I’d had more than enough humiliation, degradation, and mortification for one night, and was now filled with a burning desire for revenge. I mean, really, who did they think they were? Fire smoldering in my belly, I applied the most exquisite makeup.
“A real doll. What a doll… Maşallah!” I said to the reflection in the mirror, taking care to spray it with a healthy dose of spit to ward off the evil eye.
I was on a roll. Unless my fury faded away, I’d be hell on wheels at the club tonight, taking it out on the boys, making them hop and jump. I considered the way they treated me when they were cross and their transparent efforts to hide their resentment.
If DJ Osman played ludicrous tracks, claiming they were the latest hits, I’d shit in his mouth. He’d had it coming for a long time. The second I turned my back he’d play Sertab Erener, stretching my nerves like an overly taut bowstring. And when I’d intervene, he’d grin an apology out of the corner of his mouth. How many times had I told him that I simply would not have either that voice or its vessel in my club. If he tried it tonight, he’d be eating the shattered pieces of that shrill siren’s CD before he knew what hit him.
And as for Cüneyt, that groveling excuse for a doorman… the slightest slipup in manner, word, or conduct would be noted ruthlessly on the spot. In any case, the boy was too simpleminded and pure of heart to take a hint, and his earnest response would only serve to sharpen my wrath further. So be it. Once I was through the door there would be any number of targets to choose from.
It would be tough to stick it to that incorrigible boy lover Şükrü. He’d put up with whatever I dished out. After all, the club was his idea of paradise, and he wouldn’t allow it to be spoiled by anything I, his nominal boss, said. He’d simply tilt his head to one side, gaze into the distance, and put his trust in God.
And then there was Hasan! I had a real mouthful for him, an unending litany of abuse. I suddenly remembered that Hasan had wanted to talk to me. Even though we couldn’t be considered close, he’d always come through for me, no questions asked. It’s funny, though. He’d never expected me to reciprocate, almost as though he was determined to keep his distance.
I realized that I’d never made a special effort to get to know him better, or to lend him a hand. All I’d done was criticize and condemn. He, too, surely needed a kind word and a show of respect from time to time. I thought about his family, the one he never mentions but that I know live somewhere in Istanbul… the men, women, or boys he’d no doubt fallen for but never spoken of… the fact that to date he had not once complained or grumbled about his life to me or anyone I knew… Who knew what he suffered in private, the difficulties he faced in coming to terms with himself and his place in the world?
As I pondered the riddle of Hasan, the wind went out of my sails, blustery malice replaced by an almost maternal inner stillness. It was an unfortunate development: The grudge I harbored against Haluk also vanished. Those amazing eyes and wondrous face appeared in my mind’s eye, and all was forgiven. He’d been reelevated to divine status. I imagined myself folded in his arms. And instantly turned to jelly. As I caught myself caressing my own arms, which were wrapped around my own body, I cursed aloud. Had I fallen in love, just like that? Where would it lead? Let’s say my wildest fantasies came true, just once. Would he be prepared to divorce that rich, condescending, and stylish wife of his? Or would I become his mistress? An unfortunate and unreciprocated love. A tiresome and tiring adventure, the ill-fated course of which was clear from the start! That’s all I needed right now!
Resentment welled up once more, buoyed by a bubbling pool of self-pity. Bonjour, tristesse… Good morning, hüzün! Merhaba and welcome back, depression!
“Hey!” I scolded myself aloud. I had no intention of returning to those dark days, of becoming a sorry creature with the mental faculties and joie de vivre of a sponge. Erkan Koray’s “Sevince” always raises my spirits. I set the song to continuous play. Singing along, I completed my preparations. As always when determined to be cheerful, I’d laid it on a bit thick: sylphlike Audrey Hepburn buried under garish early Madonna gear. Now, if I only had a pistachio green fake fox fur detachable collar. And I did, of course. I had to laugh at myself in the full-length mirror. The impression I made tonight would be a lasting one indeed!
Cüneyt was not manning his customary spot at the door when I arrived. His absence must be due to the chilly weather or an unusually slow night at the club. I pressed the tiny doorbell and waited. After peering out through the grate, Cüneyt quickly opened the door. I handed him my cape, which was as thick as a blanket. After looking me up and down, and obviously unsure what to say, he fixed his eyes onto my face. I tossed him a hard look and entered.
It was nearly empty inside. Just two or three customers to a full ensemble of girls. Bored, they’d flocked to the dance floor. When Çişe saw me she hastily bundled her free-floating breasts back into her blouse. She’s perfectly aware I won’t permit such displays. Zero tolerance.
