Skye blue, p.12
Skye Blue, page 12
part #6 of Firsts and Forever Series
“What is it, Nana?” I asked.
She tilted her head to the side and said, “Is it just me, or does that thing look an awful lot like a great, big weenie dongle from this angle? I hadn’t noticed it before, but now that it’s jutting up in the air like that, well, it kind of looks like the limo is happy to see us.”
I took a couple steps back and realized she was exactly right, in part because the end of the cylinder had a rounded cap on it. The limo looked like it had popped a huge metal stiffie. Christian chuckled and said, “That’s awesome,” before getting in the back seat.
We finished doing the circuit of my favorite South City manufacturers in the Bonermobile, then returned to San Francisco, where we encountered some kind of road block as we were cutting through the Sunset District. Traffic was a snarled mess, and Freddy got a bit flustered and somehow took a wrong turn into Golden Gate Park. As soon as we rounded the corner, the limo came to an abrupt stop behind a wall of people.
On one side of the street, a crowd of antigay protesters with bullhorns had assembled. A knot formed in my stomach as I read the hate spelled out on their picket signs. On the opposite sidewalk, some people had joined hands and were singing to try to drown out the bile being spewed by those hatemongers. A huge crowd of bystanders was gathered around the two groups, including a contingent of police officers and several camera crews from various TV stations.
“Ah shit,” Freddy muttered as he looked in the rearview mirror at a couple cars that had pulled in behind him. “I shouldn’t have turned onto this street, we’re really stuck now. I think we’re gonna need assistance to get back out of here. Hang on, I’m gonna go ask that cop if he can clear a path for us.”
He hopped out of the limo as Christian glared at the protesters and muttered, “Fucking assholes, trying to hide behind the Bible as an excuse for spreading hate. I’m going to join the chorus. I’ll see you guys later.” He left by the side door and ran to the counter-protesters, linking hands with a little red-haired girl at the edge of the group and singing along loudly. A minute later, a little old African American man who must have been in his nineties took Christian’s other hand, and a moment after that they were joined by a gay couple in their thirties, and a young straight family with a baby, and a middle-aged woman with a determined look in her eyes. All those different people coming together was so beautiful in the face of such ugliness that it made tears prickle at the back of my eyes.
I turned toward Nana to tell her I was going to join Christian and the group on the sidewalk, and was startled by the intense rage on her face. “How come they’re allowed to do that?” she asked, gesturing at the haters. “How come they can get out their bullhorns and condemn people like my grandsons, and you, and everyone that happens to be gay?”
“Well, because it’s a free country, Nana. They can say whatever they want.”
“I know that. But who says they get to speak for God? Look at that sign. It says gay people are going to burn in hell! How dare they sit in judgment like that?”
“I hate it too, Nana. Believe me. But they have a right to assemble.”
“Yeah? Well then, I have a right to disassemble.” Before I could ask her what she meant, she climbed behind the wheel of the limo, hit the automatic door locks, and scooted the driver’s seat so far forward that she was now almost pressed up against the windshield. I was about to ask what she was doing when she put the limo in gear and we started to roll forward.
There were so many people around us that she could only creep ahead an inch at a time. She said, “This is no good. I gotta get people out of the way if this is gonna work, but they don’t even know we’re behind them. Oh hang on, I have an idea.” She grabbed a CD from the glove compartment and stuck it in the player. As shuffle engaged, she flipped a couple switches, then cranked the volume as high as it would go. Apparently, the limo had an external speaker system.
Then I found out what Nana meant by disassemble.
As Elton John’s ‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart’ filled the air, all the bystanders around the vehicle turned to look at us and then stepped out of the way. Nana rolled forward, headed right for the hatemongers. She was only going a couple miles an hour, which was a relief. But she was definitely going.
