As You Are (7 page)

I rolled my eyes and snatched up the phone. “Listen, you sick fuck. I don't have a pussy, and if I did, I'm pretty certain you'd be the last person I'd let anywhere near it.”

“Julian!”

“Mom?” I pulled the phone away and cringed as I looked at the display.
Would it have killed me to take two seconds to check the caller ID?

“What a truly distasteful way to answer the phone.” She was near hysterics. “Have you been hanging around your father again?”

“No, Mom, there was a prank phone caller; I thought he was… Never mind, I'm sorry.”
Good Christ, someone shoot me.

“Prank phone call or not, that is a disgusting, vulgar way to talk. If he calls back again, you just hang up. I don't want my baby speaking that way.”

“I'm twenty-eight years old, Mother. There are no longer any dirty words I haven't heard or used at this point.”

“Well, it's never too late to better yourself as an individual. I did not raise my son to communicate in such a manner. I can't believe I just heard
my
little baby using the
P
word.” Her voice was practically back to normal now.

“Mom, I said I was sorry. What's going on? Why are you calling? Is everything all right?”

“Aside from your potty mouth, everything is fine. I was calling to let you know that I'm flying in on Tuesday. I wanted to see you, so I thought I'd come up for four or five days. You haven't used the credit card I gave you for several months, so I'm a little worried about you.”

“I told you I was going to try not to.”
Does no one listen to me?

“I know, darling, but I didn't think you were serious.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I used it to buy some suits the other day.”

“Really,” she said excitedly. “Does that mean you're trying to get a real job?”

“No, Mom, it means I had a date and I wanted to look nice.” I spied my smokes on the windowsill and got up off the sofa.

“Was it with Danny?”

Oh Christ, here we go
. “Of course not. Don't be ridiculous.”

“Julian, why do you always insist on making things more difficult for yourself than they have to be? You are living with a handsome, charming, available man who owns his own business and is financially secure. You need look no farther than the next room, yet you run around exhausting yourself looking for I don't know what.”

I took a deep breath before lighting my cigarette. “Mom, I know how much you love Danny, but that doesn't mean that I do, and why do you automatically assume that he sits at home pining away for me while I go out looking for men?” I opened the window and took a seat, exhaling dramatically. “Did you ever stop to think that maybe he isn't interested in me?”

“Whatever you say, dear. Can you pick me up from the airport at two?”

“Of course.”

She began firing off the flight information, and I quickly ran into the kitchen to scribble it down. I was silently praying Danny didn't come home and catch me with a lit cigarette outside the tiny area he'd been generous enough to allow me to smoke in. I dashed back to the window and then, as usual, lost the argument over where she'd stay.

Mom always refused to stay in the loft for some reason. I conceded the losing battle quickly, telling her I'd set up her hotel reservation for her, and we said our good-byes. After hanging up, I wondered why it was that she would think Danny was the man for me. My mother was one of those people who adopted others. She had a heart large enough to fit the entire world inside, and she'd certainly sectioned off a large portion for Danny, whose mother had died when he was four.

Danny absolutely adored my mother. He doted on Delilah every time she visited. Whenever she called, he'd end up talking to her for hours. Danny's father and siblings pretty much told him they didn't want anything to do with him after Danny came out of the closet, so my mother sort of adopted him. He'd be downright giddy when he found out she was visiting.

Delilah had a whole lot of opinions and didn't think twice about sharing them. It was one of the things I'd always loved most about her, despite not always acting like it. Growing up, I never heard her say so much as a cross word about anyone. Well…except Dad and
his
mother.

At the same time, she had no problems standing up for what was right. When I was about ten years old, one of my father's business partners was over at our house. He'd made some type of racist comment or joke, and she stood up, looked him directly in the eye and said, “
I realize that I cannot control your personal beliefs or what you say in your own home, but I certainly will not stand for you coming into this one and infesting myself, my child, and my other guests with your ignorance and bigotry
.”

The entire room went silent. It was one of those moments where people begin to squirm in their seats. The man, of course, stumbled through an apology that she graciously accepted. She then smiled and got the conversation going again. It was at that moment that I realized how strong and unafraid my mother really was. Underneath her Doris Day-like exterior hid a rock-hard Bette Davis interior upon which she drew when it came to divorcing my father. I believe the phrase “she took him to the cleaners” certainly applied to my parents' divorce. It wasn't that my father was horrible to my mother; I suppose they just weren't a good match. Dad was very composed and introspective, and Mom…well, wasn't. She wore her heart on her sleeve, and her sweet-as-pie exterior tended to make people sympathize with her.

I let out a long sigh as I put out my smoke and sealed it up in the mason jar I kept sitting out on the ledge. Despite being a little breezy, the temperature was nice, so I left the window open and went back to the sofa. Finally I was able to flop down, root myself into the cushions, and veg.

“Hi,” I said, trying to wipe the tears off my face as Danny walked in.

“Why are you crying?” Danny asked, tossing his keys onto the kitchen counter.

I pointed to the television. “
Anne of Green Gables
.”

