Geri: A Post-Pandemic LGBTQ+ Novel About Something

Geri

A Post-Pandemic LGBTQ+ Novel About Something

Paul Lima

Dedication: This book is dedicated to the Rainbow, including all my LGBTQ+ family members and friends.

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Acknowledgments: I'd like to thank Richard Fisher for his excellent proofreading of the novel, and I would like to give a heart-felt thanks to Gabriele Pulpan for copy editing the book and making insightful comments that that I took to heart when writing my final draft of Geri.

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Note: I made a number of edits after the book was proofread. I did my best to avoid errors, but you may find the occasional typo. If you see a typo, email the error to paulmslima@gmail.com and I will correct the mistake in the next edition of Geri. Of course if you want to comment on the book, good, bad, or indifferent, email me.

When all . . . are treated as equal, no matter who they are or whom they love, we are all more free.—Barack Obama

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I hate the word homophobia. It's not a phobia. You're not scared. You're an asshole.—Morgan Freeman

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I think being gay is a blessing, and it's something I am thankful for every single day.—Anderson Cooper

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I've been embraced by a new community. That's what happens when you're finally honest about who you are; you find others like you.—Chaz Bono

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We should indeed keep calm in the face of differences, and live our lives in a state of inclusion and wonder at the diversity of humanity.—Jorge Takei

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Author's note: Seinfeld has not formally approved this novel. Not that there is anything wrong with that.

Geri - First Edition 2020

Cover, interior design and content: Paul Lima. Copyright © 2020

Published by Paul Lima Presents

www.paullima.com/books

Manufactured in the U.S.A.

Published in Canada

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner and the publisher of the book: Paul Lima—paulmslima@gmail.com.

ISBN: 978-1-927710-45-6

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

About the Author

Chapter One

Geri Sender takes to the Klub de Komedy stage, with a red neon Klub de Komedy sign blazing behind them. They are in their early thirties, just over five feet tall, a solid build if somewhat slim-chested, wearing dark blue jeans, a tie-dyed pink t-shirt, and a carpentry belt with various tools in it. They pull up their carpentry belt which has slipped below their hips, brush back their rainbow streaked hair, place their hands to the sides of their deep-set eyes and peer into the audience in the small, dark room. They take a deep breath and begin.

We're four months into the year 2025. A year after the coronavirus vaccine. Hope you've had your shot. They flex a bare arm. "I've had mine. Still red and blotchy. But at least the headaches, nausea, and exhaustion have gone away. Not sure what's worse: coronavirus or the reaction to the coronavirus vaccine.

And we are officially five hundred years from 2525, the song by Zager and Evans recorded in 1968. They probably didn't think that man would still be alive or that woman would survive by 2525. Or they wouldn't have written such crappy lyrics.

There is no laughter. Not even a mild guffaw.

Okay, you have to know the lyrics to get that joke. It's like the original computer coding guys didn't think there'd be a year 2000, hence Y2K...

Again, no laughter.

Anybody remember Y2K? No? Must be a millennial crowd tonight. Anybody want to sing 2525 with me?

There is some nervous shuffling of chairs in the audience.

Ah, that explains the zero hits for the song on YouTube. They clear their throat. You know what song has a billion hits on the Tube? Breakin' Up Is Hard To Do. Speaking of which, my partner, ex-partner, found it easy to do. She says, 'If you get a penis, then I can't get with you.' Now I don't know for certain that I want a penis. I think I do. But balls? Those wrinkled, dangly bits of flesh? How do guys put up with them? If I go for a penis, I wonder if it comes with balls? Maybe balls are optional. In which case, I'll pass. Just a dick will do. Stick shift.

At last, laughter.

My partner, ex-partner... have to get used to saying that... still lives in the same house that I live in. Yes, today's modern relationship. All the issues of living together. No sex. Between the two of us, we can't afford the rent. That's why two friends are moving in. Between the four of us, we still won't be able to make the rent, but hey, when we get evicted, we'll have a built in moving crew...

Geri does five more minutes of comedy to a few laughs, pulls their hammer out of their tool belt, twirls it like a gun, and slips it back into the belt. They take an exaggerated bow to a smattering of applause, and exit stage right.

