Gay Fiction, Volume 1 Page 16

  “It’s okay.”

  “Really?” She jumped out of her chair, coming around to kiss me. Her breath smelled like vinegar and brown sugar. “Thanks, hon, thanks a million. We’ll just be downtown, less than ten minutes—”

  “Frannie, the boy isn’t retarded,” interjected Scott. “Derek knows how to handle himself, don’t you, Derek? But I’m not sure leaving him alone with that hothead is such a good—”

  “No, it’s o-okay.”

  Scott’s eyes roamed over my face. Scanning. “Keep an eye on him.”

  To ask me to watch Nick all night was like asking a quadriplegic to sit down.

  Scott got to his feet. “Page me at this number if you need to reach your auntie.”

  He handed me a paper. I stuffed it into my pocket and went to the sink to fill a glass of water. I ran the water for a few seconds, but the pipes are cold, on account of it being winter and all, so I fiddled with the faucet until I got the right temperature. I took a sip. It was satisfactory.

  When I came up to Mom and Dad’s bedroom, I heard Aunt Frannie whispering to Nick. “Keep an eye on Red. His asthma pump is on the kitchen counter.”

  Great. Nick Lund was going to be babysitting me.

  She waved to Nick. “Okay, be good.” She kissed my forehead. “Don’t stay up too late, hon.”

  “Don’t worry, Ms. Saint-Jacques.” Nick was smiling from ear to ear. “I’ll make sure he brushes his teeth and everything.”

  Scott squinted suspiciously and pulled Aunt Frannie out the door. “Come on, or we’ll miss the previews.”

  They shut the door behind them.

  Brush my teeth?

  I frowned and folded my arms over myself.

  Nick glanced back at Lene. She was sleeping soundly, drowned in a sea of green flannel. “Okay,” he whispered. “Go brush your teeth and get into bed.”

  The corners of my mouth sagged.

  He walked off, heading for the kitchen. “O’Reilly,” he said without looking back, “I’m fucking kiddin’. Get your ass in here.”

  My heart fluttered, but I followed.

  “Think I can have the rest of this lemon pie?” Nick’s head was inside the fridge.

  I nodded.

  His blue eyes appeared over the fridge door. “Did you say yeah?”

  I nodded again, trying to steady my beating heart.

  “Want some?” he asked, scooping the citrus mess into his hand.

  That lemon pie had been on the shelf since Monday. It was yellow in the middle, but tawny at the edges.

  Nick stuffed a whole piece inside his mouth, grimaced, and hurried to the cupboard. He fumbled for a glass and filled it with milk. “Wish I hadn’t eaten that.” He looked my way. “O’Reilly, you should have warned me.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and a long shiver rattled him. “That was the nastiest lemon pie I ever had, and I’ve had my share of nasty food, trust me.”

  My shoulders shook a little as I held back a laugh.

  Nick popped the pantry open. “Need to get this taste out of my mouth.” He began rummaging through the cans and dry goods. “Let’s see.”

  Unless Nick knew how to make something out of corn meal and old molasses, that lemon pie was going to be the last decent thing he would find in our house. Aunt Frannie doesn’t believe in shopping for food. She likes to stop by the store after work and buy something for that night’s dinner. No more, no less. Problem is, what am I supposed to eat in the remaining twenty-three hours?

  “You got ten bucks?” Nick had emptied the contents of his wallet on the counter. I counted twenty-seven cents.

  I shrugged.

  “Forget it.” He rubbed his chin, staring out into space. “Bad idea anyway. I’m just food trippin’. It’ll pass.”

  Food tripping?

  “You got a tape deck?” He was flicking lights on in the living room. “Some tapes or records?”

  I pointed to my dad’s sound system. I’m not allowed to play it.

  Nick crouched down next to it. “Sweet.” He looked up. “You got some tapes?”

  There’s a box of them in Dad’s closet.

  “In-in my pa-pa-par—”

  “O’Reilly. Take a breath. Your parents’ room?”

  I nodded. “Clo-closet.”

  Nick got to his feet and disappeared into the hall. I chewed on my lip, watching the snow fall, trying not to see the redheaded boy in the window’s reflection. I couldn’t believe that boy was me. So insignificant looking.

