A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to My Sexual Orientation (8 page)

"No, actually, I'm Lizzy's grandson, Andy.” Nothing. No spark of recognition whatsoever. “Marie and Donald's son.” I spoke through clenched teeth. I might just as well have been Donny and Marie's son, since no one recognized me. No, come to think of it, that would make me inbred. Well, I could get a hell of a scholarship...

"Of course!” Aunt Carma clasped her hands together and walked over to me. “And you look so much like your mother."

"Father,” I corrected.

"Whatever.” She dismissed me and turned back to the others. “Come on in and get something to eat and drink. Lizzy.” Aunt Carma took Grandma's hand and patted it several times. “Let's go find your brother and get a glass of champagne. You're starting to look a little sober."

Uncle Chester leaned over and whispered in my ear, “She
is
starting to look a little gloomy."

"That's
somber
, but Grandma is starting to look sober so I think Aunt Carma said the right thing.” Did this man even own a dictionary?

"You have nooooooo idea what you're talking about, do you, Avery?"

[Back to Table of Contents]

The four of them disappeared into the house. I didn't follow at first because I wasn't sure if it was safe to or not. This was really starting to piss me off! I wouldn't have been the least bit surprised to walk in and see a large demon with hooves for feet, two horns, a long pointed tail and pitchfork serving hors d’ oeuvres. This wasn't a vacation as much as it was a damned identity crisis.

I took a deep breath and opened the front door. The main room was mostly empty, but the kitchen just off to the left was a hustle and bustle of activity. Staff from the catering company ran in and out of the house and downstairs for more supplies, back upstairs and then back outside again, refreshing glasses and replacing empty food trays with new little delicacies. These people were definitely earning their money. I moved farther inside.

"Excuse me, sir.” A waiter had come up behind me and was anxiously trying to get past where I stood blocking the doorway between the hall and kitchen. The way he'd uttered the word sir had me wondering if he was rushed or merely annoyed that I was in his way.

"Sorry,” I apologized goodnaturedly, and stepped aside. “I didn't mean to get in the way. I was just looking around the house. It isn't very often I get out to California to see my relatives or where they live."

"Tourists.” He rolled his eyes, snorted, shook his head and started past me.

"Oh, I'm a tourist.” I spoke a little too loudly. “Guess that means you don't have to be polite. Why don't I just stand here and block the way again? Then, when you come back, you can just plow me right over. Hell!” I threw up my hands. “If you get up enough speed, you can knock me back to Michigan and save me the price of a return ticket ... dick."

That got his attention.

"What is your problem?” He whirled around and faced me. “You obviously have one if you feel the need to call me a dick."

At first, I thought he was going to lighten up and apologize, aware of how rude he'd just been, but then he stared at me as if expecting an answer. It caught me completely off-guard.

"Do you feel that insecure in your masculinity you have to resort to name-calling?"

"Uh ... well...” Hey! He'd started this. I'd been nice about moving out of his way, and he had to go and make some snide remark about me being a tourist. “Of course I'm secure! And as for my masculinity..."

Here was where I was supposed to dazzle him by saying something brilliant, something manly, but what? What the hell did I know that was brilliant or even remotely impressive? The only thing I could remember from chemistry is that 6.02 multiplied by ten to the twenty-third power equals one mole. That left manly, and the only thing I could think of in that respect was sports, which wasn't saying much at all. Teams! Think teams. This was California.

"Say, how about those Miami...” Oh, shit. I hoped my face didn't mirror the stupidity and blankness of my mind. Miami wasn't in California. To make matters worse, the Miami what? It was a fish, wasn't it? “...Mammals?"

"Miami Mammals?” Now came the look that told me I had to be the biggest moron in the world. How ironic that I should actually feel that way, too.

"Porpoises?” I asked, and he shook his head in disbelief. “Well, they're not whales...” I motioned toward my back and waved my hand. “They're the things with those flipper things on the top.” Maybe I should just pay more attention to sports.

"Dolphins,” he said in a tone of smug triumph.

"Yeah.” I wanted to throttle him. “The Dolphins."

"What about them?"

