The Most
Beautiful Girl in the World
by David Huberman
Leaning back on his chair at the rear table in Aggies Diner,
Matthew OBrien sips his iced mochacino, pondering what he is going to say to his
three companions. It is a hot humid Friday night in the last week of August. They are
meeting for their official boys night out, as they have done for the last few years.
They always eat at Aggies, the best downtown low-fare restaurant West of Broadway.
Later they will play cards at the Pink Pony Lounge in the Lower East Side or shoot against
the Asian pool sharks at some billiards hall in Chinatown. Only four of the old gang have
shown up tonight, but what a fearsome four they are. But why them and not some of the
other guys? Pure coincidence. He is dazzled by this latest play in the very strange game
of Fate.
Matthew stares straight into the last arrivals face, welcoming him with a crafty
smile. John Paul DeLucca takes in his friends cool stance. That never fools him. He
catches a glint of leprechaun mischief bouncing around Matthews boyish face and
smells trouble. A weird silence around the table tips off John Paul to the recent
occurrence of an extraordinary event. The three friends gaze at him with very sober
expressions. Matthew, a lean man of Scottish extraction in his late twenties, breaks the
silence with a nervous laugh and a shake of his mop of bright red hair. His behavior is so
out of character that John Paul begins to worry that something is terribly wrong.
"Ah Johnny, youre frowning like a mother hen. Its really
not that bad, but to answer your question of what Ive been up
to, I
say you should rephrase it to include the two other gentlemen here as to what have we
all been up to? We do have some interests in common other than shooting pool, playing
cards and partying, you know. Ah, you looked so puzzled, please let me explain."
Casting a knowing wink of the kind that only red-haired people can give in the direction
of his two seated friends, Matthew begins.
"Well now, the first time I saw her had to be at..."
Matthews opening is cut off mid-syllable by the growl of a six-foot-two Sicilian who
looks like John Gotti.
"I get what youre saying Matt, I've been with her myself, you know!"
"Ah, Jilly. Your outburst has let the cat out of the bag. Shes some woman,
isnt that right, Clayton? Hell, we all have our little stories about her, dont
we now? I sure wouldnt mind hearing what Clay has to say about his great experience
with the peculiar lass."
Sitting opposite Matthew and Jilly is Clayton Thomas, a white trash rock n
roll drifter type. His black curls and face bring to mind the singer Jim Morrison. Clayton
is a harder version, in tight blue jeans and a deep black T-shirt. There is a
stereotypical rose-colored tattoo inked across his huge right biceps. Clayton smiles
weakly.
"No, Matthew, you have the spotlight on this particular subject. Finish what you were
saying, maybe Ill grow wise listening to you."
John Paul speaks before Matthew can engage his vocal cords.
"The Apocalypse is coming, I feel it, Gentlemen! Yeah!!! So out with it Matthew,
whats going on?"
"Its just a girl. Really. You been with any girls lately, Johnny?"
John Paul considers the question. He can not avoid his image in the restaurants wall
mirror. He wonders if this is what everyone else sees? His reflection shows him a man who
just turned thirty, with premature salt and pepper gray hair and Mediterranean features.
He studies himself critically. There is nothing he thinks, nothing that overtly reveals
his true nature. Nothing that would explicitly define him as homosexual. He is exhilarated
that he fits in perfectly with this bunch of straight macho guys. He likes being the
exception to the rule.
"Dont be sarcastic, Matthew. It doesnt become you. As for women, or
girls, or chicks or babes, they really dont jive with my gay lifestyle."
"Thats not what I heard," Clayton slips in, "Ive always
wondered what happened that night you spent with Wendy Miller. Of course, Im not the
only one who speculates about that."
John Paul slapped the table and a disagreeable look warped his face briefly.
"Let the busy bodies think what they want. Me, I dont kiss and tell."
Everyone at the table cracked up in hearty laughter.
"Okay, okay, I dont get it." John Paul said. "All three of you slept
with the same woman, right? Thats what the big joke is all about, am I correct,
guys?" He surveyed the trio, waiting for an answer.
"I kinda dont want to talk about it, its not what..." Claytons
weak voice stopped mid-sentence.
"Lost for words now, Brother Clayton?" Matthew turns to John Paul and tries to
hold a severe tone that dissolves into mirth. "If everyone is done interrupting,
maybe Ill finish what I had to say. Perhaps Fate has brought the three of us
together tonight to confess to you, John Paul."
