One of my first real kisses was an embarrassingly sordid event. I was fourteen and at the time still playing trumpet for the high school orchestra as a freshman. We were on our annual spring break tour of the Deep South playing shows for convalescent homes and on small town bandstands. There were a handful of hapless adult chaperones, but they ultimately could do nothing to stop us from getting high with the percussion section and toilet papering Mr. Cane’s hotel room. On the first day of the tour, I was the last one to get on the second bus. Apparently our limited budget did not allow for us to splurge on transportation as our headcount equaled one more than the passenger capacity of the two buses we had chartered. I paced up and down the aisle looking for an opening where there was none. As I passed by Julie, an incredibly gorgeous sophomore cellist I barely knew, she invited me to sit with her and her viola playing friend, Whitney. I actually pinched myself at that moment. There was no room to sit three wide, so Julie ended up on my lap. I turned on the freshman charm and showed them my emotionally sensitive and funny components while I prayed Julie would not be too appalled by the fleshy component that was growing under her buttocks.
After a quick stop for lunch, the rest of the brass section jockeyed to take my place. Julie and Whitney wouldn’t have it. I was their boy for the trip, and that was fine with me. It was Whitney’s turn to take the lap seat. She was the more timid of the pair but still a cutie in her own right. Over the course of the tour, my friendship with the two girls grew. Whitney really began to open up and showed she could be just as irreverent as Julie. During the bus ride lap dances they sure got a chuckle out of queefing on me. It was disgusting, but I didn’t mind.
On the second to last night of the tour, a bunch of us piled into one hotel room for a coed weed-a-thon. Somehow Julie and I ended up passing out in each others arms with Whitney not too far away. One of the piccolo players thought it would be fun to play cupid. She grabbed my head and Julie’s and mashed our faces together. We both gradually came to and realized what position we were in. Our lips were touching. We didn’t pull away. In fact we put on a show. It was my first and probably my last public make-out session. The oohing and aahing and poking caused us to pull the covers over our heads for a wee bit of privacy. If we had been alone, I most definitely would have made it to home plate. Had I not been so focused on Julie, I would have noticed Whitney storming out of the room on the verge of tears.
After the kiss, our trio became a duet for the last couple days of the trip. When we finally came home, it was like the kiss never happened. Here I thought I had a girlfriend, and Julie was already putting the past behind her. The dumping came in the form of a handwritten note with bubbly hearts and flowers. A week later I found out from someone else that Whitney had told Julie how much she liked me. The spirit of competition won the day. Julie, cruel tart that she was, hooked up with me simply to win some sick game she invented.
Cami was a go-getter. I had to admit, I honestly didn’t mind looking at her. Also, her IQ was in the range of an acceptable repartee partner. I could imagine myself sitting through whatever it was she had to tell me. I could imagine myself doing other things too now that we no longer had a professional relationship. If she was just on a reconnaissance mission for CNC, which I assumed would be the case, I was confident I could obfuscate any valuable intelligence and turn her into a double agent for me. I wasn’t at war, but I was pretty sure CNC was.
I called Cami to work out the details for dinner.
“Hey, Camster. You hungry?”
“Starving. I can’t meet up until later though like around nine. Is that okay?”
“Well, I sort of promised my neighbor that I’d check out his little art show downtown. Can you meet me downtown?”
I was actually looking forward to the Wombat Mega 19 group art show. It was a monthly shindig in an old warehouse where one could experience a little taste of the underground fringe. It didn’t cost much unless you ended up buying something off the wall that caught your eye. I found this set of small wooden blocks there with fully realized portraits in acrylic on them at the Wombat Mega 19 five or so years ago. I love those little blocks.
“I’ll make the drive, but only if I can go with you to the show. I’ve been putting in a lot of hours. I’m in need of some culture other than the leads you left us with. By the way, my dad and brother call me Camster. Think about that the next time you try to get cute with names.”
“All right then, Cami-roon. Meet me at King Taco on Cesar Chavez. I got a hankering for a burrito.” I really did. I knew Cami and I wouldn’t be riding the train of love, so burritos and the ensuing gas release were on the table.
“Cheap date.”
“I’m no longer a big shot at CNC. I’m not lunching at the Ivy every other day any more.”
“Somehow I don’t see you at the Ivy.”
