A Cop's Observations of Life, Love, and All That Jazz
by Lutra Cana (10/03/2000)
Life is strange, the way it twists and turns, changing when we're not paying attention. Or maybe it's people that are strange. I'm not really sure anymore.
When I was a kid growing up on the mean streets of Brooklyn.... I've always wanted to say that even though it really isn't true. We lived in a nice neighborhood. Anyway, when I was a kid growing up, guys who *liked* other guys were looked upon as social pariahs. Not that I knew many of them, but the worse thing one boy could call another was "fairy" or "queer" or even worse, "faggot". All words that carried horrible connotations and not something you wanted other kids to call you.
I remember there was one poor kid in our class that all the other guys considered a fruit. Charles, never Charlie, wore thick glasses, played the bassoon - the *bassoon* for cripes sake! - and wore knee breeches until fifth grade. He lived with a maiden great-aunt and didn't stand a chance in hell of being "just one of the guys."
We all picked on him. I'm not proud of that, wasn't then and I'm sure as hell not proud of it now. But I had to. After all, I *was* one of the guys, with an image to protect. Even though the neighborhood I grew up in was a nice one, the school was tough. It was your typical lower middle-class school in New York; a mix of every kind of nationality, creed, but not color that you could expect for the time. Ours was mostly Middle European, mostly Christian, and mostly mean. As one of the few Jewish kids I received my share of torment, but I could give as good as I got and my dad was a cop which carried a lot of weight.
I'm sure that I didn't see a lot of the stuff that happened to poor Charles during those years. You know, the bullying, the swirlies in the lavatory, the random thumps whenever someone wanted to show off to their friends. I mostly called names, tripped the kid once. My dad found out about that and I couldn't sit down for a couple of days. After that, I stayed away from Charles as much as I could.
One of the guys I hung out with was a jock, a real he-man. Although I was shipped off west during my first year in junior high, I got letters from a few guys for awhile and they were full of tales about good ol' Phil. Phil was on every team that involved physical prowess - football, basketball, wrestling. You name it and if it involved rough, nasty stuff, then he was all for it. He was the captain of the senior football team and got a scholarship to a pretty good college because of football. And he dated just about every one of the best-looking girls all the way through school. If you think I had a rep as a lady-killer, I'm here to tell you it was nothing compared to Phil's.
So, now I can hear you asking - "What's the point, dimwit?" The point is, looks are deceiving. A few years ago I went home to visit Ma and Nick. Now, my Ma has always liked music, especially "The Symphony" so I took her to a concert. Hey, I'm making pretty good money, don't spend it on much other than my car and my dates, so why not treat the most special lady in my life? So, here's my Ma, all dolled up in her best clothes and me in a suit sitting in one of the best seats in the house. We can practically see the nostril hairs of the musicians in the first row, our seats were so good.
Which is how I realized that one of the musicians is Charles. The same kid we tormented in school. All grown up, decked out in a monkey suit and playing a really snazzy looking bassoon. Well, it looked pretty snazzy from where I was sitting. Only thing different about Charles, besides the fact that the guy must have topped six and a half feet, was that he didn't wear glasses anymore and he in no way resembled that little kid from Brooklyn.
After the concert, I talked one of the ushers into letting Ma and me go backstage and talk to Charles. I was just dying to find out what had happened to the geeky little twerp in the years since I left for California and I sure wasn't disappointed. Charles was actually quite gracious to the both of us, talking very nice to Ma and slapping me on the back like we were old buds or something. The one real surprise of the evening was meeting Charles' wife. His absolutely, drop-dead, mouth hanging open gorgeous wife. Of many years, too it turned out. Charles even showed me pictures of their three kids, their Labrador Retriever and their townhouse overlooking Central Park.
That was quite a shock I tell ya. But not as big as a shock I got when we were investigating the death of a dear friend of mine, John Blaine, a couple of years ago. John's being gay was shock enough, believe me, but I got the surprise of my life standing in the gay bar when my partner and I went back to wrap up a couple of loose ends. There, up on the stage auditioning for back-up in Sugar's act was this guy in drag. Something that didn't throw me quite so much now that I was used to Sugar, except that this guy looked more like a line-backer than Carol Channing.
Boy, was I right.
I'm standing there, listening to Hutch talk with Sugar when this meaty arm grabs me around the waist and I'm swung off my feet and into a big bear hug. I can tell Hutch is about ready to pull out his Magnum when I get a good look at who's hugging the stuffing outa me.
You guessed it - Phil. My all-American, red-blooded-man chum from back home. Dressed in a sequined red evening gown, tasteful sling-back heels, and a blonde wig. Wearing more lipstick and rouge than any five of my girlfriends put together. I got to tell you I just about fainted.
He and I sat down for a drink - and, boy, did I need one - to talk. Seems that Phil "found" himself in college. Seems he was never really happy playing the part that he'd assigned himself back when I knew him in school. Inside this great big guy beat the heart of a real lady. In fact, Phil, or Phyllis as he was now calling himself, was saving up the money to have a sex-change operation. Something I'd never heard of and something that made me squirm in my chair. All those years that Phil had been chasing women, and catching them, he'd really been lusting after their clothes and other feminine things.
