Our Lady Of Greenwich Village (22 page)

“W
hy me?” asked Nuncio Baroody.

“Because you're perfect for me,” replied O'Rourke as he sipped a club soda at his end of the bar at Hogan's Moat.

“How so?”

“You know the gay community,” said O'Rourke. “You know how they think. You also know me and know how I think.”

“Aren't you afraid I'll embarrass you?”

“No, why?”

“You've heard the rumors, I'm sure,” said Baroody, his eyes lowered. O'Rourke hadn't often seen Nuncio sober. He had always been impressed with his sharp wit and utter disregard for protocol. O'Rourke loved people who liked to stir the pot.

“Ah,
roomers
,” said O'Rourke, inferring an Irish twist to it.

“Exactly.”

“Don't worry about anything,” said O'Rourke. “Just do your job and keep your ears and eyes open.” As an afterthought O'Rourke added, “And your mouth shut.”

“Got it.”

“You hire the ringers?”

“They'll be there,” Nuncio assured.

“Okay,”said O'Rourke.“The campaign begins.” The two men left the Moat and walked straight across Seventh Avenue to the headquarters of the Village Queer Democrats. The VQD was created after the gay riots of 1969. They had become a force and every Democratic politician had come to them as supplicant. O'Rourke and Baroody entered the building on Fourth Street, just across from the back of the Riviera Cafe, and walked the lone flight of stairs. They could smell the gym next door before they could hear the grunts and groans of the weightlifters. Inside the drab room there were only a few people. O'Rourke was drawn to their Wall of Fame, where photographs of the famous and the infamous showed the VQD's political clout. The wall also showed the part sex had played in New York City politics over the past thirty years. In the middle was a huge picture of Bill Clinton speaking before the group in 1992, just before the New York primary that had saved his candidacy. There was a photo of Harvey Milk, who was literally blown away, posing with an obviously uncomfortable Senator Pat Moynihan. O'Rourke's eyes were drawn to a picture of Thom Lamè and Malcolm Forbes, the sissy capitalist. “What the hell is this?” he asked Nuncio Baroody.

Nuncio shook his head. “Don't ask.”

O'Rourke just smiled and replied, “Don't tell.”

There was a wonderful picture of Barney Frank and the late liberal congressman of the district, Fat Max Weissberg. Then O'Rourke started to laugh. He was looking at a photograph of Ed Koch and Bess Myerson, obviously taken in 1977 when Koch won the mayoralty. “The Immaculate Deception,” said O'Rourke to Baroody. He was referring to the master chicanery that Koch had pulled off with Myerson. It was the first time the middle-aged Koch had
ever
been seen in the company of a woman, a ploy he used to assuage the fears of the middle-class of Queens and Staten Island. It had been his way of combating the bumper stickers the Cuomo camp had put out leading up to the primary: “Vote for Cuomo, Not the Homo.”

“Ed Koch,” said Nuncio, “has to be the biggest
a
sexual of all time—but he'd suck you off for your vote.”

“Agreed,” said O'Rourke. Just then he felt a tap on his shoulder. It was Lizzie Townsend. “Liz, how are you?”

“I don't believe it, Tone,” she said as she hugged O'Rourke.

“Don't believe what? That I want the endorsement of the VQD?”

“No,” said Townsend, “that you're
actually
running for Congress.”

“Why not?” replied O'Rourke. “Life is short.”

Lizzie and O'Rourke had met after Thom Lamè had defeated her for City Council. They had run into each other at the Moat and she was distraught. O'Rourke had comforted her and told her that she had done everything right, but that she just didn't have the votes. Lamè had played the numbers—gay males—perfectly.

“Do you have the numbers?” she playfully asked him.

“No,” said O'Rourke, “I don't. But I hear there is going to be media here tonight.”

“Yeah,” said Townsend, “New York One is going to cover the caucus.” Right then Lizzie Townsend got suspicious. “What are you up to?”

She caught O'Rourke off guard. “Why would I be up to something, Lizzie?”

“You don't have numbers and you're not upset, that's why,” said Townsend.

“In politics,” said O'Rourke, “sometimes you have to lose a battle to win the war.”

At that moment Sam McGuire and Clarence Black entered the room. McGuire saw O'Rourke chatting up Lizzie Townsend and immediately headed for them.

“Hi honey,” said McGuire without warmth.

“Sam,” said O'Rourke, “this is Lizzie Townsend. You remember Lizzie, she lost to Thom Lamè for city council a couple of years ago.”

A cloud lifted from McGuire as the obvious became clear. “Oh, yes, Lizzie,” she said. “Tone told me all about you.” Lizzie gave her a smile that said “I'm no threat.”

“You still deputy leader of the VQD?” asked O'Rourke, although he already knew the answer.

“Yep.”

“You must be excited that Lamè will be here tonight,” said O'Rourke with enough sarcasm.

“I am,” said Townsend with a big, false smile. “If he wins the congressional seat, maybe I can get his council seat.”

O'Rourke laughed, but he was disturbed that he hadn't thought about that. “Who you gonna root for tonight?”

“I am not a political exhibitionist,” said Lizzie Townsend lightly as she turned to walk away.

O'Rourke looked at McGuire and gave a tentative look. “You want me to wipe the egg off your chin now,” asked McGuire, “or later?”

“Not egg,” said O'Rourke. “Grand Clong.”

“What?”

“Grand Clong is when you fuck up so bad, you get a rush of shit to the heart.” O'Rourke was thinking Congress and Lizzie Townsend was thinking city council. Lamè and Townsend in bed together and things were getting hot.