“You know me so well, Cami-flage.”
I arrived at King Taco a solid fifteen minutes before Cami did. I didn’t let that stop me from ordering and enjoying a delectable carne asada burrito. I had polished it off by the time Cami showed up. I was about half way through my Diet Coke when she walked through the door. She still looked good in the harsh fluorescent lights-- a fact not lost on the other male diners as I noticed most of their eyes exploding. Cami gauged the evening’s sophistication level appropriately by dressing in skinny jeans and Chuck Taylors. Her grey t-shirt simply had a photocopied image of an old television set on the front. Her now auburn hair flowed freely.
“Thanks for not making me wear heels tonight.”
“Okay.”
“Have you been waiting long?”
“I actually already ate.”
She shook her head and rolled her eyes.
“Are you going to be testing me all night?”
“I’m always testing you, Cami. I test everyone. I should have been an SAT proctor.”
Cami ordered a couple chicken tacos. It was entertaining to watch her talk in between bites.
“So the ratings for your old show are taking a serious dive in case you haven’t been following.”
“I actually haven’t, but I’m not surprised. It’s funny what happens to a show when you take away the one thing people really liked about it.”
“Well, we were actually hanging in there with the first couple shows after you left, but I think after the audience got a couple bites of the Sheldon-less show, they lost interest.”
“Did Hans end up stepping in? I haven’t talked to him in a while.”
“They approached him, but again out of some misguided loyalty, he refused their offer citing the circumstances of your departure.”
“Now that I think about, he’s probably better off. The audience would have despised him, and he can’t handle being despised. So who’s the guy then?”
“I can’t believe you haven’t watched the show.”
“I’m not going to watch something I know is going to suck harder than a ten-ton Dyson vacuum cleaner.”
“It’s Stuart.”
“That fucking Limey. How can he ride so far on only that cute little accent?”
“Well, the way things currently are, he probably won’t last much longer.”
“They should have just gone ahead with you right out the gate.”
“I’m not sure even I can do it. The show was almost more about the way you interacted with people than the people themselves. It’s not something anyone can really duplicate-- the quirkiness, the things that caught your attention and got focus.”
“That’s the thing. You can’t duplicate it. You’ll have to make it your own somehow. The truth is you’re going to lose some people, but if you’re genuine and inject a little of yourself into the show, a lot of people will dig it, and you’ll win over some new fans that I never could. You know what to do. I feel like I should be charging a consulting fee here.”
“But how do you stay interested in all these crazy little things that people do?”
“I guess I’m just really interested in the idea of giving the underrepresented a global platform. It’s my little public service. Maybe it was me that people were watching, but I liked to delude myself into thinking it was the subjects of the show that drew the viewers. It’s not a very democratic show though. I was the one selecting all the subjects unless I was doing a favor for Jeff. We weren’t pulling names out of a hat. So the show did probably reveal a lot about myself.”
“I think the show is going to have to move in a more democratic direction.”
“Tell me how that goes when you’re talking to someone who you don’t give a fuck about. Watch that episode and tell me if it’s any good. Out of the handful of episodes I did for Jeff, not one sat right with me. Call the show something else if you have to. Let it die and move on. I hate brands. Just talk to the people you think the world needs to hear from who aren’t being heard. That’s the show I do. I did.”
It seemed like Cami was looking for a way to impress the new bosses. Not that the new bosses, Ephimria and Burnett Media, were much, but I liked Cami. I wanted her to do well despite not caring about what happened at CNC.
Cami finished her tacos and I had her follow me to a warehouse not too far away.
“Is it safe to park here? The show is not at that strip club, is it?”
“No, it’s on this side of the street. We can go watch some twirling titties afterwards if you want.
“I’ve come to this thing before, and nothing has happened to my car, but that’s not saying that something won’t happen tonight. There are a lot of cars to choose from, and people are going in and out all night, so it’s probably pretty safe.”
“Great.”
I made the meager recommended donation to gain entrance to the event, bought a couple glasses of wine, and began making the lap around the gallery with Cami. The displayed works that night were heavy on the surrealism and heavy on the female form. The featured artist that night had employed thick lines for a cartoonish look to her pastel splashed anthropomorphs. There were three or four pieces that really grabbed me in the gut. Unfortunately, none of them were for sale. Cami was blown away by everything. She was on her third glass of wine.
