Strip Search

Nobody came to my door anymore. The bell hadn't even worked in a year, maybe longer. So, why was there a cute cop outside? Early Christmas present? It was only July. Who shopped that early?

"What do you want?" When you're seventy-eight and queer and you live alone in not-the-best neighborhood, you don't just fling your door open, not even to a uniform.

"We got a call to check on you. Someone thought you might need help."

"Who called?"

When he grinned he looked like a young Robert Redford with a pickle up his ass—pleased with himself but a little embarrassed, too. "Now, Mister Landers, you know I can't tell you that."

I couldn't think of anyone who was concerned about me. Hard to think who even knew I was alive. Nosy Mrs. Barkley across the way? If I farted too loud in the hall she'd pop her door and ask, "You okay, Mister Landers?"

"I'm okay," I told him, and went to close the door.

"Alright if I come in?"

"For what?"

"I'm supposed to check on you. See if you need some help."

"I don't need any help. Not the kind you're offering, anyway."

"You don't know what I might have to offer," he said. And winked.

Oh, sure, this hottie in his black uniform with the oversized bulge—okay, my eyes had kind of drifted—wants to play go-in-and-out-the-widow with an old queen. Like, I'm dumb enough to buy that? I undid the chain and stepped back and closed the door after him. He came into the room a few steps and looked around. Wasn't much to see: bed in the corner, the old sofa, older TV.

"Keanu's pied-a-terre," I said. "I got it for a song."

"Wow! Is that you?" He surprised me, zooming in on the photo atop the television: a young man I could barely remember.

"A long time ago," I said dryly, pleased anyway.

"Jesus, you were hot."

"A long time ago," I said again.

He turned to look me carefully up and down. "I don't know," he said, "for an old guy…you could pass for fifty, probably."

"So, are you gay, or what?"

He smiled again. "Or what, I guess you'd say. How old are you, anyway?"

"Seventy eight. Last month."

"Well, see. You could pass for fifty."

"Big deal. Forget the Shadow, all that comic book stuff. You want to know the secret to invisibility? You get old and you walk into a gay bar. Trust me, they don't see you."

"I would."

"Yeah, sure. Is that your thing, old farts? That's kind of weird, actually."

He was looking at me very intently. It kind of embarrassed me. I looked away. "So, now you've seen. I'm okay, I mean. No garbage, no pee stains. I'm not senile, not yet. I just have some trouble getting around, is all."

"That's it? No other problems?"

"Problems? Hell, at my age, sure you've got problems. Arthritis. Diabetes. I spend half the night pissing. Lungs are shot. I smoked like a chimney when I was younger. Forget about the heart."

"Honestly, don't you get tired of it all? The aches and pains?"

I shrugged. "You know what's hardest? I miss the fun. Cruising, friends, stuff like that. It gets lonely. I haven't danced in years."

"I used to fox trot." He opened his arms in invitation.

"Fox trot? Christ, I didn't know anybody even remembered that," I said, but after a long moment, I stepped into his arms. He glided me around the room, hummed Stardust in my ear. It must have been thirty years since a man held me in his arms. It felt nice. Too nice. After a moment, I dropped my head on his shoulder and started to cry.

"It's been so long," I said, sniffling. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. That's why I'm here."

I looked into his face. His expression was sad and sweet all at the same time. "You're a funny cop," I said.

"Actually, I'm not a cop."

"Then, who…?"

"Well… you know, don't you?"

And just like that, I did. I stopped dancing, took a step back, and looked hard at him. "I thought you wore a cowl. And what about that scythe business?"

"That's the funniest thing," he said, chuckling. "I did that centuries ago, in Venice, for a masquerade, and it just kind of stuck. Actually, I sort of try to pick a costume that will make a person feel at ease."

"At ease? You come to… what if I wanted to stay right here, anyway?"

"With him?"

For a moment I didn't recognize the guy on the sofa. He looked so small. Wasn't I bigger than that? He was smiling, though, like he'd just heard some funny joke.

"Shit," I said. I looked the uniform up and down. He was hot. "I don’t guess we can do a mutual strip search?"

He laughed out loud. "I think you're the first guy who's ever come on to me. Once they know, I mean." He shrugged. "Wish I could, kind of. Right now, you look like the kid in the photo."

"No fooling? Can I…no, on second thought, I'd rather just take your word for it." There was a pause.

He sighed. "If you're ready…"

I looked at the guy on the sofa again. Well, hell, it had gotten to be a drag, hadn't it, the whole business? I realized this was the first time in I didn't know when some part of me hadn't ached. It felt good.

"Tell me something," I said, walking toward the door with him. "Up there. Are there lots of good looking guys?"

"I don't know, actually. I'm not allowed past the gate. I think they try to make everybody happy, though. It's that kind of place."

We walked right through the door. I hoped old Mrs. Barkley saw that. I was tempted to cut one, just to get her attention.

"I still wish we could have done that strip search," I said.

The End