Prettyboy

16: Roarin' In The Summer (Pt. I)

I was under the fallacious impression that after divorce, the screen would go black. 'And now for something completely different' would flash in white. That with the words: "Divorce granted, on this day, on the 26th of May 1963"  my life would start anew, as a bachelor once again, I would be permitted the things a wedded man would not. Yet I needed a week or two to come around, to realize I had been living the same life as an unwed man, even in the practical bonds of marriage. You could say I was a pitiful sap. I was still the very same Frank Iero, the photographer, the artist. My life was still the same, missing the same old piece as always. I had separated from Lana completely, after she had made attempts to scandalize me. She soon learned that there was no point in trying to divulge secrets about my life, because word would get around, she was the fool to marry a debauched man such as me. It was not of benefit to her to be so bold as to do such a thing. 

With Robert being on vacation and Jack Cooper having the same trouble with his wife and all, I was rendered on the precipice of melancholy, and perhaps I would have turned to a drinking habit a bit too soon, had it not been for a letter I received a week after the divorce was all done. A letter which I do not happen to have today—it must've gotten caught in the fire of The Studio, back in '69—but I sure know it existed, because it hauled me to my feet. 'Heard the divorce came in. Finally.' And then, I remember vividly the following lines in black ink: 'Did she find out? Was it me?' 

It made me leave The Studio and go as far as get in my automobile and drive off. 

We met halfway. We had to. 

My good-old blue sedan broke down just before I could enter the municipality of Georgetown, and I abandoned it to roam like a weary wight without a clue as to where I was heading, kicking sticks and stones with my feet and admiring the Front Range that rose above the skyline with a perfect pallidness. It all happened incidentally; you wouldn't believe it if I told you but it did happen. You see, there I was, wandering on the mountain pass, and there he was, driving up a hill in a '57 Chevy. You wouldn't think he had a permit but he did, my God. He could drive, Heavens, can you take in the magnitude of that? He could drive. I was away from him for months and suddenly, I was there and he could drive.

"When did Georgetown become a touristic destination?" I found myself talking humorously, implementing a coping mechanism, in spite of my extravagant exultation. Yes, we had compromised to meet in Denver, not that far from Georgetown, but the coincidence was scarcely imaginable, the timing was unbelievable. How phenomenal. Only with him did I have such experiences. 

"Turns out, it's a small world," said he as he rested his elbow so leisurely on the margin of the open window in his car. What an extraordinary phenomenon he was himself. "Decided to go for a little stroll on the mountains, ey? Get in, ol' man and let's get bookin'."

"How does one find the time," I wondered upon slumping in the Chevy in reverence, breathing in the warm air in the passenger seat smothered by scorching Colorado sun. "Sure like the car."

"Groovy, isn't she? It's Oliver's old man's," said he and drove off, wind blowing to our faces.

"Really? What'd you do then?"

"Bailed his son, I s'pose." Creases on his forehead appeared as he talked. "Well, Oliver was looking real bad while I was in D.C. and all, and when I came back on Squirrel Hill last time, he was all around the bend. The old man, he was just looking out that his son were sure to go to college, so I made sure Oliver would string along—" It was something about that Oliver Key kid, when I learned Gerard was lodging with him, it mollified me. Dared I imagine a world where the Prettyboy would be all by himself in the other end of the country, I would not be able to plow on with my everyday routine. They were going to college together, looking out that they could secure a job soon and get themselves an apartment, in San Francisco, where they inhabited and occupied the lousy streets like the rest of the undergraduates. What a thrill, what a sense of suspense it brought to me, the recounting of his and his friend's escapade from Misery-Squirrel Hill.