Authors: Zack Love
“Tonight it’s the Chrysler Building.”
“All right. Tell me about the Chrysler Building.”
“It stands there so simply and majestically. Its small lit triangles each pointing upwards in a triangular formation towards its sharp spire, like the angelic sparkles of a tiny flame in a bright shining candle.”
“Ah…The Chrysler Building…I remember those small lit triangles well…From my many trips to New York City…Ain’t that somethin’, Sammy…New York City! Ain’t nothing like it in the whole world.”
“It is a sight to see, Titus.”
Chapter 30
The Posse Prevails
From late February until mid-March 2001, with a few more calls from Titus, Heeb gradually became interested in his professional life again. The complex and monumental work project he had completed just before his funk, involving the estimation and management of risk variables for the airline insurance industry, received kudos from several prestigious industry groups and publications. But his social confidence was still far too damaged for him to consider meeting any women or rejoining the posse for anything more than a meal in Narc’s favorite Chinatown restaurant (where there was an infinitesimal chance of meeting any English-speaking women of interest).
Meanwhile, Evan’s confidence was also beginning to suffer. Nearly six weeks had passed since Mike Yuvalov confirmed that he had sent Evan’s manuscript to Delilah Nakova. Just as it took everything in Heeb’s willpower to avoid emailing Angelina more frequently than he had, Evan virtually exhausted his self-restraint by calling Mike only once every two weeks to see if there were any promising developments. Evan’s entire self-esteem was riding on the assumption that Delilah would fall in love with his novel, and soon thereafter with him, and that the two would end up living together happily ever after.
Evan badly needed something to distract him from his anxiety about Delilah and whether he had any hope of making his living as a writer. He began actively looking for a job as a computer programmer, and became even more determined to save Heeb from his lingering social doldrums.
On Saturday, March 31, 2001, there was a loud knock on Heeb’s door.
Sammy Laffowitz wasn’t expecting company and was surprised that the doorman hadn’t informed him of any visitor. He quietly crept over to the door to see who it was, but the peephole was covered by the visitor’s thumb. The knock became louder.
Fearing the worst, Heeb walked over to the kitchen, pulled out a large steak knife, dialed 911 on his cell phone without pushing “send,” and walked back over to the door.
“Who is it?” he asked nervously. “What do you want?”
“I want you!” answered the muffled voice.
“What do you mean? What’s going on?” he replied anxiously, his thumb ready to push the “send” button on his cell phone at any moment.
“Open up!” bellowed the voice.
“Who are you? I’m calling the police if you don’t identify yourself!”
“I’m here to get you!”
“To get me for what?”
“For the posse! You’ve been neglecting us for far too long!”
The voice now sounded somewhat like Evan’s, and the reference to “the posse” reassured him. He put the knife and cell phone down.
“Evan, is that you?”
“Of course it’s me. Now open the damn door already.”
Heeb exhaled a sigh of relief and opened the door.
Evan, Narc, Carlos, and Trevor, filed into his apartment, each wearing a Giorgio Armani tuxedo and black “Ranger” sunglasses by Dragon Optical. Most startling of all, the top of each man’s head was shaved off so that the resulting hairdo looked identical to the large bald spot on the top of Heeb’s head; Trevor had even allowed the hair on his head to grow out a little so that he could shave only the top off. He also had a drum strapped to him, on which he rattled off a drum roll, as he used to do regularly over a decade earlier, when Trevor participated in his high school marching band.
“Your presence is requested tonight, for a festive night out with the posse,” Evan said with charmingly affected formality, using his best imitation of Trevor’s British accent. Outstretched over both of Evan’s hands lay a garment bag containing a Giorgio Armani tuxedo with Heeb’s measurements. A pair of Ranger sunglasses rested atop the garment bag. Trevor produced another drum roll after which Evan extended his hands towards Heeb, as if to offer him the tuxedo as part of some knighting ceremony. Evan drew closer to Heeb and declared, “Please, Sir Heeb, your raiment is waiting to be donned. And your posse awaits you for a night of revelry, in which the charming company of lovely ladies shall be sought.”
