In The Punch Line

7∆7

"All right," Charles said, "What are you drinking?"

"Vodka martini," Eugene said. "Shaken."

Charles pulled a face.

"Good God. Who do you think you are, James Bond?"

"Don't knock them until you've tried them," Eugene said.

"I  tried them. That's why I'm knocking them."
Charles grinned. "All right. Just be a moment, dear."

He vanished into the throng around the bar and  Eugene stood for a moment taking stock of the room. Based on the people they had encountered thus far he had begun developing the idea that  Charles had attended high school in one of the less attractive outer circles of Hell, and the group presently gathered around the vague art deco hotel bar did little to disabuse him of that notion. And none of them had any idea how to dress.

"Calvin Klein," a female voice said, near him.

He looked in the direction of the sound. It was a fairly attractive brunette, although if not disheveled she was far from being sheveled.

"You," she said, catching his eye. "You're the Calvin Klein  guy."

"So it would seem," Eugene said.

"What are you doing here? This is a high school reunion. Don't you have a gala you should be red carpeting at?"

Eugene shook his head. "I'm here with someone," he said.

"Oh y God!" she said. "Who? Who? Brooke, someone won the reunion."

A blonde woman in a pink dress -- evidently the aforementioned Brooke -- joined her on his right flank. "Brooke he says he's someone's date."

"I'm dating Charles Seymour," Eugene said.

"Who?" Brooke asked.

"Chucko?" Eugene ventured.

"OH MY GOD NO YOU AREN'T GET OUT!" Brooke and the other woman exclaimed simultaneously.

"OH MY GOD! LUCKY CHUCKIE."

"We knew Chucko was gay," Brooke said.

"But we thought he was mostly gay for books, you know?"

"And Mark Ornstein," the brunette added.

"Yeah Mark. Oh, God. Chucko had the biggest crush on his junior year. It was sad."

"That was back when Mark still thought he was straight."

"Ha," Brooke said.

"He thought he was straight with you for two years," the brunette said.

"Well he wasn't very good at it," Brooke huffed. "He groped me like he was adjusting a thermostat."

"Anyway, he's out now. And on the prowl."

"Yeah, better keep an eye on your man," Brooke said.

"Oh fat chance, Brocks." The other woman chortled. "Look at this guy. Chucko would have gone literally blind. Literally blind."

"We  saw you in your underwear," Brooke said, leaning conspiratorially towards Eugene. "If you ever decide suddenly that you are, you know, into  women, like, suddenly, or something--"

"Brooke."

"What sometimes people get brain tumors and they have to rethink things about themselves," Brooke said. "If you ever feel that, call us, and then call the brain tumor removal guy, okay? Because we are very, very single."

"Brooke!"

"SUPER SINGLE."

Eugene began attempting to recede from the conversation.

"NO STAY PUT CALVIN KLEIN!" Brooke yelled. "We want details."

"Details,"  said. Oh no. What was taking Charles so long? Maybe he'd run into Mark Ornstein. Maybe they were reconnecting.

"Brooke you're embarrassing us," the other girl said.

"No, I'm not don't tell me you aren't even a little curious about Chucko's sex life. I feel like we all have a right to know. Like, it's like--  it's like a cartoon character having a sex life, you know? Like, Chucko was a big name at school. Everyone knew Chucko. We need to hear. We liked Chucko. We always liked him, didn't we? We were secretly rooting  for him, even when the football team made him eat that diorama."

Eugene's fight-or-flight reflex was kicking in strongly. He felt prepared to kill or maim a large animal or possibly flee to Siberia. But the situation required something infinitely more challenging.

"Spill, Calvin Klein," Brooke said.

"Why does everyone at your high school insist on giving people nicknames?" Eugene tried.

"Do you have any nicknames for him?"

"Oh, good question!" Brooke said.

Not Pooky, Eugene thought. Uh. Something flattering. But sexy. But not embarrassingly detailed. But --

"Well," Eugene said. He clearly looked suitably embarrassed.

"Spill," Brooke said. "Or we'll make one up and say you told us."

"Like Chucko-Chokes-on-Dicko."

"Or Pooky."

Oh, God. Not Pooky. Eugene glanced frantically around the room.

Where in  God's name was Charles? What would I actually call him? Something sexy,  yet respectful.

"Professor Sexeymour," he said, wishing that the floor would open up and he might sink into it, never to reemerge.

"Ohhhhh," Brooke and Brooke's friend said simultaneously.

"Cute."

"Yeah, well, great meeting you."

"Is he good?" Brooke said, cutting him off with an arm.

"At?"

"You know." Brooke mimed an extraordinarily detailed series of activities.

"We all know how much Chucko can fit in his mouth," the brunette said.

Well, Eugene thought. That is information. That is definitely information.

"We're embarrassing him," Brooke said. "Look, Calvin Klein is getting all embarrassed. We were Chucko's fans, CK! You can trust us."

"He's  good, isn't he?" Brooke's friend said. "Once the football team made him  fit four eggs in his mouth without breaking them or they wouldn't give  him his lab notes back."

Four? Four? Eugene swallowed. That was -- a lot -- of eggs. And an uncomfortably vivid mental image.

"Or the banana."

"Hard to forget the banana."

"Was the football team aware of how intensely Freudian this was at the time?" Eugene said.

"Chucko Sucko," Brooke said.

"Here you are," Charles said, emerging from the crowd with a martini and some sort of mixed drink with a straw in it.

"Professor Sexeymour," the two women said in unison, grinning at each other. They giggled.

Charles shot Eugene a bewildered look.

"Nice meeting you Calvin Klein! Remember the brain tumor!" Brooke said, going in for a hug. Eugene watched the two of them depart with his mouth hanging open in mild shock.

"Professor Sexeymour?" Charles said. He looked at Eugene.

"You said not Pooky," Eugene said, somewhat lamely. Charles really ought not to do that with his straw.

Suddenly Charles was laughing. "Better than most of my nicknames," he said. "Sexy, yet respectful."

"That's what I thought," Eugene said.

"Bit punny though."

"Just a touch," Eugene said. "Professor."