  So mediocre.

  “All right, let’s see what we can find.” Nick had found the big red box and set it on his lap. He pulled a cassette out and flipped it around. His blond eyebrows met as he stared at the white label. He shrugged, tossing the tape back into the box. I watched him do this for twelve minutes. Finally, he had exhausted the box’s contents. “Your dad a religious nut or something?”

  I’ve never thought of that.

  Perhaps.

  “The only thing I wouldn’t mind popping in the deck is this one. Not so bad, I guess. Used to listen to this when I was a kid.” He slid the cassette in the deck and pushed the rewind button.

  I watched the light get caught in his hair, thinking about the sun streaming through the church’s tainted windows. When my eyes moved over his mouth, my penis twitched a little, so I made myself imagine grandma’s avocado green toilet seat.

  Then Elvis began singing.

  Something-something wise men don’t rush into things.

  Nick jumped to his feet. “Fuck, this man can belt out a song!”

  I guess so.

  I noticed Nick’s eyes were different. They were two gigantic swimming pools. Like the ones in the ads Aunt Frannie always sighs over. “Come to the Caribbean,” so on, so forth. Yes, his eyes looked just like those turquoise pools. So fresh and inviting. There was something dancing in them too. Something wild.

  I stood in the living room, trying not to look stupid.

  Nick plopped down on the couch, staring up. “You know O’Reilly, I’m gonna split one day. Gonna live in Greece.” He closed his eyes for a second. “And own a resort. Just off the shore. Call it Blue Dreams.”

  My saliva had run out. Or maybe all of it had drained into the creases of my palms. “Ni-i-ice.”

  Nick cracked an eye open. “Yeah.” He sat up, pulling something from his back pocket. “So, what do you wanna do, O’Reilly, you know, after you’ve made it out of this shithole of a town?”

  My cheeks scorched, but I don’t know why. “I wa-wanna be an accountant.”

  Nick cocked his head. “Yeah? Good stuff. You like math?”

  I nodded.

  “Yeah, well—” Nick was dropping some green stuff into a small paper, “I take it English isn’t your strongest subject.”

  Actually, I’m quite good in English. If I’m not asked to speak any of it.

  Nick ran his tongue along the side of the skinny cigarette he had rolled up. He rose. “I’m gonna smoke this on the porch. Be right back.”

  “I’ll co-come.”

  Why I say these things. I don’t know.

  Nick looked me up and down, and smiled. “Okay, but don’t ask me what it is, or if you can try some, okay? I don’t intend on floatin’ up in the canal in three weeks.”

  I suppose he meant Officer Di Paglio and his new protective interest in me.

  “Put a coat on.” Nick stuffed his feet inside his big black boots, but didn’t bother with lacing them up. “And button it up too. All the way.”

  I slipped on my coat and even wrapped a scarf around my neck.

  We stepped out on the back porch.

  As soon as I shut the door behind me, the cold wind whipped my face, and in an instant, every muscle in my body had tensed. I began shivering.

  “Oh fuck me.” Nick was trying to light his cigarette, shifting his weight from leg to leg. “It’s deadly out here. You should go back inside.”

  “No, it’s o-okay.”

  He finally lit the
slim white tube, and I watched him suck on it. Nick held his breath in for a long time, like he wasn’t sure where it was suppose to go, before slowly letting some of the smoke out. It streamed out of his nose and lips, making clouds of white vapor around his face. He sucked on it another time, then carefully extinguished the end of it between his wet fingers and tucked it back into a plastic bag, which he stuffed into his back pocket. “All right,” he said against the howling wind. “Let’s go back inside. My dick’s gettin’ freezer burn.”

  Inside, Nick let out a cry of relief. “Wow, that was brutal.” His smile was a little crooked, and his pupils had overflowed into the blue ocean around them. “Oh man, I love this song.” He made his way back to the living room. “Let’s see how good your old man’s sound system is. Lene sleeps like the dead anyway.”

  Within seconds, the walls were shaking. The floor under my feet trembled.

