PUNKS Ch. 37: Epilogue in Four Scenes

In my effort to wrap up my story, I had to omit many scenes. I cut whole chapters and rearranged other passages resulting in my late chapters being a bit long. There were scenes involving secondary characters removed. I realized these cuts left a few unresolved issues. This epilogue in four scenes remedies that.

There is no erotic writing here.

February 1997

-- Critiquing the Critics --

"I despise critics," Doc said. "Anyone who shits on art because it doesn't suit their taste or it offends them is an asshole. Critics are professional pricks. Art is subjective. No work is for everyone. If you don't like a book or a film, don't view it. If you don't like Joe's band, don't go to his fucking concert." He coughed. "Go find something that suits your taste."

Doc took a sip of whiskey. "Only someone who's never written a word creatively would crap on a book. They have no clue how much time and effort goes into our work."

Mila shrugged. "Not all critics."

Doc and Mila were having lunch at Flanny's Irish Pub on the Upper West Side. They were waiting for Joe. He had agreed to meet after he and Mila had a couple of lengthy phone conversations about his latest scandal and how she was hurt by the news that he and Tina were back together. Months had passed. They remained friends but feelings were getting in the way of that. Joe had made Mila a promise. He was in town to make good on his word. He was mortified that he hurt Mila and didn't want to disappoint her again.

When Joe arrived, Mila got up to hug him. Then she looked him in the eyes. "Don't say you're sorry. You're forgiven. We're past that." When Joe tried to speak, Mila put a finger on his lips. "No."

Mila took her seat. "You've made a mess of your life."

"I am not the architect of this mess," he said as he took a seat in their booth beside Mila. Joe nodded at Doc, "Hey, old man. How are you?"

"Better than you," Doc smirked. "I knew there was a story behind that purple-haired tart. That kiss was more than it appeared to be."

Joe shrugged, "I didn't see it at the time. I had no clue she was planning a divorce. I didn't know until she told me in LA."

"I believe you," Mila said, "Doc is skeptical."

The waitress came by. Joe ordered Guinness, Mila, and Doc a second round.

"What are you guys talking about? I could hear Doc bitching from the street."

"Moron critics who seek out the art they dislike," Doc said. "like your boyfriend Levine."

"Haters do that," Joe said. "They prefer negativity because it stirs the only emotions their dead souls are capable of. They can't find love. Without hate, they feel nothing."

"That actually makes sense," Mila said, "in a sad, perverted way. When we researched his work, Levine had stated in old columns that he doesn't like punk rock... then why seek it out? I don't like rap music, so I don't listen to it and I don't interview rappers."

"The internet will only make it worse," Joe said. "I'm in MSN Groups. I thought people would connect over things we love, and we do, but there's a lot of bitching and hostility in the chats. The internet gives everyone a megaphone."

"Fuck the internet," Doc grumbled.

"It's the future," Mila said. "You should embrace it."

"Fuck the future I won't be part of."

"You're the grumpiest man I know," Mila smiled. "Why is that so amusing to me?"

Joe looked at Mila and smirked. "I know! It's hilarious. Wouldn't he fit right in at The Surfside?"

Mila scrunched her nose. "I think those guys might annoy Doc."

Doc's eyes went wide, informing Joe and Mila that another friend had arrived. Doc turned his dreaded stink eye on the couple seated across from him. "You sons of bitches set me up."

Martin approached the booth with caution. The open seat was beside Doc. Joe stood and switched sides so Martin could sit beside Mila. As soon as Martin and Joe were seated, Doc started.

"If you think I'm gonna sit here and take this shit you're a bunch of idiots," he tried to move but Joe was blocking his exit. "Get me out of here," he growled.

"Shut up, Doc," Joe barked. "Stop being a baby. Don't say a word."

"Yes," Mila laughed, "Shut up, Doc." She turned to Joe.

"Because I became fond of you," Joe said, "for reasons that escape me, and Martin is now friend, your feud vexes me. It pains Mila to see two of her best friends holding a stupid grudge for so many years. No one will tell me what it is. Mila's not sure either. We're guessing Martin either shit on your work." He looked at Doc. "Or he tried to fuck you."

Mila smiled at Doc, "Which is it?"

"I didn't try to fuck him," Martin said. "He's not my type."

"So he shit on your work?" Joe said. "Who gives a fuck, critics suck dick."

"Especially that one," Doc nodded toward Martin.