The group on the other side of the street sent up a cheer when they realized what was happening, and then they all started singing along to the Elton John song. I climbed up on my seat so I could see what was going on, sticking out of the sunroof from the waist up beside the giant pink dick. Before me, the ‘religious wrong’ was running onto the sloping green lawn behind them. Nana rolled right over their picket signs as they dropped them and I laughed and let out a war cry. Then I decided to add some gay pride to Nana’s one-woman parade, so I peeled off my t-shirt and started dancing to the music with my arms raised over my head.
Nana was only creeping along behind the protesters. They could have easily stepped out of the way, so it was kind of funny how totally freaked out they were. Maybe the giant pink boner had something to do with their panic. Those people must have a real problem with cock.
We rolled slowly down the grassy hill, but when we tried to roll back up and out of the little valley, the long limousine got stuck. Actually, it wedged in so snugly that it would probably take a crane to lift it back out. But that was okay. The ride of Nana Rae had been a total triumph.
The haters, realizing we were stuck, started to run toward us. Fortunately, a huge ring of police officers, reporters and cameramen reached us first. When we got out, we were immediately pushed up against the limo and frisked. “Well damn,” Nana exclaimed as a big, burly cop patted her down, “this is more action than I’ve seen since the Clinton administration.”
Several reporters surged forward, despite the efforts of the police to keep them back, and Nana started giving interviews left and right. When asked why she’d chased the protesters, she said, “I got two gay homosexual grandsons, and one that’s bi-homosexual, and I don’t want nobody sitting in judgment and telling ‘em they’re going to hell for being the way God made ‘em.” Then she added, “Their brother, my grandson Mikey, I don’t know about. I always assumed he was straight, though I did find some giant condoms of his once, and now that I think about it, maybe those belonged to one of his lovers, because they sure as hell wouldn’t fit on his little tootsie roll.”
“What’s your name?” a reporter yelled.
“Mrs. Stana Dombruso, but everyone calls me Nana,” she said as her hands were cuffed behind her.
Someone asked her, “Were you trying to run over the protesters?”
“Of course not!” she exclaimed. “We were just exercising our right to disassemble.”
My hands were cuffed too and I was swung around toward the line of police cars on the street. As we were marched past the group that had been singing, a cheer rose up. Christian pushed his way to the police barricade and yelled, “I just made some calls. You’ll have plenty of help when you get to the police station!”
I shot him a big smile and mouthed the word thanks. I was really exhilarated, despite the fact that I was being taken to jail. Even though I’d come close countless times, this was the first time I’d actually been arrested.
It was totally worth it.
Chapter Six
Christian had called my friend Trevor, apparently, who was engaged to Nana’s grandson Vincent. The two of them must have broken every traffic law on the books, because they were already at the station when we were brought in. A moment later, Vincent’s brother Dante burst through the door, hand in hand with his husband Charlie.
“Hi boys,” Nana said cheerfully as she was led past them in handcuffs.
“Nana, did you really try to run down some antigay protesters?” Dante asked.
“Of course not! I’m not homicidal. I may, however, have encouraged them to shut the fuck up,” she said.
Trevor told me, “Don’t worry Skye, we have a team of lawyers on the way. We’re getting you both out of here.”
“Thanks, I appreciate the help.” As I was led past the main desk where a few cops were gathered, I spotted a familiar face and smiled as I said, “Hey! Shea Nolan, right? How’s it going?” I’d met him at a wedding a few weeks ago.
He was making an effort to maintain a serious expression, but his blue eyes revealed more than a little amusement. “Good, thanks. How are you, Skye?”
“Pretty damn good, thanks for asking.”
I was on such a high from the afternoon’s events that it carried me right through the long and tedious booking process. For my one phone call, I dialed my place of employment, and when Sandberg answered I said, “Hi boss, this is Skye. I’m in jail, so I think it’s safe to assume I’m going to miss my shift this evening.”
“Skye! I know, you’re all over the news. Holy shit, son, you and that little old lady are the top story!”
“Oh yeah? What are people saying?”
