Turning Idolater (5 page)

Uncle Dean
was the elderly gentleman whom
Philip agreed to meet for a lap dance. It was that old geezer that
gave him
the Book
. At first, Philip thought that this
Tdye
was
Uncle Dean
using a different screen name.
The geezer had used
Stiffy16
, so Philip responded:

Flaxen One says: “Tdye, are you Stiffy16?”

To which, Tdye replied:

Tdye says: “Not lately. However if you liked Uncle
Dean, you most certainly will like me.”

However?
Certainly?
The man was
chatting in
English
and in a complete sentence.
Odd
?
Philip forgot the other visitors. Here was an interesting man; at
least he hoped it was a man. He asked where this
Tdye
haled
from and when he replied,
Manhattan
, Philip backed away. He
didn’t mind chatting with some Texan or a braggart from Gary,
Indiana, but when the mystery man lived around the corner or up the
block, there was renewed exposure — and also many
opportunities
.
Since
Tdye
came with a reference
(Uncle Dean) and didn’t address Philip as
The Flaxen One
,
which all but a few of the voyeurs did.

The Flaxen One
broke this chat off. However,
the next night
Tdye
signed in again. This time he didn’t
engage in any chat, so Philip, just before he slipped out of his
jock strap, reached out and touched the man:

Flaxen One says: “Tdye, are you shy?”

Tdye says: “Not particularly, but I cannot ask you
the same question as you are al fresco and about to unveil your
modesty to the world.”

Philip nearly fell off his chair. He had never seen
such a phrase in a chatroom. He expected an answer like
Not shy
– sitting here with my dick hanging out
or
I’m shy of your
BVDs, Flaxen
or no response. However, this response revealed
either some troll on the bridge or a rather polished individual who
wasn’t wearing a mask. Philip wasn’t even sure what
al
fresco
meant, but he assumed it had something to do with taking
off a jock strap. He didn’t need to respond. The other visitors
were all over Tdye like bullies on a sissy. Tdye remained silent
until the wall of comments trailed off and then:

Tdye says: “Gentlemen, if you are quite finished,
please allow the lad to fulfill his entertainment destiny.”

There was no ponderous assault after that comment,
because Philip took this as his cue to recapture the stage. He
began his slinky, seductive dance, giving peeks at his ass and,
then winking with his dragon until the chatters whistled with their
fingers and praise, none of it very refined. If the bishop were on
tonight, he would need to wash his hands in the holy water in the
morning,
Jesus Marie.

Philip was keen for
Tdye’s
appearance over
the next week, but the illusive grammarian wasn’t on every night.
Finally, Philip snagged him for a
One on One
. It happened by
surprise, because Philip thought that
Tdye
was probably a
college student or a professor, and definitely an English-major,
not that this would exonerate him from a private dose of the
Flaxen One
, but somehow Philip heard Ahab and Starbuck and
Ishmael rumbling through his mind. That placed this chat-mariner on
a higher plane than
Asspounder
. So while Philip was flirting
with
Asspounder
leading his credit card to the
One on
One
button, the flashing happy smile on his monitor buzzed.
Before the monitor displayed the
PRIVATE SHOW
screen, a
message displayed:

Monitor 1 says: “Tdye has entered One on One
chat.”

The clock was running. Philip was taken by surprise.
As
PRIVATE SHOWS
went, it was standard on
Philip’s side — a dance, a strip and a wank to full conclusion.
However, Philip felt increased electricity that he hadn’t sensed
with other voyeurs. Generally, the visitor would give commands and
type raunchy words across the screen, but
Tdye
was silent.
Still, Philip felt his presence as if he were in the room. In fact,
Philip got more pleasure from this
PRIVATE SHOW
than any other he had ever given.
What would Sprakie say?
He
needn’t guess. It would not be favorable. When finished, Philip
typed:

Flaxen One says: “Tdye, are you still there? You
didn’t pass out on me?”

Tdye says: “My name is Thomas.”

Flaxen One says: “You don’t need to tell me
that.”

Tdye says: “I want to.”

Tdye says: “I need to.”

Philip’s breath hitched. He retrieved his underwear,
preparing to return to the general chat. He eyed the clock to
assure that he had made a good hundred bucks for
manluv
, but
had a guilt pang for the enjoyment — and on someone else’s
dime.

