Shedding Light on the Shade

Something tells me I should get used to this.

 

October 12 -- Pasadena, CA

Leonard Koplitsky here, filing a fresh dispatch from a town I’m guessing I’ll be spending a whole hell of a lot more time in… Pasadena, California. 

Here in Kitty Walker's hometown, I've slowly begun accepting, shall we say, alternative lifestyles.  Not that they require my acceptance.  But, with that said, as is perpetual in these parts, I'm gonna get my two cents in.

Today, friends, I come to you from a North Light Coffee on California Ave.  You might be wondering why, after the gangbusting work I did vis a vis the wedding dress showdown, to say nothing of last week’s huge find -- that Senator Cabbage Patch had to skedaddle out of Iowa for some urgent Kitty business in LA — why I’m drinking a soy beverage in this practically Communist coffee chain. 

The answer is simple.  My fearless beacon at the Adamson Campaign, Karen, read my blog.

You might remember a few unfortunate things I wrote about her here.  So.

(The girl to my right is so gorgeous I think she must be French!)

The last couple of days I’ve been on Walker duty.  Not Kitty, my love and the lustrous namesake of my new iPod.  Not their feisty matriarch Nora.  Not Justin, the family hero. 

Last and most disappointing, not the mysterious beauty who wanders around the house all day, occasionally peeping out to secretly photograph the neighbor’s gardener. (I’ve finally learned her name:  Rebecca.)

Nope.  I’m on Kevin duty.  I got the gay brother.

I have to feel Karen must have smirked as she devised this exquisite, voyeuristic torture.  She was none too happy about the allegations I made about her and my colleague, Margaret.  Well, the allegations she alleges I made.  I think if you read through my old posts you’ll find nothing concrete.

But here I go, for the record:  “If it seemed I suggested impropriety between Karen ____ and a member of her staff, I was mistaken.  She is utterly above reproach, is positively heterosexual, and in fact may be a genius.”

On the subject of Kevin Walker… I’ve heard that he’s in a relationship with Senator McCallister’s brother, Jason.  That was all the buzz last week, when Luther Reeves spread it around the Red airwaves like avian flu.

However, if that’s the case, then all the stereotypes about gay men and their sexual promiscuity are true.

While Kevin’s work as a lawyer mostly consists of corporate litigation, I did sit in on a misdemeanor case in which he represented a gay man (former lover?) who had harassed a police officer.  No doubt the defilement of the badge is one of Kevin’s oldest fantasies, so I’m sure he took a special satisfaction in the outcome.

I'd bet you my heterosexuality Kevin Walker loves Banksy's work.

Much worse, the other day I watched from afar as Kevin entered the Walker homestead.  Then I snuck around the side of the house with my DV camera, tracking him from window to window until he entered the bathroom and began laboriously setting the stage for some extreme hardcore unwinding.

Soon bubbles were floating around by the hundreds while, from within, I could hear some of the…forgive me for saying so, gayer tones I’ve ever heard. 
Vibe-y grooves to melt your scented candle, if you get my driftage.

I shut off my camera.  Whether this was my vocation or not was immaterial.  I simply didn't have the heart to watch.  We all do embarrassing things when we're alone, even when the whole family is gathered in the other room.  What if he was about to...I can hardly bring myself to say it...touch himself?  Or was this just how all gay men went to the bathroom. 

Or perhaps this was the first step in orchestrating a seduction.  Perhaps Kevin was about to play host to a bathtub indiscretion with another man.

Let me be clear.  Unlike many vocal conservatives, I have no problem with homosexuals per se.  I'm not about to stuff marriage licenses in their Christmas stockings, but a fundamental right in America is the right to privacy.  But infidelity is its own beast, something that couples of all orientations contend with.  Infidelity is liberalism in its grossest form.

Embarrassed for myself, I high-tailed it back to my car, nearly tripping on the garden hose, and popped in Quixote to soothe my jangled nerves.

Thinking about this possible betrayal, I almost wanted to tell the Senator so he could save his poor (if sexually misguided) brother from a lifetime of potential deceit and heartbreak, to say nothing of aesthetically suspect bathing habits. 

But it seemed the only outcomes of such rash action would be:  a) the loss of my job for communicating with the enemy, and b) getting reamed by Kevin Walker… legally speaking. 

So once again, I bottled up my trauma and released it only to you, my friends and family back home in Ann Arbor… along with whoever happens to stumble onto this blog via accidental Google search.

See how well-behaved I was this time, Karen?

Adios,

Lenny