Why I bought Belcher's MAN'S GUIDE TO SEXUAL HEALTH for a friend

A fond look back at America’s Golden Age:

Why I bought Belcher’s

Man’s Guide to SEXUAL HEALTH

for a friend

A Mock Picaresque Romance

by

Thomaas Lawrence

***

Published by:

Thomas Lawrence at Smashwords

Copyright © 2016 by Thomas Lawrence

***

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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To Kathlyn and Adrian

And in memory of Cervantes

whose great work became the inspiration

for this unseemly parody (sorry, Miguel!)

Also, apologies to Aristotle are on order for my

admitted hatcheting of Poetics in Part Six

Table of Contents

Part One

...the family that spends Sunday together stays together

Part Two

...inside the clockwork orange

Part Three

...how I foil a robbery; and of other matters pertaining to the night clerk’s sudden resignation

Part Four

...my first real piece of detective work; oh, and how I became guest speaker at the Republican

precinct meeting

Part Five

Well I now want to talk about things related to the hotel business and its ups and downs which I was fast becoming a part of; and also about my piece of queer luck that so happens happened when I was with Nancy in Golden Gate Park...

Part Six

...the Fund Raiser is marred by a somewhat unusual incident; about my depression (which is not of your usual kind); and how Nancy attempts to cheer me which leads to a bigger discovery

Part Seven

The body! Ron conducts his investigation, I conduct mine...

Part Eight

...I examine the green suitcase next morning, and what I find makes Nancy turn antsy

Part Nine

...our well laid trap proves disappointing; how Nancy gets even more nervous and wants to draw Ron into my investigation; and about other things including a surprise visit from Dr. Trueblood

Part Ten

...I just get set to read Belcher’s informative book when the contact is made; only it takes a twist and I at last get to use Dad’s .45

Part Eleven

Your happy ending: I satisfy Nancy! She wants me to stay with her at Jack’s hotel and be happy. But then I get an important message from Dad that my orders have been cut: plus his strict warning that conflicts with Nancy’s happy happiness plan...

Part One

...the family that spends Sunday together stays together

1

When I saw Apocalypse Now I thought of my Dad—that he’s on a secret mission like that. Of course, my Mom says he’s not, he’s dead. That’s what M.I.A. means. Which gives her the excuse to hit the juice. Of course she don’t need none, as I explained to Ted____. I call him Connection, or my connection, and he calls me Jamie of course. Because even here in the Halfway House I know we was meant to be buddies. Something you know connected the first time we got talking. About our favorite movies. And my mother’s problem. And when we compared fathers. His was like from nowhere. A total suckoff who Connection’s got no use for, and like told him. Like busted him in the mouth.

It don’t mean nothing. We laugh about it. I tell Connection my father’s a Green Beret who works for the C.I.A. He left last time when I was twelve. But I remember his uniform with that special cap and Connection’s all ears. As I say, his old man was really from nowhere. He pretended to be a writer but was most of the time on unemployment, and let the old lady walk all over him. She was half the time out getting balled, Connection says. Once he come home from the bowling alley and he even caught them and punched the dude out. I believe it. Connection’s not so tall but he’s thick in the shoulders and’s got a murderous right, a little like Clint Eastwood’s.

Like I say, we met in the Halfway House. He stays in room 12. I’m around the corner in 15a and I first noticed him at one of the therapy sessions. They’re deadly dull, where you get up and are forced to talk about your anti-social behavior. Sessions they always start with this uppity broad—she says she’s a psychologist with the Parole Board—in her twenties at least, with glasses on a bobbed little nose, shingled hair blond, and this everpresent pair of tits, talking:

"Now we all know the reason each one of us is here. Why not have someone begin by telling the group why. Start with Mr. Bond today."

Bitch! She started with me last week too. But I smiled: Because, Miss Cole, I guess you could say our anti-social behavior. Things we done. Dr. Crawley, I added looking straight at her tits, says that it’s no longer prof prof

Profitable, she said for me.

But I could tell from her voice my stare was making her nervous. Dr. Crawley said that the past, Miss Cole, is only of value if we don’t understand our crimes. And that, since we do, we shouldn’t have to..well talk about them no more.

Of course, Dr. Crawley is right, said Miss Cole, and I didn’t mean this to be an individual or group therapy session. No, this is purely counseling. Looking forward to that time, not so distant, when each of you will walk through that front door for the last time, to take your places in society as productive, law-abiding citizens. Now— To escape my stare she turned to others: would anyone care to tell the group what we mean by being law-abiding citizens. Mr. Wilson?"