  I rushed to the living room, firmly intended on turning the volume down before Mrs. Markov, our upstairs neighbor, called the police. But I stopped short.

  Nick was dancing.

  Singing too.

  Something-something desk clerk in black.

  He knew all the words, like he had written the song himself. Then the guitar broke out, some piano too. Nick climbed on top of our coffee table, and with a sway of his hips, began stroking an invisible guitar. His eyes were closed, and I was glad they were, because mine were wide-open, drinking in this unexpected vision. I had never seen anyone move like that. Not even Uncle Ted, and he’s won a few dancing contests, or so Aunt Frannie says. Nick’s hips rolled and swung from side to side as if his feet had eyes of their own. As I watched him skid up and down that table, my own feet seemed to come alive.

  But I clenched my toes and stuffed my hands into my pockets.

  Then another song came on, and this one sent Nick into some kind of dancing trance. Something about rocking in a prison. Nick howled just like a werewolf and jumped off the table, shaking his body like he had been electrocuted. I shrank back a little. “Come on, O’Reilly!” he screamed over the music. He was out of breath and wild-eyed. Before I knew it, my hand was in his and he had spun me around a few times.

  For a second, the floor was where the ceiling should have been, and my brain felt loose inside my skull.

  The music thundered inside me, like it was moving up my limbs and shaking all their contents. Nick hadn’t let go of my hand. His long fingers were wrapped around mine and he was jerking me around like a noodle. “Let’s see your moves, little man.”

  My moves?

  Nick laughed and spun me around again. “Like this,” he said over the blasting music. His fingers let go of mine, and as soon as they did, I missed them, but within seconds, his hands were pressed against my hips. “Go with it. Dancing is about pushing and pulling.” I was stiffer than an iron stick, but Nick began swaying again, only this time, he locked me in, and I had no choice but to follow his movements. “Relax.” He pressed his hot mouth against my ear, sending shivers down my shoulders. “Listen, O’Reilly.”

  The music had a fast tempo, but the baseline was smooth, slower, and that’s the beat we were following. I began hearing it better, as if it had disconnected itself from the rest of the instruments, and suddenly, my hips could hear it too. “Oh yeah, you’re gettin’ it now.” Nick laughed, and my heart leaped at the sight of his perfect smile. He released his grip on my waist only to enclose my hand in his again, and in brusque movements, he pulled me in, then set me loose, pulled me in, then out again. Spun me around, then pulled me in, pushed me out, then spun me around in the other direction. The colors had all blended in. The living room lamp was at one time to my left, at another, at my right. Once in a while, I caught our reflection in the window, but I couldn’t believe it was ours. The more he pushed and pulled on me, the more limber I got. I couldn’t feel anything else but his chest and hands. His laughter was mad, and it shook me deep, until it broke a smile out of me. Nick spun me around one last time before gently releasing me, but the dancing wasn’t over. No. We both had lost our minds, it seemed. We ran around the living room, jumping over the furniture, climbing on the couches, bouncing off the walls like we had stolen away from Never Land.

  The music wasn’t important anymore.

  We were tuned in to something else.

  My lips tasted like sweat, and my breath was short, but nothing of that mattered. I was insane with freedom. Nick had found Aunt Frannie’s broom and was singing into it, putting Elvis to shame.

  This lasted until I couldn’t remember what life was really about.

  But soon, a quiet song came on, and we both glanced over at each other. I could see Nick’s chest heave. Mine hurt a little. “Well, shit,” he said, grinning. “Your body sure knows what to do.”

  Nick turned the volume down before going into the kitchen.

  I stood still in the middle of the room, letting my body recover from this new experience.

  Nick soon came back with two tall glasses of water. I drank mine in three deep gulps.

  “I wanna show you somethin’,” he said, still trying to catch his breath.

  I swallowed.

  Nick winked. “Check this out.” In one quick motion, he pulled his sweater over his head.

  My eyes immediately darted to the floor. My mouth filled with saliva, but I couldn’t make myself look up.

  “You like it? It’s a rune. It symbolizes travel. A journey. Personal rhythm.”

  I nodded. “It’s ni-i-ice.”