He looked at the television, then back at me with a questioning expression.

“Matthew just gave Anne a dress with puffed sleeves so she could go to the ball with her bosom friend Diana Berry.” I managed to get the words out as I tried to pull myself together. Danny slid off his jacket and crooked his head to the side with a little grin.

“She was so happy that she went out to the barn to thank him, and when she went to hug him,” I said, tears welling up all over again, “he stopped her, saying he didn't wanna get the dress all dirty. She looked at him in this way; well, you just knew how much they love each other.”

“You're a mess,” he declared as he took a few steps closer. I watched his mouth fall open as I followed his gaze, now able to spot the half-eaten bags of Hershey Kisses and Reese's peanut butter cups, the pile of Little Debbies, and the multiple cans of Diet Coke littering the coffee table. He looked back at me where I sat cross-legged on the couch with what was, I'm sure, still bad bed hair and tears running down my face. “You look like the poster child for depression.”

“This is such a great movie.” I popped in another Kiss, only to spit it back out into my hand. I'd forgotten to remove the foil. I turned my attention back to the television as I proceeded to unwrap the chocolaty goodness.

I listened as Danny walked back into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. After several moments he came back and sat next to me on the sofa. He kicked off his shoes, opened his bottle of water, removed the pile of Kisses from my hand, and pushed all the junk food back out of my reach. He placed his feet up on the coffee table and leaned back.

“You're just a big gush ball.” He placed his arm around me, pulling me back against his chest.

I settled into him and wiped my nose on his shirt. “You're so nice sometimes.”

“It's the only way I can keep you from eating any more of that crap.” He slapped my hand away as I reached out to snag a stray Kiss that had escaped from the bag.

When the movie was over, I rolled onto my back and looked up at him. “Anne sure was blind when it came to Gil; she's the one who needed to be smacked over the head with a chalkboard.”

“Huh?”

“Oh, you missed that part. Well, it was completely obvious to everyone but Anne that Gil was in love with her.” I scowled as I tried picking at the dried mucus on his shirt.

“You left a little trail,” he said, laughing. “It looks like a snail crawled down my shirt.”

“Sorry.” I scrunched up my face.

Danny swatted me on the hip. “It's after eight. You better get into the shower, or you'll be late for work.”

“Shit!” I turned to look at the clock. I pulled myself up and dashed into my bedroom. I stripped off my pajamas and threw on my terrycloth robe, then tied the belt around my waist. I walked back out into the living room as Danny was gathering up the food from the coffee table. “I'll do that.”

“It's okay. Get in the shower. I don't mind.” He smiled up at me devilishly. “You sort of didn't quite get the bathrobe wrapped all the way around.”

I glanced down and felt my face burn crimson as I scrambled to cover myself. “Good Christ!” I headed for the bathroom and stopped. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. Mom called earlier, and she's flying in on Tuesday.”

“That's great,” he said, his face lighting up.

“And Gabby's having a dinner party on Wednesday night. She wants me to invite you. She also asked me to bring Andy, and since Mom is going to be here, I thought maybe she could be your date?”

“I'd be honored.” He gave me a nod. “So Andy will get to meet her. That's great.”

“Yeah, I was supposed to have dinner with him Tuesday night, but I guess I'll need to cancel that.”

“Don't be silly. I can take Delilah to dinner and maybe a movie or something.”

“I hate to not spend her first night in town with her.”

“Well, wait until she gets here and ask her if she minds,” Danny suggested. “You can always call and cancel if you don't feel right about it after.”

“I guess you're right. And thanks for cleaning that up. I'll give the apartment a good scrubbing tomorrow.”

* * * * *

After getting out of the shower and toiling over the decision of what to wear to work, I finally dressed and tore out into the living room to begin the search for my keys. I yelled out and asked Danny if he'd seen them, only to find that he was gone. I tried not to think about where he he'd gone, and finally discovered my keys on the floor next to the island.

Before running out the door, I took one last glimpse in the mirror. My spandexy pullover and low-waist jeans looked practically painted on. I rolled my eyes a bit and shook my head. As ridiculous as I thought it all was, I knew that my tips increased the tighter my clothes were.

I was a little over five minutes late by the time I got to work, so I slipped in and began setting up my station, hoping no one would notice. If anyone did, they didn't mention it. By eleven, the bar was packed, and there was no sign of Gabby, which meant she wouldn't show.

The dance floor was full of sweaty, pulsating bodies, asses shoved into crotches in faux sex, leaving zero to the imagination as to what the bulk of these boys would be up to after the bar closed. The music was bumping and thumping, and despite the air-conditioning, the heat level had reached the point where shirts were beginning to come off. It was something I'd found very distracting when I started working at the Downspout, but I'd become a little desensitized to it. I was somewhat convinced, though I lacked the actual proof, that the owner kept the air turned up intentionally in order to get as many guys shirtless as possible.

