Frisk: A Novel (Cooper, Dennis) by Dennis Cooper Read Free Book Online Page A

New York. Without the mess of real relationships. Let me say before I go on that everything I do is based on an urge that I don't understand, though I keep trying to understand it.)
Friday morning
    Sears had been painted light purple a month, six weeks back. That was supposed to attract a younger clientele. Instead it seemed to antagonize regulars. Joe's station was empty, apart from a few figures lingering along the border of Men's Wear and Home Entertainment. He leaned on a cash register and was quickly sucked in by an image on one of the distant TVs.

    A muscular man with a flattop was holding a gun on some teenaged boys. They didn't care. They sneered and yelled things until the man fired, so many shots, even when they were sprawled on the ground, that there was obviously lots of psychological baggage concealed by the set's lack of volume.
    "Great, huh?" said a nasal voice. Joe glanced at Samuel, who was hanging around in an aisle near Joe's station, straightening stacks of blue jeans. Lately he'd gotten so tan he looked Mexican. "The film," Samuel added, nodding at the distant, rectangular image.
    "Think so?" Joe said cautiously. Samuel had one of those voices that could have been dripping with irony or totally serious. Who knew? "Hmm, well ..." He noticed a customer standing a few aisles away. "... Yeah, great, uh, excuse me a sec?"
    Joe trotted off, holding his tie in place. Ten feet away from the customer, a short, red-haired man, he skidded to a stroll. "Hi," he smiled. "Need some help?"
    The redhead looked up from the One-Half-Off rack, smiled toothily. "Couldn't hurt."
    Joe suddenly had a mild deja vu. It whited out his view for a second.
    "I want a nice shirt," the redhead continued through the clearing haze. "Not too elegant, but not. . . jarring."
    That voice was so familiar, Joe thought, though more uncertain and/or high-pitched than usual. Obviously the guy was famous or something. "I'm a fan of your work," he mumbled, to see what would happen. - - -- - - - - - - - -- -
    The redhead was stroking the sleeve of a bright yellow shirt with a cowboy-esque motif embroidered on the cuffs. He had predictably wee, freckled hands. "Is this silk?" he asked.

    "Banlon," Joe said.
    The redhead dropped the sleeve like it was scalding. He blew on his fingertips, and kept blowing until Joe realized he was supposed to respond, and laughed a little stiffly.
    Satisfied or whatever, the redhead stuffed the sleeve back into the sleeve cliff.
    Joe pretended to straighten the cliff up a bit. "Did you hear what I said?"
    "Mm-hm. Thanks ..." The redhead crossed his arms, eyed the plastic tag on Joe's pocket. "... Joe."
    "No problem. Anyway, you must get harassed by fans like me all the time, I guess."
    The redhead smiled toothily again. "Actually, most people don't take my kind of acting that seriously, per se."
    Actor, Joe thought. "Well, they're wrong. . ." He bullshitted for ten, fifteen seconds, hoping something would draw out the names of some movies or something. ". . . Anyway, what's next for you, I mean role-wise?" That should do it.
    "This." The redhead shut his eyes, blanked out his freckly face. "Ready?" he whispered, not waiting for a reply. "Now." He smiled again. One hand shot upright and clenched, as though wielding a knife or sword. He jabbed "it" in Joe's general direction a few times. "Imagine you're ... screaming ... spurting blood," he said through clenched teeth.
    Joe's cock hardened instantaneously. He was reaching down to conceal it when .. .
    "You wish," Samuel sniffed from somewhere behind Joe. He'd joined them without either one noticing.
    The redhead shoved his hands into his pants pockets, glanced at Joe's crotch, mumbled something to Samuel, and walked away without buying anything.
    Joe could feel his cheeks burning. "Oh, hi, Samuel, uh ...'
    "Listen, Joe," Samuel whispered as soon as the redhead was out of earshot. He looked unusually emotional. "Watch yourself around Gary. I'm talking major sadist, okay?