“I can’t believe I’ve been missing out on this. The paintings, the sculptures, the music the deejay is playing—I’ve never seen or heard anything like it.”
“Oh, you’ll get used to it,” said a bearded man behind Cami. It was Cody.
“Cody, meet Cami. Cami, meet Cody, my neighbor.”
I had actually visited Wombat Mega 19 quite a few times before Cody became involved. Cody’s art was technically sound but fell flat conceptually as weakly derivative of Alex Grey’s work. I was surprised when he told me he had a piece in the show, so of course I promised I’d come to check it out.
“It’s all organic, man. All the materials,” exclaimed Cody proudly about his work.
“Does it have an expiration date?” I asked rhetorically.
“Awesome, man. I love this guy. You got to come by some time to burn one with Apuri and me. You too, Cami.”
“And the kids?” I asked.
“Nah, man. They’re not smoking yet.”
“That’s good to know,” said Cami. “How old are they?”
“One of them is just old enough to speak complete sentences. The other one has been walking for a few months,” I said.
“How fun.”
“It’s weird being away from them, but it’s my first big show. Apuri said I should be here to take care of my baby.”
Somehow I got the impression that Cody went along with whatever Apuri wanted him to do. Even the artwork seemed like a concept Apuri would have dreamed up. I wondered if Cody had fallen in love with someone like Cami, would he have ended up a television producer?
Along with the artwork at Wombat Mega 19, there was a stage full of amps and a drum kit. At around 10:30, a group of unassuming young dudes took the stage. They began playing some pleasantly melodic riffs on their guitars that Cami and I could easily talk over. Suddenly one of the guitarists unleashed a searing fireball of distortion, and the entire band ignited into thundering cacophony. Cami and I looked at each other. It was unexpected and impressive, but it also ruined our conversation. I pointed my thumb towards the patio, and on our way out, Cami grabbed another glass of wine. We picked up where we left off.
“I can totally picture you talking to a bunch of high school kids. You must have blown their minds.”
“I’d be happy if I blew at least one percent of their minds. There are a lot of kids out there who already know what I’m talking about, and there are some who will just never get it.”
My phone started ringing. I wasn’t going to answer it, but Cami insisted I take the call.
“Who is it?” Cami ribbed me.
“A cop friend of mine.”
I pressed the green button on phone. This was going to be interesting.
“Hey there.”
“Hey, sounds like you’re having fun,” came Carla’s voice through the phone.
“Loud doesn’t always equal fun.”
“I don’t want to keep you too long. I called because I ended up with an extra ticket to my sister’s show tomorrow, and I wanted to see if you wanted to come with me. She’s a dancer in a Ballet Folklorico ensemble. They do traditional Mexican dance. I know you’re into different things and thought you might want to check it out. Sorry it’s last minute.”
Cami was standing right in front of me intoxicated. Carla was essentially asking me out on a date. This is how it is with me.
“Yeah, I think I can make it. Informing me so late before the event won’t get you off the hook that easily.”
“Excellente! I’ll come by to get you at five.”
“See you then.”
And if the night couldn’t get any more bizarre, a short while after hanging up, I was practically assaulted from behind by a young woman and a very gay man both highly inebriated.
“Sheldon, you are officially the coolest ever,” screamed Sunday.
“Sunday, Peter, you can’t sneak up on people like that. What if I were a jiu-jitsu master or something?”
“You could put a submission hold on me.” I really wished it was Sunday and not Peter who said that.
The drunken Cami became instant friends with Sunday and Peter, and they all wanted to dance the rest of the night away. Along with Cody, they became the “Friends of Sheldon” crew and grabbed a slice of dance floor real estate as the deejay took over from the rock band. I couldn’t remember it ever being this raucous at any of the other Wombat Mega 19 shows I’d been too. The hipster fellows flocked to Cami while I did some catching up with the show curator. Eventually Cami waved me to come over. I wasn’t much of a dancer, so I sort of stood there and bobbed a little while Cami gyrated vigorously. By the smile on her face, I could tell it had been a long time since she had been able to just dance. Somehow she held me responsible and kept grabbing my hands to pull me closer.
At one point, one of the hipsters who I’d never met in my life whisper-yelled into my ear, “I never thought I’d be cock-blocked by Sheldon.”
