It was all a lark, really-they were a couple of Jersey boys on a Friday-night spree, hitting the bars on the Upper East Side, trawling for some action. But these Sex and the City chicks were so stuck up-thought they were all that, with their designer shoes and their two-hundred-dollar haircuts and expensive boob jobs. They weren't going to mess with a couple of dagos from Bayonne, so Joe and Bobby figured they'd go down to the Village just for a gag and see what the faggots were up to.
Bobby said he knew about this place on Christopher over by the river where the trannies hung out, so they headed down there to see the freaks. They'd go in and pretend to pick one up, then give him-or was it her? Ha!-the slip, maybe even mess her up a bit. They had plenty of time and plenty of rage.
When they got to the place it was dark and crowded and smelled like a cross between a locker room and the perfume counter at Bloomingdale's. It also smelled like sex. There was music, if you could call it that-house music with the repetitive chords and insistent drumbeat. Joe hated house music. In high school he organized a band in his parents'
garage and wrote all the songs himself. They broke up eventually, after playing a few local gigs, but Joe still thought of himself as a musician, and no self-respecting musician likes house music. He wanted to leave, but Bobby wanted to stay for a while, so they ordered drinks and looked around. The place was packed with freaks-Joe had to admit some of them looked pretty good, in their high heels and short skirts. With their shaved legs and wigs they looked like tall chicks from a distance-it's downright creepy, he said to Bobby. But Bobby said what you have to look at is the Adam's apple-that's the giveaway. And the hands-the hands are bigger than a chick's hands. There were also guys dressed regular like Bobby and Joe, but Bobby said they were all faggots.
They wandered around for a while until this one tranny started eyeing Joe. He wasn't too tall, and had on this long, dark wig and really long legs under a little black leather skirt. A lot of the freaks were black or Hispanic or Asian, but this was a white guy-his face was actually kind of girlish, Joe thought. He wasn't really attracted-no, that was too weird-but if the he/she had been a chick he definitely would have looked twice.
They were on about their sixth round when finally this freak caught Joe's eye and winked, and just for a lark Joe winked back. And then this tranny was all in his face, and asking if he can buy them a round, and when had Joe ever turned down a free drink, so he said sure, why not? The tranny bought a round and Bobby bought a round, and then they were totally plastered and laughing, and the freak said her name was Violet, and Bobby said is that like the color or the flower, and she said whatever you want it to be, and they laughed and laughed.
Bobby had to go take a piss, so Joe and Violet were alone at the bar, and Violet put her hand on Joe's knee and said she'd like to show him something, so Joe figured why the hell not-he wasn't getting any other action tonight-so he went with her out the back door into this little alley, where there were garbage cans and those blue recycling bins. It wasn't really dirty, though-it had been swept and was pretty tidy. You had to hand it to faggots for being clean. Violet said she forgot something and went back into the bar for a minute. Joe leaned against the brick wall of the building because he had a lot to drink. He could hear a dog barking from one of the nearby apartments, one of those fluffy little dogs that faggots like.
The air was warm, and he could hear the music from inside the bar. It was still that damn house music, and he was starting to feel not so good. He was ready to go in and tell Bobby it was time to leave when Violet came back out and said she had something for him, and she pulled a condom out of her brassiere (her tits were pretty big-probably falsies) and said they should get it on there in the alley, and suddenly Joe felt terrible, like he was going to be sick, but she was still all up in his face, pawing at him and purring, and it was disgusting, and he just wanted to go home.
He tried to push her away, but she wouldn't listen, so he finally got fed up and started punching her-not to mess her up too much, just to get her to leave him alone. She went down easy. After just a few blows she staggered back against the brick wall and slid to the ground and just sort of sat there, staring. Joe wanted to ask her if she was okay, and help her up or something, but just then Bobby came out of the bar and saw them.
He grabbed Joe and said they had to leave now before they got in trouble. Joe was feeling really sick, so he didn't argue and stumbled after Bobby, through the alley and around to the front of the building where they parked their car. When they got there Joe told Bobby to wait because he was going to be sick. After he finished throwing up on the curb, he looked around before getting in the car, just in time to see Violet staggering out of the alley toward them. He felt bad about having to hit her, but he didn't hit her that hard, and he was more scared about getting into trouble. So he climbed in Bobby's car and they drove away. He couldn't help turning back to look out the back window one last time, and saw Violet standing there in the street. She looked sad, and he felt kind of bad, but Bobby was snickering and punching him in the shoulder and saying what a close call that was with that faggot, and wait till they tell their friends. So Joe laughed and reached into his jacket for a cigarette, and they headed toward the Holland Tunnel, driving down Varick Street, with all the windows open to let in the steamy summer air.