The Pink Orchid #02

Meat's probation officer had been amazed that Meat, who had never worked in his 20 years had gotten a job.

The cynical Mr. Molinari had been even more startled that Meat had found a position as chauffer and legislative assistant to a Republican congressman!

Hugh O'Halloran (R-New Hampshire) had given Mr. Molinari a dazzling smile as he'd sat next to Molinari's glowering charge.

Of course Meat wasn't flattered that Molinari couldn't believe all this.

What was Meat, chopped liver? (Forgive the punnish license of your author.)

"Yes, I met Wenceslas at the YMCA." Hugh said, breezily.

"You can call him Meat." Molinari said wearily. "I understand everybody does."

"Yeah, after I kicked this kid's head in at kindergarten, my third year there, I was a little bigger, no one called me "Winny " no more." Meat said, and Hugh gently shushed him.

Molinari was also fascinated that Hugh, such a delicate little man, could put a finger over the thug's lips, and Meat allowed this!

Once, one of Molinari's colleagues had just brushed Meat in the hallway, and Meat had attempted to clock him with the water cooler!

"I see tremendous potential in Meat, and I understand he's a good Christian." Congressman O'Halloran continued.

Molinari smiled doubtfully.

He might have been a bit more doubtful half an hour later, if he'd seen the good lawmaker licking Meat's meat (so to speak) in the back seat of the Lincoln Town car.

"You sure people can't see us, Hugh?" Meat looked at the windows nervously. They were in a fairly quiet neighborhood and it was seven p.m., but still.

"No." Hugh popped up to say. "I have a way of darkening the windows so I can see out, but no one can see in. I got the idea from the Green Hornet, he's a cousin of mine."

"The Green Hornet is just a guy on the radio. He ain't real."

"Ah, Meat, who of us is? That's a Socratic question. Now lay back and relax, we're going into that party in about ten minutes."

Meat was thoroughly enjoying himself, and wishing they were back at Hugh's place so he could have a crack at Hugh's wiener too (the ol' sixty-nine, you know?) but he then asked, "Can we go out tonight, and get justice for the fags?"

Hugh bit Meat's meat slightly.

"Oooh! I mean the gay men. I want to make up for what I did."

"I am afraid you need a little more science in your boxing, Meat--"

"I was Silver Mittens and almost Golden Gloves till that referee got mad 'cause I put Thaddeus Winkowski in that wrestlin' hold."

Peggy Sheehan opened the door, smiling.

"Oh, Congressman O'Halloran! How are you?" Such a handsome young man.

And he apparently is being accompanied by well, a longshoreman of some sort, ill fitting in a tuxedo much too small for him.

"Peggy, you know I told you to call me Hugh." A dazzling kiss.

Those dimples! The Grecian nose, the cleft chin. Peggy was somewhat happily married, but oh--

As if reading her mind, Hugh said "If I was just ten years older, I'd be dating you instead of your niece."

"Your compliments are so tres bien, darling. I am easily--" Peggy subtracted a decent number--" twenty years older."

"I couldn't tell. You look just like Debbie Reynolds."

"Was she in 'Debbie does Dallas?' Boss?" asked the accompanying thug.

"I'm afraid you have something white on your face, dear."

"Mayonnaise!" Taking a handkerchief from the hulking creature beside him, Congressman O'Halloran--oh, I must call him Hugh--dabbed his chin delicately.

What a glorious boy! And Beverly loves him.

She says he isn't like most of the disgusting leisure suited Lotharios now, sex, sex, sex. Two months dating now, and apparently Hugh is a complete gentleman.

"This is my aide, Mr. Meatowski."

Oh my, look at that paw. But ever the small "d" democrat, Peggy offered her hand and watched it be enveloped in his huge hairy one.

Peggy had taken one of her grandchildren to see that awful "Planet of the Apes" movie, followed by a Godzilla thing (double features were so degoutant) and this chap might really be an effective cast member.

But what a nice boy. Peggy remembered her lace curtain, shanty-Irish Nana telling her mother that there would be no place for the Irish in polite society, there was just no hope for the mackerel-snappers.

But Peggy had made it here, and was in the Chevy-Chase country club (no Jews!) and here we have an actual Irish-American Congressman. Take that, Grand-mere.

Hugh turned and beamed at Mr. Meatowski. "Meat, why don't you go get us a couple of old-fashioneds. The fellow at the bar will know how to make them."

"They don't got beer here?"

But the gorilla trundled off.

"I do want to introduce you to the chairman--well, chairwoman,we're so progressive--of the Committee to bring back the Legion of Decency, as there are so few good movies--"

Hugh looked around. "Isn't that the woman who arranged the March for Life, Peggy?"

"No, I'm afraid they all seem to look alike at that age." Peggy smiled faintly, realizing she was about five years older than the rest of "them."

Meat had been in the middle of getting the drinks when he'd encountered an older guy that he'd met in the "popular" bathroom at Garfinckel's Department store.

Meat had heard someone refer to him as Mr. Cohn, but the guy just trailed his finger along Meat's chest, compressed as it was in that fucking monkey suit.

"You're a big boy, aren't you, son?"

"Uh, yeah, sure. Mister--"

"You can call me Roy. Roy's big boy."

"You called yourself Waldo at Garfinckel's tea room."

"Whatever, I want to show you the big bathroom in this house. Put down the damn drinks."

Well, Meat thought, as he was hustled away to the john by the pushy Jew lawyer, I guess you get it where you can.