Blam Blam

"Sure, Happy New Year to you," I said, creasing the words with a smile. They were showing me 'round their studio apartment and I was amazing at the angled skylight and the Buddha and Sung Dynasty or what the hell art work they had gotten for a song—Sung—Song, and they were successful, were Joel and Eli, young they were—much more so than I. I brought them together and was a very close friend of theirs. They even had a fireplace and we wound up standing beside it in cold January New York, as they made a toast to me and we all three clinked our champagne glasses.

"Stanley, we'd never have met without you and never would have known such love without you," and they smiled, one blond, one red headed, the newest kids on the block, moving their play uptown to Broadway soon, and dedicated the play to me, as we laughed tonight and I ooed and ahhed over the furnishings and the burnished carvings and the close to original artwork, as I watched them watching me and it felt like I had to go ahead and just kill them now. No way would I get away with it, and of course I would be destroying the neophyte geniuses of the stage circa 2009 and beyond. So then we sat on large satin pillows next to the warm fireplace, they had to sort of help me down because my knees front and the place behind my knees, whatever that was called (Joel and Eli would, of course know that, so I didn't ask—I had learned not to ask questions—always the answers broke my heart) did not work so well as they had in the past.

I belied the hurt and sat most uncomfortably with my knees up to my chest, having spilled my champagne in getting down, whereas getting down was something I had never been allowed to quite do in my life—but Joel, who hurt the most, said the stain would come out of the flooring in a snap—so we sat there with smiles on our faces, my smile met theirs as they asked me about my used book store business, while I pondered on this stasis in my life, for it had encompassed far more than them and had entangled me in far more farragoes than this, for the servant had always had a place in my heart, a place I never wanted him to be, but he excelled at what he did all right.

I, it seems, have this tremendous knack of bringing people together—from late grade school on, I have been blessed with this ability to join hands, not mine, but others' and to stand back and let the goddam miracle happen. Perhaps it would not be so bad if they would not thank me so profusely, as the girl did at the end of The Unholy Three thank to the point of imbecility Lon Chaney after he told her he would not follow through with his plan to make her his. Check Lon's mug staring at the camera, the scowl, the irony, the kill her now look as she continuously pumped his hand in gratitude, the ok already of his face, and you will see me looking out at all the people I've so gladly brought together.

I have always turned to friends, especially when I am in love with someone who doesn't know I'm even in the hole much less the hole itself, because like a certain long nosed gentleman of long ago, I always wind up giving fair maiden to my nemesis who is using my own silver tongued words, only that is not really true. I interest a confidante in someone I am so desperately sickly secretly in love with, a person with whom I would not stand a chance with anyway, and my friend, also whom I secretly love, the balance is difficult to gain here, usually it is the person I love the least I tell my secret love story to, or sometimes while trying to win the approval of the friend thus listening, I turn him or her over to the person I love least, or more, to prove I am totally unworthy, as my analyst has assayed and that is I would suppose as good a guess as any other.

I think, in trying to break this very successful curse of mine, I've gotten to the apex of it, for I loved Joel and Eli in equal proportions so of course I brought them together in university, this time just introducing them so I could watch one or the other, both of whom I had known an equal amount of time, around a year, and make that tiresome irritating math problem of one train leaving the station at 1:55 p.m. and the other leaving at—well, you get the drift—I wanted one of these damn trains to run into me, therefore my little servant in the heart, without any permission of mine, sought to bring them together and to chat up, one to the other, how great the other was, in hopes, I suppose, that Joel, preferably, or Eli, second best, ever been second best, Eli? No of course not. Not you. Except to me, would see how heart sick I was for Eli, when I was truly heart sick for Joel, thus Joel, seeing my distress, would then comfort me and become in love with me, at least for pity's sake, but of course when Joel talked to Eli a bit here and there, when he put in a word for me, didn't he?, he and Eli became an item pretty soon.

And seemed to believe my purpose in life was to bring them together and throw it in my face as often as possible, never letting me forget I was the one brought the union of the Gods together, as I had done many times before, but the others weren't so sickly sweet about it and did not want me around them with every one of their new successes, which they thought I was to constantly be blunder stroked about, and in truth they had indeed done the impossible for two men still in their mid twenties, for writing is such a hard business and it is something of a miracle they succeeded with their first collaboration, though they had been writing, separately, for years, privately and to no avail, and then wandered in I. Ta da! My Smith and Wesson .45 was in my overcoat pocket on the hall tree by the door. I was prepared to kill both of them in cold blood, pour their champagne all over their heads, piss in the fireplace, then leave the blood soaked mayhem, go to the hall, then down the freight elevator out onto Fifth and thus away. I was happy I think, for the first time in my life.