"Wait a minute now. Number one, you are the one who interrupted yourself to ask that
stupid question, and number two, I still dont get it. You boys are going to confess
to me about some girl? Thats ridiculous! Im not a priest! I am your fellow
brat from PS 114. Ive lived through your beer and pot parties, witnessed your
gangbangs, met your girlfriends when you had them, and even escorted you to that cheap
cathouse you all loved so much. If anybody should confess, it should be me. But I am
guessing you guys wouldnt want to hear the lurid details of my life as a homosexual,
would you?"
There had been total silence while John Paul completed his oratory. He feels suspicious as
he notices his friends seem to be as jumpy as high-tension wires. Big Jilly is sweating
profusely, even though the diners ultra-cold air conditioning system appears to be
working fine. Matthew OBrien is biting his lips to shreds, while Claytons legs
are noticeably doing a non-stop Samba under the table.
"What the Hell is going on? This is John Paul, your childhood Homo friend. I hung
with you through thick and thin. Why are you guys acting so weird? Is it me? Or is this
all about the girl?"
Jilly started waving his meaty paws, speaking loud enough to turn the heads of some of the
noisier customers.
"No! No! No! John Paul, this has nothing to do with you."
Matthew takes over.
"Look, Johnny. Weve all known you were a fruit as along as we can remember. You
never tried to hide it, thats why I trust you. Personally, I dont care too
much for homosexuals in general. I would never beat one up or anything crazy and stupid
like that, but Ive always shied away from types...."
"Queer beater! Queer beater!" John Paul shouted at the top of his lungs. If
there had been a chandelier above him, it would have rattled from the rising sound waves.
The other tables became agitated. His friends were ready to jump out of their skins in
embarrassment.
Clayton, always the quiet calm one among them, asked, "Are you finished? Is it out of
your system? Look what you did to me, Im as red as a plum tomato."
"Yes, Im done now." John Paul settled back in his chair and smiled
devilishly. "Its enough. But hey, this has got to be some serious business you
are confessing here if I got Matthew to use the word homosexual instead of faggot! Am I
right? Wow, you bums look like you are about to take a dump on the table. Okay, you wore
me down, Ill play Sherlock Holmes, Matthew, tell us your story about this babe, this
girl who seems to have you all jumping off the edge of your seats. She must be the key to
your weirdness, isnt she Matthew?"
In a soft, slow voice, nearly a whisper, Matthew began his tale.
"Ill start at the beginning, but no interruptions this time! Like I said, I was
hanging out at Coney Island High. That night, a Sixties garage band festival was
happening. The club was packed wall-to-wall with hot, beautiful, young Rock n
Roll girls. I was at the bar ordering my drink. All these wannabes were running rampant.
You know what Im saying? Rod Stewart lookalikes, Sid Vicious clones, Mick Jagger
doubles. I cant stand them, theyre just a bunch of poseurs. So there I was,
seeing the sights, trying to figure the odds. I was figuring which chicks were with their
boyfriends, which ones were true butch rockers, which of the Gothic dolls looked good
under all their makeup. I made my rounds of the club. By the time I approached the area
near the bar that brought me full circle, I had come up with six possibilities to
concentrate on, six women that I was attracted to, that might give me a tumble. The
competition was stiff. I would have to outwit the rock dicks and motor morons that came
there every night to feed on the flora. I settled on this young Gothic vampire type.
Id seen her around before and was willing to bet she didnt get in the club on
her own ID card.
"From what I can tell under her bluish-white pancake makeup, she has nice big lips.
That always gets me, big succulent pouty lips. I was on the verge of introducing myself,
when suddenly, the crowd around me parted like the Red Sea. I thought maybe Marilyn Manson
was in the house. Then I see her. Shes sparkling like some fucken diamond, shining
out over the ordinary groupies. Next to her, even my cute Goth is a pathetic skank."
"It was like a bomb went off in the middle of Coney Island High. The girl was
Eurasian, having inherited the best features of all her races. Very fine silky black hair
whirled around bronzed shoulders and body. Green emerald eyes glittered in her beautiful
oval face, as she surveyed the peons all around her, following her, adoring her. She wore
only a skimpy electric blue dress and was displaying ample flesh. Her ripe brown breasts
looked perfect to me, not too big and not too small. Her huge erect nipples were
completely visible through her flimsy dress. She might as well have been completely nude.
Her walk implied that she was the ultimate combination of physical traits, all tantalizing
to the naked eye. My naked eye was falling out of the socket. She was what they meant when
they invented the word foxy. The Sports Illustrated bikini issue had nothing on
this honey."
