9,500
Shell Station
41,000
(b) Jody’s Liabilities
Mortgage
10,250
Insurance
2,200
Legal Fees
300
(c) Jody’s Asset
A hot butt. (Did he always have one or is this a new development?)
2. We’re going to hit Costanzo with a petition for split custody—six months apiece. How can he argue with that? “Beard the lion in his lair, none but the brave deserve the fair.” (Gilbert and Sullivan, Iolanthe.)
3. Jody’s invited us to Utica next weekend. Especially you. But don’t take it the wrong way just because he said “Charleen” nineteen times. He probably needs somebody there who knows how to fold laundry.
4. Clayton and I can only get married in Denmark if we learn how to speak Flemish or Dutch or whatever the hell they talk over there, so we’re looking into Sweden. Question: how close is Vermont to making us legal? And what about other liberal states like West Virginia? Think it over and tell me at lunch. Sweet Shop, 12:30.
MCKENNA & WEBB
A LAW PARTNERSHIP
118 CONGRESS PARK, SUITE 407
SARATOGA SPRINGS, NEW YORK 12866
MEMORANDUM
TO: Craig
FROM: Charleen
DATE: May 20, 1998
SUBJECT: Kessler vs. Kessler
I’m unavailable to spend two nights in the same house where Jody Kessler takes showers naked. Furthermore, I’ve already booked a previous anxiety attack for next weekend, so perhaps you’d better invite Iolanthe instead.
Of course Costanzo can argue with split custody! “Jesus H. Christ, Craig! You expect me to bounce that kid from school to school twice a year like a goddamned tennis ball? Beat it.” We need to talk Jody into moving back to Saratoga Springs. And whatever you’re thinking, don’t go there. I assure you I have no personal stake in this whatsoever.
No need to deliberate—West Virginia would never allow same-sex marriage. It prevents inbreeding.
Kindly keep Jody’s ass out of this. He’s one of the only three straight men left in New York.
MCKENNA & WEBB
A LAW PARTNERSHIP
118 CONGRESS PARK, SUITE 407
SARATOGA SPRINGS, NEW YORK 12866
MEMORANDUM
TO: Charleen
FROM: Craig
DATE: May 20, 1998
SUBJECT: Jody’s Ass
* * *
Wouldn’t it be funny if Anita Bryant was right and we really could recruit them?
MCKENNA & WEBB
A LAW PARTNERSHIP
118 CONGRESS PARK, SUITE 407
SARATOGA SPRINGS, NEW YORK 12866
MEMORANDUM
TO: Craig
FROM: Charleen
DATE: May 20, 1998
SUBJECT: Jody’s Ass
Yes, Craig. That would be a riot.
LOUISE MCKENNA, M.D.
OBSTETRICS/GYNECOLOGY
Jefferson Medical Plaza, Suite 100
903 Saint Charles Street
St. Louis, Missouri 63101
May 22, 1998
Darling:
I’m enclosing another snapshot of Douglas Colson, M.D. Isn’t he something? By the way, those muscles are real.
Sweetheart, I have nothing against Clayton, per se, but you owe it to yourself to marry into the medical profession. It’s in our blood. And we’ve always had good luck with doctors. Face it—if you hadn’t been born, I wouldn’t have had an affair with your pediatrician and your father wouldn’t have found out about it and God forbid I’d still be stuck with him.
I got your pictures from Cape Vincent. Lovely. But please don’t send any more with Clayton in them. The temptation to cut off his head is far too great.
Call if you need anything.
Love,
Mom
Craig McKenna
Attorney Notes
Anatomy of a Fight
Craig McKenna vs. Clayton Bergman
(Available on Pay-Per-View in Some Areas)
LOCATION: A kitchen on Loughberry Lake, dinnertime.
CHARACTERS: You and your sig oth.
SETUP: He’s stirring the hollandaise sauce, you’re checking up on the lamb chops, and for some reason—probably a metaphoric one—you wait until the asparagus begins to boil before you bring up the Freedom to Marry March on Washington.
“That’s the weekend we’re going to Rehobeth Beach,” he says brusquely, turning off the burner. “Here, taste this.” Then he sticks a hollandaise-covered finger in your mouth, hoping it makes you (a) hungry or (b) horny—anything to shut you up. It doesn’t work.
“Not enough butter,” you tell him. “Clay, Delaware’s going to be around for a while, and—”
“So’s Washington,” he cuts in. “Hand me a bowl, would you?” At that moment, the potato timer rings.
ROUND ONE
The Dinner Table
You’re both eating very slowly. It’s difficult to chew through a couple of clenched jaws.
Who
What’s Said
What Isn’t Said
You
Could I have the pepper?
Don’t you have a political conscience?
Him
Here.
Don’t you have a life?! What comes next—Buffalo Springfield and your usual police action?
