Second You Sin by Scott Sherman Page B

out on you last night. What did you wind up doing?” I think he was trying to see if I went out. Tony was enjoying his freedom, but not mine. I told him I spent the night watching TV and went to bed early. A slight edge in his voice made me think he didn’t believe me, but it might just have been his exhaustion.
    We talked a little more until Tony told me he’d arrived home. “I could sleep for a week,” he said.
    “Old man,” I teased him.
    “I’l show you who’s old—I’l cal you soon, OK?” Define soon, I thought.

    “Yeah,” I said. “Talk later.”
    “Over and out, Kevvy.”
    I went to the gym, had a protein drink and a shower there, and then headed to my volunteer job at The Stuff of Life. It was another warm-for-November day, and I wore baggy black Abercrombie & Fitch corduroy pants, a gray hoodie from Target, and my black leather jacket.
    One of the best things about being a hustler is only having to work five or six hours a week. That left me plenty of time for my studies. Or it would if I were actual y stil in col ege. I dropped out early, but I’m going back.
    When my friend Al en Harrington died, it turned out he left me a considerable inheritance. Unfortunately, due to the unusual circumstances of his demise, his wil was held up in probate. When that money comes through, though, I’m returning to school.
    Until then, I fil a lot of my free time volunteering at The Stuff of Life, where I supervise the lunch shift, making home delivery meals for people with AIDS.
    On the walk over, I cal ed Freddy and told him about my mom being on Yvonne.
    “You’re shitting me,” Freddy said. “That girl does not know what she’s getting into with your mother.” Every day, another church or community group came to help with meal preparation at The Stuff of Life. On Mondays, we were graced by the company of volunteers from the New York City Jewish Home for the Aged, or, as I like to cal them, the Super Yentas. Depending on the particular week, and on what percentage of the group were having issues what percentage of the group were having issues with their blood sugar, the Super Yentas were fifteen to twenty women in their seventies or eighties who shared the desire to do good works, moderate to severe hearing loss, osteoporosis, and very poor short-term memories.
    “So,” Mrs. Epstein asked, as she, along with the rest of her crew, stood at the long metal table where they passed to each other the brown paper bags that they loaded, assembly-line fashion, with today’s lunch menu. “Have you found the right girl yet?”
    “Not yet,” I answered distractedly.
    “I don’t understand.” Mrs. Fishmeyer turned to Mrs.
    Dreckeri. “Such a good-looking boy. What could be the problem?”
    “It’s these modern girls.” Mrs. Dreckeri nodded wisely. She picked up a banana and put it in a bag.
    “They’re al so busy with the working and the careers and the Pilates. Whatever that is. In my day, we didn’t have al this nonsense. We knew what was what.”
    “What?” Mrs. Fishmeyer asked. She tapped her hearing aid. “I didn’t get that.”
    “I said,” Mrs. Dreckeri shouted, “we knew what was what.”
    “I knew a young woman who had Pilates once,” Mrs. Goldmeister chimed in. “Such a terrible thing.
    She had to have a kidney removed.” Believe it or not, Mrs. Goldmeister was just about the sharpest tool in this shed.
    The ladies always talked like this. It took them twice as long to assemble the lunches as it should have. They were like the Golden Girls, but on crack.
    “A shame.” Mrs. Epstein shook her head. “How young was she?”
    “I think in her sixties, early seventies. Just getting started.”
    Mrs. Dreckeri and Mrs. Epstein simultaneously said, “Oy.”
    Mrs. Epstein turned to me again. “So,” she said,
    “have you found the right girl yet?”
    Mrs. Goldmeister elbowed her. “Trudy! Enough with the ‘right girl!’ Don’t you remember? He’s gay. ”
    “What was that?”