Means so we won’t fuck up again.

There was hidden laughter and some coughing. I glanced at Ted and our eyes connected, both saying Herb, you stupid mother!

Herb—Mr. Wilson—can you choose some better uhm..more precise words, said Miss Cole.

Faces waited in amusement:. Herby was in obvious trouble. Herb Wilson, you dumb fuck! I know what he means to say, Miss Cole.

Yes, Mr. Bond?

That crimes against society are crimes against ourselves.

Good! Please continue.

I kept looking at those two points of hers, making her uncomfortable. On impulse I reached into my pocket for my pack of Camels, except my mind said pair of Camels. That we really all of us want to live healthy normal lives, enjoy our freedom. But to do that we got to respect others.

Respect the rights of others. Exactly! said Miss Cole. And that’s why I’m here. To help each of you through that difficult period of readjustment, as soon now—now that you’ve made sufficient progress to be allowed back into society early..."

Another lie! The reason we were being let out of here early was because Reagan cut the budget and Miss Cole knew it! She rambled on but I didn’t listen, I knew it all by heart. It was a game they played and you played back. Draw the right card and you advance three spaces. Pick up the wrong one and it’s back to jail.

Miss Cole’s pep-talk was in the morning. After lunch I met Ted in the game room as we called it. That is we came in separately, but together, and I eyed him a little like Fraser must of Ali that first time—you know, testy. Here let me say, you learn to be cool. You got to for your own good. It’s a dangerous place out there, as anyone who watches news on TV knows. So you learn to be selective about who your friends are. I first waited for Ted to speak, but I could see he didn’t quite trust me so I said:

Herby ain’t going to make it.

"Herb’s a dumbshit. How you suppose he even made it to here!"

Got this far in life you mean? But Ted didn’t catch my funniness. I said then, How’d you make it? What they got you in for?

Small shit. He was evasive. Victim of circumstance.

Aren’t we all, I said. What circumstance?

He shrugged and I could tell he was still suspicious of me. But then I see this uneasy smile: Some of us was in the bowling alley.

Bowling alley?

Playing you know—machines. Looking for cunt. But it was a bad night.

Tell me.

"Like slow. No action so we decide to go cruise in my car, look for something. Just anything—but we’re broke. Man, you know how that goes: no bread, no fun. Well my buddy had this .38. Liked to carry it, to show it off. Said it was his, that he’d got it through some mail-order. Turns out it was really his old man’s who didn’t know he’d stolen it. Anyway, someone suggests we do a job. On the Kinky Corner sauna and massage. I cruise past, twice, but it don’t look too cinchy. So finally we come across this Mom and Pop grocery. My buddy goes in, flashes his dad’s rod and tells the owner to empty the till into a plastic sack. The owner must see how my buddy was nervous while, mind you, I stay outside in the car, waiting. My buddy grabs the cash but what he don’t notice is the owner pull his rod. Twang! Just like in Clint Eastwood the bullet ricochets. Misses my buddy who drops the sack. Splits one way while I peel rubber the other. Make a story short, they caught my buddy."

You punk! I said to him. Whoa! I thought, feeling him bristle. He like to of swung. And he would of too if it hadn’t been for Miss Cole.

Because I sensed or heard something—movement or her clothes—in the door behind me, and not even thinking Miss Cole I jabbed Ted in the rib and said loudly: No, once I get out of here, that’s it! I’ve learned from my mistake and you know, Ted, what I’m going to do? Go into the travel business. –Miss Cole!

Maybe it was the way I spun on her, the suddenness, because we almost touched and in her mix-up she dropped her clip-board. I reached down for it, again all but touching her, and as I handed it to her she said:

Thank you, Mr. Bond. Then she sort of hesitated like she couldn’t decide. By the way, I like what you said this morning very much. It showed maturity.

Thank you, I said, not taking my eyes once off her. It’s called making points. Advance to Board Walk.

What did I just overhear? And I wasn’t intending to eavesdrop. Something about travel?

Miss Cole had regained her composure. That’s right, I said. I was telling Ted that I plan to become a travel agent.

Well that’s commendable.—Why, if I may ask?

She had me there. So I said the first thing that come into my head. It appeals to me. Maybe because of my father—being a Green Beret.

