The dispatch office was loud and dirty. It was also very small. Only twelve feet by 20 feet, it had only one small window that looked out over the back parking lot of the cable company where the vans were parked. But the worse part was the smell. With as many as eleven or twelve people jammed into one room during peak working hours the body oder alone was enough to make a visitor's eyes water. Two long counters ran along the longer walls and they each had a half dozen computer terminals wired up. Next to each monitor was a desk top phone with six separate lines that would ring out loud whenever a technician would call in from the field. Each line had a small, clear plastic square button that would begin to blink with every ear splitting ring. Often all twelve lines would be ringing at the same time. At the end of each counter was a stand up microphone reminiscent of the one that Johnny Carson had on his desk at the Tonight Show. It was connected to a two-way radio just like the cab companies used. Instructions would be transmitted to the men - and one woman - who did the installations for Cablevision Systems. For eighteen hours a day the place was continually assaulted by spilled coffee, doughnut crumbs and muffled farts that were released into the cushions of the swivel chairs where each dispatcher parked his ass for their shift.
Ace was at his station when Hal walked through the door and came straight over to where Ace was dispatching. Ace was immediately self-conscious. He had seen Hal on the floor of the customer service center a few times since they had started playing tennis together. Ace would only give him a little nod and head straight for the dispatch center. He was still not sure he really wanted to encourage this friendship. He told himself that it was probably not a great idea to hang out with someone from the management team but he knew the real reason he was nervous was because he thought Hal might possibly be gay. He knew it was silly of him to care. After all, his own brother-in-law was gay. In fact, he had become fairly close friends with a couple of other gay men before he was married. John, for instance, had been professional photographer and had even done a series of portraits of Ace. When he gave Ace a dozen shots of him staring intently into the camera lens that he had enlarged to nearly poster size, his roommates howled, telling him he would soon see his image in the back pages of some gay newspaper's love connection section.
Ace didn't care. He like the pictures and besides, John had never tried to come on to him. The same was true for his other gay friend, Jim. Ace had been running a political campaign for mayor of Boston when he first met Jim. He was trying to help a young, liberal city councilor get elected and his candidate was being heavily supported by the gay community. Most of his gay supporters were a little too pushy for Ace but they needed their help, especially their money. Jim had never been politically active but became more and more involved as the campaign progressed. He was a paper salesman working for an old Boston company selling high quality stationary and letterhead for large businesses. He had to present himself as properly conservative if he wanted to be successful dealing with the old Brahmin's and blue bloods that still dominated the city's insurance and banking industry.
Ace was in the prime of his life during the campaign and was loving every minute of it. Every day was hectic and exciting and the headquarters were bustling with activity. New people came through the door every week and Ace was especially good at recruiting young people and college students. Campaigns reminded him of his college theater group because of their intensity and emotional electricity. Plus, the sex was plentiful. He was a slut and he didn't care. He understood that these were going to be his salad days and he was determined to make the most it while it lasted. An avid reader of such American short story writers like Cheever and Dubus, Ace knew he would soon face a lifetime of drudgery working nine-to-five in some office for the next forty years. He wanted to live life to it's fullest while he could in the hopes that the rest of it would be tolerable. If nothing else, he would not become like one of the miserable characters who created their own suffering that his favorite writers wrote about so convincingly.
He was a wreck by the end of the campaign. They never had a chance and were beaten badly, coming in second to last in a field of six hopefuls. Ace wasn't crushed by the loss, just exhausted. Jim did a lot of volunteer work for Ace and the two became good friends. Jim insisted on inviting Ace over to dinner one night at his South End apartment. Ace was not sure if he should accept and wasn't really sure he really wanted to get to know Jim all that well, but Jim insisted on cooking him dinner.
"What the hell," he thought to himself. "He's probably a good cook."
