Dirty Movies by Steve Kedrowski

Seeing her for the first time was one of those life-changing moments, and I knew that everything about the world would henceforth be different. She had a black ponytail and baggy overalls, and she spit on the sidewalk because she thought no one was looking. But I saw it. I was in love.
This had happened once before. Christmas of 96 I was buying a last-minute present for mom at JC Penny, when the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen headed out for the parking lot. I was struck with a sense of familiarity, the sort of thing sleazeball Cassanovas have ruined forever by abusing that line "Haven't I seen you some place before?" I'm not normally one for spiritual mumbo jumbo, but I felt certain she and I were lovers in a past life, and the fates were giving me one last chance to reclaim her. But I was a shy unemployed 25-year-old who still lived with his parents, so I let her walk right out of my life. I still think about her.
Now as a shy unemployed 29-year-old still living at home, I was determined not to make the same mistake. I trailed this new girl for a block and a half, and when she entered one of the stores, I dashed across the street and followed her in. It was a tiny room filled with middle-aged men who kept their heads down and their eyes on their own business. Shelves were stacked with rows of boxes covered in blondes and swear words and genitalia. It was a pornography store, and my true love was the clerk.
When I got home, ma was on the couch again watching Oprah.
"What'd you rent?"
"Huh?"
"I see you stopped off at Blockbuster. What'd you get?"
"Nothing. You wouldn't like it."
"Did they have The Thin Man? I told you I want to see The Thin Man."
"You've already seen it."
"It's a classic."
I'm no prude, but I've never been much of a pornography renter. I suppose it's because our only VCR's in the livingroom, and one or the other of my parents is always here. But I needed an excuse to talk to her. Her name is Shauna. She's a vegetarian.
That night we had leftover pot roast. Dad had just gotten back from bingo. "You know who I ran into? Audrey Lankershue. Wife of Daniel Lankershue, who I used to work with at the used car lot, remember? And do you know who's back in town? Their daughter Lindsey. You should call that girl. Daniel's doing well for himself. He owns a chain of his own used car lots now. He could set you up with a pretty sweet deal." But I didn't want Lindsey Lankershue and her father's sweet deal. I wanted Shauna the porn vendor. The carrots in the pot roast were wrinkly from their night in the fridge, and it grossed me out, so I excused myself from the table.
I returned the videos the next day without having watched them. When I got there, Shauna was alone. This was my chance to ask her out without an audience of old pervs to witness my rejection. I pussied out.
"I was thinking... some of the facts you told me about red meat... it makes a lot of sense. I was wondering if you have any of those vegan recipes you could give me. I need to be more careful about what I put into my body."
Then a customer showed up and made a beeline for the "Women on Women" aisle. I recognized him instantly as my high school World Cultures teacher. In class he wore horn-rimmed glasses and shortsleeved white dress shirts that gathered massive armpit sweatstains. But here he wore sunglasses even indoors, and a sparkly violet polyester number with the top button undone. We pretended not to remember one another. His name was Mr. Bruce.
I rented "Black Like My Coffee" and "The Seven Tongues of Mr. Mystero," and Shauna gave me a recipe for couscous with pine nuts and green apple.
It occurred to me, of course, that Shauna might find my imaginary porn habit repulsive. Though her job suggested she was an open-minded girl, I suppose it's possible she just needed the work, and might completely hate the business. But I'd committed myself to this character. And the truth-that I was merely stalking her-sounded far worse than any lies I might be weaving.
Ma got laid up in the hospital that night with an unexplained fainting spell. Dad and I went to keep her company the next morning. I only stayed a short while. I said I had a job interview.
"What sort of job?"
"A banker."
"What do you know about banking?"
Dad told her to leave me be. After all, what had he really known about sales before he joined the team at Joe Tulluzi Chevrolet some 20-odd years ago? And in any case, it would certainly be good experience for me to go on an interview of any sort-an argument ma grudgingly accepted. So in my longsleeved pink shirt and striped red tie, in my gray slacks I last wore for my senior class photo, now tourniqueting a roll of belly fat, I headed home to watch "The Seven Tongues..."
The last time I can remember watching a porno was 1992 in Dave Larson's dorm room. I was the first of us to turn 21, so I brought over two cases, and me and Dave and Dave's roommate watched... I forget what it was called now. I remember getting a hard-on and trying to sit crooked so I wouldn't be found out. I wonder if they had hard-ons too. I remember drinking so much that I forgot everything that happened after a certain point. I suppose it's such situations that can make a man go gay, but I don't think it happened that night.
I removed my slacks because I didn't want to stain them, but I left on the shirt and tie because I was lazy, and because I wanted to pretend I was a hotshot executive getting serviced under the desk.
Mr. Mystero was a big hairy dude who could sprout six extra tongues when he said the magic word. The magic word was "Zanzabar."
The movie looked old, and I couldn't help but wonder what its stars were up to these days. I orgasmed easily, and checked carefully for traces on the armchair. My dad walked in the front door. I never heard him coming. He was very surprised.
"Your mother wanted me to get her crosswords book."
"It's in the kitchen, I think."
I didn't bother to cover my genitals; it seemed too late for that.
"How was the job interview?"
I didn't answer him because I couldn't tell if he was serious.
"Zanzabar," said Mr. Mystero.
*
That evening I visited mom at the hospital. I brought her the couscous with apples and nuts. She looked it over distrustfully.
"What the hell is this?"
"Health food."
I thought most likely my father hadn't told her about that afternoon. But I suppose I'll never know for sure. She asked me how the interview went.
"I don't think I got it."
"No shit," she replied.
The doctors had told my mother they couldn't find anything wrong with her. They wanted to keep her there one more day to be sure, but would probably send her home after that.
"Those fuckers don't know anything," said mom. "There's something wrong with me. I can feel it."
And that I agree with. There's something surely wrong with all three of us, my parents and me. But I suspect it's something all the doctors in the world couldn't fix.
On my way out I passed a man slowly making his way across the lobby with the help of a walker. He wore lavender polka dot pajamas, and he must've been a thousand years old. He tried speaking to me, but all that came out was a moan, the sound of a refrigerator pushed across a linoleum floor. I didn't understand a single syllable, but I stood there and listened politely, and sooner or later he got bored of me and left.
*
I rushed back to return the videos. The store was supposed to close at 10, but Shauna always started locking up at 9:48. I got there at 9:46. She was alone.
"Slow night, huh?"
"Yeah. So how were they?"
"Hmm?"
"The videos."
"Oh. I only watched the one. And even that, not all the way through."
"Yeah, that's usually how it works."
She locked up the register and shut off the air conditioning. In the corner was a 4-foot-tall cardboard cutout of some actress. She was topless, with Christmas lights for nipples, and Shauna turned them off for the evening.
"Can I ask you something," she began, "without you getting offended?"
I told her that she could.
"Why are men so obsessed with sex?"
What kind of question was that to ask? It's a subject people could write dissertations on. You could build a career in talk radio simply prattling about that topic. It's a question so immense I could answer it a hundred different ways, and every one would seem to have some truth to it. But I still like the response I gave her that evening.
"Because they think it'll make them happy."
And Shauna and I stepped outside, and she locked the door behind her.
"OK," she said. "I was just curious."