Flaxen One says: “Thomas, you say. You’re a student,
right?”

Tdye says: “I write books.”

The tide engulfed Philip’s mind and he wanted to
leap through the monitor and touch this invisible man, who
writes books
— this friend of
Uncle Dean
.

Flaxen One says: “I like books. Did you like
me?”

Tdye says: “I have never seen anything more
beautiful in my life than you in your complete unattire.”

Flaxen One says: “I work for tips.”

Tdye says: “I pay for art.”

Philip had been waiting for
Tdye’s
return.
Now, as he sat at the edge of boredom with the attentions of
Asspounder
and
Papuppy
on the keyboard, the chat
queue lit up:

Tdye has entered the chat room.

Philip forgot where he was. The room disappeared. He
only saw that
Tdye
had entered the premises and the rest of
the trolls became background noise.

Asspounder says: “You look so sexy tonight, mon
Flaxen!”

Flaxen One says: “Evening, Tdye.”

Tdye says: “How are you tonight, my angel?”

Asspounder says: “Flaxen, are you ignoring me? You
look so sexy.”

Flaxen One says: “Sorry, Asspounder. Thanks.”

Tdye says: “Philip, can we talk?”

He called me Philip.
“Can we talk? Yes. Yes.
I want to talk to you.” Philip knew that
Asspounder’s
mouse
was hovering over the
One on One
button.
I need to move
this along fast.

Flaxen One says: “Tdye, we can talk.”

Tdye says: “Private chat.”

Flaxen One says: “Yes, now.”

Tdye says: “If I can locate the button, I shall be
there.”

Flaxen One says: “You found it before. Top right.
Top right.”

Asspounder says: “I’ll see you first.”

“C’mon, Tdye. Press it. Press it. Press . . .”

The
PRIVATE SHOW
screen popped up. Philip
focused on the monitor line.
If Asspounder gets here first, I
swear I’ll turn the fucking machine off.

“C’mon.”

Monitor 1 says: “Tdye has entered One on One
chat.”

“Yes.”

Flaxen One says: “Thomas. You’re in.”

Tdye says: “I thought he would beat me to the
button.”

Flaxen One says: “So did I, but you’re here
now.”

Tdye says: “And I could spread you on bread, so
lovely you look tonight.”

Flaxen One says: “Always the writer.”

Tdye says: “Words fail me.”

“Oh, my fluttering heart,” Philip said to the
camera, but of course, it was mute and not communicated, unless Mr.
Thomas Dye read lips.

Flaxen One says: “You better start commanding me or
this will cost you a fortune.”

Odd thought as Philip had never discouraged long
One on Ones
— the Master Card or Visa ca-chinking away.

Tdye says: “No discounts?”

Flaxen One says: “Tempting.”

Tdye says: “ I just want to talk.”

Flaxen One says: “Talk or not, I’m getting naked for
you.”

Philip yanked his shirt over his head, and then
quickly wiggled out of his jeans. The jock strap was off in a
flash. It wasn’t the kind of strip he performed for the paying
public. In fact, it wasn’t any kind of strip at all. It was more
the anxious shuck one does on a humid day on the beach, when it was
high time to get to sea. To give this gesture some flare, Philip
twirled his jock strap over his head like a New Year’s Eve party
favor, and then plopped back down in front of the monitor.
Suddenly, Philip grinned. A thought rushed him and he could hardly
contain it.

Flaxen One says: “I want you to call me.”

Tdye says: “How is that managed?”

Flaxen One says: “Bottom left hand side of the
screen. Phone tag. See it?”

Tdye says: “How clever. How . . .”

The screen flashed and the phone rang. Philip’s hand
went for the receiver. The door opened. Kurt popped his head in
giving the Flaxen One a thumbs-up. Perhaps
the Porn Nazi
would be rethinking his generous offer of not sharing in
zie
tipz.
He disappeared as fast as he appeared.

“Hello,” Philip gasped. “Thomas?”

“Well,” said the caller, “there is an angel’s voice
to match the body Adonis.”

“Say what? You’ll make me blush.” He stared into the
monitor. “And you’ll be able to see it. Wait. I have an idea.” He
pressed the
Ctrl-F9 key
and the screen turned a faded shade
of green. “Since we’re just talking, I’ll go on a break. You can
still see me, but all the others can’t. And . . . the meter’s not
running.”