It had been a long campaign and he was tired of all the pizza and subs that he had been living on for the past six months. He never got the sense that Jim was attracted to him or would try to make a pass, but he couldn't be sure he wouldn't try. And if he did try to put the make on him he would simply explain that he only wanted to be friends. He had certainly heard that line himself plenty of times from too many girls. Ace knew he need to get out of his comfort zone once in a while. He was a white kid from the suburbs and he was in danger of becoming another insufferable snob and he knew it. Even worse, he was becoming a bore. Always gravitating to the same crowd was wearing on him. He needed to break out once in a while and here was a chance to do it.
Dinner was excellent. They smoked some terrific pot and drank some really fine wine. Jim never made a pass. Then, when the campaign was over, Jim asked him to come to Provincetown on Cape Cod for the weekend. Jim had friends who owned a house and he thought Ace should get away and relax for a few days. Ace knew that Jim probably needed a ride more than anything, but he was mentally fried by the time the election was over and had never even been to the Cape. Plus, he owed Jim, and a lot of other volunteers, for all their help and it was time to start paying back.
It was damp and dreary, typical November weather, when they arrived at the cottage. It was a block from the waterfront in the heart of downtown P-town. Jim introduced him around to the other young men who were already there playing backgammon and cards. A few minutes later Tim, who apparently was the owner, walked in and gave Ace the once-over from head to foot. Ace said hello and shook his hand.
"I'm Ace," he said. "Thanks for inviting me this weekend. You have a really cool cottage here."
"Yeah. It is nice," said Tim. "So, are you gay?"
Ace was taken a little off guard. "No. I'm straight."
Tim had his audience now. "You mean you've have never had another guy get you off?"
Ace knew what was coming next and didn't bat an eye. Showboats like this were nothing new to him.
"I prefer to let a girl take care of that," he said, hoping that would put an end to the conversation, even though he knew it wouldn't.
Tim huffed. "Only a guy knows how to get another guy off the right way. You should try it. You don't know what you're missing."
Jim interrupted him. "Come on Tim, he's a guest."
Nothing more was said and for the next two days it was a typical guys weekend of drinking , smoking some killer dope and stuffing their faces. Ace did not see any of the guys kissing each other any other funny business. On Saturday, they did go out to a few gay clubs. Ace had never been to one before and got a kick out of seeing a few of the local queens in full fashion. Other than that it was pretty much a rainy, Fall weekend at the beach.
Now Hal was at his desk and the rest of the room was watching them out of the corner of their eyes.
"So are we on again for Saturday," Hal asked.
"It's a date," he said, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.
Ace was at his station when Hal walked through the door and came straight over to where Ace was dispatching. Ace was immediately self-conscious. He had seen Hal on the floor of the customer service center a few times since they had started playing tennis together. Ace would only give him a little nod and head straight for the dispatch center. He was still not sure he really wanted to encourage this friendship. He told himself that it was probably not a great idea to hang out with someone from the management team but he knew the real reason he was nervous was because he thought Hal might possibly be gay. He knew it was silly of him to care. After all, his own brother-in-law was gay. In fact, he had become fairly close friends with a couple of other gay men before he was married. John, for instance, had been professional photographer and had even done a series of portraits of Ace. When he gave Ace a dozen shots of him staring intently into the camera lens that he had enlarged to nearly poster size, his roommates howled, telling him he would soon see his image in the back pages of some gay newspaper's love connection section.
Ace didn't care. He like the pictures and besides, John had never tried to come on to him. The same was true for his other gay friend, Jim. Ace had been running a political campaign for mayor of Boston when he first met Jim. He was trying to help a young, liberal city councilor get elected and his candidate was being heavily supported by the gay community. Most of his gay supporters were a little too pushy for Ace but they needed their help, especially their money. Jim had never been politically active but became more and more involved as the campaign progressed. He was a paper salesman working for an old Boston company selling high quality stationary and letterhead for large businesses. He had to present himself as properly conservative if he wanted to be successful dealing with the old Brahmin's and blue bloods that still dominated the city's insurance and banking industry.
