the back room and downstairs to Jenna's lair. Jen saw her coming through the terrarium. Tina still knocked on the glass, a force of habit.

"We need to do a happy hour, you and me. What are you doing tomorrow night?"

"Nothing important."

"I say, you and I try a new place. Do you know Longfellows? It's not far from your place."

"Yes. They have an amazing ladies' lounge. It's a plush place, a little high-end."

"Are you in?"

"Sure."

"Joe and Mila will be there."

Jenna's eyes popped out and her jaw fell slightly open. "You bitch. You just dragged me into your fucking nightmare? I don't want to meet Mila. Have you seen her? That's not a happy hour for me."

"Please, Jen. I cannot face those two alone. I need you."

"Fuck that. No way."

Tina exhaled in exasperation. "I can't do this alone, and I'm not inviting Troy. Fuck." She leaned against the glass wall. "It was dumb to accept his invitation, but I haven't seen him in so long."

"I know."

"I want to be in the same room as him, even if she's there."

"She's not just there, T. She's by his side and he's going home with her. Why would you put yourself through this?"

Tina stood tall and put her hands on her hips. "I want to meet her. I need to see what this thing is all about, those two. Please go with me. I'll get you a new office."

"You'll get rid of this glass?" Jen gestured to her see-through walls.

"Yeah. You can pick out anything you want. You're in charge."

Jenna thought for a moment, then smiled. "Nice try T. No thanks."

"Fuck," Tina turned and walked out.

-- Cocktail Hour --

When Joe and Mila walked into Longfellows, Tina saw them coming and made her way over from the bar. She blew right past Mila and hugged Joe. "I hate you! You're an inconsiderate asshole. Thank you so much for giving me an hour of your time." She then turned to Mila. "I'm sorry, I just had to get that off my chest. I'm Tina, your Mila, and I'm pleased to meet you."