"Mila asked for my help and I promised I would try," Joe said as their round of drinks was delivered. Martin ordered a cocktail. Joe continued. "Just tell us what started this stupid cold war and we'll try to work it out."

"Yes, please," Mila said to Doc. "We can't help if we don't know..."

"I don't need your help," Doc grumbled.

Body language told Joe that Martin was not only uncomfortable but he was also intimidated by Doc Jorgensen. Joe understood. Doc was a rude, belligerent, no-bullshit old man who didn't give a fuck if he hurt your feelings or made a scene.

Mila stared at Doc. After Joe had struck out trying to set up a meeting between Doc and Martin, he and Mila decided to ambush and tag team him. Mila and Joe's silence and unbroken gaze shamed Doc into sharing his grievance.

He cleared his throat, "Marty here..."

"My name is not Marty. Please, don't call me that."

"Excuse meeeeee," Doc said with a shitty tone. "Martin dabbled in literary review when he was the hot new queer on the scene in The Village."

"Doc," Joe put a hand up. "stop throwing jabs at him. Just tell us what happened."

Martin nodded meekly. "Thank you, Joe."

"I wrote a book about the sixties. I'm not claiming my first book was a masterpiece, it was not. If I wrote that book today, twenty-six years later, it would be a very different book. I was writing during the sixties, without hindsight." Doc stared at Martin. "I was living in that book. Unfortunate Son was my experience of the sixties more than an account of the decade, or a commentary on the social and political upheaval. It was a deeply personal book."

Doc paused to cough, covering his mouth with a napkin. Joe looked at Martin. The old man was squirming in his seat. Doc was being earnest in his gravelly smoker's voice telling his side.

"Martin here didn't review my book when it came out in 1971. He shit on it in 1979, years after the end of Vietnam, Nixon's disgrace, the deaths of cultural icons..." Doc pointed at Marty. "and years of fucking hindsight. He acted as if I wrote the book in '79, getting some things terribly wrong."

"This is good," Mila said. "Finally, you're talking."

"I'm talking to you," Doc said. "Not him."

"Martin," Joe said. "Do you wish to dispute anything Doc just stated?"

Martin looked at Joe, then Mila, and Doc. "I've always known why he hates me. I despise him not because of his book, but because he's a mean-spirited prick who can't discuss this without demeaning me. I would like to talk this out, but his disrespect and insults make it impossible."

Doc steeled his eyes. "You've already said your words, in the fucking Village Voice, seventeen years ago. Nobody was asking for a review of my eight-year-old first book, but you read it and shit all over it."

"It was a big mistake," Martin spoke fast, with gay man nervous energy. "you're right. I was new at the Voice and trying to make a name for myself. I was doing a project on the sixties, a decade-later retrospective. I thought I was being edgy and provocative when I was actually being stupidly harsh. I regretted that review not long after I did it. I'm sorry, Doc."

Martin turned to Joe, his voice calmer. "That's like the seventh time I've told him I'm sorry. He won't accept my apology. That's why we still have this feud."

Mila placed her hand on his, "We hope this is the last time you must apologize."

Joe leaned back smirking at these two old men he had come to like, a lot. They were both right, each man aggrieved. Doc suffered the initial transgression and Martin was insulted by Doc's lack of forgiveness.

"I have a solution," he said, in a bad Godfather impersonation. "Martin will have to apologize one more time. It's so fucking simple I think you jamokes are stupid for not thinking of it."

Doc, Mila, and Martin stared at Joe, Martin and Mila hopeful, Doc doubtful.

Joe continued. "You men have access to pages in major publications. Write it out." He looked at Martin. "You first. Write about sitting at this table, with friends, and Doc. Tell his version of the story, and yours, and then apologize in print for the world to see... like they saw your trashy review, in print."

Joe turned to Doc, "And you reply without insults. You'll forgive him. Martin printing a correction and apology should be enough for you to get over the fact you wrote a shitty first book."

"You motherfucker!" Doc coughed and laughed, "I was waiting for the punch. I knew it was coming."

Mila laughed. Martin tittered, trying to hide it from Doc.

"Was it a shitty book?" Joe asked with a smirk.

"It's not my best work."

"It was probably okay in 1971," Martin smiled.

"You guys could be friends instead of enemies," Joe said. "That would make her so happy. Don't you want that? You both love Mila.'

"If you want to make her happy," Doc steeled his eyes at Joe. "You'd dump that cheating tart you're shacked up with and stay with Mila."

"This isn't about us," Mila said. "Joe and I aren't... going back."