Oh, God. There had to be another point?

"If you don't know, then perhaps your masculinity should be in question and not mine.” Momma always says “If you can't dazzle ‘em with brilliance, baffle ‘em with bullshit.” And why not? I was the king of it, anyway.

"Well, aren't you butch?” He retorted condescendingly, and walked away.

"No, I'm Andy.” I threw up my hands in defeat. “It's not that difficult of a name to remember."

What was up with this “Butch” thing, now? Had he been talking to Uncle Chester?

The only thing I knew for sure was that I needed a drink.

I slipped outside to where everybody else was. At first glance, there looked to be about a hundred people standing or sitting around, and the backyard looked incredible! Actually, if I didn't know it was a backyard, I would have thought it to be the patio of one of the most posh restaurants I could imagine. It was at least a triple lot, and completely surrounded by trees on all three sides, effectively cutting out any view of their neighbors’ yards at all. In the center was a small landscaped waterfall, surrounded by trees as well, that emptied into a tiny pond. Ice sculptures of animals and other artistic designs surrounded the pond and were probably melting into it, which cut down on the mess they would make if they'd been on a table.

On either side of the sculptures were round tables and then a head table in the middle at the far end. A large banner hung from one end of the yard to the other that read Happy 50th Anniversary Leon and Carma!

All the food was set up on large buffet tables on the right side of the yard. There were too many people around it to get even a glimpse of what was available, but if the stuff tasted half as good as it smelled, I was in for a real treat. No grilled cheeses and French fries this day!

I looked around for a place to sit, but most of the tables were filled, and the seats that were empty had glasses in front of the chairs or various articles of clothing folded over them. That was probably just as well since I didn't care to be around people at the moment, not after the experiences with Uncle Chester, Aunt Carma and the waiter from Hell.

The far left side of the yard had a couple of lounge chairs set up and small tables in between them. It was deserted except for the occasional curious straggler, so that area would suit me just fine.

Grandma found me before I could safely escape and urgently pulled me aside.

"I have to talk to you.” She dug her nails into my arm.

"What?” I asked through clenched teeth. “I haven't done anything yet. What could possibly be so wrong that you have to draw blood?"

"You see those men over by the far table on the right side of the waterfall?"

She motioned with her head and let up on the nails. I peered and saw two men who looked to be in their early thirties dressed in dark slacks and light-colored short-sleeve shirts. They appeared to be related, or at least brothers. They didn't look out-of-place, and I began to wonder if I was looking at the right group.

"Those are your cousins Chad and Richard.” Grandma looked as though she'd bitten into a lemon. “They're the homosexuals.” She started to go back towards the party then turned and pointed a finger at me. “Keep your distance."

"Go take your Ritalin.” Despite my irritation with her, there wouldn't be too much of a fight from me on that issue, since I planned on keeping my distance from everybody else anyway. All I really wanted now was a drink. It didn't matter if it was Pepsi, 7-Up or a stiff shot of vodka. I just wanted to kick back and relax for a few minutes.

I noticed a heavyset man in a designer suit with long brown hair standing with a thin elderly woman with blond hair in almost a beehive-style hairdo a few feet away from me. They had been desperately trying to get the attention of one of the waiters, and he was finally coming over with a tray of glasses and bottle of champagne. I joined them to get one, too. Much to my surprise, the heavier one wasn't a man at all but another woman. I realized this when I looked at her from the front and heard her speak, though she did have an accent.

"Oy, waiter person!” She hurried the waiter over to us. “We've been standing here for ten minutes.” Her words were slurred and angry, and she waved her empty glass in his face. “Do you know how dehydrated a person can get in that amount of time?"

"Think Karen Carpenter,” the blonde threw at him.

"Oh, sweetie.” The dark-haired one looked at her. “Do you remember when I did that PR thing for her? Do you remember what that was, darling?"

"Her funeral,” the other said matter-of-factly.

"God, what a depressing time that was.” She hung her head low. “We lost a bloody fortune on those gorgeous little thimble things with her ashes in them. I don't know why people wouldn't buy them."

"It worked for Mount St. Helens,” the blonde added crassly.

