The Chronicles of Swishy Pete

Episode: Apartment 12G


It was a quarter past ten, Delicious, Minnie, and Char were running late, when I heard my front door opened and a man in a long trench coat entered my apartment. It was October 31; right about the time every queen in the tri-state area dressed up in drag or put on heels and a wig. I knew the girls were on their way so I left the front door ajar as I dressed in my bedroom.

My eyes shot directly to the wooden baseball bat autographed by A-Rod when I saw the tall slumped over half a man with a cane standing in my living room. The bat was a gift from Patrick, a pr rep for the Yankees, who was desperately trying to hook up with Char. I grabbed the bat and slung it over my shoulder.

"What the hell are you doing in my apartment?"

"I am so sorry, sir, I must have the wrong apartment, I was looking for my daughter's apartment, is this 12G?"

"Yes, it is but I live alone, what is your daughter's name?"

"My name is Victor St John and my daughter is Jill, she is a model for Ford."

"I am Pete, sorry I do not recognize the name, do you have a picture?"

"I'm sorry I do not, I have been calling her, but she has not returned my calls."

"Maybe you just have the wrong apartment number."

"I do not see how that is possible; I send her rent checks to this apartment number when the jobs are slow."

"I wish I could be of more assistance, but I subleased this apartment from my friend Charlotte Hemingway six months ago and I do not know many people in the building."

"I am not sure what I should do, may I give you my cell number."

"I am sure your daughter is safe and sound. Excuse me one minute while I go into the bedroom to get a pen."


As I headed back to my bedroom for a pen I could not shake the feeling, one, that I'd seen him somewhere before and, two, his clothes were dated for such a young looking man. He must have a little cash tucked away if he is paying rent in this building.

It occurred to me that I had spoken to the building manager earlier this week and he gave me a business card. I heard my doorbell ring and I yelled to Mr. St. John.

"Victor, my friends are at the door would you be a lamb and let them in."

I could not find the business card and the doorbell continued to ring. "Mr. St. John could you please open the door." I found the card in my blazer jacket and headed back to the living room.

"Victor?"

I opened the front door and the gang started in on me.

"Bitch what took you so long, I need to use the ladies room," Delicious said.

"She was probably trying to squeeze his big ass and childbearing hips into a tight Tina Turner number," Minnie joked.

"Please do not tell me you are not ready Swishy?"

"Charlotte I am ready, did any of you see a man with a cane walking to the elevator?"

No--

Nope--

"Has it come to that Swishy?" D said.

"This man came into my apartment looking for his daughter."

"What man?" Char said.

"He said his name was Victor--Victor St. John--he thought his daughter lived here."

"Was her name Jill?" Char asked.

"Yes it was," said Pete.

"Pete, I bought this apartment from Victor St John; he bought it for his daughter who was an up and coming model. Her body was found slaughtered in the meatpacking district," Char said.

"My goodness, I remember that," Minnie said.

"That not the end of it, after Jill's death neighbors told me that the father would come by nightly asking if anyone had seen his daughter and finally went mad and killed himself," Char reported.

"Girl, you in danger," D exclaimed.

"Bitch stop playing—you are playing?"