Doc stared at Mila, then Martin. Joe stared at Doc. Everyone was waiting for him to say something. He was the obstacle to peace in our time.

"Do we have a deal here?" Joe finally asked. "You haven't said one way or the other."

Doc's square, stubbled jaw tightened. He was begrudgingly coming over to Joe's idea. Martin knew it was a good deal.

"I'll write about our lunch date." Martin turned to Joe. "That's really a great idea. I'll tell our story, Doc, and how badly I feel about what I wrote... and this old grudge."

"All I can say is I'll read it," Doc looked up at Martin. "and then we can talk."

"That sounds like a deal," Joe smiled. "My work here is done."

Mila clapped, "This is good. Thank you."

The waitress came by with Martin's cocktail. Food was ordered as well as another round of drinks. When she left, Doc changed the subject.

"With that shit settled, can we get back on topic? Doc growled, then smiled at Martin. "We were talking about critics and what insufferable assholes they are."

Martin looked at Mila. She nodded. "Yes, that's what we were talking about."

"Levine?"

"All critics," Doc said, "especially the cretins who crap on the art they know they don't like going in. If you don't like a particular type of work, you don't go back over and over to give a one-star review." Doc said, "...unless you're a petty little fucking twat of low character."

"Levine's thing was more personal than about Joe's music," Martin noted.

"I know," Doc said. "Do you remember Ira Berkowitz, the film and literary critic?"

"Of course," Martin said, "he was very well respected and fair."

"True, but old Ira had a blind spot," Doc pointed at Marty. "infidelity! Two of his three wives cheated on him. Ira trashed any book or film where infidelity was a theme. You could not trust the cuck to be objective, and he was too proud to admit it." He took a sip of whiskey. "Ira took revenge on anyone who dared create art about cheating husbands and wives, even the actors. It was a fairly well-known secret that he would attempt to ruin your book or film, especially if the protagonist was the cheater."

Martin held his chin. "This is fascinating. I have to go back and look at these reviews. I had never heard this."

"People have reasons for doing what they do," Doc said. "My second wife had an affair. I'm no saint. I've slept with a few married women. Do you want to know what they all had in common?"

Mila shrugged.

"Unhappy marriages and husbands who didn't satisfy them... emotionally or physically. One was a porn guy who'd rather jerk off than fuck his wife. Let me tell ya," Doc leaned in. "she was worth fucking. The others lost the spark in their marriage and had to go elsewhere to get pipe laid the way they needed it."

"And there was Doc." Joe smirked, "proudly providing plumbing services to unhappy wives."

"Except for when his wife was the one with the clog," Mila covered her smirk with her glass. "Maybe the husbands had small dicks?" She said, "I could not marry a man with a too-small dick."

Joe laughed at Doc. "Do you have a small dick, Doc?"

Doc looked over his eyeglasses at Joe. "Mila didn't marry you."

"Touche," Joe nodded. "Yes, I have a micro penis. That's why Mila dumped me."

Mila gave a faux laugh but did not really like that remark. She glanced at Joe.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Oh, no," Mila said. "Please, let's go with the me-dumping-you narrative."

This moment both delighted and pained Joe. Mila was fabulous, fun, and non-dramatic... and she barely had a chance. They had two weeks together, fantastic days and nights, and then it was over. In a world without Tina, Mila would be a contender for Joe's heart... and that sexy accent made him melt.

"So Doc," Joe turned to the old man. "Your wife cheated on you. What was your problem?"

"I was a whiskey dicked drunk who didn't give a fuck and couldn't satisfy her," Doc wheezed, "And that's the goddamn truth. What was your woman's reason for cheating?"

Joe put a finger up. "I would like to have it on record that Tina cheated with me, not on me."

Mila chuckled, "Noted. She was in love with him, Doc. Tina married the wrong man."

"That's pretty much it," Joe said. "But for her, it was the emotional intimacy she needed. She was fucking her husband. Tina and I only had sex maybe ten times in five years. Her emotional cheating was constant."

"So, that's what you gave her." Mila smiled at Joe. "Emotional dick?"

"Yes. That's exactly what she got... most of the time."

Doc glared at Mila. "I told you there was a story there. This is what you should have been digging up in Venice, not that schoolgirl crush story you wrote."

"He wasn't going to share that," Mila said. "That story was never coming out.."

They enjoyed lunch, had some laughs, and it appeared Joe had accomplished his mission of peace. When it was time to leave, Joe asked Mila if she'd walk with him. Strolling on Amsterdam Ave, he apologized... again.