“The homophobic dickheads are up in arms, of course, but what else is new? The Castro’s buzzing, though. You two are practically instant folk heroes.”
“I’m glad people know she wasn’t actually trying to kill anyone.”
“One of the local reporters had a police officer put a radar gun on the limo when it was rolling after the dickheads. Your driver’s top speed was four miles an hour. Good fucking luck making a case for attempted vehicular homicide with that number.”
“Good to know. Well, I’m not sure how long I get for my one phone call,” I said, glancing at the frowning police officer at my side, “so I should probably go. I really don’t know when I’ll be back to work, it depends on when they let me out.”
“I know, kid. Don’t worry. Your job will be right here waiting for you.”
When it was time to lock me up, Shea appeared and told the police officer that had been chaperoning me, “I’ll take him to holding.”
He led me past several big, communal jail cells and kept his voice down as he said, “I think it’s wise to keep you separated from the general population. They’re not the most gay-friendly bunch of guys you’ll ever meet and your face is all over the news right now.”
“Thanks Shea,” I said, “I really appreciate you looking out for me.” As we went through a set of double doors and into a large room divided into several small cells, I asked, “Are you gay? Is that why you’re doing this for me?”
Instead of answering, he concentrated on flipping through his key ring. After he unfastened my cuffs and I stepped into the cell, Shea smiled at me and said, “I probably shouldn’t be saying this, but I really admire what you did today.”
“I didn’t do anything. It was all Nana.”
“I don’t mean the part about chasing the picketers. Frankly, that old lady scares me.” He grinned at me as he said that. Then he added, “I meant what you were doing. I spend a lot of time worrying about other people’s opinions, and there you were in front of hundreds of people and several camera crews, dancing to Elton John beside a giant phallus. That takes guts, Skye.”
I smiled at him as he clicked the cell door shut between us. “I’ll bet if you’d been there, I could have gotten you to dance with me.”
“In front of my whole department and half of San Francisco? Not likely.”
The double doors swung open just then and Nana was escorted into the room. “I’ll check on you later,” Shea said, and went back to work.
“Skye!” Nana exclaimed as she was put into the cell next to mine. “Are you okay? Did they harass you? Do we need to sue the fuzz for violating your rights as a Gay-Homosexual-American?” As soon as her cuffs were removed, Nana spun on the burly police officer at her side and waved her bony finger in his face. “I got my eye on you, do you hear me? Nobody’s harassing that boy on my watch! I don’t even know why you’re holding him. All he was doing was dancing! Since when is that a crime?”
The cop left the cell quickly and clicked the door shut behind him. Nana pointed at her eyes with her index and middle fingers, then pointed at the cop. He looked slightly alarmed as he left the room.
As soon as he was gone, Nana sat down on the little metal bench in her cell and crossed her legs daintily. “I hate cops,” she said. “Don’t get me wrong, there are a couple good ones, like the sweetheart my boy Christopher Robin married. But the rest of them? Bah!”
Christopher was a friend of mine from art school, and Nana had practically adopted him, even though he was in his twenties. She did that, gathering up random stray gay guys that didn’t really have families and making them a part of hers. I loved that about her.
“What do you have against cops, Nana?”
“For generations, my family wasn’t exactly on the right side of the law, you know what I’m saying? We’ve been straightening ourselves out, though. The last couple decades, we’ve been finding legal sources of revenue and putting the old ways behind us. But there’s still this feeling, this us-versus-them. In my neighborhood when I was growing up, if you saw the cops coming, you ran. Didn’t matter that you weren’t doing anything wrong, you ran anyway, because maybe they were going to try to pin something on you. It’s hard to let go of that.”
“But you did, for Christopher’s sake. You even planned that beautiful wedding for Christopher and Kieran, even though Kieran’s a cop.”