The crowd began to pile in and O'Rourke saw how conservative they all were. There were a few with earrings and leather pants, but it was nothing like 1975. Back then the members of the VQD looked like The Village People. A mohawk here, a jockstrap, chaps, and a pierced nipple there. With the thought of a pierced nipple he looked at McGuire.

“What?” she said.

“Nothing,” replied O'Rourke.

Dominick Carter of New York One arrived with his crew. O'Rourke introduced his people then jabbed the rotund Carter playfully in the belly. “How's it goin' Dom?”

“I'm
really
looking forward to tonight,” said Carter with his patterned enthusiasm. “I can't wait to see how you relate to the prestigious VQD,” he said laughing.

“When are you going to go live?” he asked Carter, without answering his observation.

“As soon as the caucus endorses,” Carter replied. “They won't allow us in here live, but I'll catch the candidates as they come out the door.”

“Be glad to accommodate you, Dominick,” said O'Rourke.

“I'll look for you later,” said Carter.

“What was that all about?” asked McGuire.

“Setting up the stand-up later with Dominick,” he said as he turned to McGuire and said seriously, “You must manipulate the media always, and not let them manipulate you. Do you understand?”

McGuire was taken aback by O'Rourke's vehemence. “Yes, I do,” she said.

He saw he caught her off guard. “Sorry, honey,” he said as he hugged her. “I'm putting on my game face and I want to psych myself up.” McGuire saw for the first time how O'Rourke played political hardball.

Thom Lamè entered the room and was mobbed by the VQD members. He saw O'Rourke and his face went hard. He had never dreamed that O'Rourke himself would run. He thought the primary was going to be a cakewalk. Lizzie Townsend walked up to Lamè and a photographer from the
New York Times
snapped a photo of the beaming couple.

“We are,” said McGuire, “in deep doo-doo.”

“You're a riot, Alice,” said O'Rourke, stealing a line from the
Honeymooners
.

“Can we have some silence here?” said Lizzie Townsend into the microphone. “Tonight's a big night for the VQD,” she said, “for tonight we are going to endorse a candidate for the 7th Congressional District in the upcoming primary. So far the field contains only Councilman Thom Lamè and longtime Villager and political consultant Wolfe Tone O'Rourke. Mr. O'Rourke has insisted that Councilman Lamè, since this is his home political club, be introduced first.”

“Fellow queers,” Lamè lisped to the thunderous applause and laughter. He went through his spiel about how long he was a member of the VQD and how he would fight to make sodomy and gay marriage legal. He was passionate, but he was speaking to the choir.

When O'Rourke's turn came he praised Lamè for his courage in supporting repeal of the sodomy laws and the legalization of gay marriage. “I hate to sound like a ‘me too Democrat,' but I agree with Councilman Lamè on these important gay demands.” O'Rourke was met with polite applause. “But I think there are more immediate matters on the agenda. We are in the grasp of a right-wing hold in this country,” began O'Rourke, “that threatens not only gay Americans, but the freedom of every American. Bill Clinton is a Lamè duck.” O'Rourke was stopped by the laughter at his Freudian slip. “Sorry about that, Thom,” he said laughing himself. He noticed Lamè's hard stare. “As I was saying, Clinton is a
lame
duck. Who will be the next president? This election is about who will be picking Supreme Court justices. We can't go back to back-alley abortions. Now that would be a crime.”

“Who cares about abortion?” came a voice from the back. “We're queer. It's not our problem.”

“You should care,” said O'Rourke with a sudden intensity. “Because if you don't care about what's important to other people, why would you expect others to care about gay rights? To build coalitions you have to compromise, you have to bend. I dare you to stand up to some girl who's been raped and is pregnant and tell her ‘It's not our problem.' It
is
your problem. You don't change things by being selfish. You have to empathize.”

O'Rourke was surprised by the applause. He stepped from behind the podium. “How many of you are employed?” Most of the hands went up. “How many of you have health insurance?” The show of hands was halved. “What Councilman Lamè spoke about is very important,” O'Rourke continued, “but so are other things that are important to both gay and straight Democrats of this district. The need for universal health insurance should be one of the crucial themes of the Democratic Party.” O'Rourke had caught their attention and there was silence. “How about adoptive rights? Are there any adoptive gay parents here this evening?” Four hands shot up, a male couple and a female couple. “How easy was it for you to adopt?”

“It wasn't easy at all,” said one of the males. “They practically called us perverts.”

“Same with us,” said one of the females. “You knew they were thinking ‘dyke' from the get-go.”

“Adoptive rights,” said O'Rourke, “are important. That's another area that should be investigated in Washington. And if you adopt, education is important, as is health insurance. It doesn't matter if you're gay, straight, or asexual,” he said, thinking of Ed Koch. “We all have so much in common that we must not divide our attention and our efforts. There is only one way to march and that is together and forward as we uphold the great traditions of the Democratic Party in America.”

To O'Rourke's complete surprise he got a loud ovation. The two gay couples he had spoken to stood up to applaud and the rest of the audience followed their example. He looked at Nuncio Baroody and smiled, for Nuncio had done his job superbly.

The votes were tallied and Lizzie Townsend came back to the podium. “The vote is as follows. Councilman Lamè 105. Wolfe Tone O'Rourke 25. Thus the VQD endorsement for the 7th Congressional District goes to Councilman Thom Lamè. This meeting is adjourned.”