Heeb slowly took the tuxedo and sunglasses from Evan, as the rest of the posse broke into a hearty standing ovation.
“I…I…don’t know what to say…”
“You were not asked to say anything, Sir Heeb. You were asked only to don your raiment so that we may proceed with the evening’s festivities. Tarry not in search of eloquent speeches or elaborate excuses, Sir Heeb, for life is to be lived more through actions than words…Indeed, the fruits of life are to be enjoyed – above all – in the ripened present, rather than in the spoiled past or the unsown future.” Evan had no idea what he was spewing, but it all sounded good with that impersonation of an Oxford University president delivering a commencement speech.
Heeb, who was completely nonplussed, had no choice but to join them. He was informed after another drum roll that downstairs a white stretch limousine was waiting for them, so he needed to put the tux on quickly.
The elongated Cadillac, equipped with a full bar, a powerful stereo system, and every amenity, boasted an unusually large sunroof that was large enough for all five men to stick their torsos out at once. The perfect, vernal weather on that last night of March meant that more people were outside and in a good mood. As the posse prowled about the city, hopping from one hunting ground to the next, the five men turned heads everywhere they drove. The driver blasted a compilation, prepared just for the occasion, featuring the best of Bach and Beethoven mixed in with pop hits like Prince’s 1992 hit song “Sexy Mutha Fucka,” Right Said Fred’s 1991 success “I Am Too Sexy” and a collection of salacious hip-hop songs that only Narc could have compiled.
There was something irresistibly delightful and cinematic about seeing five half-haired adult men in sunglasses and tuxedos, sticking out of a stretch limousine, moving in synch to the eclectic music mix resounding from their vehicle. Women always smiled, whistled, waved, laughed, or wildly praised the zany limousine clan as it passed by; some even chased after it for a few blocks, as if it were full of rock stars or teen idols.
Walking the streets, with Carlos leading the slick and eccentric-looking pack, the men turned every head and attracted random followers. And the posse was admitted to every club, lounge, and bar they visited, as if they had innovated a fashion statement that was not to be reckoned with. Never had the posse shared so many laughs, provoked so many female smiles, and turned so many heads. And never had Heeb had such a good time. Luigi, now Trevor’s boyfriend, even took some time off work that night to follow a portion of the posse’s procession.
The group’s gesture of camaraderie and support for Heeb didn’t end with that night. The next day, which started at around 2 p.m., the posse reconvened at Columbus Circle, in front of the Maine Monument of Central Park. This time each member wore the same sunglasses, navy blue jogging pants made out of fine knit wool, and a slim-fitting white cotton canvas navy v-neck sweater. More importantly, each man had an Afghan Hound on a leather leash. These eccentrically aloof-looking dogs stood out for their aristocratically projected necks, their exotically attenuated snouts, their long silky topknots, and their unusual coat patterns.
The uniform dress (and dog) code created an enhanced “Spice Girls effect” as good as the one from the previous night. Everyone – especially women – stopped to look at or chat with the group. They were frequently asked if having hair only on the sides, with the top totally shaved off, had any religious significance or was connected to any cultish group. Naturally, the posse’s various members took much delight in answering this question with ever more absurd forms of creativity – particularly since it was April’s Fools’ Day. And virtually every female stopped to pet the dogs – a fact that amazed Heeb. “I just don’t get it,” he said to Narc, who contributed the dog idea. “Dogs repel pussies, yet they attract women.”
“Dogs are the oldest chick magnet in the book, yo. And I’ve seen plenty of single honies use dogs to get men talking to them,” Narc said.
“But it doesn’t make any sense to me, this whole New York dog phenomenon,” Heeb insisted. “Why the hell would anyone date me for my dog? It’s not like we could bring the dog to restaurants or art museums with us. I mean, the woman can’t exactly date my dog. And then there’s the whole dog shit problem. What’s so romantic about that?”
“But your choice of dog says a lot about your style. Like your clothing,” Evan tried to explain.
“But my dog could die at any moment. So does my style die at that point? Would I automatically get dumped when the dog croaks?”
“By then you’d probably get sympathy from her. And you could always go out and buy another dog.”
