Gulliver Takes Five (18 page)

“Well, we’ll get you boys in and out as quickly as we can. And you can chew on some ice if you can’t eat anything. Then you can borrow the cars to get out to Point Lookout. Which of you are sober enough to drive?”

“Chase, you have a license, right?” Nick asks, snaking his hand back from the front seat and rubbing it on my knee.

“Yeah, but I don’t think your parents want me driving one of their cars.”

“Nonsense.” Nick’s dad laughs. “You sober?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Then that’s all that matters, Chase. Just be careful.”

My phone buzzes. A calendar reminder.

Shit! I completely forgot I have a date tonight!

This is exactly why I set all my calendar events with a nine-hour advance warning.

This day is getting so complicated. I’m currently on Long Island with a boy who can’t stop staring at me through the rearview mirror of his dad’s car. Later, I’m dancing at a party with a promoter I’ve been lusting after for ages and a gay porn star I’d like a second chance with. AND, in between, I’m supposed to grab Thai with this kid I’ve been chatting up on OKCupid? I should cancel. Get some sleep. He’s an actor, which is usually reason enough to opt out. I have enough drama in my own life without adding a theater major to the mix.

But he’s also smart, cute, and a pro at back-and-forth online flirting (always a promising omen of real-world chemistry). I guess I’ll keep it.

After ten minutes of driving down tiny side streets, we arrive at our destination. My breath catches in my throat. Nick’s house is gigantic, a mansion in a neighborhood filled with equally jaw-dropping domiciles. A U-shaped driveway, three (or maybe four) floors rising above us as we pull in behind his mother’s car. I guess the luxury SUVs should have given this away.

So Nick’s a moneybags? How did he never tell me during all those nights together? I just assumed he was how I imagine the rest of us are—broke as a joke and doing what we can to make ends meet. No
wonder he doesn’t dance when he’s supposed to be on the block. If he lost his job, he’d be fine! Funny, the things you still don’t know after dancing nearly naked with someone for nine months...

Nick’s mom, a short and tan blonde dressed in pastels from a place like Talbots or Chico’s, lets us into the house and ushers us toward the dining room. The foyer, living room, and hallway are all immaculately white, filled with shiny black statues and oddly shaped pots holding exotic and expensive-looking flowers with long petals and crazy-colored leaves. FUCK, this kid is rich. Why does he bother working at all? I doubt his parents force him to dance in his underwear as a lesson in responsibility and independence. Wouldn’t his job be better suited for a college kid who needs the money and actually looks like he wants to be there? I’ve seen all the wannabe go-go boys that Todd sends home because all the slots are currently filled. Those kids need the money, not Nick.

Once we’ve gotten our food and sat down in the living room, Nick’s mom wants to know all about Splash—how we got there, if we like it or hate it. She shoves her son playfully and says she wants to see the place soon, and if Nick continues to discourage her from coming, she’ll just sneak in one of these nights.

Nick rolls his eyes. “Right, Ma. Aaron the doorman won’t even let you in to get your ID checked.”

“I’ll take the fact that you think he’d even check my ID as a compliment, you little brat,” she says, taking a swipe at him.

“Oh gawd,” David laments as he digs into his second bagel, “I can feel my ass getting bigger with each bite.”

“You could stand to gain a few pounds,” Nick’s mom says. “As for those of you not driving, I can whip up a few screwdrivers. But only after you sign a verbal contract promising me you won’t vomit all over my floors. I just had them waxed yesterday.”

“Chase is going to drive,” Nick says. “The rest can get shit-faced.”

“Well then, straight-up OJ for you,” she says, pouring me a tall glass.

I can’t eat. I’m too angry. Wouldn’t you be? Since he started staying over with me, Nick’s had me pay for everything—breakfast, extra booze, condoms and lube, whatever. I’ve even chipped in for his cab to Penn Station a few times. And why? To be chivalrous? I assumed he needed it! Now I know he doesn’t, and feel like I’ve been duped. Not to mention the fact that Nick gets along so well with his parents! They take time between bites to brag about how great he is, and he accepts it all with a wide smile and fake modesty. He basks in their gushing, occasionally winking at me as if to say,
Do you have it this good?

And he knows I don’t.

After the others are filled with carbs and cream cheese, Nick takes us on a tour of his place, which feels more like he’s rubbing it in our faces than anything. Every room (and there are so, so many) is spacious, high ceilinged, central air-conditioned, filled with the thousands of blinking red-and-green lights of expensive technology. There’s a photo of his dad with Barack Obama—signed, of course. His mom met Martha Stewart and apparently baked a cake with her. We walk through his two sisters’ rooms, his
brother’s basement apartment, the pool out back, which has one of those infinity lines that makes it look like it goes straight out to the canal behind the house. His room has its own bathroom, complete with a damn Jacuzzi, quite a contrast to my crummy dorm. And yet he stays with ME on Friday nights.

Why does he feel the need to show off all of a sudden? I thought we were going to the beach. I would pull him aside and ask why he’s doing this, but I can’t find the right chance.

As far as I’m concerned, he can come back here from now on. I’m done being so charitable to someone who obviously doesn’t need my help and is happy to take advantage of someone so clearly beneath him.

Thankfully, it is now time to actually go to the beach. We load our gear into two cars, pull out of the driveway, and honk good-bye to Nick’s parents, who stand arm in arm on their giant porch, waving ecstatically.

My nerves about driving quickly dissipate once we hit the road and muscle memory takes over. I put Raffy in charge of figuring out which button controls the AC and which one will open the moonroof. He solves both dilemmas, and we are flying along some highway in minutes. The rushing air helps me step down from my anger.

