“I never studied logic, Ray.”
“Well, Neal, I’m not one to lord it over people, but yes—I did study logic.”
“Fancy prep school?”
“No. A fucking hellhole.”4
I swallowed an olive and changed the subject. “So. How is my piece of red plastic coming along?”
Neal gave a weary sigh. “To be honest, I wish it would come along a bit quicker. It’s hard going through life with a persistent prostate massage. I hope Mother Nature will soon take her course.”
My suave, contemplative mood continued, well into my third martini. “Neal, I truly think that wormy-fleshed canker I call my ex-wife is up to something sinister. Any ideas what it could be?”
“Fi? Not that I can think of. Maybe she wants to … dunno … get back together with you.”
“Highly unlikely, Neal. Oh, by the way, I found where she hid the Cure T-shirt, so I pinched it and hid it beneath her tent. We can get it later.”
“You’re the greatest, Ray.”
Then the doorbell rang and Neal went to answer it. It was Billy, of all people. He and Neal hugged like old friends.
“Billy, fancy a drink?” Neal said.
“I do. How’s your pussy fatigue coming along?”
“I think I’ve rounded a corner and will make a full recovery.”
“And your ankle?”
“Ditto. Raymond—look who’s here!”
“Hello, Billy.”
“Hello, Raymond.”
“You two sound like you need more alcohol. What’ll you have, Billy?”
“A greyhound, please.”
“Perfect. We have fresh pink grapefruits from the tree out back. Why, what’s this we have here?” From beneath the bar Neal produced a professional juice squeezer. “One greyhound, coming up!”
A greyhound is a cocktail composed of vodka and grapefruit juice. For some reason, it’s just kind of gay.
While Neal pulped the grapefruits, Billy and I regarded each other with deep suspicion.
“So, Billy,” I finally said, “tell me, what’s the deal with being gay?”
“Huh?”
“I mean, I look at a gay situation, as it were, and nothing the least bit sexual happens.”
“Right.”
“So, what happens with you?” I was drunk enough that the question was sincere.
Billy picked up on this, and looked thoughtful. “Well, imagine you lived on a planet where people got sexual stimulation almost entirely from their ears, and everywhere you looked advertisers were using slick airbrushed photos of ears to sell cars and soft drinks, and all the people on this planet wanted to do was to sit in their bedrooms rubbing their ears together and sticking their fingers in each other’s ears for hours and hours and hours. That’s what it’s like for me when I look at straight people having sex …”
I was all ears, so to speak. “And?”
“Wait a second,” said Billy. “You’re not getting off on this conversation, are you? Fiona said you could be weird about this kind of thing. Were you seriously considering fucking goats in Bonriki?”
“Neal! You told Fiona about our discussion?”
Neal put a mint sprig in Billy’s greyhound and handed it to him. “Nothing wrong with exploring other modes of being, Ray. And remember, you didn’t really fuck a goat. You only fucked a goat in your heart.”
“I was doing no such thing! I seem to remember us talking more about fucking sheep in the end.”
“Well,” said Billy, “haven’t I stepped onto a minefield?”
I reached for a paper napkin and knocked over a drink I hadn’t seen beside a plate of garnishes. “Oops. Sorry, Neal.”
“Not to worry. Just some coconut milk and sugar I was going to turn into an energy drink. You all right?”
“I got it all over my pants, but give me a damp cloth and I can wipe it off.” I looked up. “Billy, why are you even here? Shouldn’t you be out kidnapping toddlers for Fiona to char-broil for dinner?”
“I’m actually here on Fiona business.”
“Go on.”
“She has a surprise for you.”
I knew it! My eyes narrowed into thin, snaky slits as I stared at him.
“She does. And she wants me to bring you to see it.”
“Do you know what this surprise is?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Will it involve public humiliation?”
“Definitely not.”
“So it’s a good surprise, then?”
“Definitely.”
“If you’re lying, I get to make you my slave for one week.”
“Slave? I’m not fucking any goats for you, but if Fiona’s surprise is anything less than splendid, I’ll be happy to be your personal assistant for a week.”