Şükrü winked as he gave me my virgin Mary. I asked how he was. He responded with a smile. After handling Hasan I’d return to his side prepared to listen sympathetically to his troubles. Ay! I’d been transformed into the very picture of a morally upright, considerate proprietress.
Hasan trotted to my side with short, quick steps. He’d been thrashed.
“What happened to you?” I asked. “What’s all this?”
“Let’s go upstairs and I’ll tell you about it.”
I left my drink on the bar and Hasan and I climbed up to our infamous storage room/office. He shut the door behind us the second we entered.
I cocked an eyebrow in an attempt to look sufficiently inquisitive.
“I was beaten,” he said. “It wasn’t an accident.”
“Oh? Why? Who did it?”
“In my neighborhood. I was beaten up in my own neighborhood. You know the grocer on the corner of my street… He’s got a son. Turan… Just back from military service. A good-looking guy.”
I was preparing to spring to his defense when he silenced me.
“He may not be your type, but he’s a real drink of water. In a Tom Cruise sort of way…”
“Did you hit on him?” I asked.
What really annoyed me was that after running around for all this time with his jeans hanging off his hips, butt crack exposed for all to see, flirting and carrying on with everyone in his path, steadfastly rejecting various admirers of all ages and both sexes, he’d decided to hit on some grocer’s boy. Just to initiate him, and uncertain of his tastes, I’d even gone so far as to offer to arrange a tryst with one of our girls or our gay-loving clients. He’d refused them all.
“That’s not it,” he said. “I liked him, is all. I started doing my shopping during his shift, having it home delivered. You know me, I’m the friendly sort. I warm to people straight off… I joke around… I liked him. We’d chat now and then. That’s it.”
“So that’s why you got beat up?”
“No!” he said. “He has friends in the neighborhood. Real scum. They hang out in front of the grocer’s, talking and poking fun at everyone passing.”
“Did they beat you up?”
“Yes, they did it. I’d just turned the corner one evening on the way home when they cornered me over by the rubbish bins. They jumped me.”
“But why? Just because you were flirting with the grocer’s boy?”
“It’s a bit complicated,” he said. “It was only later that I found out why they did it. It seems Turan has a thing for the girl on the floor below me, Şengül. He’d been hitting on her for a while. I joke around with Şengül sometimes. We lend each other books. Borrow things from each other when we run out. Once in a while, on Sundays, we go to the cinema. We’re friends. We live in the same building and all that… Anyway, it seems Turan got jealous. He’s got a thing for the girl, thinks he owns her. Sometimes I’d joke around with him about Şengül. He thought I was making fun of him for being jealous. So he decides that not only am I after his girl, I’m rubbing his nose in it. Then he sends his friends after me…”
“How’d you find all this out?”
“When Şengül saw them beating me up she came running out to help. She’s the one who told me about Turan. He’d been sending her love letters, you see…”
“So they let you go when she turned up?”
“No, that’s not what happened. They just ignored her and kept hitting and kicking me. That is, until Şengül, at the top of her lungs, so she was sure they’d hear her over the racket we were making, screamed out that I was a faggot, that there’d never been anything between us and never would be… When she finished, you could have heard a pin drop. They all froze, gaping at me. Then one of them shouted ‘faggot’ and they started beating me up again.”
I’d heard enough. I was feeling sick to my stomach. I wanted to rush over and flatten the grocery first, then the entire district.
“How’d you get away?”
“When they’d had enough they left. I’d passed out… Şengül dragged me home and dressed my wounds…”
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “My condolences. Have you told the girls?”
“Of course not. They’d run off and raid my neighborhood… It wasn’t easy finding that flat!”
“Fine,” I said flatly.
I hadn’t yet decided what to do.
“What would you like me to do?” I asked.
“You’ve got friends in the squad. Arrange a good thumping. A night in jail, even…”
“There’s no need to get the police involved,” I said. “I can handle the whole lot on my own. How many are there?”
“Four or five, tops.”
“If necessary, I’ll go around with Shrewish Pamir or a couple of the other girls…”
“That’s no good,” he said. “This thing’ll turn into a blood feud. And what about my standing in the neighborhood? As you know, I’m not gay. It’d just give them another reason to call me a faggot.”
“So what can you do, file for slander?”
“Not only would the police make it official,” he insisted. “They’d realize I have friends in high places…”
“And were you to be rescued by transvestites, just think what it’d do to your reputation, right?”
His face, already distorted by swelling, became deformed with astonishment.
“How can you say that? I’ve never been ashamed of you or the girls. Never.”
Yes, behind the windowless walls of the club, at home or in our own specially designated spaces, there was no problem, no cause for embarrassment; still, I knew, deep down, that I was right to take offense. Even worse, so did he.