“Can you do that?” Thomas asked. “Will you court
trouble? I do not want to cause a problem.”

“No problem.” He winked into the monitor — a long,
deliberate wink. “I’m the star attraction. Lose me and they might
as well close the place down.” He had a mental whiff of
the Porn
Nazi — Der straße hast mit kinder gefüllen.
“It’ll be
okay.”

“I am greatly honored,” Thomas said.

“Well, not so fast. I can’t be on like this forever.
The meter’s not running, but my clock’s still ticking. So answer me
this.”

“Shoot!”

“You’ve seen pretty much every part of me.”

“And then some.”

“What does that mean?”

“I think I may have glimpsed your soul.”

“How’s that?”

“I think somewhere between your backside and your
pole polishing, I saw a twinkle in your eye. Now I cannot subscribe
that that was your soul, but it may have been a glimpse of
something beyond the flesh.”

Philip laughed. It was like listening to his book.
Had he strolled off the beach and onto the Nantucket wharves? He
glanced at his watch, and thought he might take a long, long break
— one that challenged
the Porn Nazi’s
time clock and
Sprakie’s gloom and doom warnings about
the losers in the
dark
.

“Well, maybe you did see something other than my art
and ass. Whatever it was, did you like it?”

“I am here, am I not?”

“Am I not?” Philip laughed. “I love the way you
speak, Professor.”

“Writer. In fact, an author.”

“What have you written?”

“What haven’t I written?”

“I read, you know. I’ve never seen your name on a
book cover.”

“You do not know my name.”

“Thomas . . .” Philip laughed. He found himself
trying to match the intellectual weight of this conversation. He
was losing.

The caller filled in some blanks: “Thomas Mann.
Thomas Wolfe.”

“Thomas’ English Muffins.”

Laughter now from the distant end. “Thomas Dye. I
would not be insulted if you had never heard of anything that I
have scrawled.”

Philip hadn’t, but felt to admit it
would
be
an insult. Here he was on the phone with an honest-to-god published
author. So maneuvering seemed in order.

“I read the good stuff.”

“Meaning my books are in the shanties?”

Philip didn’t follow this, but he knew umbrage when
he heard it. “No, I mean, I’m reading a great book now.” He
swallowed, and then smiled, recalling that Thomas Dye, author of
unknown works, could still see his every inflection. “Moby
Dick.”

“How appropriate,” Thomas said.

“Bitch!” Philip stood and waggled his own Moby,
raising an approving laugh from the mysterious author. “I haven’t
finished it, but I know how it ends. I couldn’t wait, so I rented
the DVD. It was really . . . really . . .”

“Wet?”

“Shut up.” Philip flipped him the finger, and then
punctuated it with a laugh and a wink. “No. Compelling.” Now that
was a word he didn’t use every day,
yessiree Bob.
“The book
is better, but when our mutual friend first gave it to me, I said
to myself, who the fuck could get through such big
motherfucker.“

Thomas roared.

“Why are you laughing?” Philip asked, and then
pouted. “You’re not one of these snobby assholes who find me
amusing because I’m trying to explore a . . . a brave new
world.”

“Brave New World?” Thomas said, his voice golden,
exuding great satisfaction in the thought. “No. I have just never
heard Moby Dick referred to as a Mother-fucker.”

“Well, that’s okay then. Let me tell you something.
You’ll understand, I’m sure. My friend Sprakie doesn’t, but what
does he know?”

“What do most people know about the Great White
Whale.”

Philip was stunned. It was wonderful to hear the
h’s
scraped in Thomas’ voice,
The Great ‘Hwhite
‘Hwhale.
He saw a flashing on the corner of the monitor. It was
the Porn Nazi.

Monitor 1 says: “The Flaxen One’s break is almost
over. Meanwhile visit Max and Guy Wickie the Wicked Wiggler.”

Let them all go. Kurt is probably counting Tdye’s
gold and will let
me sail away here.

“You were saying,” Thomas said. “I interrupted you.
I do that and I am sorry for it. Let me apologize, but I will never
apologize for it again, because it will happen many times, I am
sure.”