Life in the Land of Lemish

Chapter 1 Prelude: The Three Marlenas

Few at The Coop expected much from Rock Lemish, except Fred.

But Fred suspected too little.

Rock, dressed in a hoodie and jeans, was sitting at the choice counter seat overlooking Boystown marveled at how Fred was always talking.

“That one over there,” Fred pointed behind Lemish to a kid surrounded at the table by his meal, “He’ll be a real looker one day. Just look at his mother.”

Lemish nodded along. His phone displaying today’s deliveries:

April 25th, 2022

An untasteful nude of a tall, thin man with, of all things, a ferret in the background. Certainly a political hit job of local importance. August 30th, 2030 (5)

A clandestine adonis. The bronzed man’s golden locks and healthy endowment were matched by defined abs, chest and hotel bathroom whereupon multiple bathings suits hung in the background. A memorial to a weekend the subject was never to live down. May 24th, 2027 (2)

A man who could only be described as spritely in face and stature, but a horse in other areas. It was almost unsettling as the orders for this particular image had grown significantly over the past few months — someone would leak it soon if Rock wasn’t careful about to whom this was sent.

“All these handsome people that come to look from the egg.” Fred sighed, “Sad that it’s just mothers and their children. Eye candy, fifteen to twenty years removed.”

“Is certainly less sweet,” Lemish said after a brief pause. Rock took a swig of his coffee, laughing to himself, “I wonder how many of them turn out gay?” He took in the surroundings of a Tuesday morning brunch rush. Not to his surprise, his view was comprised of women, children, and a scattering of men — with the exception to one table made up of the Y-Chromosome.

Fred gathered a few glasses for a table which had just seated, “Honey, the children don’t even see us as gay, much less their parents unless they have something to gain. I am not going over to a table and waving hello from familiarity about the arduous journey from their condo in Lakeview. They have no idea I spend half my life outside this place dressed as a woman. To be honest, you’re probably my only regular. I just want their money.”

Lemish flicked his cup of coffee signaling for a refill, “You’ll want my money too.” Without missing a beat, the broad, umber server placed his glasses on the counter and grabbed a white, oval-shaped coffee pot to pour into Rock’s cup. He sipped some with haste and smiled at the fiery dark roast.

Fred’s eyes squinted, “And would I be a devil if I agreed?”

“I think you would be doing your job,” Lemish responded wanting to divert the conversation from money. “And besides, even if you serve a majority of straight people and their children, at least this place has its Market Days.”

The eighth story egg-shaped glass enclosure — unlovingly the Coup for the building’s public approval process — in which Lemish sat and Fred served had become the toast of the northside. The restaurant promised views of all of the major attractions, some of which had grown as some coastal elites fled inland due to rising tides and unreachable property values. It perched itself upon some of the most luxurious condominiums along Boystown’s main thoroughfare at the southeastern corner of Halsted and Cornelia. Lemish had never been invited in as yet, though his work here could someday fix that indignity.

“And to think some news sites found our Cock-a-Doodle-Dude Chicken Strips special over Market Days weekend too gay for such an establishment.”

The opinion was not wrong as far as Lemish was concerned.

Fred set down the coffee pot, “just because a few days a year this place becomes exceptionally gay does not mean they see us and the triumph we’ve become.” Fred picked up the glasses and threw a few cubes of ice out so they flew in an arc before landing quietly on the rubber mats below.

“What is a homosexual anymore?” Lemish asked, “That Paula and Liss in the news? Do you consider them to be gay, in anything?” Lemish had a passing familiarity with the latest cause from the internet — that of a dating aunt and fully transitioned male-to-female niece who had both been disowned by family. Once it was discovered to be the same family it had only driven them closer together in their desire to marry. An appeal for their release had been filed the day before, creating even more buzz.

A satisfying crunch emanated from below the counter as Fred stomped on the ice cubes, “Don’t get me started on that family and how the world is trying to tear the two of them apart. It’s bad enough they were thrown in jail.”

Lemish considered Fred for a second, his own opinions couched in how difficult a defense awaited the individual who argued it to his downstate relatives, “I mean, my uncle Richie is a mess… he only has sex with robots.”

“Now that’s fucked up!”

And with that stated, Fred took his leave toward a table as Lemish returned to his phone, texting Kramer and sending orders to his clients.