You
Thank you.
I hate your hollandaise.
Him
How are your lamb chops?
Know what you need? You need to be spanked and sent to your room.
You
Good. They’re good.
I have nothing more to say to you. Ever.
Him
Want some wine?
Pout at your own risk. You’re only going to make me pop my cork. And you really don’t want to see that happen.
You
No.
How’s your blood pressure, asshole?
ROUND TWO
The Den
The dishes are done and you’re watching a movie—but from opposite couches.
Who
What’s Said
What Isn’t Said
Him
What did you rent?
Nice meal. It was like eating granite. Can’t we fight during the day instead?
You
I Wanna Hold Your Hand.
Don’t even think about calling a truce. You have at least three more hours of suffering left.
Him
Never heard of it.
You’re not gonna budge an inch, are you?
You
Trust me.
(Smirk.)
Him
Don’t I always?
Honey, work with me on this. Rehobeth was supposed to be about you and me and a beach and a bed, and four days that belonged to just the two of us.
You
I guess.
Clayton, I know that—and I’m not trying to change the world. I just want to clean up our corner of it.
Him
Who’s that?
Am I actually scoring points here?
You
Bobby Di Cicco. I met him once.
Okay. Maybe only two hours of suffering.
Him
Yeah?
You’re gonna lose this one.
ROUND THREE
The Bathroom
According to the Geneva Convention, you’re still required to take a shower together, even if you aren’t speaking. However, you’re not allowed to soap each other up without written consent first.
Who
What’s Said
What Isn’t Said
Him
You missed a spot on your back.
I could do that for you.
You
Ooops.
All right—only twenty minutes of suffering. But that’s as low as I go!
Him
Shit. Shampoo in my eyes.
/>
Honey, help me understand you. Please?
You
Hold still, I’ll get it off.
Clay, I need you to rewrite the rules with me. Don’t you see? Why are we running halfway around the world to get married when we ought to be able to do it right here? We wouldn’t even need carry-on luggage.
Him
Thanks.
I love you.
You
Dope.
I’m going to lose this one.
ROUND FOUR
The Sink
You’re taking turns brushing your teeth and trying not to look at each other in the mirror.
Who
What’s Said
What Isn’t Said
Him
Okay. What if I trade you Rehobeth Beach for a whole week to be named later? Just us.
I’ll make a deal with you. If we both give in at the same time, everybody wins.
You
Sure. We can make it Miami in November. There’s this referendum on the ballot that I want—
You mean I got away with a pout?!
Him
Hey!
I’m saying yes.
You
I’m kidding!
I love you too.
ROUND FIVE
The Double Bed (from Ikea)
You’re lying against his chest and doing something nonsexual with one of his nipples. He doesn’t like Chin-in-the-Neck or Falling-Asleep-Kissing, but he’s invented the Playing-with-Your-Hair thing, which works almost as well. Both of you are a little worn-out—it’s been a long night.
* * *
What’s Said/What Isn’t Said
“Honey?” he murmurs gently.
“Mmmmm?”
“Didn’t two guys go to Bolivia once to tie the knot?”
“That was Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.”
“In your dreams.”
* * *
Then he kisses the top of your head and you fall asleep.
* * *
FINAL SCORE: DOUBLE TKO
* * *
Would it have killed them to make being in love a little easier?
6
Travis
FROM THE DESK OF
Gordon Duboise
T:
Here’s what I found on the Internet: there’s 118 McKennas in St. Louis, but no Craig. There’s 74 Craig McKennas in the U.S. white pages, but none in St. Louis. I’m printing out all 192 phone numbers because you’re going to ask me for them anyway. Are you sure you want to do this?
The Missouri State Bar doesn’t have any record of a Craig McKenna, so I checked Massachusetts too in case he liked their boys when he was in college and decided to stick around Boston. But he ain’t there either. T, you don’t know for sure that he went to law school. And if he did, maybe he changed his mind when he found out what kind of an asshole they were turning him into.
I talked to a hot little babe in the Harvard alumni office who wound up e-mailing me one of her yearbook photos. Yikes! She’s not allowed to give out any info over the phone, but she says if I’m ever in Cambridge she’ll have dinner with me to discuss it. Don’t say I wouldn’t go to the mat for you.
We’re all out of paper towels, you left the refrigerator door open again, the Häagen-Dazs melted all over my spareribs, and your room’s beginning to smell worse than mine does. You’re really scaring me, man.
G
UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA
UNIVERSITY PARK • LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA 90007
Doheny Library
Faculty Research Request
DATE: May 25, 1998
FROM: Travis Puckett
DEPARTMENT: History
BUILDING/ROOM: VKC/223
MATERIALS NEEDED
SPECIAL INSTRUCTIONS
Any information on an attorney named Craig McKenna. I don’t know where he practices, I don’t know where he lives, and I’m not even sure he’s a lawyer. Spare no expense. I’ll pay whatever it costs.