They go back stage where they meet Gaston, another comedian, loosening up his vocal cords. Geri notices some white powder on Gaston's shirt. You might want to wipe off your shirt before you go on.

Thanks, says Gaston as he wipes the powder off his shirt into one hand and inhales it through one nostril. Hey, good set.

It was crap, says Geri.

They applauded you off the stage.

I presume that they were happy to see me go. Besides, I hear next to nothing when I'm on stage. It's as if I'm in a comedic trance. A great silence descends upon me. When I'm done, I exit stage right like Snaglepuss. Or did he exit stage left?

*     *     *

It's less than two months until Pride, Geri says to Ellie. Their rainbow-streaked black hair is shaved at the sides but longish at the front with several colourful streaks flopping over their eyes. I know we're not together, but do you want to go to the Pride Parade with me? They are sitting beside Ellie on a dilapidated couch, with strips of duct tape holding its faded tartan upholstery together.

I don't see why not, says Ellie Kim, a waifish ponytailed early thirty-something brunette with an aquiline nose, high cheekbones, and bronzed skin. Her faded blue jeans are tight. Her olive-coloured top is loose. Unless you're with somebody else by then. Or I am. Not that I'm looking. In fact, if you were to tell me you've given up thoughts of getting a penis, I'd tell you that I've given up thoughts of breaking up with you. Ellie is eating post-dinner popcorn. I will always be fond of you, but... Penis? A girl has got to draw the line somewhere.

Geri leans forward and reaches for some popcorn. Hey, says Ellie. You said you didn't want any.

I changed my mind. Besides, you can't eat a full bag. You're just going to toss the leftovers.

Ellie holds up the clear glass popcorn bowl to the living room light, a bare bulb overhead dangling on a dark, twisted wire, and squints as if measuring the quantity. Okay, but no more than three or four handfuls.

Other than a penis, says Geri as they fish a fistful of popcorn out of the bowl, I'd still be me.

Shouldn't 'me' be 'they'?

I'd still be they? Me? They? Me is a neutral pronoun so I think it works. But I'm not sure. The non-binary dictionary has yet to be written.

Ellie laughs and scoops popcorn out of the bowl. You know I still love you. I just could not love, or even like, a penis.

Ah, when did you become so narrow minded?

You were lesbian when we met. You became non-binary shortly after we moved in together. And now you think you might be transgender. As for me? Gay. Gay. Gay. No pecker for me, thank you.

I'm evolving, says Geri.

Let me know when you grow legs and can walk on land. Ellie reaches for the remote. Anything good on tonight?

*     *     *

Ellie is dressed for work in a faded blue denim dress and black leather flats. She is sitting on the couch eating breakfast when Geri comes out of the spare bedroom they are now sleeping in, wearing a ratty robe, yawning, and scratching their butt.

How romantic, Ellie says and she spoons another scoop of cereal out of her bowl. I think even if you weren't thinking of growing a penis, we'd be breaking up.

I've got nobody to get dolled up for, doll, Geri says as they pull a bowl out of a cupboard in the tiny kitchen, place it on the cracked laminated counter, and fill it with cereal. Did you make coffee?

Pot on the stove, no?

Have you seen my tool belt? I told Nadir that I'd fix his garage door hinges. He said he'd cut fifty dollars off the rent, which is two weeks overdue. Geri pours a cup of coffee. I've got no rent money. A few bucks, if I don't buy new socks or underwear.

I have a few bucks coming from my part-time minimum wage job today, but I have to shop for some food on my way home, or we don't eat. Speaking of work, I have an early shift at Rainbow Theatre today. Box office administrivia. Frankie, our new recruit, has the late shift covered.

Just think, if I was a better comedian, we'd have money, and I wouldn't have to do carpentry and repair work.

But you're not, so you do.

Thanks for the support. I'd break up with you if you hadn't already broken up with me. Geri puts down their coffee, pours milk into their cereal, and then picks up their mug. They look into it, as if inspecting it, and then move to the old armchair across from the couch,