I rang up the drinks I'd just made, and handed back the change. The guy didn't tip, so when he turned his back, I screamed, “Cheap!” in a shrill, high-pitched voice. The guy spun around, and his face went beet red when he noticed that everyone around the bar was laughing. I laughed as he scurried off into the crowd. Just one of the many services I provided at the Downspout. Customer service was my middle name.

That's what I loved about tending bar at a gay bar. You got away with things you never could anywhere else. The little turd should stay home if he couldn't afford to tip. I had bills to pay too.

I went over to the next person standing in line and found a blond guy wearing a red button-up shirt. He looked a tad tipsy, and I took a slight step back as he stuck out his tongue and made like he was licking the air while running his gaze up and down my body.

The freaks are out tonight
. “What can I get you?” I asked, raising one eyebrow, afraid of what his answer might be.

“Rum and Coke.” He stuck his tongue back out while making the same weird-ass licking motion.

I went about making his cocktail, trying my best to not look at him. I reminded myself to not think mean thoughts. Maybe he was a little…slow? I placed the drink on the bar and said, “That'll be four twenty-five.”

Tongue-guy pointed to the floor behind the bar. “Right here, right now.”

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“I wanna do you right here, right now, right on the floor behind the bar.” He started licking the air again with his tongue.

“Ew!” I crinkled up my face in revulsion. “Four twenty-five, and please feel free to use one of the many other bartenders from here on out.”

He laid a five on the bar and gave
me
a nasty look before swiftly walking away. I tried to imagine who might ever think that was sexy or cute or anything other than completely disgusting. My skin began to crawl again, so I pushed the whole ordeal out of my mind. That's when I heard, “Bitch, you do attract the most interesting menz.”

I spun around to find Timothy holding out his empty glass while pooching his highly glossed bottom lip out in the most pathetic manner possible. I shook my head and took his glass from him.

“Thanks, Daddy.” Timothy gave me a grin while continuing to power-chew his gum.

Timothy Gerard was bleach-bottle white blond, waifish thin, and the biggest, meanest bitch I'd ever borne witness to. Some of the toughest-looking men who came into the bar were more than a little afraid of him. Timothy could cut a bitch in half with what could easily be a very poisonous tongue. He was absolutely adorable to look at, like a beautiful, shiny little flower…that could bite your face off once you leaned in to take a sniff.

Timothy was a fashion-design major at the university by day, and he sort of adopted me after I got the job at the bar. Part of me knew it was because I could give him free drinks. But also, for whatever reason, he seemed to genuinely like me. I only knew this secondhand, of course, since I almost always begged out of the after-party scene. But several people had commented to me that Timothy had given me props on more than one occasion for not being a poser.

As I mixed up his Stoli cranberry and tonic, his drink du jour of the past few weeks, he asked, “Hey, bitch, did you ever go out with that hot little real estate agent who just moved into town?”

I squeezed in an oversize chunk of lime that I'd cut special for him. “We went out last night.”

“That's why you weren't at work last night. Snoopy dances!” Timothy leaned over the bar with a sweet little smile. “How was the sex?”

“I wouldn't know.”

“Christ, Julian. I swear to God you're like some repressed Walt Disney tween star!” He was now longingly eyeing his cocktail, which I held just out of his reach.

I shook my head a little as I passed him the glass. He took it from my hands like one of the greedy little children out of
Willy Wonka.

“Mmmm. Yummies,” he said after taking a sip.

I was very aware of the line of people still waiting for drinks, but I felt it was important to stop once or twice a night to talk with Timothy. He always made me laugh, but more importantly—as if it were akin to prison politics—no one would fuck with me as long as the other patrons knew we were friends.

“Do you even beat off?” He took another short sip. “Lord, you probably bleed cum!”

I laughed at the imagery despite being slightly grossed out. “Yes, I jack off.” I shook my head disapprovingly at him—which he loved. He liked to say I was the only person he'd allow to chastise him. He believed me able to throw rocks, since according to him, my house wasn't made of glass.

“You're not fucking the real estate agent, and you've lived with that sexy stud from hell for months and
still
haven't fucked him?”

I shrugged, neglecting to mention that my not having sex with Danny had nothing to do with my virtue.

Timothy held up his hand in my direction. “The Mother Teresa of Missouri, people!”

I busted out laughing and went back to the line of people impatiently waiting for drinks.

Finally, like a gift from the gods, the ugly lights came on, and people began to slowly file out of the bar, swapping phone numbers and directions to the after-parties.

As I wiped down the bar, I thought about how my personality changed when I came into this bar. I would never be so rude anywhere else. I wondered if there was some type of catty-gay-energy vibe that took over when too many of us gathered in a confined space.

I finished my cleaning, counted my tips, clocked out, and sat around for about thirty minutes swapping stories with the other bartenders.

* * * * *

I walked through the front door of the loft and heard the TV going. I went up behind the couch and peeked over to see Danny passed out and snoring softly. I grabbed the throw off the ottoman and placed it over him. Looking down at the coffee table, I noticed the DVD cases. I picked one of them up and smiled when I read the label:
Anne of Green Gables
. Leaning down, I gave him a peck on the forehead before heading to bed.