Fugly (7 page)
Authors: K Z Snow
This would be the first time I’d been out with Jake, Fallon, and Todd since the Great Dermatological Outbreak.
I still kept wondering if I’d really seen the phenomenon I thought I’d seen in Jake’s office, and what it could possibly mean.
That’s what threw my curse theory from the realm of joking into the realm of speculation—seeing how Jake’s appearance had altered after we’d had sex, or maybe
while
we were having sex. I realized it was his wanting me, and not just casually, not with his usual take-it-or-leave-it insouciance, that had given me a glimpse of what other men must’ve been seeing.
Now, as we approached a cozy, dimly lit bar and restaurant called Wassail, he stopped me just outside the door.
“David, do you still want to be near me? Would you still kiss me?”
I’d never seen Jake Pelletier so shorn of confidence. It twisted me up inside, regardless of having been taken for granted by him, treated as an occasional, convenient plaything. I could only imagine what he must’ve been thinking: that whatever illusion or delusion had beset him was gradually spreading to the people with whom he came into contact. I hated seeing him suffer.
I met his gaze directly, and I answered without a shred of doubt or hesitation. “Yes.”
To prove it, I kissed him. Hell, I loved kissing him.
His lips trembled faintly beneath mine. It was understandable he wouldn’t be fully engaged, but I had to prove how much I still wanted him. So I made sure the kiss conveyed at least some of the passion I felt.
He was the same Jake to me, the same funny, smart, sometimes caring, always maddening agent-
cum
-lay I’d fallen in love with, much to my chagrin, sometime after our first year together as author and representative. He didn’t have a clue how I felt about him, but he’d get that clue when he read the story I’d just turned in.
He laughed nervously as we eased apart. “At least I won’t die from blue balls with you around.”
My smile was weak. Jake’s response was hardly a declaration of undying devotion.
But I loved him nonetheless.
More than ever, I was determined to come up with some explanation for the mysterious rash. Didn’t matter how loopy it sounded, as long as it had some internal logic. These guys were desperate, and I’d foolishly popped off with that curse remark before I realized just
how
desperate. So I found myself inching into some mighty strange territory, a world of supernatural cause and effect none of us had ever thought about before, much less taken seriously. And who was to say that world didn’t exist?
Todd and Fallon were already tucked into one of the partitioned booths when Jake and I walked in. I didn’t see a damned thing wrong with either one of them, which only strengthened my rapidly developing theory.
We ordered another pitcher of margaritas and a sampler platter of finger food we could pick at as the mood struck us. Nobody seemed terribly hungry. Nobody seemed much inclined to engage in small talk, either.
What
really
put crawlies in my stomach were the stories Todd and Fal told about two men they’d had contact with over the past week. Both had seen the same sudden changes in Todd and Fal that I’d seen in Jake.
“Do you find those guys attractive?” I asked them.
Todd immediately got the blinkity-blinks. He grabbed his drink and sipped. Fallon, Buffalo wing to lips, was only slightly more forthcoming.
He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Uh…yeah,” Fal said. “Much to my surprise.
Ty’s a hideous drag queen—I mean, he’d give RuPaul serious nightmares—but there’s a really sweet and unassuming and damned masculine man beneath that glitter. I like him. I like him a lot.”
“You’d do him?” I asked. There was no reason to pussyfoot around the issue.
“Fuck, I don’t know, David. I’ve never gotten a good look at him.”
I had a feeling there was an affirmative lurking within Fal’s answer. He was fighting it, that’s all. Maybe he felt embarrassed about having a crush on a drag queen—especially a bumbling one.
“What about Gabriel?” I asked Todd. “Sounds like you were ready to give him a chance.”
Todd grimaced with discomfort and indecision. I could see why he resisted admitting he found Gabe appealing. He’d invested a lot of time and energy in convincing himself and us that he
didn’t
find Gabe appealing.