“Well that raises another point! She could always just go to a store and buy a dog for herself. She doesn’t need to date me to get the dog…I’m telling you it’s the most irrational thing I’ve ever seen.”
“They appeal to the maternal instinct,” Evan chimed in, offering his own explanation. “Like babies, they’re warm and cuddly and need lots of attention.”
But after hitting the Jackpot, Heeb was not a fan of any animal.
“Look, they may be warm and cuddly, but they’ve got sharp teeth, they shed hair, and they shit.”
*****
The unforgettable weekend with the posse was enough to make Heeb rejoin the clan in earnest and resume his pursuit of females with true Kojak confidence.
A few days later, by an overwhelming majority, the posse decided that its members would shave off all of the hair on their heads, because, the majority concluded, this looked substantially better than leaving hair on the sides with nothing on top. The only vote against the measure was from Heeb, who vociferously objected to eliminating the little hair that he had left to enjoy.
“I’ve never shaved it all off,” he protested.
“That’s probably been a part of the problem,” Narc said.
“Narc’s right, Heeb. I think you’d look a lot better if you shaved it all off,” Evan agreed. And so the measure was passed and implemented. The posse embraced Kojakness like never before.
Evan’s elaborate charm offensive to bring Heeb back into the posse involved strenuous persuasion and a variety of promised favors to ensure participation from every member of the clan, given the significant sacrifice involved. As wild and entertaining as it all was, the plan had a variety of repercussions on each member of the group. The stunt’s impact was the least severe on Trevor and Narc, and the most taxing on Evan and Carlos.
Trevor was actually relieved when he could finally shave off all of the hair on his head, as he was accustomed to doing. Luigi had objected vociferously when Trevor began growing out his hair for the morale-boosting event on Heeb’s behalf. So – as a consolation prize to Luigi for having to tolerate Trevor’s new hairdo for a few weeks – and because he didn’t have room in his apartment for two dogs – Trevor gave an Afghan Hound to Luigi, who absolutely adored the pet. Trevor had ended up with two dogs because Heeb refused to sleep in any apartment containing any animal. After his calamitous experience with Jackpot, Heeb not only became a bona fide ailurophobe, but also developed a general paranoia about sleeping near any living thing that was not a human or a plant. So Trevor kept the dog for him and brought him out whenever the posse wanted to hound around together. After a few weeks, though, Trevor decided to give the dog to Luigi, on condition that he let Heeb walk it whenever the posse got together for a day in Central Park.
Narc was happy to keep his new pet, but would have to take a two-month hiatus from his budding pornography career so that his hair could grow back enough to resume production. For the sake of consistency, the various producers he worked with didn’t want to change his look so dramatically. They figured that, after two months of hair growth, the difference wouldn’t be too significant on camera. And Narc had already made six films over the last three months, so he didn’t mind taking a break and spending more of his time helping his parents with their laundry business.
Chapter 31
Carlos Gets Busted
Carolina, who had been away on business for a few days, returned home to discover Carlos’s dramatic haircut and the new Afghan hound running around their penthouse. She feared that her husband’s new hairdo signaled his conversion to some kind of ultra-religious Buddhist. During the five and half years since she first met Carlos, she had quit smoking and become an aspiring vegetarian. But she wasn’t about to become any more Buddhist than that, even if she liked the religion as a philosophy.
“What’s with the hair and the dog?” she asked.
“I did it for some friends,” Carlos said. “It’s a long story.”
Carolina furrowed her brow suspiciously.
Later that night, she strategically resumed her interrogation in the midst of Carlos’s blissful post-coital languor. “So tell me about these friends of yours, mi amor.”
Carlos knew, as a general matter, that there is no worse time for a man to answer probing questions from a woman than two minutes after she has sated him, when her soft cheek is resting on his warm chest. But he was so tired and happily carefree at that moment that he thoughtlessly dropped his guard, figuring that he would have to tell her everything sooner or later, and the longer he waited, the worse her reaction would be.
So he came clean about his group of friends. He told her about each posse member, and some of their nights out together.
“You’re not upset are you, mi amor?” Carlos asked her afterwards, caressing her delightfully smooth and curved lower back.