Just Show Him What To Do.
Ronnie was a dear, dear friend; he was the only person in Larry’s world whose company I truly enjoyed. Larry’s band would play for four or five hours, sometimes twice a week, and Ronnie and I would sit at a table completely ignoring the band, talking about things that actually mattered.
I have no idea what we discussed.
I only know we talked; we were friends. I hadn’t had a real friend in a long time, and I trusted Ronnie with my life. Ronnie being in his mid-thirties and still living with his parents didn’t even phase me. If my parents had let me smoke pot in the basement and buy cocaine from the local drug dealer and drink whenever I wanted and live rent free … well gosh, I might have lived with my parents until my thirties, too.
A major difference between us is that Ronnie was a virgin and I had experimented a bit with sex. Other than some interesting conversations where I answered as many questions as I could, Ronnie’s virginity didn’t interest me at all. It only mattered when the guys mentioned it in front of me, and then Ronnie felt embarrassed. It broke my heart and I never understood why his own friends would be so cruel. It was hard enough for Ronnie to be … Ronnie. He didn’t need the added humiliation.
Ronnie and I spent many weekends together at the bar, but one day he showed up at our apartment with a couple of joints. It was weird. Instead of the band backdrop and the dingy bar, we were in a really quiet place with a glaring overhead bulb in the ceiling. It felt wrong.
But I ran into the kitchen and threw in a tape, fast forwarding to a song I wanted Ronnie to hear. Ronnie was open to hearing whatever I played, unlike Larry who would only listen to country.
Ronnie and Leo – Larry’s bassist – hadn’t even sat down yet when Larry mumbled something about, “Ya can’t be a virgin for the rest of your life!”
“Leave him alone,” I said. “He can be whatever he fuckin’ wants.”
“I don’t really want to be a virgin,” Ronnie said quietly, surprising me entirely. “I just never found the right girl.”
The conversation never skipped a beat. Larry looked directly at me and said, “Take care of it, will ya?”
“Take care of what?” I asked, clueless.
“Just show him what to do,” Larry said. “He doesn’t want to be a fuckin’ virgin anymore.”
My stomach churned a little. I looked at Ronnie. “Is that something you want?”
Ronnie was looking at the ground. “I guess,” he said. “Yeah.”
I looked questioningly at Larry. “You mean now?”
“Yeah,” Larry said. Then he and Leo disappeared. Larry didn’t consider this cheating, maybe? Or maybe he just wanted to be in control.
Either way, this was legal cheating. Larry requested it specifically, and Ronnie agreed.
So I took Ronnie upstairs to the attic room that I’d spray-painted with neon orange scribbles. I flopped down on the sheet-less mattress, the only thing in the room. Ronnie sat awkwardly for a moment.
But only for a moment.
If Larry had realized how much I cared about Ronnie, Larry might not have offered me up as a sex-pert/whore for this particular person. But only Ronnie and I knew how much we adored each other.
Our time was unapologetically passionate, sweet, and fun. We treasured every moment together, and then we went back to being friends at the bar, closer than ever.
And Larry never said another word about it.