I whisper-yelled back, “You’ve got the wrong guy, pal. Talk to your barber. He’s the one fucking it up for you.”
When the deejay quit, and it was time to leave, Cami was in no condition to drive. The tables had turned from the short time ago in Milwaukee. I confiscated her keys. I said goodbye to the Subaru, and drove her home. After we arrived and got out of the car, I pulled out my phone to call a cab. She stopped me and put her arms around me.
“So, Cami, how’s Ian doing?”
“Ian is in Milwaukee.”
After a quick stop for lunch, the rest of the brass section jockeyed to take my place. Julie and Whitney wouldn’t have it. I was their boy for the trip, and that was fine with me. It was Whitney’s turn to take the lap seat. She was the more timid of the pair but still a cutie in her own right. Over the course of the tour, my friendship with the two girls grew. Whitney really began to open up and showed she could be just as irreverent as Julie. During the bus ride lap dances they sure got a chuckle out of queefing on me. It was disgusting, but I didn’t mind.
On the second to last night of the tour, a bunch of us piled into one hotel room for a coed weed-a-thon. Somehow Julie and I ended up passing out in each others arms with Whitney not too far away. One of the piccolo players thought it would be fun to play cupid. She grabbed my head and Julie’s and mashed our faces together. We both gradually came to and realized what position we were in. Our lips were touching. We didn’t pull away. In fact we put on a show. It was my first and probably my last public make-out session. The oohing and aahing and poking caused us to pull the covers over our heads for a wee bit of privacy. If we had been alone, I most definitely would have made it to home plate. Had I not been so focused on Julie, I would have noticed Whitney storming out of the room on the verge of tears.
After the kiss, our trio became a duet for the last couple days of the trip. When we finally came home, it was like the kiss never happened. Here I thought I had a girlfriend, and Julie was already putting the past behind her. The dumping came in the form of a handwritten note with bubbly hearts and flowers. A week later I found out from someone else that Whitney had told Julie how much she liked me. The spirit of competition won the day. Julie, cruel tart that she was, hooked up with me simply to win some sick game she invented.
---
Cami was a go-getter. I had to admit, I honestly didn’t mind looking at her. Also, her IQ was in the range of an acceptable repartee partner. I could imagine myself sitting through whatever it was she had to tell me. I could imagine myself doing other things too now that we no longer had a professional relationship. If she was just on a reconnaissance mission for CNC, which I assumed would be the case, I was confident I could obfuscate any valuable intelligence and turn her into a double agent for me. I wasn’t at war, but I was pretty sure CNC was.
I called Cami to work out the details for dinner.
“Hey, Camster. You hungry?”
“Starving. I can’t meet up until later though like around nine. Is that okay?”
“Well, I sort of promised my neighbor that I’d check out his little art show downtown. Can you meet me downtown?”
I was actually looking forward to the Wombat Mega 19 group art show. It was a monthly shindig in an old warehouse where one could experience a little taste of the underground fringe. It didn’t cost much unless you ended up buying something off the wall that caught your eye. I found this set of small wooden blocks there with fully realized portraits in acrylic on them at the Wombat Mega 19 five or so years ago. I love those little blocks.
“I’ll make the drive, but only if I can go with you to the show. I’ve been putting in a lot of hours. I’m in need of some culture other than the leads you left us with. By the way, my dad and brother call me Camster. Think about that the next time you try to get cute with names.”
“All right then, Cami-roon. Meet me at King Taco on Cesar Chavez. I got a hankering for a burrito.” I really did. I knew Cami and I wouldn’t be riding the train of love, so burritos and the ensuing gas release were on the table.
“Cheap date.”
“I’m no longer a big shot at CNC. I’m not lunching at the Ivy every other day any more.”
“Somehow I don’t see you at the Ivy.”
“You know me so well, Cami-flage.”
---
I arrived at King Taco a solid fifteen minutes before Cami did. I didn’t let that stop me from ordering and enjoying a delectable carne asada burrito. I had polished it off by the time Cami showed up. I was about half way through my Diet Coke when she walked through the door. She still looked good in the harsh fluorescent lights-- a fact not lost on the other male diners as I noticed most of their eyes exploding. Cami gauged the evening’s sophistication level appropriately by dressing in skinny jeans and Chuck Taylors. Her grey t-shirt simply had a photocopied image of an old television set on the front. Her now auburn hair flowed freely.