"Exactly! Only there was a whole lot more ash there. By the time we got her here, there was barely enough to bother with. Anyway, cheers, sweetie!” The heavier one lifted her glass and then remembered it was empty.

"Would you like me to fill that for you, madam?” The waiter lifted the bottle up, ready to pour some into their glasses.

"Moiselle,” the blonde chastised him. “Made
moiselle
!"

"Just give us the bottle and leave.” The heavier one grabbed the bottle and poured some for herself and then her friend. The waiter, not knowing what else to do, left in search of another bottle to carry around.

I was about to turn and leave as well when the woman turned and looked at me.

"You look a bit dry there yourself. Here.” She thrust the bottle into my hand. “Oh, look!” The blonde turned towards the food table. “Are those Japanese finger foods?"

The two women stumbled off toward the buffet tables, and I took the opportunity to head in the opposite direction toward the blessed absence of humanity. It probably wouldn't do my stomach much good to drink without filling it first, but I couldn't see it necessarily hurting, either.

It turned out the yard was a bit larger than I had first thought. All I wanted to do was find the farthest corner and sit down, but the closer I got to the side of the house the more surprised I was to see that the yard was opening up again. Far away from everyone else's sight was a kind of side yard with a few tables and chairs, regular lawn furniture, really. I doubt it was meant to be used for the party, but it certainly looked inviting enough to me.

I fell lazily into a lounger, kicked my feet up and took a long swig from the bottle. This was heaven!

"Get that out of your mouth!"
a voice rang out. “You're not old enough to be drinking!"

The entire contents sprayed simultaneously out through my mouth and nose. I was going to kick the living shit out of whoever just scared me like that! The burning in my nose was almost worse than what I'd felt in my groin before it had gone numb in the car.

Somebody laughed and handed me a couple of napkins. By God, they weren't going to be laughing when I got a hold of the son of a...

As quickly as my still-convulsing body would let me, I stood up and turned around to face the object of my aggressions.

"I'm sorry.” I felt a hand dab at my face with a fresh napkin. “That really wasn't very nice of me, but I couldn't resist."

I finally managed to see through the deep hue my body had turned and get a clear view of the face before me. Incredible! It was as if I was looking at myself in a mirror, only a little older and a whole lot better-looking.

He was in his early twenties, and had light blond hair, clear blue eyes and picture-perfect Don Johnson
Miami Vice
-style hair. I'd tried for years to get my hair to do anything—anything at all—but I had too many cowlicks.

We were about the same height, but he had a physique that was a bit more appealing to the eyes than my own.

I completely forgot for the moment what he had just done to me but still hated him.

He extended his hand and, instead of punching him, my own met his. I
wanted
to punch him. I
tried
to get my hand to punch him, but my body betrayed me! Despite how hot under the collar I was feeling, I felt the warmth of his skin against mine, and I think I actually blushed. It had to be the alcohol.

"My name's Jordan.” He introduced himself, and I still wanted to hurt him, now more than ever. What kind of name was that, anyway? Playboys were named Jordan, the kind who acted as though they invented sex and then tried like hell to spread it around. He was the epitome of why I couldn't get a date. How could I compete with a name and look like that? “What's yours?"

"I'm Marie and Donald's son,” I told him, defeated and still dribbling champagne from my mouth and nostrils.

"Is that what you want me to call you?” He looked a bit puzzled. “Do you have a really difficult foreign name or something? I'm fluent in four languages, so I'm sure I could give it a try pronouncing it."

"No.” God, he made me sick! Four languages? I'll bet I had him beat. I knew English, British, Australian, Profane, and I could probably get by if I had to in the realm of Love. That made five! He wasn't such hot shit after all. “It's just that nobody can seem to remember my name. So far, I've been called Adam, Alex, Axel, Amos, Abner and Butch. If, however, you can ignore everybody else's interpretations, it's really just Andy."

That sounded so plain. Jordan was the kind of name some girl took home to meet her billionaire parents and to get memberships for at exclusive health clubs and dining clubs. Andy was the kind of name parents hired to entertain their children when the television wasn't on.