My Gay Buddy
I don’t eat lunch with my gay friend Carlos as often as I used to before I got married and had kids, but we still get together from time to time. He sent me a very demanding e-mail this morning that said I had no choice but to have lunch with him today. He apparently has big news.
I’m sitting outside the Cheesecake Factory in Woodland Hills. The place is always packed at lunch hour with other shitty people doing shitty jobs that no one gives a fuck about. I thought talking loudly into your cell phone to seem important ended in the nineties, but there’s a bald guy with a giant gut talking as loudly as possible into his Bluetooth earpiece about buying and selling something. I almost don’t believe it’s real until Carlos walks up and actually says to the guy, “Hey, nobody gives a fuck about what you’re buying and selling on your fake phone call.”
The guy is surprised and embarrassed. He walks off without saying anything. Carlos gives me a hug and says, “Long time no see, pussylicker.”
“Yeah. The wife-and-kids thing. You know how it is . . . Oh wait, no you don’t, you’re a gay man.”
“Fuck you. Let’s eat.”
We sit down outside, which I hate but Carlos insists on, and get some bread and water. I say, “So what’s the news?”
He says, “Tedward and I are getting fucking married. Can you believe that shit?”
I say, “Wow. No. Where?”
“Not in California, obviously.”
“New York?”
“Uh . . . no. I’m not a faggot.”
“Uh . . . yes you are.”
“No I’m not. I’m gay. I’m not a fag. Every fag in this fucking country is getting married in New York now. It was a cliché before it was even legal. Tedward has an aunt in Boston who has this gorgeous house she’s going to let us use. It’s going to be insane. And you and your brood are invited.”
“We’ll be there. When is it?”
“Four months from now. I’ll send you the date and everything, but about four months from now.”
“Shit, that’s quick.”
“It seems like it, but Tedward and I have been together for like almost five years now. Can you believe that shit?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
The waiter comes to the table to take our orders. We order, and when the waiter leaves Carlos says, “I would put my tongue up his ass so fucking hard I’d be French-kissing him.”
I say, “You better do it while you’re still officially single. In four months that shit is over.”
He says, “No. See, despite all of my best efforts, you still really don’t understand how I operate, do you?”
“What in the fuck are you talking about?”
“Do you think I’d get married if it meant I couldn’t get fucked by other guys?”
“So you’re going to cheat on Tedward?”
“No, you fucking idiot. We bring a third party in all the time. Shit, sometimes even a fourth. Marriage doesn’t mean the end of your sex life . . . unless you’re straight. Thank god I’m not.”
“Jesus.”
“I’ve told you about this.”
“You told me you had a threesome with Tedward once. I thought that one time was it.”
“I don’t know why I have to keep breaking it down for you in terms you can understand, but I will. If Alyna told you that not only was she cool with you bringing different chicks home for the two of you to have threesomes with, but she actually wanted you to because she liked eating pussy as much as you do, don’t you think you’d be doing that pretty much as often as you possibly could?”
“Yeah, I guess I would.”
“No shit. Well, Tedward likes to fuck . . . a lot. And I like to get fucked . . . a lot. So we find guys who want to fuck and get fucked and we’re both happy as fucking clams.”
“Sounds like a good setup.”
“It is. And then, if we want to follow in your footsteps and have a family and the whole nine yards, we just go on the Internet and get a cute little Chinese baby. Which we don’t, by the way. Kids are fucking disgusting and they ruin your life. No offense.”
“None taken.”
“So, that’s my big news. I’m a bride to be.”
“Well, congrats and welcome to the ranks of the happily married.”
“Happily? So you’re getting laid more, then?”
“I guess I meant welcome to the ranks of the legally married.”
“You can’t keep jerking off in the office.”
“Yes I can.”
“You always make me glad I was born to suck dick.”
“I do what I can.”
“When’s the last time you fucked?”
“On my birthday and it wasn’t even that good.”
“You guys should be in couples therapy.”
“You always say that shit.”
“Because it’s fucking good advice, asshole. I know you ruined your life with kids and shit, but you need to be fucking.”
“Thanks.”
“Anytime. If you want, I can give you the number of a good couples therapist.”
“I’ll pass for now, thanks.”
“Suit yourself.”
We order our food and eat. The rest of the conversation is about nothing important. We talk about movies and TV shows. Carlos tells me one of his clients just booked some huge but top-secret movie, and he’s hoping that this client, who he explains loves him more than her own mother, will come with him when he jumps ship to a bigger agency like CAA or WME so he doesn’t have to endure the humiliation of being an agent at Paradigm anymore. I tell him about the intern I’m going to hire. He laughs and tells me I’m pathetic.
He picks up the check, which he loves to do because it gives him a chance to use his black AmEx. He pays the bill and writes his phone number on the check, along with the following sentence: “Call me if you want the best blowjob you’ve ever had in your fucking life.”