Old South Baltimore, 1976, Summer

At age sixteen, no longer sliding into the Stinson master bedroom for a morning romp with the voracious cougar of the house, Shoey was running the lunch numbers down Hanover Street, because the cop that walked the beat on Charles Street would give him shit for not being in school and working for Mister Dan at his shoe store. Five Pagans, who often came through South Baltimore to visit his older brother, who ran heroin around Barney Street, were coming out of the Cross Street Market, when they sauntered over to him, hairy, intimidating and gigantic in their leathers. When they came into town they would sleep on the ground floor in his parents’ house. Dad had passed away from lung cancer form working with asbestos at the shipyard. His mother was busy taking care of his younger brother, who had Downs and some respiratory health problems.

The leader said, “Hey, you’re Shoey, Trent’s little brother, right?”

Shoey nodded nervously, and two of the guys shook his hands and the big leader patted him on the back and said, “We heard you have like the best album collection. How would you like to bang a hooker? We have hooker in a room over the bar. You want to bang the hooker? It’s about time—you’re a man now, earning your bread.”

Shoey nodded yes—nervous around these fellas—and the leader slapped him on the back and said, “Bring some music, six-o’clock, enough for a few hours. We’re going to have a party.”

At five of six, Shoey was knocking at the door with a case of albums under his arm: Mountain, Grand Funk, Deep Purple, Humble Pie, ZZ Top…

There were five bikers drinking beer and listening to music, discussing road trip plans in the main room of the apartment, which only had one other room, the bathroom, where the hooker was locked behind the door. The room was painted white with a red ceiling, the bed a beat down twin, the beer Carling Black Label and Erlanger. The first biker went in and spent perhaps a half hour, then emerged, pleased with the hooker’s quality.

The second man deiced to clean the hooker up himself, stood, shook up a beer, and announced that he was going to use it to douche out the remnants of the first biker’s visit.

Each biker did this. One lasting a minute or two, one sicko spending an hour in there, and the other two pretty much keeping it around a half hour. All the while Shoey was their D-Jay, spinning records and taking requests on a sketchy turn table that he was terrified was going to ruin his vinyl. The music was kept low enough not to irritate the land lord, but high enough to drown out the sounds coming from the bathroom.

Eventually, hours later, the sun going down in the west out of the one parchment window shade in the room, the big fat biker that had drawn last go at the hooker came out, walked over to the cooler, grabbed a beer, shook it up, and handed it to Shoey, “Saying, you’ll need this, Brother—enjoy!”

As Shoey headed for the ominous, white door, with the black smudged hand prints of many renters and began to bulk, the leader patted him on the back and handed him a six-pack, saying, “Have a few rounds with her. She’s been a good girl and is probably thirsty by now.”

As Shoey came through the door, he saw her naked, bending over the tub, drinking from the tap, her clothes laid out on the floor as a kind of makeshift matt, a pillow on the toilet seat. She was a well-built, soft-skinned, natural blonde. Shoey, despite the “yucky” nature of the date, imitated his betters by shaking up his beer some more in preparation for her purification, as he held out the six-pack for her, which he hoped she would be happy with.

When the hooker turned around he was pleased to discover she was his age and pretty, but horrified that she was his first cousin, Melissa.

After a wide-eyed moment of mutual embarrassment, they laughed, and she said, “Please, not another beer douche. Let’s have a few drinks.”

Melissa and Shoey sat and talked in low tones for about a half hour and he learned that she was doing this not just for the money, but to get back at her father for letting his friends have sex with her at a party. In the future, Shoey and Melissa tried not to laugh when they ran into each other, but overall felt as if they had played a great joke on the world and had gotten away with it.

She ended up getting married and having kids.

He went down another road.