“Thanks for not making me wear heels tonight.”
“Okay.”
“Have you been waiting long?”
“I actually already ate.”
She shook her head and rolled her eyes.
“Are you going to be testing me all night?”
“I’m always testing you, Cami. I test everyone. I should have been an SAT proctor.”
Cami ordered a couple chicken tacos. It was entertaining to watch her talk in between bites.
“So the ratings for your old show are taking a serious dive in case you haven’t been following.”
“I actually haven’t, but I’m not surprised. It’s funny what happens to a show when you take away the one thing people really liked about it.”
“Well, we were actually hanging in there with the first couple shows after you left, but I think after the audience got a couple bites of the Sheldon-less show, they lost interest.”
“Did Hans end up stepping in? I haven’t talked to him in a while.”
“They approached him, but again out of some misguided loyalty, he refused their offer citing the circumstances of your departure.”
“Now that I think about, he’s probably better off. The audience would have despised him, and he can’t handle being despised. So who’s the guy then?”
“I can’t believe you haven’t watched the show.”
“I’m not going to watch something I know is going to suck harder than a ten-ton Dyson vacuum cleaner.”
“It’s Stuart.”
“That fucking Limey. How can he ride so far on only that cute little accent?”
“Well, the way things currently are, he probably won’t last much longer.”
“They should have just gone ahead with you right out the gate.”
“I’m not sure even I can do it. The show was almost more about the way you interacted with people than the people themselves. It’s not something anyone can really duplicate-- the quirkiness, the things that caught your attention and got focus.”
“That’s the thing. You can’t duplicate it. You’ll have to make it your own somehow. The truth is you’re going to lose some people, but if you’re genuine and inject a little of yourself into the show, a lot of people will dig it, and you’ll win over some new fans that I never could. You know what to do. I feel like I should be charging a consulting fee here.”
“But how do you stay interested in all these crazy little things that people do?”
“I guess I’m just really interested in the idea of giving the underrepresented a global platform. It’s my little public service. Maybe it was me that people were watching, but I liked to delude myself into thinking it was the subjects of the show that drew the viewers. It’s not a very democratic show though. I was the one selecting all the subjects unless I was doing a favor for Jeff. We weren’t pulling names out of a hat. So the show did probably reveal a lot about myself.”
“I think the show is going to have to move in a more democratic direction.”
“Tell me how that goes when you’re talking to someone who you don’t give a fuck about. Watch that episode and tell me if it’s any good. Out of the handful of episodes I did for Jeff, not one sat right with me. Call the show something else if you have to. Let it die and move on. I hate brands. Just talk to the people you think the world needs to hear from who aren’t being heard. That’s the show I do. I did.”
It seemed like Cami was looking for a way to impress the new bosses. Not that the new bosses, Ephimria and Burnett Media, were much, but I liked Cami. I wanted her to do well despite not caring about what happened at CNC.
Cami finished her tacos and I had her follow me to a warehouse not too far away.
---
“Is it safe to park here? The show is not at that strip club, is it?”
“No, it’s on this side of the street. We can go watch some twirling titties afterwards if you want.
“I’ve come to this thing before, and nothing has happened to my car, but that’s not saying that something won’t happen tonight. There are a lot of cars to choose from, and people are going in and out all night, so it’s probably pretty safe.”
“Great.”
I made the meager recommended donation to gain entrance to the event, bought a couple glasses of wine, and began making the lap around the gallery with Cami. The displayed works that night were heavy on the surrealism and heavy on the female form. The featured artist that night had employed thick lines for a cartoonish look to her pastel splashed anthropomorphs. There were three or four pieces that really grabbed me in the gut. Unfortunately, none of them were for sale. Cami was blown away by everything. She was on her third glass of wine.
“I can’t believe I’ve been missing out on this. The paintings, the sculptures, the music the deejay is playing—I’ve never seen or heard anything like it.”
“Oh, you’ll get used to it,” said a bearded man behind Cami. It was Cody.
“Cody, meet Cami. Cami, meet Cody, my neighbor.”
I had actually visited Wombat Mega 19 quite a few times before Cody became involved. Cody’s art was technically sound but fell flat conceptually as weakly derivative of Alex Grey’s work. I was surprised when he told me he had a piece in the show, so of course I promised I’d come to check it out.
