Gangland

It was a hot Summer night in 1986 when I met Joey Honey at Coconutz, the new dance bar in downtown Miami. I hadn't seen Honey in awhile, but he was as cool as I'd always remembered him: Spuds McKenzie sunglasses, sports jacket with rolled up sleeves, gelled hair, pastel polo shirt. Loafers with no socks. He'd brought a friend, a guy I'd never met before.

"Chad Sexington," he introduced himself with a grin and a firm handshake. "And yeah, it's my real name." He wore a red-and-black-checked flannel tucked in with suspenders. He looked kind of like a lumberjack or something, but I liked his style.

We had a few drinks at the bar and scoped out the scene. This place was hot for a reason. I sipped my Cuba Libra, Honey his Pina Colada/Strawberry Daiquiri mix, and Sexington something a bit stronger--a Jim Beam and Coke--and we watched the girls dancing in their spandex dresses and frighteningly high-sprayed bangs.

We chatted about this and that, stopping only intermittently to do coke in the bathroom. On the way out of one such trip, I accidentally caught a bangle earring in the eye from a young who was dancing Molly Ringwald-like to INXS. She apologized with only half a glance, and then saw my ensemble.

"Vision Street Wear?" she asked, impressed, fingering the material of my t-shirt.

"That's right," I mused, breathing hot breath on the back of my nails and polishing them on my shirt. "I'll be back at the table in a minute, fellas," I said to the rest of the trio.

Of course, I got her number, and even arranged to meet her at an after-hours club. And maybe for a little 'after-hours' party of our own, I thought to myself with a chuckle.

When I got back to the table, Chad seemed distant.

"Hey Chad? Why so distant?" I asked him.

"Watching you back there reminded me of a story," he said.

Wavy lines began blurring our vision. I was confused until I realized it was a flashback. He began his tale.

About ten years ago, I was a young man very much like yourself, Mr. Zane. Good-looking, popular with the ladies, not a care in the world. I'm not doing myself justice--I got laid constantly. Blondes, redheads, brunettes, black chicks, Mexican chicks, Chinese chicks, it didn't matter. I guess you could say I had the touch.

But one day in 1976, I met my match. Her name was Hoe Chi Nguyen, and she was the most beautiful girl I'd ever laid eyes on. But it wasn't just that--she was smart. She was funny. And she got me. I put a stop to all my womanizing and set my sights on her alone. I knew that one day she would become Mrs. Hoe Chi Nguyen-Sexington.

One day while we were driving to a Boston concert, she began crying. I pulled my rust-brown Corolla over to the side of the road, and tried to console her.

"What was the problem?" Joey Honey asked.

"Honey, I've told you this story already," Sexington said. "You know why she was upset."

Joey looked bemused, then, taking a long pull of his frozen pink cocktail, smiled in recollection.

The trouble was, Chi felt unworthy of marriage to me because she wasn't a virgin. I told her that there was nothing to worry about, and I wouldn't look down on her for it.

'How many women have you been with?' she asked me, a long noodle of snot hanging out of her gorgeous nostril.

I told her it wasn't important, but what was important was that I loved her. She wouldn't take that answer. 'I've been with two men, including you,' she said. 'Now tell me. How many?'

The answer, of course, was 378, not including her (although in not wanting it to seem like I'd 'been around' I let her believe that the number included her). She was outraged, and she stomped out of the car, leaving me to go to the Boston show by myself. They were awesome of course, but it wasn't the same without her.

The next day she called me up much more calmly and said she had the solution that would allow us to be married.

'I've arranged a gangbang,' she said. 'I've invited 377 of my closest male friends. Black dudes, white dudes, blondes, brunettes, redheads, Mexican dudes, Chinese dudes. Everyone. And if you can handle being on equal terms with me, then I'll shower up and we can be married.'

Boys, I didn't know what to do. I told her I'd have to think about it. I thought about it for about eight seconds and did what any man in love would have done. I kidnapped her and locked her in my closet for the next three days so the party couldn't take place.

Sexington paused, sighed, and downed the rest of his drink, swirling around the ice to loosen it from the bottom of the glass. He gave us both a meaningful look and then continued.

Imagine my surprise when I opened the closet and found 377 guys in there gangbanging my bride-to-be. It was like watching Subway make one of those party subs, except this one was all meat.

"Subway won't be popular as a sandwich shop for another six or seven years," I said gently.

"But they opened as a concept long before," he said, fighting back tears.

Anyway I threw all 378 of them out of my one-bedroom apartment, and I told her I never wanted to see her again. And I never did.

"Yeah?" I asked incredulously. How does that remind you of me and that girl," I paused and looked down at the number written on a gum wrapper in my hand, "Sandi over there? I mean, she's not even Asian. And you know it."

"Zane," Joey Honey said softly, "he's trying to tell you that wasting your time with no-good hoes can ruin a relationship that may actually mean something in the future."

"Honey, you've got good deeds on the brain. You've been trying to convert me to Catholicism ever since you saw Mary in that packet of Fun Dip two years ago."

"He's right Zane. That is what I'm trying to say."

I was surprised, but far from converted. "Let's get out of here," I said. "I think they're re-running last night's episode of A-Team at one." I couldn't be asked to think about girls for the rest of the evening.

Weeks later as I walked around Miami's coastline with my white linen pants rolled up so as to avoid unnecessary splashes, Sexington's words still rang through my ears. When I got hungry, I stopped at a nearby sandwich shop. Much to my surprise, it was a Subway.

"Well I'll be damned," I thought. I was in the mood for a club, but I couldn't bring myself to order anything more than the veggie.