Page 42 of On Fire Island
“Oh please. He was caught necking with Dylan in the dunes. No need to watch his virgin ears.”
“I’m sure he still has virgin ears. You do, right?” Ben asked.
“Yeah—for now. How does everyone know?”
“Come on, Matty, how does everyone know that Moe Schwartz has hemorrhoids or that Kelly Kramer is a screamer? Everyone knows everything in this town.”
Like I told you—bungalow colony.
“You better be careful, Matty,” Ben warned. “Jake Finley’s only daughter.”
“That’s an understatement. I’d think twice before deflowering that girl,” Shep piped in.
Matty clearly didn’t get the archaic lingo. Ben rolled his eyes and brought it at least to this century.
“He means popping her cherry.”
“You mean taking her v-card?” Matty asked.
“Never heard that one,” Ben admitted.
“Whatever you call it nowadays, I’m pretty sure the phrase ‘Don’t knock her up’ still applies—you better get a hold of a banana slicker or two first.”
Between the popping cherries and the banana slickers, it sounded more like they were sharing a recipe for fruit salad than encouraging safe sex. I wished they would just speak to the poor kid in English. In the end, Matty took care of that himself.
“About that... do either of you have a condom?”
I could almost see the words sink into their brains and release in the most welcome sound I’d heard in months, joyous and hysterical laughter. It was the kind of laughter that begets more laughter until your stomach hurts and your eyes water with happy tears. After what felt like minutes, Ben managed an apology.
“I’m sorry, Matty, it’s been so long since I laughed...” He broke down again but got himself together. Tears were now pouring down Shep’s cheeks, but Matty wasn’t even slightly amused.
“Sorry, Matt, but really, look who you are asking for a condom,” Ben offered.
Shep barely squeaked out “The widower fornicators,” which started them both up again. Shep finally regained control, sipped his glass of water, and stated, “I don’t think there will be many rubbers in my future.”
“Yeah,” Ben agreed, adding, “The Brisket Brigade probably doesn’t have one good egg between them.”
They laughed some more, but stopped as Matty asked earnestly, “Really? What am I supposed to do? I can’t exactly buy one at the market, and I can’t swipe one ’cause they’re behind the counter.”
“That’s true. Miss Sullivan hasn’t left that counter since 1998,” Shep noted, adding, “the Ex-Lax brownie incident.”
They all grimaced in unison, remembering it.
“Can’t you get one in town?” Ben suggested. Matty had already thought that through.
“No way. Jake would find out in under an hour. ‘Matthew Tucker bought condoms at Ocean Beach Trading.’ ”
“He’ll be castrated before he gets to use it. You know who probably has one?” Shep asked.
“Don’t even say it!” Matty countered. “I can barely look at that guy. Every time I see him my mind goes right to my fifth-grade holiday concert where we sang ‘Little Drummer Boy.’ It must be some kind of coping mechanism. I had the opening solo, you know, ‘Come, they told me, pa rum pum pum pum.’ ”
Ben loved Christmas music, literally knew every word to every Christmas song, from Mariah Carey to the Chipmunks. It’s one of those contradictory things about him that makes him who he is. The chance to sing a Christmas carol in July lit him right up.
“ ‘A newborn king to see pa rum pum pum pum.’ ”
Matty loosened up too. “You got it.”
And he smiled as Shep stood up and bellowed, “ ‘Our finest gifts we bring, pa rum pum pum pum.’ ”
