by Alan Stone
Gabriella calls herself "God's punishment." She says that what her folks called her when she was growing up. They also called her Gabriel-but she didn't like that. Gabby, she says. You can call me Gabby-cause I talk a lot.
I met her in Hollywood. It figures. Everybody weird, sooner or later, ends up in Hollywood. Right in front of Frederick's, the supermarket for fancy underwear and stuff like that.
What you want that crap for anyhow, I say, she lookin' in the window like a child by a toy store.
Just looking, says this dream in faded Levis, sweat shirt, spiky blond hair and the face of a midwest farm kid, all freckles, sky blue eyes and button nose.
I'm Street, I say to her.
What? she say.
Street, that's my name, that's what they call me. Little Street, when I first got here from Fresno. We look at each other. She sees my "working clothes," you know. Her eyes go wide, like she never saw a tight leather mini and fishnets on anyone before. And I see, I think, maybe competition.
You not thinking of gettin' this shit for work are you?
No, she says. I never saw stuff like this before.
You from the sticks, ain't you? I ask. She says, uh-huh. That's when she told me her name. Other stuff I learned later. She put surprise back in my life, but I'm gettin' ahead of myself.
This kid turns me on, that's what I'm realizing. And while I'm using whatever brain I have, I also realize that Gabby's starting to attract attention from all sorts of persons she don't need to deal with, just yet. Fresh farm girl make a lot of people greedy, if you know what I mean.
So when I see Stine rolling by in his convertible. I stop him. He owes me lots of favors. I collect a marker now.
Stine, you fucker, stop an help me and my friend out. He say Sure, Street baby. Where to?
Outa here, and fast, I say as I grab Gabby and pull her into the car.
She yells, What the Hell-(first time I hear "hell" sound like a dirty word since I was a baby.)
Honey, your life ain't worth shit out there by yoself. Stine'll take us to a nice restaurant. Won't you Stine?, I say.
Sure, Street, what ever you say, he replies, licking his chops, as I cash in another marker.
Who's the "Bambi?" he asks.
Gabby, new in town, needs a little wisdom before she gets herself in over her head. (I'm licking my chops-but keeping it to myself-don't be too hasty, girl, I tell myself.)
You got a place to stay? Stine looks back at her.
Concentrate on your driving, Stine, I'm not ready to die just yet.
Gabby says she stayin' at a youth hostel. I ask-What the hell is that? Hostile?
You know, where kids can stay one or two nights, cheap.
You got your own room?
No. And that's a drag.
Stine take us to a nice place, dark. You know what I mean?
He takes us to some place so dark I can't see the kid even with a candle on the table. But it's ok. I want to keep Gabriella to myself
Stine tells the waiter, three steak bergers with everything.
No! the kids says, no meat. She orders a garden salad.
I thought only Californians ate goat food, I say to the dark.
Her face comes into the circle of light. She say she's a vegetarian as soon as she hit L. A.
Stine, snorts. Looks at her and then me.
What's with you two?
Nothin', nothin' at all. I kick him under the table. She needs a place to stay, till she's on her feet.
On the way out of the restaurant, I grab the front of Stine's pants and squeeze. I owe you, Stine and I pay my debts. He brushes his hand across my tits and says, I expect no less of you Street.
My place ain't much. I don't conduct business there. I gotta have some place for myself. It's too small to keep messy so I push Gabby through the door first.
Oh, this is so nice! she says.
Christ, what has she been sleeping in, the barn?
She got all her worldly possessions, as my Aunt Martha called them, in her back pack that I made Stine pick up at the Youth Hostel. I'm goin to loose a day's wages on that man. But it'll be all worth it, I tell myself, if I can keep Gabby around.
I tell her to sack out. I gotta go to work. She's standing in the bathroom lookin' at all the underwear drying on the shower rod.
Wear what you like. I think they're all dry, I say. She just gives me a funny look.
When I get back to the place after bustin' my cunt to make up for the time lost when I first saw Gabby, she's makin breakfast.
Hey, neat. Mommy and Daddy at home, bacon on the stove, biscuits in the oven. She gives me a look, damn. What I say? I ask.
Nothin', she says. I go to draw a bath. All my fancy stuff is folded, neatly, on top of the hamper.
Didn't you want any of my stuff to wear? I holler above the sound of the running water.
I washed my things last night, she answers from the kitchen.
Bring the food in here, I say to her from the bathtub.
She walks in carrying two plates heaping with food.
I can't eat but half of that, I say to her.
She hands me the plate anyway, not looking at me. Sits on the hamper.
I can't see you from there. Come on around and sit on the towel by the floor. It ain't too steamy to eat in here, is it?
No, she says shyly.
You grew up on a farm. Nothin' I got is going to surprise you.
I'm not used to people being naked, she says.
Your people religious, huh? That's when she tells me about being called God's punishment and all that.
Well I got two tits, a cunt and people say, a nice ass, just like other girls.
Do you, um, shave down there? she points.
Yeh, I just keep a little cushion for work. I roll the little patch of wet pubic hair into a point. I'm gettin hot with her sittin' there. She looks uncomfortable. So I cool out and finish breakfast.