Matthew has entered a trance-like state, re-experiencing every delicious moment he spent
under the spell of this chic goddess vision. Jilly and Clayton nod their heads in
synchronization, as if they are also reliving Matts story.
"Okay," John Paul says, "enough about her sex appeal. What happened
next?"
Matthew casts him an extra dirty look.
"I said no interruptions, didnt I? Just listen if you can, all right?"
He resumed his recollection.
"Then things started to get insane. This one rocker dude was near the middle of the
bar, buying a drink for a porno starlet. I had seen her in a few flicks. Called herself
Lady Godiva. She was a stacked blonde sexpot with that LA sleaze look. She was pretty hot
stuff. As he was handing the glass of booze to the actress, the rocker freak caught a
glimpse of Ms. Eurasia and Boom! Without missing a beat, he reaches right past Lady Godiva
and offers the drink to the bronze beauty. She takes it from him as if he were her butler
and breezes right on by, drink in hand, with an array of panting guys trailing her. The
rock dude is left stranded with his eyes bugging out of his head. Ms X-rated lights into
him and starts kicking this shit out his ass.
"A bunch of geeks swarmed around her, falling over themselves trying to get her
attention. Girls were left alone on the dance floor as their boyfriends joined the pack
attempting to captivate the beautiful woman. She ignored all of it. She was on her own
mission, probably had a few belts before she arrived. She doesnt look drunk, maybe
just a little tipsy. The other self-proclaimed beauty queens in the club are simply dying.
Some of them have been reduced to tears and ran to the ladies room with mascara streaming
down their astonished faces. Others watched their ego trips of being the ultimate babe
take a wrong turn right out the window. This cant be happening to me
they thought in unison. But it has happened and they burned with the knowledge that they
were only counterfeit copies in comparison to her. Pearl Harbor was no worse, nor
Waterloo. Their boyfriends had thrown them aside like soiled dolls, without giving it a
second thought.
"So, I was digging on all the craziness thats going down until I realized that
I was fucked, because now all the available women were wacked out, depressed or angry.
That Eurasian honey had ruined my evening; there would be no Rock n Roll
nookie coming my way that night.
"Guys, now you know me. No way was I about to join the three-ring chaos around her.
What I did, I got right up in her face. I walked right up to her and my impulses overcame
me. I said to her, Thanks for nothing! This night is a bust on account of you. You
wiped out all the women in this club! Now what am I supposed to do?
"She just laughed at me. I turned so red I thought smoke would rise from my
smoldering head. Then she stopped laughing and looked at me seriously.
"Oh, Im sorry. You must think me a callous person, but I wasnt laughing
at you. I was just amused by the whole ridiculousness of people in general. I am not a
rude girl, really Im not."
"To tell the truth, I was surprised at that remark. I had already labeled her as a
conceited bitch. I was wrong. Not only was she beyond gorgeous, she also had a heart. As
she turned all her attention on me, madness continued to gush just outside the space we
occupied. Women were screaming at their men, who were buying the Eurasian girl uninvited
drinks, and continually interrupting our conversation. Well, at least she was talking to
me. I wasnt saying much, since my tongue had somehow twisted into a knot. She waved
away the jerk-offs like she would a horde of fruit flies. I confirmed my suspicion that
she was a little drunk. She was slurring some of her words, and said something that I
couldnt make out. I thought at the time that she might have been going back and
forth into another language.
"After a minute or two of that, she stopped for a thirty-second interval and seemed
to pull herself together."
"My mind was racing along," she said. "Sometimes when that happens my words
dont come out right. It happens to me a lot when I am under the influence. Do you
always turn so red when youre angry? Are you Scottish?"
"My parents were," I said.
"Oh! I just love Scottish gentlemen. Last year I traveled to Scotland and I found the
castles, the countryside and the people to be so beautiful. Especially the men!"
"Then with a wink and an impossible lovely smile, she grabbed me into a passionate
kiss. Fifteen minutes later, we were still sucking face big time. I dragged her out of
Coney Island High and we jumped into a cab to my place. The rest is history."
Matthew ended his story and looked nervously at John Paul. John Paul had never seen these
boys looking so weird. He suspected that some element of Matthews adventure had been
omitted. He turned this thought in his mind, trying to figure out why his oldest friends
were acting so nuts. They had never been quite like this with him before. They were
revealing a side he had never seen, exposing their seamy underbellies. He turned to face
Jilly and Clayton.
"Let me guess. You both slept with her too?"
The large John Gotti lookalike scowled.
"Yeah, I fucked her. She had a nice ass."
Clayton mumbled in the affirmative. "She was the most beautiful...the most...."
