The Perils of Praline (2 page)

Always remember your mama loves you.

After a final wave, Praline put on his shoes and headed toward the Econo-Air gate where his flight was already boarding. Squeezing himself down the narrow aisle, Praline remembered his manners but found it nearly impossible to say “hey” to every single person on the plane, though he did his best.

“My,” he said to no one in particular, “this is a large airplane.” And though he had no frame of reference, he was right.

When he found seat 35G, he stowed his duffle in the overhead compartment and pushed his backpack under the seat in front of him. Then, to be polite, he helped the passengers around him with their luggage, even though it eventually earned him a dirty look from the stewardess and a frosty, “Sir, if you could be seated.”

As Praline took his seat, he couldn’t help but ponder how much life was like a reality TV show. Perhaps not as interesting—since there was a distinct lack of editing—but similar all the same. Why, he wouldn’t be at all surprised if they “crashed” on some desert island only to have a handsome host leap out of the bush and set them to difficult and competitive tasks. Praline wondered if it did really happen, who would he ally with? The elderly man growling snappishly at his younger wife? The Asian woman wearing far too much gold jewelry? Or the pale young woman trying to shove a twenty-five pound smoked ham into the overhead compartment?

Just then, a very attractive man wearing a uniform of tight blue slacks, a periwinkle-striped shirt, and a bright plastic nametag that declared STEWART caught Praline’s attention. Standing in the aisle, Stewart held a safety card in his hand so that everyone could see it while the stewardess spoke over the P.A. system.

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentleman, and welcome to Econo-Air flight 345. My name is Shelly and I’ll be flying with you today
,
along with flight attendants Todd and Stewart.”

Instead of paying attention to what was being said, Praline studied Stewart. He was tall and slender, had dark eyes with long thick eyelashes, a mouth set in a permanent pout and a large, attention-stealing mound in his polyester pants. Stewart put down the safety card and held up an abbreviated seatbelt to show the passengers how it worked.

Over the intercom, Shelly continued, “For those of you who would like to use a seatbelt during our fight there will be an extra twenty-five dollar charge. At this time, I’d like to remind you that seatbelt use is federally mandated whenever the seatbelt light is on.”

On cue, the seatbelt light popped on.

Flight attendants Todd and Stewart moved up and down the aisle collecting the fee. Praline, who only had six hundred and eight dollars cash and a credit card his mama had given him to establish himself in Los Angeles, was relieved he’d chosen Econo-Air. Paying extra for a seatbelt would have been very upsetting if he’d flown on one of the more expensive airlines.

Stewart reached out to accept the cash Praline offered. “And where might you be going?” he asked.

“Hollywood, California,” replied Praline.

“End of the line,” the steward said with a broad, suggestive smile. “Well, don’t worry, we’ve only got three stops on this flight so we might actually get to Los Angeles today.”

Just then the pilot requested that the flight attendants prepare for take off. Stewart plopped down in the empty seat next to Praline and said, “Looks like it’s you and me, kid.” He leaned very close, enveloping Praline in a cloud of woody aftershave. “So…you’re on your way to California. Where are you coming from?”

“Lumpkinville, Georgia.”

“Sounds charming,” Stewart said. “Flying all the way across country like this…you must be the adventurous type.”

“I am!” replied Praline. “I am the adventurous type!” Though, until that very moment, he’d never thought of himself in exactly that way.

Stewart smiled at him as though Praline had just given the correct answer on a game show, “What’s your name, sweetie?”

“Praline Palmetier.”

“Praline? I love Southern names. They’re always so clever.” Buckling his seatbelt, Stewart asked, “Is it some kind of family name?”

“Not exactly. Though family members were involved,” Praline replied. “It was given to me by my second step-daddy or maybe my third, I was practically an infant at the time so I’m not entirely sure, and my mama likes to forget about my step-daddies the minute they’re gone so she has no idea. Anyway, my step-daddy, whichever one, had received a pound of pralines as partial payment for a dime…um, some goods he’d delivered. So, he and my mama were saving the pralines for when they got the mmm…hungry, when they got hungry.”

Praline suddenly realized this story was much easier to tell when everyone in the room was stoned or at least knew how his mother made her living.