After we've been together more then a week, I don't know what to do. Gabby is happy and talkative when were together but she sleeps at night while I'm at work and I haven't figured a way to break the news to her, much less get her in bed with me.
I get her to wear one of my old denim skirts that some cowboy bought me to wear so I'd look like his daughter or something. I had to call him Daddy and baby talk him. It was disgusting. One day he shows up in a god damn trailer home. Wanted me to go with him to west Texas or some such shithole place. His money was good, but not that good. We have long talks where I play big sister, filling her in on the scene in this town. She tells me about how she didn't go to school, but had private tutors and stuff like that.
Your folks rich?
Not rally, she says. They wouldn't let me mingle with other kids, is all.
What the hell. You some kind of hothouse flower?
Something like that, she says.
Meanwhile she's turning me on, looking so sweet like Huck Finn or Tom, whats-his-name. Some days, she looks more boy then girl and it's driving me crazy.
One afternoon when the heat is really leaning on everybody, I call it quits and head home. I'm excited too. I want to have a showdown with Gabby. She got a job and insists on helping with the rent and all that, but that's not what's buggin' me. I want to know how it's going to go down between us. I mean, I'm not used to being put on hold like she's doing to me.
I swoop into the apartment and hear the shower running. Now I got her, I think and I edge up to the bathroom as quite as I can.
I see her outline through the shower curtain. I say, Gabby, I'm home, just before I pull the curtain back. I don't want her breaking her neck in my tub. She whoops and almost falls and tries to cover herself as I stand there. I'm stunned. I can't move. My mouth is open. Finally, I blurt out. What the fuck!
Later we're sitting on my bed. I'm in the corner with the pillows, Gabby, wearing my terry robe, is sitting at the bottom edge.
I'll move out, as soon as I can.
Wait a fucking minute, I say. You'll do nothing off the kind until you tell me what the hell is going on. What the hell are you! You owe me that.
Yes, I guess I do.
Are you for real?
I'm a hermaphrodite.
A hermaphro-what?
A hermaphrodite, Gabby says. A true hermaphrodite. I have sex organs for both, you know.
Holy shit! I say. I know now. That is, I guess I know.
That's what I saw in the shower. The sweetest boy body, but with tits. Two little titties, one bigger then the other. A patch of hair and a genuine dick. I should know, I've see enough of them.
You mean you have a cunt? And balls?
Both, she says.
We talk. Oh boy do we talk and I give her, I mean him, a big glass of brandy. Oh shit! I don't know what the hell I mean. Anyway I go on thinking of Gabby as a she. I get her to show me her equipment. She's got one nut on one side and a real vagina and a real dick. Damn, It sounds crazy when I say it.
I get Gabby to stay. I can't say I am hot for her in the same way as before. I like girls and once and a while I meet a guy who can turn me on. But after a night's work I want to come home to someone who will treat me right and there ain't much chance it'll be a man.
But we get to be real friends. And we do get it on for a while. It's fuckin' weird, man. That's all I can say, really weird.
After a while Gabby groves on being ultra femme, wearing my best working clothes, my makeup and my wigs. She also goes butch. Well not exactly. She is part guy. So I guess you wouldn't call her that.
She goes to her day job as Mr. Sorenson. At night she often hangs with the crowd on the Stript. Some of the guys from where she works try to pick her up.
We get a lotta laughs from that.
I'm not independent. I work for an organization. They take their share and leave me alone except to get me a lawyer when I get busted. But I don't have to mess with no pimp. They take a lot of my money but it's worth it. I ask if she wants to work for them.
No, she says. So I drop it.
Word get's out on the street about Gabby. It's after we are coolin' on each other. I don't know. Maybe I let something slip somewhere. Shit, I guess it really don't matter because Gabby moves out. Next thing I hear she's fixed up with some really fancy place in Beverly Hills somewhere. I see pictures of her looking very clean. They are not in jerk off magazines, neither. These are glossies and fancy color shots. I hear she's makin' films. Good ones. Not loops.
Hell, I'm happy to make loops. It's easy money for me. I was in demand when I first hit town cause I was so little and looked young.
Two thirty, I'm working my regular place and I run into Brenda. She's a six foot black woman and I mean, all woman. We occasionally team up when some trick wants some double action or when we want to take some yokel for more then pocket change.
Street, she says. Girl, have you heard?
Heard, what?
About your friend, Gabby.
What about her? Don't play games with me, Brenda.
They found her cut-
Dead!
Yah.
Oh shit, oh God-God Damn!
Where? I get ahold of myself.
I don't know really. I'm sorry Street. I truly am.
Fuck!
Don't go to pieces girl. Billy told me, the police i-ded her by fingerprints. They sent her home to her parents, he told me.
Was she cut real bad? I ask Brenda between sobs. Not like me to fall apart like this.
Well, he says she went home a woman.
Shit! Oh, stinkin' shit!
Shit.
Alan Stone write continuity and scripts for Oregon Public Broadcasting television and is the "booth announcer" for the network. He is at work on a novel set in Israel which is sure to offend all parties in that good land in such a bad neighborhood. He has studied with W.D. Snodgrass and Martha Gies, but his real ambition is to publish and edit an ethical supermarket tabloid.
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