Jésus, The Passion of the, Book II

...When we last left our heroes they were trying to get an outdoor table at lunchtime on a Saturday at Stephanie's on Newberry St. while waiting for Monanna to arrive from Portsmouth.

Which was fine. There was a killer wait so it gave us time to a) wait for Monanna, b) make fun of all the poorly dressed Bostonians, and c) make up fun nicknames for Mon, like "Little Miss Slut-Slut" and "Saltfucker", which of course we planned to use liberally.

As it was, by the time our table was ready (an hour later), Little Miss Slut-Slut hadn't showed up yet. The hostess graciously sat us at a two-top she'd turned into a three-top. Shortly after we ordered and were drinking our sangria, who strolls up but Wham Bam Dawson. And who is in tow? A really buff (but kind of short) Bolivian wearing a soccer jersey and grinning madly. Oh joy. She brought the sailor along. Ahoy, thar, Jésus! Blimey, we ain't got you a seat!

The hostess comes running over. To give us an extra chair, perhaps? Nah, she just politely (and by politely I mean as if I'd just shat on her foot) said that we weren't even sitting at a three-top; she'd merely done us a favor since we'd waited so long by turning the two into a three and there was no way she could make it a four. And then she walked away! Did she offer us a solution? Another table perhaps? A two-top for LMSS and the Brazilian? Nope. She just walked away.

So Mon took the chair and the sailor sat on the ground. Our waiter came up to us, completely nonplussed. Ahoy! You maties want to order some chow? There was no offer of a seat. Which was just as well because it was easier to ignore the sailor on the ground while we pumped Little Miss Slut-Slut for, um, information. Turns out, she couldn't find her friend at the Hong Kong so she left and stumbled upon another bar where she met the Mexican sailor (in full uniform) and some cops. Long story short (too late) she leaves her purse at one of the bars and by the end of the night decided she was tired and wanted to go to bed. When Jésus offers to take her home she is completely incapable of remembering where she lives and insists she needs somewhere to sleep. Obviously the answer is Portsmouth, New Hampshire. So away they went!

I graciously buy the sailor lunch (he only orders clam chowder and an iced tea) because he got my Monanna home relatively safe. After lunch he returns the favor by offering to drive us to Cambridge. He follows us into Mon's apartment where he gets to meet her gay linguist roommate, Tim (ahoy Tim!). Tim informs us that the bar called him (of all people) to tell him that someone named Monanna, who they hope he knows, left her purse. Jésus graciously offers to take us there. Now, Tim could have, but Jésus is being nice. All things beginning to be sorted, Jésus asks what we are all doing today. Making dinner and going out is our response. He has, at this point, say 5pm, made no move to go back to Portsmouth. He must have nothing to do. A few awkward moments later, Wham Bam Dawson invites him for dinner. Ahoy, he accepts! Apparently this man has nothing else in the world to do.

Now, at this point, I'm not quite sure if this little Ecuadorian knows what he's getting himself into. We are making dinner, but we aren't a bunch of guys hanging around grilling steaks. No, we had artichokes, and pureed leeks and caulifluor, and Tim was able to pull of an impromptu cheese platter with no less than eight cheeses although he sent us out to the store because we absolutely positively had to have a hard Basque sheep's milk cheese or the platter would be ruined. Ruined! Oh, and Larry insisted on making strawberry rhubarb glaze for the ice cream. Jésus slept until it was dinnertime, which was great because we could mock him openly. Not that we weren't mocking him (and Mon, of course) openly when he was around. It's just a felt a little better about doing it behind his back.

Meanwhile two more guest arrived, Andy the gay biologist and Bob the gay literary theorist. Jésus emerged from the living room (ahoy!) to a bunch of queers munching on cheese and looking at soft-core porn. Well, actually we were looking at the website of the club we were going to, Manray, and I was trying to find men for Andy (who's been a bit hard-up lately, if you ask me). We also passed the time by mocking Rainbow Frite, our supposed "hostess" for the evening, who looked like the hideous offspring of Divine and a Care Bear. Shortly thereafter, Mon asked us if we were going to change.

At that moment a flicker of light sparked behind Jésus's dim, dim eyes. Gay men. Clubbing. Rainbow Frite. "Um, are you guys going to dress up in women's clothes?" Bob got very indignant. But it was apparently a valid question because, um, Jésus was making no move for the door. That is, um, he was going clubbing with us.

The club was ok. There were no drugs, which bothered Tim an awful lot, and there was a horrible drag show and it was ostensibly not gay night. I drank a lot of overpriced, watered down drinks from over-skinny over-tattooed 19 year old heroin addict bartenders who refused to flirt with me even though I was stylin'. By the end of the night I think we were all actively ignoring the Columbian lap-dog that had been following Little Miss Slut-Slut around all day. Apparently he had no where better to be than hanging out with a bunch of gay men in a cheesy 19-and-over club in Cambridge. He watched the entire drag show with utter fascination.

I won't actively bitch about having to sleep on the floor because Jésus was still around but, um, I had to sleep on the motherf*cking floor because that goddamn sailor was around! But, the killer was the next morning. We're all sitting around, having coffee and getting ready to go to Sunday brunch and I'm praying, just praying that Jésus will finally leave. In the middle of a discussion on terror activity in the Sudan, another one of those rare flicker moments happens and Jésus leaps up (ahoy!)

He ran to his phone to make a call. You see, apparently Jésus had some sort of authority role in the military and one of his 18yo underlings was waiting in the Manchester airport because he was having flight issues getting back to base. He was waiting for Jésus, as his commanding officer, to come to the airport and sort everything out. They were supposed to meet Saturday afternoon. The same afternoon he'd been following us around aimlessly without a care in the world. Get that, kiddies? He spent twenty-four hours lounging around with a bunch of queers doing nothing particularly exciting without anywhere else to be. Except, um, HE HAD SOMEWHERE ELSE TO BE! Somewhere very IMPORTANT. Some poor kid had to sleep in an airport because Jésus (ahoy) wanted to give his little sailor some more attention. He spent an entire day annoying the ever-living shit out of me, and HE HAD SOMEWHERE TO BE! Now, we've all thought with our dicks before but this one, this one takes the cake. It's no wonder he's currently in a custody battle with his ex.

But perhaps I'm griping a bit too much. He did provide me with much entertainment. Not as much as Wham Bam Dawson, perhaps, but enough. As it is, Little Miss Slut-Slut is visiting me this weekend and my boyfriend is away. So if you know any sailors I could hook-up with so she's forced to sleep on the floor, you can pass them along. Karma will thank you.

THE END

P.S. I love you Monanna. You're my number one monkey...