“Well, while they were working up an appetite. I got my little hands on that pound of pralines and ate pretty much the whole thing. They found me sitting on the kitchen floor with a thick layer of buttery candy all over my face. My mama always says she couldn’t tell where the candy ended and where I began. After that everyone started calling me Praline. And, since, I've got sort of a sweet tooth, it stuck. My real name is Peter.” He rolled his eyes at his own name.

“Well, Praline is a perfect nickname,” Stewart said. “You’re certainly a luscious little morsel.”

Tickled by the flattery, Praline was suddenly at a loss for words. Blushing deeply, he sputtered a few syllables that approximated, “Thank you.”

Just then the plane began to hurl itself down the runway. Praline was pressed back into his seat and suddenly became aware of each thud and clank the plane made as it slowly lifted off. Logically, he understood air travel was completely possible. Emotionally, he found the idea of an enormous, tremendously heavy metal object filled with people propelling itself through the sky for thousands of miles completely improbable.

In times of stress his aforementioned sweet tooth asserted itself, and whether because of his newly discovered fear of flying, the pass that Stewart had just made at him, or simply his leaving home for the very first time, Praline found himself longing for not only pralines, but butterscotch brownies, peppermint patties and white chocolate chip cookies.

“Y’all have any candy on this plane?” he asked, grasping the arms of his seat tightly.

“I’ll check when I have a chance,” Stewart promised. “So, what’s in Los Angeles?”

“A guy,” Praline admitted.

“Ooooo…sounds serious. Is he meeting you at the airport?”

Ignoring the frightening bangs, clangs and various other thunks the plane continued to make as it chugged into the sky, Praline explained to Stewart that he and Dave G. hadn’t actually met, and showed him part of an episode of
House-Bound
he’d downloaded onto his smartphone.

“Oh, you’re right, he is hot,” gushed Stewart.

“And sincere and honest and, well, just the greatest,” Praline added.

Eventually, when it seemed the plane was not likely to fall out of the sky
,
Praline relaxed and settled back into his seat. Stewart had gone off with the other flight attendants to sell boxed lunches and drinks.

To entertain himself he watched a few episodes of
House-Bound, Season Six
. First his favorite, the one where Dave G. took a private pole-dancing lesson from Elizabeth Berkley. His second favorite, where Dave G. wore a Speedo in the hot tub, then later in that same episode mud wrestled with his fellow contestants to see who would “rule the roost.” And, finally, his third favorite, the one where Dave G. (a committed multi-culturalist) almost g
ot
into a fight with Tyroon (the angry black guy) after Tyroon called Zander (the outrageously gay guy) a “fruit fly.”

Praline had drifted off into dreams of Dave G. when a bag of M&M’s suddenly landed in his lap. Springing awake, he looked up to see where it had come from, and found Stewart leaning over the seat
.
“It’s on me…”

“Gee, thanks,” Praline said.

“You know what I was thinking…” Stewart paused dramatically as though he expected Praline to guess. “You need someone to show you around L.A.”

“Is it that confusing? I have GPS on my phone…”

“Oh, that won’t help. L.A. is a nightmare. Trust me, it’s my home base. I know.” With a smile, Stewart added, “I could show you around.”

“Really? You would do that?” Praline asked.

“You and I are going to have a ball,” Stewart purred, and then went back to his stewarding duties.

Shortly after midnight, Praline waited for Stewart outside airport security. He couldn’t help but be pleased with the way things were working out. He’d barely even gotten to Los Angeles and he had a guide and possibly a place to stay. As his mama always said, “If you look out for the sunny side of the street, the sunny side of the street will look out for you.”

When Stewart was finally finished, they took a shuttle to parking, picked up his brand new Mercedes convertible, and were quickly on their way to his condo in West Hollywood. Driving across the sprawling city, Stewart pointed out various sights as they zipped through several different areas: Venice, Santa Monica, Culver City.

Praline was thrilled by it all. While they were still in the air, he’d seen the lights spread out below them as far as the eye could see. Now on the ground, those same bright lights sped by as they drove down Santa Monica Boulevard. They drove through fabled Beverly Hills and into famously gay West Hollywood. Even though it was late, the streets were full of men looking for love.