“I might. He’s actually kind of cute. Used to be a gymnast, you know, so he probably has a decent body.” Todd smiled uncertainly. “A compact one, but—”
“Oh for godssake,” I said, exasperated by their nonstop emphasis on men’s appearances. “You know, there’s nothing wrong with being drawn to a guy because of his mind or heart or sense of humor or dazzling smile or whatever the fuck
doesn’t
have to do with abs and pecs and butts and packages and height.”
Normally, they would’ve told me I was free to like whatever warthog came my way, but I should shitcan the sermonizing and let them be as shallow as they pleased. Now, though, with their superiority complexes severely undermined, not one of these guys could muster any bluster. Instead, they sipped their drinks and listlessly picked at the food tray.
“Okay,” I said, “here’s what
I
think. Because dicked if I can come up with anything else, and because there was something very different about that man at the Foxhole last month.”
Immediately, my three companions assumed I meant the pretty one. I told them no, I meant the man he was with…but I’d get to that later.
“It’s abundantly clear,” I said “that this skin condition is only visible to guys you want.” I looked at Jake. “After we, uh…took care of business in your office, I told you the patches on your skin were more noticeable to me. And I mean considerably more noticeable.”
A blush spread over the unblemished parts of Jake’s face, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Well, you know…” The words were barely audible. He cleared his throat.
I smiled, trying to alleviate his embarrassment. “Yeah, I know.” As he lowered his eyes, I addressed Fal and Todd. “And the better those guys look to
you
,” I went on, “the worse you look to
them
. Believe it or not, that’s the upside. You only look like corned beef hash to the vapid, toned-and-tanned douches you normally go after.”
“Careful, darling,” Fal said, “that sour-grape juice is dribbling down your chin.”
“Shut up, Fallon. You know I’m right.”
He gave me a lifted-eyebrows look of umbrage, but he did shut up.
Satisfied, I went on. “It’s as if…the rash was intended specifically to keep you from hooking up with your favorite kind of men.”
My companions stared at me. Todd had just slid some sort of rollup into his mouth, and he momentarily looked like a fledgling porn actor who didn’t quite know what to do with the dick between his lips.
“
Intended
?” Jake said to me.
“Yes.”
“By whom?”
“I told you, I’ll get to that later.”
“So why can we see this shit on each other?” Fal asked. “It’s not like we all share some steamy, secret circle-jerk fantasy.”
“Besides, we’ve already been there,” Jake said, turning his eyes up to Fallon as he fingered the base of his glass. “You and I have, that is.”
Todd looked back and forth between them. “Really? When?”
Jake dismissively waved a hand. “I don’t know. Way back.”
“Glad I made such an impression on you,” Fallon drawled.
“Oh come on, Fal, you know how it went.”
“How
did
it go?” I asked out of curiosity.
“Like two cousins trying to pretend they weren’t related,” said Jake with a shade of embarrassment. “A total bust.”
Summoning his pride, Fallon sat back and lifted his head and shoulders. “Not
total
.”
Jake arched one eyebrow—a bit of facial-muscle magic I found sexy as hell yet utterly mystifying, like being able to wiggle one’s ears. “As you’ll recall,” he said, “there was no consummation.”
“Where was
I
?” Todd asked.
It appeared our favorite embalmer hadn’t been invited to the party. I wasn’t surprised, given how we all felt about Todd’s occupation. His slightly wounded, slightly woebegone look was both touching and amusing.
Fallon looked at Todd as if he’d just wondered aloud why ocelots didn’t wear cupcakes on their heads. “How the fuck are
we
supposed to know where you were?”
“I don’t think we were even sure of our own location,” Jake muttered.
As entertaining as I found this exchange, I tried to get the conversation back on track. “So each of you can honestly say the other two don’t interest you?”
“I’m willing to take a polygraph.” Jake reached for the margarita pitcher, poured himself more, then cursed because he’d forgotten the salt.
“Yeah, I’m over it,” said Fallon.
“Todd?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Jake had a point. That cousin thing gets in the way for me too.”
I gave the issue more thought. Okay, so why
did
they see the ravages of this affliction on each other?
“Maybe it’s a way of reminding you that you’re all in this together,” I said, trying to piece together my theory as I spoke. “You do share the same standards and attitudes when it comes to men, and you did try to score with that good-looking guy at the Foxhole. All of you did.”