"Beautiful girl in the world?" John Paul finished the sentence for him.
"And all three of you are stuck on her. Thats what all this is about. My three
macho buddies, the biggest womanizers on the East Coast, are all hung up on the same tart.
Wow! What a disaster. You guys need to step out of each others way. Forget this
tramp. There must be a million other gorgeous women waiting for studs like you. Now on the
other hand, living the Gay lifestyle....ahh, forget about it. You dont want to hear
about my life. Come on, lets go to the Pink Pony and play some cards."
Later that night, when he was alone, John Paul wrestled with an uneasy tension that
lingered on. As crazy as it seemed, he couldnt escape the feeling that he, John
Paul, was the source of their stress. He didnt know what this girl, this marvelous
specimen of womanhood had to do with him.
"Dammit!" He scoured his mind for some enlightenment. Why was he the key to this
riddle? Was he over-dramatizing, reading into the situation something that wasnt
there? Sure there was a mysterious allure to this girl, after all, all three of his
friends were obsessed. Even Clayton was completely cowed. Jesus! Just as he was deciding
the enigma would never be resolved, a very dark thought creeped into his head. Could they
be using her to get to one another? Could they be latent homosexuals, unconsciously
communing by having sex with the same lover girl? No! He refused to believe it. He
remembered attending on of their sex and beer parties several years ago. A bunch of them
had hired a prostitute, a party girl. Their acquisition had been very adept at handling
groups of surly young men. A Mulatto perhaps, a dark sensuous woman with a huge but
shapely behind and eyes that pierced the night. She played with his childhood friends in
the same way a lion tamer would control fierce jungle cats. She would have none of that
two or three at once crap. She kept them orderly, one at a time. No anal intercourse, no
peeping by the others was allowed. No chance for the party to head into an offbeat
direction. Some of her tough guys were extremely nervous and got away with cussing and
off-color jokes, but that was it. She was in complete control. In John Pauls
opinion, it was just a straight-male bonding ritual. Much as he would perversely enjoy
detecting a touch of closeted homosexuality in his self-righteous friends, he found no
evidence of it. No. It was perplexing, but he knew that another solution would show itself
in time. The reason for their secretive behavior would surface sooner or later. He would
have to wait.
Abruptly he stopped considering his friends troubles. As if he had been enchanted,
he found himself in front of a darkened bar called the Night Owl, on West Houston Street.
Like a sleepwalker, he had wandered over to his favorite bar, the place he went every
Friday night to top off an evening of eating out and playing pool with his straight
friends. At some point, he would always leave them and shift into his other world, the Gay
life where he really belonged. A glance at his watch told him it was only 12:30 AM. There
was plenty of time left for John Paul to party the night away. He passed through the
shadowy facade, knowing that inside he would find it to be nice and cool with plenty of
light. He searched the faces of the male patrons, but none of his usual companions was
among them. He took a seat at the bar and ordered a beer. He examined the crowded room
while sipping his drink, deciding which of the several prime specimens he would court for
the evening, when in walked a woman. John Paul was instantly captivated by the young
Eurasian beauty. She was slinky and seductive in a bright red backless mini-dress. Her big
green eyes and long silky black hair mesmerized him. No one else existed.
"Why are you
looking at me that way? Im not a ghost." Her words snapped him back to the
noisy bar.
"Im sorry. I usually dont stare so fiercely. Women dont ordinarily
come into his bar." Then he knew who she was.
"Ive heard so much about you," he said, the tone of recognition clear in
his voice.
"Oh really now, is that so?" She did not sound surprised.
Then she giggled and raised her delicate bronzed hand to John Pauls hair to play
with one of his curls.
"Have you ever been to Greece? You look like you might have been born there. Were
you? I do so love Greek gentlemen!"
John Paul was shocked. He felt an overpowering animal attraction to his lovely creature.
"But Im Gay," he said, disappointment tingeing his his words.
"So am I," she winked, "and, Im not a Lesbian."
"Ah!" John Paul nodded his head, but did not let on all of what he understood.
He thought it wise to keep certain bits of illicit knowledge to himself.
And that is how John Paul DeLucca joined his friends in a collective sexual encounter. All
four of them had managed to fall in love with the most beautiful "girl" in the
world.
Eric York -
Brain POP!
Originally appeared in Vermis Jr. Vol 2 1/2,
Hungry Maggot Global Publishing, PO Box 905, Flagstaff AZ
86002-0905. Also: Welcome to Nod #18. PO Box 24906, Denver CO
80224.