The Sex Machine

by Sean Patrick Reardon

A grand, in cash, is the going rate for an hour of Kevin’s time. Not bad for a junior at Boston College. He’s a business major, with a Libertine studies minor. Two framed movie posters hang in his dorm room: Saturday Night Fever and American Gigolo. He’s often wondered if he presented his escort business plan on Shark Tank, would Cuban or Mr. Wonderful buy in for, say, 250K at ten percent. Shit, it’d be a no-brainer, guaranteed full ROI in one year.

He’s just left another satisfied client’s place and “Staying Alive” is playing in his ears as he struts down Marlboro Street wearing those oh-so-cool wrap around shades and working the Thin Lizzy tee and Lucky Brand jeans for all they’re worth.

The Bee Gees tune is a tradition after every client visit, a sign of respect to Johnny T. Travolta is his spirit guide. He’s carrying a soft leather briefcase, not a can of paint. You can improve on perfection.

The empty spot where his Mustang should be parked is making it really difficult for Kevin to determine who the person connected to the large hand that is clenching his arm is. A couple thoughts do get processed as the ear-buds get yanked out (courtesy of the other large hand).

The man is huge.

He is wearing a very expensive suit.

He does not look like he is going to ask for directions.

And when he wraps a muscled-bound arm around Kevin’s shoulder, whispers “don’t even think of it” and guides him into the back seat of a waiting Escalade, Kevin gets the feeling that he’s not going to be making it to his next client’s appointment.

The driver, a dapper looking, white haired guy punches the gas, turns around and says, “Kevin Green…The sex ma…chine.”

That’s all Kevin hears as the pinky-ringed fist of Expensive Suit connects with his temple and knocks him out.

***

When he rejoins the world, Kevin’s fuzzy, lethargic, out of it (a healthy dose of liquid morphine can do that to a dude), and wondering why he’s naked and bound to a chair in a dingy basement.

Dapper Dan and Expensive Suit are standing in front of him. Double D lights a smoke, says, “Do You know who I am lad?”

“No…should I?” Kevin asks, with just enough smart-ass to warrant a hard slap across the face from Expensive Suit.

“I’m Gerry McGowan and my friend here is Davey. Now, tell me this if you would…what do you know about that lady you were with, before we invited you to our little get together?”

“I don’t know man, from my vantage point, looked like she needed her roots touched up.”

Another bitch slap courtesy of Davey.

Gerry takes a drag, drops the cig, and crushes it under his shoe. “She happens to be my wife.”

Davey starts shaking his head, says, “You really fucked up, sex machine. This isn’t good.”

Kevin takes a deep breath, swallows hard, looks at Gerry with his best aw-shucks face. “Oh man, Gerry, I’m sorry dude. How was I supposed to know?”

“That’s not any of my concern.” Gerry nods to Davey. “What’s done is done, lad. May I ask how, or why, you got into such a profession?”

Kevin takes a couple seconds, thinks about his answer, only thing that comes out is, “I don’t know…yolo…I guess.”

Davey and Gerry look at each other, perplexed. Davey says, “yo lo? What the fuck is that?”

Gerry shugs his shoulders, says, “How do I know? These damn kids and their code words, the texting, butchering the English language. Tell us Kevin, what is a yolo?”

“It’s a way of life, you know, yolo. You…only…live…once.”

Gerry mulls it over, smiles, like he gets it. “Ah, so it’s like Carpe Diem.”

“Huh?” Kevin says.

Davey puts up a hand, smirking, letting Gerry know he wants to field this inquiry. “Seize the fucking day, sex machine. Basically means the same thing as your yolo.”

“Yeah, I guess it does,” Kevin says, thinking both Gerry and Davey are smiling and there’s some genuine generational bonding happening. The situation might not be as bad as he thought.

Gerry has a big smile on his face when he tells Kevin, “You know, I think I have another one for you Kevin?”

“Cool,” Kevin says, with an attentive, interested look on his face, like Gerry is some all-knowing sensei.

“Yodo,” Gerry says as he pulls a gun from the back of his waistband and hands it to Davey.

Davey points the gun at Kevin’s chest. “You…(BANG)…only…(BANG)…die… (BANG)…once…(BANG).”