“I guess maybe it’s hard to hold on to prejudice when you really get to know a person. Once you spend time with somebody, you start to see ‘em as an individual, not as a profession, or a race, or a sexual orientation, or whatever label you started out with, you know? I got to know Kieran and I found out he’s a good person.” She thought about it for a minute, then said, “Do you think it’s wrong that I hate cops?”
“I guess only you can answer that, Nana,” I said, settling on the bench in my little cell and tucking my feet under me. When I leaned back, the bars were cold against my bare skin. Note to self: if you know you’re about to be arrested, put your shirt back on.
She considered this for a while, her thin brows knit above her dark eyes. Finally she said, “I think maybe all prejudice is wrong, even cop prejudice. I’m gonna work on that.”
“Good idea.”
She smiled at me and changed the subject by saying, “You know, when I first came to see you this morning, I planned to talk about you and your brother. I don’t like it that you two are fighting.”
“We’re not fighting, exactly. We’ve just been getting on each other’s nerves lately. Well, more specifically, I’ve been getting on his. It’s probably a good thing we’re not roommates anymore, because that was leading to a lot of conflict.”
“Well, so maybe the moving out part’s okay. But have you talked since he left? You should, you know. It’s important not to let a little space turn into the Grand Canyon.”
“You’re right. I’ll call him soon. Not from jail though, it would flip his pizza if he knew I was here.”
“He knows, Skye. He’s out in the waiting area with my family. He did look a little agitated, now that you mention it.”
“Oh man, I guess Trevor must have called him. So now River’s going to be pissed, both because I’ve been arrested and because he wasn’t my one phone call.”
“You two really need to talk. Are you helping him cater that wedding in Sausalito next Saturday? That should give you a lot of time together.”
“No. I didn’t even know he’d gotten another wedding job.” That was depressing actually, that big things were going on in my brother’s life which I knew nothing about.
Nana must have sensed I was getting upset, because she shifted the subject by saying, “Speaking of weddings, I need you to do me a favor. I need you to talk to your friend Trevor and convince him to let me throw a proper wedding for him and my grandson Vincent. He keeps telling me they want to keep it small, nothing fancy. And I keep telling them it’s a wedding, it’s supposed to be big and fancy! They’re both so shy though, I think that’s the problem. They don’t want a big fuss made over them. But they need to get over it! You’ll talk to him, won’t you?”
“I can try.”
“You’re a good boy, Skye. Cute, too. I like your blue hair.”
“Thank you.”
“I was thinking maybe I should change mine up a bit, go for some color. I don’t know about blue, though. When people say ‘little old blue-haired ladies’ that’s not a good thing.”
“Well, there’s blue and then there’s blue. I can help if you want to give it a shot.”
She looked excited at the prospect. “Really?”
“Absolutely.”
“I suppose my hairdresser would be upset, though. Mr. Mario’s been doing my hair twice a week for the past thirty years. He’d probably take it personal-like if I decided to go for some DIY, but it sure is tempting. If we did a wash-out color, maybe he’d never even know.” The sparkle in her eye could only be described as mischievous.
*********
Probably two hours later, the double doors swung open and a man in a sport coat and polyester pants came into the room. He wore a badge on a lanyard around his neck and held a ring of keys in his hand. As he unlocked my cell, he said, “You’re free to go, Fleischmann. Based on Mrs. Dombruso’s statement and the statements of witnesses at the scene, there’s not enough evidence to prove you were anything more than a passenger in that limousine.”
“That’s good news,” I said.
“As for you,” he said to Nana as he unlocked her door, “you’re being released to the custody of your family, pending further investigation. Chances are you’re going to be brought up on charges of reckless endangerment, but for now, you can go home.”
Nana and I were greeted by a huge crowd when we reached the waiting room. At least thirty members of her family and several friends were there. Trevor reached me first and gave me a hug. “Well, you’ve had a full day,” he said with a smile.
“I have.”
His fiancé was right behind him. Vincent told me, “I’m glad they let you go. We can give you a ride home if you’d like.”
