“You know, I heard that you talked to Kerry about me,” John said, taking a sip from his regular coffee.
“Yeah,” Calvin responded casually, “I figured that might get back to you.”
“Isn’t there some kind of code preventing you from ratting me out. We’re friends Calvin. It’s pretty weak of you to badmouth me just to try to score with some girl.”
“I wasn’t trying to score with her John.”
“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t blame you if you were, but trust me, that girl would not be worth the effort required.”
Calvin thought for a while before he responded. “I used to believe in codes, and in unwritten understandings. Then I got tired of covering for you. You’re not just breaking hearts here John, at least when it comes to girls like Kerry, you’re also messing with their worldview.”
“You know as well as I do Calvin that her ‘worldview’ is garbage.”
“So now your job is to shake the faith of those you decide to be weak-minded? That’s not what it says on the CD cover I was reading yesterday.”
“Screw the CD cover!” This wasn’t the first time that Calvin had called John to task on his excessive lifestyle, but it was the first time that he contrasted it with the message his CDs and posters conveyed. “I’m an artist Calvin! My art, the music, the promotional stuff, that all has a purpose. I’m not bound to live my life that way. You know, my manager encourages me to do my own thing, as long as none of it becomes high profile.”
“Who’s your manager these days?”
“His name’s Joe L. Boisvert. You might not remember him, but he went to college with us. He didn’t like you all that much. Anyway, he not only encourages it, he wants me to email him about it. It creeps me out thinking about him sitting at his computer waiting to read about my sex life.”
After a short pause, Calvin switched the discussion back to Kerry. “You know, to be honest, Kerry’s asking questions that would have come up pretty soon anyway, but you’ve still gotta be more sensitive about these things.”
“Since we’re being honest with each other Calvin,” John started. The tension of the conversation had eased a bit, “you may as well hear this from me. Girls don’t want sensitivity; it’s a sign of weakness. At least that’s been my experience.”
“It’s all I’ve got,” laughed Calvin. “I don’t have your rock star good looks.”
The serious issues quickly passed as their conversation shifted back on to other issues. The coffee shop had that affect on these old friends.
The next night, the same John Kraybill sat in an apartment at the other end of the city. That night too he preferred to avoid any kind of serious issues. He had something much more recreational in mind. The girl who his arm was around was well aware of what he was thinking. Over the past few weeks, she had been quite the willing participant in that particular activity. She surprised even herself by resisting when he leaned in to kiss her.
“I don’t think we should,” she said pushing him back, “not tonight.”
This kind of hesitation was new to John, at least in this stage of relationships. “What’s got into you?” he asked.
“I just don’t think that we should be doing this.”
“Zoie,” he began, saying her name as though her were trying to bring back the girl he had been with the past few nights, “how about you let me worry about my own conscience?”
“That’s just it,” she exclaimed, “I think you stopped worrying about your own conscience a long time ago. Girls like Kerry really look up to you, and when you act like this …”
“Have you told her about this?” he asked, interrupting her scolding. His image could only be maintained if these secret sexual relationships were kept secret. Girls like Kerry, though less physically involved, were too ashamed to tell anyone of any importance.
“Don’t worry, your dirty little secret is still safe,” she said, mocking his self-interest. John was relieved, but was slightly troubled to realize something else. Most of the girls he had this kind of short-lived fling with saw it as their dirty little secret too. “But I have been talking to her,” Zoie continued, “and when you act like you do, it really messes a girl like her up. Doesn’t that bother you?”
“It hasn’t seemed to bother you until now,” he said defensively.
“I’ll admit, this hasn’t been my finest moral moment either, but I’m not sure I want to be with someone who says one thing on the stage, and is a different animal in the bedroom.”
“So what do you want from me?” John asked.
“I want you to be honest about who are.”
“I’m a performing artist Zoie. If I only sang about what I believed, I’d lose my whole fan base. My honesty would cost me my job.” It was an issue thought about before, but only because he was starting to really care for Zoie, and the fact that his arousal had worn off, that he could articulate it calmly. “I’m creating a spiritual experience for these people. Doesn’t that count for something?”
“But it’s fake,” she protested, “doesn’t that bother you?”
“It’s not entirely fake,” he said, “I do believe some of it.”
“Still, I think you should call off your next few shows, at least until we’ve worked some of this stuff out.”
“So what brought you to cancel your shows?” asked a bewildered Calvin as the two friends sat at their regular table at the coffee shop.
“Zoie’s got me thinking about being more honest with myself,” explained John, “but really, it’s stuff I’ve been thinking about for a while. We’re going to sit down and work out some of this faith stuff together.”
“Zoie!” said Calvin. A few weeks ago, this revelation would have been a lot more painful than it was now. “Were you sleeping with her?”
John nodded his head. “Bad idea, eh?”
“I don’t know, John. It’s a bad idea that crossed my mind a few times.” They laughed.
“I was going to ask if you wanted to join us for this conversation process, but if you’re going to be distracted …”
“Don’t worry,” Calvin laughed. “I’ll be fine, besides, things are moving along well with Kerry now.” He hadn’t ever been in a position to tell John about his own relationships before, but strangely he didn’t feel like bragging. “You know, this might be just the thing Kerry needs too. Maybe the four of us could chat about this some time.”
That Sunday, the church bulletin announced that the John Kraybill concert had been cancelled.
“I wonder why it was cancelled,” asked a middle aged woman to her friend in the pew beside her.
“I hear he lost his faith,” came the reply.
“Isn’t that a shame.”