"I'm so sorry for how things happened. I still feel terrible."

"Stop saying you're sorry," Mila leaned against him. "I know what happened. Tina saw me as a threat and she made her move."

"I know you understand, but that doesn't make me feel less shitty. I just needed to look you in the eyes and say I'm sorry."

"Okay, it's done." Mila took Joe's hand. "Reading it in The Times was the worst part because everyone knew I was hurting, which was embarrassing. I figured it out before we even discussed it. I didn't need a detective."

"It was your invitation to Spain. She freaked the fuck out over me meeting your family."

They stopped to wait for a crossing signal. Cars and taxis zipped by, four feet away.

"But you weren't going to accept that invitation. I asked because I wanted to know where we were in our relationship. Had you come to meet my parents, we would have had a big talk, but I never thought we were actually ready for that."

"Did you want me to come?"

"Yes, I did." She smiled. "But let's not relive this, it's pointless. Thank you for keeping your promise to get Doc and Martin talking."

"It was the least I could do. The fact my affair with Tina was exposed took Doc's leverage away."

"I know, and so did he." Mila looked at Joe. "He grumbled about it." She squeezed his hand as they approached another no-walking signal. "So, how is life in Venice with a wife?"

"She's not my wife."

"Not yet."

"To be honest," Joe faced her. "It's been great but it's also a rude awakening."

"Oooo," Mila smiled devilishly as they stepped off the curb. "Tell me more."

Joe exhaled, "I've lived alone for ten years. Having someone in my home for weeks at a time, always considering her feelings and expectations is not so easy. We're happy, believe me, it's great, but there are moments..." Joe paused. "Life as I knew it is over."

"Let me give you my impression of Tina. I like her. I really do. She's an accomplished woman. She is beautiful. I love her hair. It takes confidence to dye your head purple and ..."

"It's the sign of a free spirit. I love that about T."

"And she can't give a damn what people think of her style. She's fashionable and sophisticated. I suspect that confidence and her success as a businesswoman means she has high standards and might be... a little demanding?"

"Your analysis is spot on, but it's not that she's demanding. Tina simply functions in a big city no-nonsense world. That collides with my beach bum world."

"Do you have an example?"

"It's just her general need to have everything planned and organized before we do anything. Where are we going, what time, and for how long? What should I wear? Are we eating? If so, what?"

Mila laughed, "Yes. That is the opposite of your life."

"I know. I just live day to day unless there's something big happening. My daily routine is set, more or less, but there's a lot of wiggle room and I don't want to be tied to a schedule. I do what the fuck I want when I want."

"And she needs a schedule."

"A detailed itinerary."

"Does she like your place?"

"Yes, she does, and she likes my decorating, which made me happy because I respect her opinion on such matters. This week is the first time she's been in Venice alone. I could go home in two days to find she's redecorating."

"That would upset you?"

"Absolutely. I want her to feel at home and make herself comfortable, but I'm not ready to redo my life and home."

Mila laughed, "Please excuse me for finding this so amusing. Your little beach kingdom is being conquered."

"And I'm not surrendering. There will be negotiations in the future. We'll be fine. I'm just realizing how much change I'm facing. I didn't anticipate all of it. I'm trying my best."

"You're a kind and generous man... and you love her. Your best will be good."

They came upon a subway stop. "This is me," Joe said.

Mila leaned against the subway railing on the sidewalk and turned to Joe. They stood for a moment, eye to eye. She pulled on Joe's leather. Her face landed on his shoulder and her arms went around him. Joe held her close.

"Thank you for seeing me," he said. "I'm glad we can be friends."

Mila looked up, "I still believe you are a wonderful man with a beautiful life. What would have happened had you come to Spain?"

"Maybe my life would have been more beautiful?"

"Yes, I think so." Mila smiled, "And thank you for saying that, Joe. Good luck with the boss lady." She kissed his cheek and released him. Joe stepped back. "Let me know if Doc and Martin kiss and make up."

"I will. Have a safe trip home."

As Joe walked down the subway stairs he snickered at Mila's last jab. He confided in her that Tina was upending his life and it was unsettling. Mila recalled his boss lady joke from long ago and used it. Well played.

-- The New Regime --

Joe jumped on the subway, got off to make a purchase, then back on for Soho. He arrived at the Amethyst Gallery with a large box of bakery cookies. As he came through the door, Brittany yelped, "I can't believe you're here. Where's Tina?"