It's really a shame there aren't more gay men here, because this town if overflowing with one of our favorite commodities...
Gossip.
There were many aspects of small town living for which I was ill-prepared, but I have to admit I'm a little shocked at just how up in everyone's business these folks are. In LA, if you're so inclined to do something disreputable, it's easy to slink off into the shadows and do what you have to do and no one's the wiser. Not so here.
I suppose a lot of it is to be expected in a town this small. Everyone knows, or knows of, seemingly everyone else. Everyone seems related to each other through friends, or work, of family or marriage. Or all of the above. And these people know how to dish the dirt.
I befriended several of the woman at the first agency I worked for, and we remained friends after the agency went belly up several months later. We gather for lunch about once a month and I always sit in awe at their amazing knowledge of everyone's peccadilloes. It's like watching "Dallas" or "Dynasty", minus the money and class.
They know who was spotted dining alone with his secretary while the wife was away. They know who was spied down at the Crystal Palace doing jello shots on a school night. They know who keeps a stripper as a girlfriend on the side, but the wife doesn't mind because she's banging the DJ at the Hourglass out in the parking lot. They know who was grinding on boys her son's age over at the Elephant Bar and who just got out of rehab. They know everything!
Now I have to admit that they've been invaluable to me as I've tried to build up my business. In addition to all the sordid dirt, they also know which businesses are doing well and which aren't, who's difficult to work with but pays well, and who's a notorious deadbeat. They've steered me to some valuable clients, and for that I'm grateful. But let's be honest, we meet for the dirt.
Up until now, I was only a spectator. Although I'm slowly meeting more people and have a sense of who everyone is, I just didn't have any dish to contribute to the conversation.
Until a few weeks ago.
One of my clients is well known around town. I met her last year when she was going through a nasty divorce. Then shortly after the first of the year, she and her husband unexpectedly reconciled. They revealed their reunion in true Bako fashion, parading arm in arm up the center aisle of church one Sunday, to audible gasps. The word on the street was everything was hunky dory again.
About a month ago, on a Friday, I had just finished a job for her and e-mailed it off. It was about 3 o'clock and I had nothing pending so I decided to knock off early and take care of some housework. I was outside watering some plants when all of a sudden she pulled up and parked across the street.
Why was she here?
Had I forgotten something?
Was she dropping off a job?
It then dawned on me that she didn't know where I lived.
She got out of her car and I was just about to say something. She was wearing giant Jackie O shades and was glancing furtively up and down the street. She then rushed up to the front gate of the condo across the street, whipped out some keys and let herself in. It was pretty clear from her actions that this wasn't her first time at the rodeo.
I know next to nothing about the guy who lives there. I've only ever seen him once. He appears to be late forties and he drives a BMW. That's all I know.
Maybe it was innocent. Maybe he was a client. Maybe she was just dropping something off. When the car was still there two hours later, it seemed pretty obvious... she was having an affair! But maybe it wasn't her. I snuck across the street to check the car. Here's a helpful hint: If you're going to be carrying on an illicit affair in this town it's probably best to ditch the vanity plates. Especially if they have your NAME on them.
They seem to have a regular Afternoon Delight schedule, Wednesdays and Fridays.
So I was thrilled to finally have my first real scoop. And as luck would have it I was having lunch with the girls the following week. When we finally met for lunch, I eventually got to my story. I told them what I knew and settled back in my chair with the sense of satisfaction of a six grader who just delivered their first book report.
The three of them scowled at me.
"AND...?"
And what?
"What's his name, where does he work, what does he do... we want details!"
I sheepishly told them that that was all that I had.
"Amateur" one of them said with disgust.
Well how was I supposed to get that kind of info?
Exasperated, another of them explained.
"You Google the address, your run the plates..."
Run the plates?!?! What am I? Fucking InterPol?
"Give me the license plate. I have a girlfriend down at the DMV."
These women played to win, and they didn't take prisoners.
I have to say, the whole episode left me a little shaken, but I think I've learned a valuable lesson about prying into other people's lives.
And that lesson is... you can get a shocking amount of information on someone just by Googling their address. I now have his name, employer and school history. I also know what he paid for his house. Maybe I can get his credit score if I have time.
The girls will be so pleased when I see them tomorrow.