Oh yes, I do recall now something from your file. She was silent, respectful to me then. "I am sorry, Jamie He was—"

M. I. A.? It doesn’t mean he’s really that. He’s with Intelligence, I said.

Miss Cole shifted. Our eyes again met, then she moved hers away. Anyway, Mr. Bond, I want you to know we think you are doing exceptionally well.

She quickly turned and disappeared. I thought: If you know my file then you know what I’m in here for.

I almost think she’s got the hots for you, Ted said.

The idea interested me and I said, I wonder what she looks like without them white pants? You suppose she’s really a blond?

Ted looked at me. Only one way to find out.

In here? Your head sucks! I told him. Still, it was something to think about as I went to sleep that night. Follow her one day. Find out where she lives. Where she goes when she don’t come in to work. Get to know her routine and what she does when she’s alone.

You shitting me about the travel agent?

Why no, I said: what’s so bad about a travel agent?

Didn’t say there was. It pay much bread?

Some, I told him, not knowing. What’re you going to do when they let you out?

He shrugged. They’ll find me something. Work at some gas station, who knows?

That pay much bread? I said, seeing him get my point. Travel agent’s not so bad. Anyway, you got no idea why I said that.

You was brown nosing. Cunt sniffing!

What of it? I just opened that front door another inch. I’m that much closer to being gone. And I don’t intend to come back. I got more important things to do. Accomplishments, you could say.

What accomplishments?

But I still didn’t know. Things too important to reveal at present, I told him.

He thought it over. "So you must have connections. Real connections?"

I nodded.

Then you must have some bread.

Man, there you go with your ‘bread’ trip again. That ain’t everything, you know—or even the most important. If you got a purpose.

Ted looked at me like he wanted to believe. "You ever watch 007 movies? I said, and you could tell by how he lit up he had. Well there you go. Is 007 chasing money?"

That stuff can’t happen.

No? You tell my father that.

Why’d you call me a punk?

Because of what you did. It was a very punky thing. So you got caught. I seen that he was still a little torqued, so I grabbed him by the shoulders in a bear squeeze, feeling him stiffen. And it was then that I knew the power in those two shoulders. "Look motherfuck, I’m telling you these things because I happen to like you. Hey!" But he pulled away.

If you’re so smart why’d you get caught? Why you here?

I looked at him in a sort of amusing way. It gave me time to think. You ever play Monopoly?

Monop— What’s that got to do with anything?

See how you don’t see, I said. "Everything. It’s a game, right? Like Life which we can call Monopoly II, right? Just like there’s Vixens and Super Vixens. Or Halloweens One and Two."

…so?

So how do you know this isn’t part of all the same game? How do you know, I said, that I’m not here for a reason?

"You mean like wanting to bust cherries!"

I controlled myself. All right, punk. I can see it’s a waste of time with you. And I started to walk away.

I don’t believe your ass. What plan? What game?

I shrugged. "You think I’m going to talk about it here."

He didn’t believe me—but I could tell he wanted to so I stayed silent.

You mean you really got something—a scheme for when they spring you?

"Not a scheme. A mission," I said. See, there you go with that low thinking.

But you can’t tell me what—what’s high?

Affirmative! I said in that clipped way I remembered. And I gave him a short friendly fist on the shoulder just like my Dad used to: very military.

2

Friday night we was allowed to go out together to a movie so we saw Super Vixens. For me it was the second time, and I must say it caused me to be sharply critical. Because the movie definitely was not what I built it up to be, for Ted. Not that it still wasn’t good, and didn’t have some good parts. That scene were the cop electrocutes his old lady in the bath tub is quite good. And of course that ending where he leaves the second broad tied up spread-eagle that way on top of an ant nest is classical and show real imagination. Ted got off on that.

Me, I wouldn’t have just walked off though. I’d of fucked her first, he said afterward.

On an ant hill? I said. Your head sometimes sucks.

If you had crabs? Ants could pick the crabs off, Ted said, trying to be funny. But I just looked at him: at times Ted could be a real jerk.

Then I repictured that scene with the broad tied down over the ants nest, except it was my mother I pictured spread-eagle—because that’s sometimes how I’d find her: drunk before the TV. Except she had more clothes on.

Well then I thought again of my father, then that shootout on the rocks, and it came to me what was wrong with the movie. The ending, it was all wrong, as I explained later to Ted. The cop was