Julian, I’m sorry. You were right. The man I belong with is the boy I first kissed twenty years ago. Now all I’ve got to do is find him again.
What are you sorry for? Didn’t I say you were a Prince Charming?
I need everything you’ve got on this guy: birth date, physical description, distinguishing characteristics, dick size (for my own catalog only). Don’t worry. If Sleeping Beauty’s out there, we’ll find him.
UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA
MESSAGE CENTER
TO: Prof. Travis Puckett
FROM: Andrea Fox
DATE: May 25, 1998
STATUS: URGENT
* * *
THERE’S A GRANT MEETING SCHEDULED FOR 10: 00 A.M. ON WEDNESDAY. MARSHA HOLMES RALLIED THE ENTIRE HISTORY DEPARTMENT BEHIND YOU, AS WELL AS TWO PROFESSORS FROM THE SCHOOL OF PALEONTOLOGY (!).
SO IF YOU DON’T RESPOND TO AT LEAST ONE OF MY LAST EIGHT MESSAGES, I’M GOING TO BREAK ALL TEN OF YOUR OBSESSIVE-COMPULSIVE FINGERS.
ANDREA
FROM THE JOURNAL OF
Travis Puckett
Craig McKenna: Clear Lake, Iowa Retired Marine Corps colonel
Craig McKenna: Lake Forest, Illinois 14 years old
Craig McKenna: Shreveport, Louisiana Out on parole
Craig McKenna: Hagerstown, Maryland Has seven grandchildren
Craig McKenna: Canton, Georgia Tried to sell me mail-order shoes
I’m disintegrating in front of my eyes. I haven’t shaved in three days. They’ll bury me in a dirty T-shirt and unmatched socks. How’s that for irony? But it’s my own fault. I had him and I let him go. We could have been the luckiest people in the world. Oh, Christ. I’m quoting Barbra Streisand at 4:00 in the morning. That’s one step away from turning into Norma Desmond. I don’t even know what I’m talking about any more. HOW MANY CRAIG McKENNAS COULD THERE BE?! Sleep, Travis. Go to sleep. But don’t dream about Craig again. Please?
June 1978. It was the longest two weeks of our lives. Once we’d realized that Cupid had shot us both in the ass at the same time, we were doomed. If we weren’t making plans for our next twenty years together, we were checking each other out in the showers. If we weren’t sneaking off into the woods to fool around, we were reapplying to colleges so we’d be closer together in the fall. And by the time we’d clocked our first four-minute kiss, our hormones had grown fissionable: all we had to do was lock eyes in the middle of English and it was like firing a U-235 bullet into a uranium core. Radiation alert! Radiation alert! But prep schools in 1978 weren’t exactly bastions of large-mindedness, and if they’d actually found two boys in bed together, the statue of Mrs. Beckley would have taken a copper crap right in the middle of the Quad.
“What was King Lear’s tragic flaw?”
“He had a boyfriend named Travis with a cute butt who he wanted to get naked with in private but couldn’t.”
“Craig! You’re not making this easier!”
“Sorry.”
Actually, there was no real point to cramming, because our final exams were going to be based on whatever we’d learned before we’d tumbled headfirst into each other’s lives. After that, if it wasn’t about Craig’s Arms 101 or Intermediate Travis, it wasn’t worth knowing. That included the collected works of William Shakespeare, three thousand years of world history, all four sides of a parallelogram, and 218 genuses of ferns. As for the ten million French verbs we were supposed to have mastered, there was only one that we really wanted to conjugate.
“J’ai le béguin pour toi.”
“‘I have a crush on you.’ Nous pouvons vivre d’amour et d’eau fraîche.”
“‘We can live on love alone.’ Je te mange avec mes yeux.”
“‘I consume you with my eyes.’”
Clearly, we were reaching critical mass; as we’d both come to learn, nothing’s more persuasive than a teenage heart that’s calling all the shots—even if we hadn’t figured out what to do about it yet. It was Craigy who inadvertently came
up with the idea while we were passing notes back and forth during study hall.
Would you still love me if you found out I once stole a box of York Peppermint Patties?
Would you still love me if you found out I once snuck into Gypsy without a ticket?
Would you still love me if you found out I once fucked a bagel?
Would you still love me if you found out I once fucked one too?
Would you still love me if I kidnapped you and took you to Harvard with me in September?
Would you still love me if I knocked you unconscious and wouldn’t let you go back to St. Louis this summer?
Would you love me even more if I told you I’d figured out a way for us to be together for the next three months?
Does that mean alone together?
Absolutely.
I’ll do it.
You haven’t even heard the battle plan yet!
It doesn’t matter!
(Grin.) Hand me some paper.
Dear Mom,