Saturday, September 15, 2007

This one's for you, Joey!

My ex-boyfriend had a lot of disposable income and we lived in a small city in America. Many people knew he had money and they would kiss his ass when they saw him. Night after night he went out on the town because he had nothing better to do. He always had lots of company - the type of people who wanted a free drink, a free meal, a free ride, or whatever. One day he said:

"You know, Joey always buys a round of drinks when he is with us. He just delivers sodas and he doesn't have much money. But he's the only one who ever bothers to pay for something."

It was an obvious observation, but a rare one for my ex-boyfriend. My ex-boyfriend, (I'll call him Thad), lived for the moment and did not give much thought to his future or to the people who surrounded him. I understood what he was telling me that night when he spoke of Joey. He and Joey had grown up together. Thad started selling drugs and making lots of money. Joey got a job driving a truck. I can't remember whether he worked for a grocery chain or a beverage distributor but Joey delivered pallets of sodas around the city all day long, five days a week. It happened that he and I had little to say to each other and little in common. Still, I liked him. I respected him.

Joey only had two free nights each week. He hit the local clubs on Wednesday and Thursday nights because he had to get up at 4:30am on Saturday through Wednesday mornings. On a certain Thursday evening I ended up in the local emergency room after collapsing earlier in the day due to an as-yet-unknown malady. Thad came to sit with me while the emergency room personnel conducted tests on me. He and Joey were supposed to go out that night. Joey kept calling Thad to induce him to meet him at a bar.

"Just leave her there." Joey told Thad. " There are people there who will take care of her. You don't need to stay with her. Come on, this is my last night out this week."

Joey lived in a small apartment where the landlords paid all of his utilities. He left his air-conditioning unit blasting cold air all day while he was at work just because he could. He relished the fact that he had this prerogative in life. Joey found out that I sometimes danced naked at a club in Los Angeles. Thad informed me that Joey and Joey's brother would often crack jokes about how I used to dance at "Bob's Bargain Box" in Los Angeles. Thad was kind of touchy about the subject. We lived in a small, repressed city where the thought of wanton, female nudity would genuinely shock and horrify most citizens.

On the surface Joey and I had nothing in common, absolutely zero. Yet I still remember him with fondness. Sometimes I'm out drinking or eating or something and I find myself sharing the bill with one other person even though eight people were there. I'll buy one more drink and think to myself:

"This one's for you, Joey!"

He and I had some base-level understanding that overrode all of our various, innumerable differences.

Certain people don't have the ability to fathom that. Goldie Blair happens to be one of them. She's the type who will sit at a bar with you and have a few drinks. She might even eat something even though no one else is bothering. When the bill arrives she will stare heavenward and just pretend it's not there. It works for her in the way that low-level people want things to work: at least she does not have to pay for her own drink or her food. Curiously, she has a great deal more pent-up animosity than I do. Maybe that makes sense. Maybe she hates herself but can't deal with it directly. Recently she and I were shooting a set of custom photos. She punched me squarely in the face, leaving me bruised and sore for the better part of a week. She apologized profusely and I did not know what to think. After all, we were at a staged boxing shoot. We were not supposed to be landing blows on one another's faces. Fantasy was the goal. Did she not understand this? I think she did, but I also suspect that everything is just too muddled up in her own head for her to distinguish between reality and the often fanciful world in which she works. She lost her self-respect long ago. I could not tell you the original instance, but I know that it festers somewhere in her murky memory and still influences all her current behavior. Somebody fucked with Goldie. I don't know who it was. She brings some type of vengeance with her to work that is entirely inappropriate..

This ferocious catfight gallery will be coming to the members' area of my site soon!

- XXOO Tanya


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