“West Hollywood is like one big Wally-mart,” Stewart said archly. “It offers a large selection of very cheap men, most of whom require assembly.”

Praline wasn’t sure what to make of that remark. Stewart said Wally-Mart like it was a bad thing, but Praline loved big box stores. And a big box store full of gay men would be heaven.

Eventually, they turned a corner, then another, and zipped up a steep hill. Atop the hill sat a curvy white high-rise of about twenty stories. Stewart hit a remote attached to the visor and an iron gate slid open to reveal a subterranean garage.

After an elevator ride to the fourteenth floor, Stewart unlocked the door to 1406 and stepped aside so Praline could enter. Inside, everything was white: the walls, the carpet, even the furniture. Windows ran the length of the living room, giving a view of Los Angeles that was so spectacular Praline almost didn’t notice the fist-sized hole in the wall next to the entryway.

“I keep meaning to put a picture over that,” Stewart said regarding the hole. “Little accident while we were moving in.”

“Oh, do you have a roommate?”

“Yeah, I do. He’s out of town.” Stewart smiled and added, “Won’t be back until tomorrow night. So we’re all alone.”

Praline giggled nervously.

“I bet you need to freshen up after all that traveling,” Stewart said. “Would you like to take a shower?”

“I sure would,” said Praline. “I feel like a toxic waste dump.” Then, to indicate he had some authority in the matter added, “Back home, we had one right next to my high school. Dew Chemical wanted to put it next to the elementary school but people wouldn’t stand for it.”

Stewart chuckled as though Praline had just told a joke and led him to the bathroom. It was amazing. Praline thought it looked just like something out of
Momentous Home Makeovers
—his fourth favorite show after
House-Bound, Hollywood Hospital
and
Forensic Victims Unit
. There were tiny, amber-colored glass tiles everywhere, a pristine glass enclosed shower, and a separate spa-tub. On a set of shelves over the tub sat half a dozen thick, creamy towels. While Praline gaped at the room, Stewart lit half a dozen votive candles and smiled at Praline. “Enjoy,”
h
e said, and then left the room.

As Praline took his clothes off, he wondered if his new friend might be able to help him find Dave G. Since he didn’t know Dave G.’s full last name, he hadn’t been able to locate a phone number or an address for him
,
even though he’d tried several of the online phone directories. He’d found the number for the production office of
House-Bound
, but no matter that he explained the situation honestly and sincerely, they had rudely refused to give out any information about Dave G.

Praline stepped into the shower enclosure and turned on the water. Hopefully, Stewart would have ideas. Maybe there was a particular bar where reality TV stars hung out? And maybe Stewart would take him there tomorrow night? And maybe, just maybe, Dave G. would walk in and their eyes would meet, their hearts flutter, and their life together would begin.

Just the thought of Dave G. began to give Praline an erection. He had to think about something else and quickly. The last thing he wanted to do was get swept away by thoughts of Dave G. and end up jerking off in Stewart’s shower. He was a regular reader of Miss Etiquette’s blog, and though he was sure she’d never written about it, he just knew masturbating in your host’s shower was impolite.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Praline shampooed his hair, trying to keep the soap out of his eyes. Suddenly, the glass door popped open and Praline turned to see a naked Stewart stepping into the shower with him.

With a big smile, Stewart said, “You know what? I feel like a toxic waste dump myself. Would you like to soap me up?”

Briefly, Praline considered saying “No
,
thank you.” He was, after all, deeply in love with Dave G. Of course, he and Dave G. had never sat down and had a conversation about monogamy—since they’d never sat down and had any kind of conversation.

In fact, he had no idea how Dave G. might feel about monogamy. He might be the kind of guy who, recognizing that men were men, would be interested in a more open relationship. Given that
Praline
was only twenty and had the minimal sexual experience available in rural Georgia,
he
might not mind. At any rate, he and Dave G. currently had no ties on each other no matter what they might negotiate in the future, and since Stewart was there, and attractive, and had a very large hard-on bouncing against Praline’s thigh that was, in turn, giving Praline an erection of his own—why not?