  “O’Reilly, you haven’t even looked.”

  Well. I didn’t need to.

  The way Nick had whispered those words had shot a dose of excitement inside my belly. I blinked, slowly raising my gaze. As my eyes passed his leather studded belt, they hesitated, but curiosity egged them on higher, over his flat stomach, which had a fine line of blond fuzz shooting down into his jeans, then higher, over his chest.

  When my eyes reached his nipples, the heat inside my stomach made me a little nauseous.

  Nick’s chest looks like a man’s chest, but without the hair.

  “So, what do you think? Pretty cool, huh?”

  Above his left nipple was a blue R. Just a letter. And the letter R, of all letters. Not very moving. “You-your mom-mom know about—it?”

  Nick shrugged. “I don’t give a flying fuck what my old lady says,” he sneered. “I’m gonna be outta here soon anyway.”

  My teeth found my lip.

  Nick slipped back into his sweater. “I remind her of her dad. Or something.” His eyes glimmered. “Better off this way.”

  Why couldn’t I find something to say to him? Something meaningful.

  Nick ran his hand over his face and smiled, but there was a hint of sadness in that smile. “Where does your aunt keep her makeup?”

  He was already making his way to the bathroom.

  I followed.

  I paused in the doorway, watching Nick rummage through the cabinets. “Here it is.”

  Makeup.

  What now?

  “Sit down.” Nick pointed to the closed lid.

  I hesitated, but soon obeyed. How could I refuse him anything?

  “Look up.”

  I raised my chin. Nick towered over me. His stomach was at my eye level, but I lifted my gaze to his face.

  “Don’t move,” he whispered. His breath seemed short. “I don’t wanna put your eye out.” He plucked the tip off Aunt Frannie’s black eyeliner with his teeth. “Don’t worry, I’m pretty good at this.”

  I held my breath.

  Nick brought the sharp point of the black crayon to the corner of my eye. I drew back a little at the sharpness of it. “O’Reilly, trust me.” I could smell the lemon on his breath. “Keep your eyes wide open and keep looking up.” As he ran the tip of the eyeliner all along the edge of my eye, his hands were surprisingly steady. “Oh man—” He stepped back to assess his work. “Your eyes look fucking wicked.” He pulled me up and turned me around.

  Wh
en I caught sight of myself in the mirror, I immediately frowned.

  Nick laughed. “What? You look super trash.”

  I came in closer, studying my eyes with wonder. The black contour made the green of my irises shine. Like my eyes were radioactive, almost phosphorescent.

  Supernatural.

  “Ah, I can tell.” Nick watched me in the mirror. “You like it. Don’t deny it.”

  I shrugged, but couldn’t tear my eyes away from our reflection.

  “You wanna try some lipstick?”

  There was something in Nick’s tone, something tense, and suddenly, I realized what we were doing might be wrong. Nick shut the door. “Just the light shades, no red or anything.” He began twisting caps off the lipstick tubes, apparently looking for the right color. “Here we go,” he whispered, settling on a blush tone. “Let’s go with this one.”

  I instinctively sealed my lips shut.

  Nick touched my arm. “It’s cool, man, I do this to Dave all the time. He does a lot of plays and stuff.”

  My lips were still sealed.

  “O’Reilly, don’t fucking look at me like that.” He laughed. “You’ve got a pretty intimidating stare, you know that? Anyways, it’s not like I’m gonna tell anybody. It’ll be our little secret.”

  My head was on an elevator ride without my body. The heat drained out of me.

  My penis had stretched to the point of pain.

  If he didn’t touch me, I would die.

  “Hey.” Nick’s voice had an urgency in it. “You okay?”

  My hands shook. I know, because I couldn’t wipe the makeup from my eyes.

  “O’Reilly? Hey. Goddamn it, look at me.” His hands hovered over my face, but he didn’t touch my skin.

  The bathroom didn’t have a door anymore. It had lost its window. And there was no air.

  No air.

  “Calm down. O’Reilly, calm the fuck down. Oh shit, come on man, don’t do this.”

  Heard him, yes, but couldn’t answer. Couldn’t stop shaking, thrashing.

  Then Nick left.