And the real shock? Phil liked guys. I mean, Phil *liked* guys. He even asked me for a date. I never peddled so fast in my life. Told him that I was flattered, hell the guy could still have knocked me into next week, but that I was in a committed relationship and wasn't into fooling around. Phil looked over at my handsome blond partner and grinned at me. Said, "I sure can understand that, Dave." End of discussion.
Oh well. Even if he thought that Hutch and I were "committed" it was better than fending off this guy's advances. I couldn't get out of there fast enough. And made sure Hutch was right behind me all the way.
Now, maybe those aren't the two best examples of false impressions that you've ever heard, but it's all I got for now.
It's funny, really, how you always have this, I don't know, image I guess is the best word, of yourself in your mind. I've always thought of myself as just a regular guy. Not as smart as some, smarter than most. Not as handsome as my partner, maybe, but not hard to look at. I know that the ladies have always liked me, and I them. My Ma always used to say that I'd fallen in love with women the moment I was old enough to tell the difference, which was about age six months. And I guess that's true. As far as it goes, that is.
Most guys I know would never admit to this, but we're talking about how strange life is, so I guess I'll let you in on the big secret, guys *do* think about what it would be like to make it with other guys. Oh, I can see you're shocked, but it's true. It's just that most men don't follow through on that thought.
When I was in the army lots of guys paired up. Nothing life-long...well, I guess for some it was...but just to get through the hell of what we were going through over there. There were nights when all you wanted was a warm body to hang on to while the bombs fell all around and the enemy was just outside your encampment and you knew you were about to die. Someone to hid with and help you deal with the fear and the pain. And it didn't much matter what that other body looked like, or what body parts it had.
I thought about it, I'll admit it. Wondered what it would be like to have sex with another man. But I never did it. I don't know why, except I'd remember poor Charles and his bassoon and shudder. After I came back stateside and settled down in LA, I would sometimes look at a good-looking dude and wonder. But that's all I'd do. Just wonder.
Then one day I met this one special guy. Tall, blond, big-boned and handsome as hell. Sweet, gentle, aggravating, mean as a Doberman but loyal as a German Shepherd. My partner, my best friend in the world. My Hutch.
For a long time I didn't realize that the wonder I'd always carried buried deep inside had found a focus. I knew I loved the guy, after all he was the best person I'd ever met, how could I not love him? And I knew he loved me. How lucky could a dumb kid from Brooklyn get? But I never allowed myself to think of it as more than the best friendship I had ever had or ever would have.
Along the way from that first meeting to now, I fell in love with a few very special women. Helen, who wanted to be the best damn cop - male or female - in the department and died trying. Rosie, beautiful Rosie, who was probably a mistake from the get-go. My Terry, who I would have very happily settled down and raised my own three kids, one dog, and a picket fence with. Any one of them I would have made a life with and forgotten all about the questions that darkened my dreams.
Unfortunately, none of them was meant to be. Unfortunately for them, because two of them died, one because she knew me, and unfortunately for me because that life was the life I thought I wanted. A *normal* life. I guess I never really realized the truth until another girl, who loved my partner almost as much as I did, reminded me of a very important fact. The fact that I loved my partner.
When we were trying to find John Blaine's killer, Hutch accused me of being homophobic. At the time, I couldn't deny it. Not without letting him in on the biggest secret of my life. Besides, in a way, he was right. I was afraid of those guys at the Green Parrot. But not for the reasons Hutch thought, not really. I was afraid that because I'd had the thoughts, that those guys would know it and tell Hutch. Dumb, huh? What was even dumber was the wish, way back in my mind, that one of them would.
It took a long time after that case for me to realize that what I was feeling wasn't the sick, perverted thing that I'd been told it was. Told by the kids I grew up with who didn't know any more than I did what a real man was. Told by a society that lives inside this narrow little box and is so afraid to look outside that box that hate has become not just their way of life, but life itself. Told by a scared little kid who was afraid to love the one best person in their life because every other person they'd ever loved was taken away. Especially if that person was male.
I'm not even sure when the light went off in my pea brain and I realized that I was denying myself something that I'd always desired. Denying it to the one person I wanted to make happy. I just know that one day I looked at Hutch and saw the person - the man - that I wanted to spend my entire life with. My present, my future and every moment in between. Body, mind, and soul.
And, wonder of wonders, he wanted the same thing.
So, we here are, two formerly straight guys living together as partners. As lovers. Committed to each other as firmly, as lovingly, as any husband and wife. And damn happy about it too. If that makes us something to be abhorred, well I guess that's the way it will have to be. If little boys want to call us names, if bigger little boys want to try and thump us to impress their friends, let them try. It doesn't matter anymore because Hutch and I know the real truth about life.
The only thing that matters is love. Love doesn't care what you look like, what your body is shaped like, or anything as superficial as the outside of a person. The only thing love cares about is what's in a person's heart. And in the end, after all flesh is gone, the only thing that will matter is whether or not you loved and were loved in return.
And that's what life is all about. At least that's what this one dumb cop believes. And this one dumb cop doesn't really give a damn what the rest of the world believes as long as one other dumb cop believes it with him.
So there.