“It’s all organic, man. All the materials,” exclaimed Cody proudly about his work.
“Does it have an expiration date?” I asked rhetorically.
“Awesome, man. I love this guy. You got to come by some time to burn one with Apuri and me. You too, Cami.”
“And the kids?” I asked.
“Nah, man. They’re not smoking yet.”
“That’s good to know,” said Cami. “How old are they?”
“One of them is just old enough to speak complete sentences. The other one has been walking for a few months,” I said.
“How fun.”
“It’s weird being away from them, but it’s my first big show. Apuri said I should be here to take care of my baby.”
Somehow I got the impression that Cody went along with whatever Apuri wanted him to do. Even the artwork seemed like a concept Apuri would have dreamed up. I wondered if Cody had fallen in love with someone like Cami, would he have ended up a television producer?
Along with the artwork at Wombat Mega 19, there was a stage full of amps and a drum kit. At around 10:30, a group of unassuming young dudes took the stage. They began playing some pleasantly melodic riffs on their guitars that Cami and I could easily talk over. Suddenly one of the guitarists unleashed a searing fireball of distortion, and the entire band ignited into thundering cacophony. Cami and I looked at each other. It was unexpected and impressive, but it also ruined our conversation. I pointed my thumb towards the patio, and on our way out, Cami grabbed another glass of wine. We picked up where we left off.
“I can totally picture you talking to a bunch of high school kids. You must have blown their minds.”
“I’d be happy if I blew at least one percent of their minds. There are a lot of kids out there who already know what I’m talking about, and there are some who will just never get it.”
My phone started ringing. I wasn’t going to answer it, but Cami insisted I take the call.
“Who is it?” Cami ribbed me.
“A cop friend of mine.”
I pressed the green button on phone. This was going to be interesting.
“Hey there.”
“Hey, sounds like you’re having fun,” came Carla’s voice through the phone.
“Loud doesn’t always equal fun.”
“I don’t want to keep you too long. I called because I ended up with an extra ticket to my sister’s show tomorrow, and I wanted to see if you wanted to come with me. She’s a dancer in a Ballet Folklorico ensemble. They do traditional Mexican dance. I know you’re into different things and thought you might want to check it out. Sorry it’s last minute.”
Cami was standing right in front of me intoxicated. Carla was essentially asking me out on a date. This is how it is with me.
“Yeah, I think I can make it. Informing me so late before the event won’t get you off the hook that easily.”
“Excellente! I’ll come by to get you at five.”
“See you then.”
And if the night couldn’t get any more bizarre, a short while after hanging up, I was practically assaulted from behind by a young woman and a very gay man both highly inebriated.
“Sheldon, you are officially the coolest ever,” screamed Sunday.
“Sunday, Peter, you can’t sneak up on people like that. What if I were a jiu-jitsu master or something?”
“You could put a submission hold on me.” I really wished it was Sunday and not Peter who said that.
The drunken Cami became instant friends with Sunday and Peter, and they all wanted to dance the rest of the night away. Along with Cody, they became the “Friends of Sheldon” crew and grabbed a slice of dance floor real estate as the deejay took over from the rock band. I couldn’t remember it ever being this raucous at any of the other Wombat Mega 19 shows I’d been too. The hipster fellows flocked to Cami while I did some catching up with the show curator. Eventually Cami waved me to come over. I wasn’t much of a dancer, so I sort of stood there and bobbed a little while Cami gyrated vigorously. By the smile on her face, I could tell it had been a long time since she had been able to just dance. Somehow she held me responsible and kept grabbing my hands to pull me closer.
At one point, one of the hipsters who I’d never met in my life whisper-yelled into my ear, “I never thought I’d be cock-blocked by Sheldon.”
I whisper-yelled back, “You’ve got the wrong guy, pal. Talk to your barber. He’s the one fucking it up for you.”
When the deejay quit, and it was time to leave, Cami was in no condition to drive. The tables had turned from the short time ago in Milwaukee. I confiscated her keys. I said goodbye to the Subaru, and drove her home. After we arrived and got out of the car, I pulled out my phone to call a cab. She stopped me and put her arms around me.
“So, Cami, how’s Ian doing?”
“Ian is in Milwaukee.”
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