Jake was watching me through narrowed eyes. “So you think his partner is behind this?”
“Yeah. I heard them talking. It’s not like the tall guy said he was going to slip some funky germ into your drinks, but Mr. Beautiful did seem concerned his partner was planning to do
something
.”
“You know,” Todd said, “a fungal or bacterial contaminant wouldn’t be an outrageous possibility if we had rashes everybody could see and physicians could diagnose and treat. But our situation is just…odd. It’s more like…like…”
“Voodoo or something,” Fal murmured, staring sightlessly at the table. When he lifted his gaze, he looked bereft. “How are we supposed to break it?”
“Break what?” Jake said impatiently. I could tell he was tense. He always got snappish when he was on edge.
“This spell.”
“There is no ‘spell', Fallon. Voodoo only works on people who believe in it, who
think
it’s doing something to them. Besides, how many voodoo practitioners live in the upper Midwest?” Then Jake put on what must’ve been his Minnesota-slash-Upper Michigan voice. “‘Yah hey dere, Lars, you givin’ up a chicken fer da cer’mony?’”
Todd snorted.
Fal shot Jake a vexed look. “Then
you
explain it, smartass,”
Jake sighed and turned to me. “You’re the one who got this ball rolling.
You
explain.”
“I can’t,” I admitted. “I don’t understand that kind of stuff. A spell is the only thing I could come up with. And if anybody looked capable of throwing some mojo around, it was that tall guy. He obviously didn’t like ho-dogs.” I paused; I really didn’t want to insult my friends, but I didn’t have much choice. “Especially conceited ones. He even said something to me about how you all weren’t going to change until the mirror on the wall adjusted your perspectives.”
“But…what’s it to him?” Todd asked.
“A matter of principle, maybe.” That was all I could give them. But I had a feeling I was on the right track. “The three of you coming on to his boyfriend could’ve tripped his principle switch. And he did overhear you dissing a whole bunch of men you didn’t know, just because you found them physically lacking.”
My companions seemed troubled as they pondered my theory.
Fallon slumped against the back of the booth and closed his eyes. “So
now
what do we do?”
“I suppose we could always try finding some occult practitioner,” Todd said. “I know there are witches in the area. Probably other pagan types, too.”
“This is crazy,” Jake muttered, clearly flustered. “Maybe I’ll just go back to the doctor. And not of the witch variety.”
“I think what you should do,” I said, “all of you, is go to one of the bars when you leave here and test my theory. Approach men who appeal to you and men who don’t. See if there’s a difference in their reactions. Hell, even ask the guys who seem disgusted what the problem is. Then you can decide how to proceed.”
The members of the Hunt Club exchanged uneasy glances.
Lifting and dropping his hands, Fal sighed. “Why not? What’ve we got to lose?”
Jake drained his glass. “Only our claim to sanity.”
* * * *
The bill was already paid, so I just sat in the booth for a while, mulling things over and picking at the food tray. I drank water because I had a good distance to drive.
It was still fairly early by the time I left. I figured I could do some online research into spellcasting when I got home. The whole notion made me feel kind of disoriented and disconnected from reality, as if I were poking a toe into another dimension, but I simply couldn’t come up with a scientific explanation for my friends’ condition.
By the time I left the Wassail, the parking lot stretching before the strip mall was nearly deserted. Early spring dampness, more chilly than sultry, lapped at my face. I stood outside the restaurant for several minutes, wondering if I should give in to my craving for a cigarette. Then the craving and the wondering passed. The air was tinged with a potpourri of scents: motor oil, cooked food, awakened earth and the green growth it was spawning.
For some reason, I thought of Jake.
As I headed to my car, I thought of all our frenzied sexual encounters in his office and how often we joked about them, and how my laughter grew thinner, stripped little by little of genuine amusement, the more I came to care for him. I wondered how he’d react to the story I’d written and immediately felt a coil of anxiety in my stomach.
Don’t worry about it. What’s done is done. You had to let him know.