But having to face a friend or a secret love by myself was so difficult. I had to hide behind someone else and use them as a puppet I guess making myself the puppet master, and yet, and yet, the idea of it, of me there bare faced with no protection, in front of another person and acting normal and using normal emotions and being me when I had not a clue what that was to be—well, it was dicey—course it wouldn't matter—I repeat, I expected to be caught bloody handed at what I was soon to do—but still—it was an interesting prospect—if an academic one—so they were going on and on about their soon to be vacation in the Bahamas, while I was thinking about their soon to be vacation in Hell, for I had, you see, quite begun to hate them, for they grated on my nerves so grindingly—bringing it up all the time—oh without you—come to dinner tomorrow night as a thank you gift—oh we dropped by this dismal hole in the wall book store of yours to give some rays of sunlight in your miserably drab little world—oh don't you know, we're taking you on the town this weekend and are not letting you spend a single red cent—we've signed a contract for THE SIMPLE PIMPLE to be on the West End in Jolly Old—oh happy days, without you we would have just struggled along much like you are having to and will for all of your life, but the blessings you have brought Joel and I or Eli and I together makes your life utterly and totally worthwhile. Surely, no two persons needed killing like my former loves who were still my secret loves and always inviting me to spend the night—which I took them up on once back in college in their off campus apartment, with a begging hope they would let me watch, not even counting a wish they would let me join---I am the watcher—books, movies, TV, vid games—kind of person, but instead I had to turn my face to the wall as I heard them in the dark of night make love—I have never felt as lonely or as angry or as sad or as worthless a pile of shit in my life—why have I waited this long to kill them?

I guess because their meeting through me, their becoming ascendant playwrights, I guess it really did make my life worthwhile, as Joel or Eli or Eli or Joel or they both said at different times or perhaps the same times, they did look strikingly alike, and I hated to see it end, for they were my art work, the book I would never write, the act of love I would never make, being something by being a fuckin' conduit was still being something, I supposed. I mean I am the Rembrandt the Harold Robbins the Hello Dolly of match making. Would they kill their masterpieces? Who cares? I'm going to kill mine.

"Hullo?" I looked at them all Guccied and Lands Ended up with winter sweaters and boots costing hundreds of dollars and oh how humble we are whipcord pants and they both blended together with each other and with the ones before them. Eli and Joel with their cobalt and or gray eyes and their slender chipmunk and or sensuous smiles as one or the other or both said "Hullo love" and I thought you busters are from Red Hook, N.J. not Bristol on the Pot Magic Kingdom, little dot of squat in the sea, as Joel extended his long fingered warm hand, don't cry I told myself, don't you damn well cry, as I made my jaws clench, "We've decided to give you a little treat, love. We may never have come out, we were so afraid, till you, till you gave us the words and the courage, and the—encouragement to do it.." Dandy, I didn't know Joel was gay, though I thought Eli was, so it was to be safe to introduce them and through them me..and..surprise!!!!

"So, we are going to put on a performance for you." I looked quizzical and perplexed so they jumped springily to their feet and put their glasses on the mantle and began kissing hard and passionately to my horrified eyes—oh just kill me now with a chainsaw if you have it, would you please? This is just opening the whole Morton Salt Company and pouring it in my sucking blown open chest cavity—then Joel let Eli, arms up, remove his reindeer $400 heavy winter sweater—and Eli put his hands beneath Joe's percale shirt—and they turned as one, smiled heart meltingly at me—"This we give to you.."

"For one time only" said the other one....

"As a reward to you our friend..."

"The chance to see us make love.."

One hour later.

The loft was spattered with blood and stank with cordite and corpses. I was talking to the cops who I had dialed for on Eli's blood soaked cell phone, had given over the gun, was in handcuffs, watching as the M.E. and the detectives were at work..chalk outlining the bodies..photographing them and the blood spatters..taking measurements..asking me questions. I was quite coherent throughout. After the lead detective finished with me, yes, I knew my rights, he closed the notebook and put it and his pencil away as he looked at me levelly for a moment. I sighed. I was dead of course, but Joel and Eli were way more so. For a time I guess at least. Would get my picture in the paper and on TV for a while..hoped that dingbat Nancy Grace would keep her silly assed nose out of it on TV but probably not—I would have liked to kill her next—anyways..the detective looked at me, and before he and others escorted me to the door to my fate, said:

"You know, Stanley, honest to God, I don't blame you for one single second."

I said, "Blam Blam" and he kind of smiled, which made me feel pretty good, then we went on our way.

In the booking room, I said to him, "You're Steve Carella, aren't you?"

"Who?" he asked.

"No...he's in Isola."

"Never heard of him or Isola," the detective said.

"Ok. Just curious."