Ace was in the prime of his life during the campaign and was loving every minute of it. Every day was hectic and exciting and the headquarters were bustling with activity. New people came through the door every week and Ace was especially good at recruiting young people and college students. Campaigns reminded him of his college theater group because of their intensity and emotional electricity. Plus, the sex was plentiful. He was a slut and he didn't care. He understood that these were going to be his salad days and he was determined to make the most it while it lasted. An avid reader of such American short story writers like Cheever and Dubus, Ace knew he would soon face a lifetime of drudgery working nine-to-five in some office for the next forty years. He wanted to live life to it's fullest while he could in the hopes that the rest of it would be tolerable. If nothing else, he would not become like one of the miserable characters who created their own suffering that his favorite writers wrote about so convincingly.
He was a wreck by the end of the campaign. They never had a chance and were beaten badly, coming in second to last in a field of six hopefuls. Ace wasn't crushed by the loss, just exhausted. Jim did a lot of volunteer work for Ace and the two became good friends. Jim insisted on inviting Ace over to dinner one night at his South End apartment. Ace was not sure if he should accept and wasn't really sure he really wanted to get to know Jim all that well, but Jim insisted on cooking him dinner.
"What the hell," he thought to himself. "He's probably a good cook."
It had been a long campaign and he was tired of all the pizza and subs that he had been living on for the past six months. He never got the sense that Jim was attracted to him or would try to make a pass, but he couldn't be sure he wouldn't try. And if he did try to put the make on him he would simply explain that he only wanted to be friends. He had certainly heard that line himself plenty of times from too many girls. Ace knew he need to get out of his comfort zone once in a while. He was a white kid from the suburbs and he was in danger of becoming another insufferable snob and he knew it. Even worse, he was becoming a bore. Always gravitating to the same crowd was wearing on him. He needed to break out once in a while and here was a chance to do it.
Dinner was excellent. They smoked some terrific pot and drank some really fine wine. Jim never made a pass. Then, when the campaign was over, Jim asked him to come to Provincetown on Cape Cod for the weekend. Jim had friends who owned a house and he thought Ace should get away and relax for a few days. Ace knew that Jim probably needed a ride more than anything, but he was mentally fried by the time the election was over and had never even been to the Cape. Plus, he owed Jim, and a lot of other volunteers, for all their help and it was time to start paying back.
It was damp and dreary, typical November weather, when they arrived at the cottage. It was a block from the waterfront in the heart of downtown P-town. Jim introduced him around to the other young men who were already there playing backgammon and cards. A few minutes later Tim, who apparently was the owner, walked in and gave Ace the once-over from head to foot. Ace said hello and shook his hand.
"I'm Ace," he said. "Thanks for inviting me this weekend. You have a really cool cottage here."
"Yeah. It is nice," said Tim. "So, are you gay?"
Ace was taken a little off guard. "No. I'm straight."
Tim had his audience now. "You mean you've have never had another guy get you off?"
Ace knew what was coming next and didn't bat an eye. Showboats like this were nothing new to him.
"I prefer to let a girl take care of that," he said, hoping that would put an end to the conversation, even though he knew it wouldn't.
Tim huffed. "Only a guy knows how to get another guy off the right way. You should try it. You don't know what you're missing."
Jim interrupted him. "Come on Tim, he's a guest."
Nothing more was said and for the next two days it was a typical guys weekend of drinking , smoking some killer dope and stuffing their faces. Ace did not see any of the guys kissing each other any other funny business. On Saturday, they did go out to a few gay clubs. Ace had never been to one before and got a kick out of seeing a few of the local queens in full fashion. Other than that it was pretty much a rainy, Fall weekend at the beach.
Now Hal was at his desk and the rest of the room was watching them out of the corner of their eyes.
"So are we on again for Saturday," Hal asked.
"It's a date," he said, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.
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