Nelson slumped wearily. “The reason I am involving myself in this ridiculous business at all is to protect Uncle Hunny from his own worst instincts and from the people his bad instincts have gotten him involved with. I admit I have no real hope that Uncle Hunny will change. Just acting a little more discreet in public is what I’m hoping for. For his sake, and for our family’s sake, especially my parents — but also Grandma Rita, Uncle Hunny’s poor mother.”
Hunny glared. “Nelson, anything I do or say is just fine with Mom. Always has been, always will be.” To me, Hunny said, “My sister Miriam, Nelson’s mother, is just a sad lost cause sexual-orientation-wise. Miriam thinks PfLAg is an insect repellent. And my brother-in-law Lewis tells his golfing buddies that Nelson isn’t married because his fiancé died on 9/11 in the World Trade Center, and he is still too broken up over it to start dating again.”
“Not true,” Nelson said, looking even more despondent.
“My parents are conservative, but they are not bigots and they are not mean-spirited. They simply observe certain standards of taste, about which Uncle Hunny plainly knows nothing. I don’t understand that, really. Grandma Rita has had her personal difficulties, and now her mind is not what it once was. But she has always been well-mannered in her outgoing way, and I know she is well-respected out at Golden Gardens. And Grandpa Carl also set high behavioral standards. He was a well-spoken, churchgoing man who always went out of his way to make other people feel comfortable. Uncle Hunny, on the other hand, seems to take great pleasure in making people feel un comfortable.”
“I have standards of taste, too,” Hunny said, winking at Art.
“Except, I have certain standards of bad taste I try to live by. To each his own, Nelson, to each his own.”
Art said, “Nelson, your father did so tell people you had a girlfriend who was killed on 9/11. That came back to Hunny and me from several sources. She was supposedly a securities analyst, CoCkeyed 13
and her name was Gwen Bainbridge, Lewis told people.”
“Miriam and Lewis,” Hunny said, “talk about Lawn as Nelson’s roommate. Like they’re twenty years old and live in a dorm.”
“Hunny, according to some of these blackmail attempts,”
I said, indicating the bundle of computer printouts the three men had brought along with them to my office, “a number of the things people are saying about you go beyond questions of taste. Lowbrow high-spiritedness is one thing, but some of these people say they have proof that you’ve done things that are illegal. For instance, serving alcohol to minors. The law takes that seriously, as I’m sure you know. And you’ve had phone calls now from — how many? seven? — young men who say you got them drunk and had sex with them. Are any of these guys telling the truth?”
Hunny snatched a pack of Marlboros out of his shirt pocket and lit one with a butane lighter. “Now, lookie here, girl,” he said, shooting smoke and spittle my way, “I am not now and never have been into serious chicken. A boy has to be old enough to know better, or I’m not interested. Well, interested maybe. I’m only human. But I don’t ever mess around with some youngster’s emotions. It’s fun I want, and I want a boy who’s old enough to know what he wants, especially if what he wants is just to have some fun. It’s true that sometimes a twenty-one-year-old needs a little lubrication to loosen up his inhibitions, just like I did when I was twenty-one and just like Nelson did.” Hunny’s nephew stiffened and, if I wasn’t mistaken, blushed. “It’s possible, of course,” Hunny went on, “that a few of these boys might have been just a smidgen short of twenty-one. I mean, if a kid is obviously post-adolescent I don’t see any need to check his driver’s license. Would you?”
Hunny seemed to be addressing me. I said, “I’m in a longtime relationship, but that’s beside the point. I don’t have young guys from my past lining up and threatening to haul me into court unless I cough up thousands of dollars. You do. Can any of these under-twenty-ones prove that you got them sauced up 14 Richard Stevenson
and then — did whatever it is you do?”
“Gave them blowjobs,” Hunny said cheerfully, glancing around for an ashtray and then flicking ash into my wastebasket.
“There could be a few pictures out there somewhere. No videos, though, I don’t think. And no pictures from any of the guys who have called so far.”
Nelson muttered bitterly, “Oh, so far. That’s great.”
Art said, “Hunny, if anybody accused you of being a pedophile, you could get testimony from tons of people saying you like sex with guys of all ages.”
“Like at work,” Hunny said. “I’ve blown half the straight guys at the warehouse. But they’re mostly married, so I really can’t say how many of them would stand up for me. Hey,” Hunny added.
“Good choice of words — stand up for me,” and he and Art cackled.
Nelson looked close to tears.
“And then in addition to the men who are explicitly threatening to expose you for illegal acts,” I said, “are a dozen or so who have asked for money and used language where there’s an implicit threat. We’re talking nearly twenty of these characters to deal with, and maybe more on the way, no? If I do take you on as a client, Hunny, this could run into time and money. As a sexually active gay man about town, you’ve had a busy career.
Tracking all these guys down and then explaining to them in the nicest way possible that blackmail and extortion are illegal in the state of New York could take up a sizeable chunk of my work week or month.” I went over my standard fee schedule, and as I sat across from not-so-plutocrat-looking Hunny and Art, I left off the surcharge I normally add for any billionaires who find their way to my Central Avenue walkup.
Hunny looked at me speculatively and said, “Your office is kind of tacky, but your rates aren’t.”
“Those are my normal fees. Once in a while people ask for their money back, but most are satisfied.”
Hunny smiled and said, “Don, have you ever fooled around CoCkeyed 15
with an older, more experienced man?”
“I told you, Uncle Hunny, that Donald is gay. That’s one reason I brought you to him. But he just told you that he has a boyfriend. God, can’t you ever leave it alone? All this sex, sex, sex, sex. People just get sick of it.”
Hunny flapped his wrist at his nephew. “Well, get her!” He looked over at me and said, “Nelson and Yawn prefer collecting gym equipment to collecting boys. How silly can a drag queen be?”
“Do you and your partner do drag?” I asked Nelson conversationally and maybe because I was curious as to what I might get Hunny to come out with next.
Nelson said, “Lawn and I do not do drag, no. That’s just the way my uncle talks. Constantly.”
“When you were twelve,” Art said, “you got caught wearing your mother’s underwear. Hunny’s mom told us about that.”
Art and Hunny chuckled, and Nelson went red again. “Uncle Hunny, I am trying to be helpful. You called me and asked me if I knew anybody who could deal with these ghastly seedy characters who came oozing out of the woodwork as soon as you won the lottery. I bring you to this man who knows how to deal with predatory scumbags and might be able to keep you from being conned, or even — let’s just get it right out there — out of jail.
And what do you do? You and Art spend the entire time insulting me and dishing detective Strachey. So, do you want help, or do you not? If you do, then I suggest that you start acting like a mature adult for the first time in your life.”
“Anyway,” Hunny said, “I’ve been in jail before. That’s something I know I can handle, if it comes to that.”
“That was entirely different,” Nelson said. “This time it wouldn’t be about social protest. It would be about corrupting a minor or something really serious you couldn’t wriggle out of so easily. And it wouldn’t just be overnight, either.”