“Fuck, did anyone know Nick had it made?” Franky asks, his head hanging out the window.

Anger’s back.

“I heard he had cash,” Jake says. But Jake always acts in the know, and rarely is he telling the truth. I may have to start referring to him as Pathological Spice.

“Bullshit!” Raffy calls him out. “Why? Because he wears Armani and always has new underwear? We all do. But fuck, he’s, like, a billionaire! We should make him start picking up the check at the diner.”

“Weird that he never really bragged about it until today, though,” I say, doing my best to stay as close to Nick’s car without rear-ending him.

“Yeah,” Raffy says. “Franky is always bragging about that shit, and his house could fit in Nick’s garage.”

“Fuck you!” Franky says. “My house is huge!”

“It’s not the size of the house, Franky. It’s the size of your dick that matters,” I say, as I turn the volume up on the radio. “And, regarding either, we’ll need photos or it didn’t happen.”

“My dick’s huge too!” he yells above Lady Gaga.

The parking lot for the beach is as empty as Penn Station was a few hours ago, just as I was hoping. We pull into two spots adjacent to the boardwalk and unload the gear lent to us by Nick’s Hollywood-movie parents. The beach itself, while slightly pebbly where the sand meets the surf, is beautiful. It stretches for miles in either direction without another soul to be seen. We spread out on blankets and collapse into the sand. As soon as we’re situated,
Nick pulls a bowl and weed out of his bag, lights up, and takes a strong pull.

“Do your parents know you’re a pothead?” I ask as Luis accepts the bowl from him.

“It’s my dad’s stuff,” Nick coughs out. “That’s how you know it’s the BEST.”

So even Nick’s marijuana habit is covered by his glamorous family? No wonder he’s so bad in bed. He’s never expended a single ounce of effort to get anything in his whole life.

Nick cuddles up next to me and lays his head on my shoulder, draping his arm over my chest. And now I feel shitty for being angry. Because being rich is not something Nick did to personally spite me. But seriously, what the hell is he doing with the likes of us? We latchkey kids, poor students, shitty-family runaways?

“Here, baby,” Nick says, handing me the bowl, “take a big hit.”

“I’m supposed to drive us back,” I say.

“Weed doesn’t fuck up your driving!” Raffy shouts. “Suck on that shit or I’m taking it!”

“Come on, Chase,” Nick says. “That’s like two hours from now. One pull for your lil’ Nicky?”

I take a pull off the bowl and it goes down smoother than velvet. It takes three hits to get me blazing. This shit IS the best. When the
weed is spent, so are we. Within five minutes, everyone is asleep. Everyone except me and Nick.

“You know,” Nick whispers to me, “you don’t have to go back to the city when everyone else does.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Oh, come on, we can make up some excuse. Assuming they give a shit.”

“What? That you’ll fly me back in your private helicopter?”

Nick rolls his eyes. “No! I just like having you here. Like, in my world, you know? Why do you think I suggested this whole trip in the first place?”

“Well. Won’t your parents wonder why I’m sticking around?”

Nick kisses my ear and pulls me in tighter. “They already know I have a killer crush on you. They said you could eat dinner and stay the night, if you want.”

“I have to dance at eWrecksion,” I tell him.

“Oh, right,” he sighs, looking out at the ocean. “Well, you can have one of the other boys do it. I’m sure Todd wouldn’t care either way.”

He’s right. Todd probably wouldn’t care that Friendly Spice, his future go-go boy captain, is changing his mind, so long as I provide
a sub. But I need that money. Most definitely more than anyone else on this beach.

“I’ll think about it,” I say. Mainly to shut him up. Because telling him why I need to get out of here is a sign of weakness I’m not ready to admit to anyone. I’m Friendly Spice, not Class Warfare Spice. No one likes a whiner. And where’s the valor in bellyaching?

Shit was always complicated between me and Nick, but now it’s unbearable. I don’t know if I’ll be able to eat and look at him at the same time. Pre-Nick, there was an ex whose name needn’t be mentioned. Let’s just call him Patient Zero. He gave me chlamydia, then broke up with me. Not having health insurance really made that a bitch. Then there was Nick and our drunken nights that just kept on happening. Some would call it a rebound. Really, I was just too lazy to say no and deal with his moping. No, you can’t stay with me tonight. No, we can’t have sex again. Has anyone ever told Nick no? Hell, I’m halfway considering actually blowing off Todd’s party just to please him—and that’s insanity! Must. Stand. Firm.

“I sorta wish it was just you and me out here,” Nick says, his sandy-blond hair itching my nose as he kisses me gently on the mouth. “Hope that doesn’t freak you out.”

“No, it’s cool,” I say, because I have no idea what else I can say. And then I’m asleep.

After napping, we tackle the ocean. Literally. We’re karate kicking our way through oncoming waves. AJ complains that the pebbles are killing his feet, and if this beach is for rich people,
why wouldn’t they demand one on the sandier side of Long Island? We’re wrestling and lifting each other up in the air, dunking each other’s heads under the freezing water. Luis’s underwear comes down and Raffy’s screeching about shrinkage. The hours pass as quickly as the constant waves gathering strength in the distance and flying toward land to knock us off balance. Then it’s time to go.

I wait until everyone is busy shoving his stuff into the cars to pull Nick aside. “Hey, listen. Thanks for the invite to stay.”

“You can’t, can you?” he asks, his face pulled into a tight smile.

“No. I really need the money,” I say. “Rain check?”

“Whatever.”

“Whatever? Whatever what?”

“You made like a thousand bucks tonight! You can’t take one night off and stay with me?”

It is taking all I have not to dress down Nick right here. So many responses are queued up like cannon balls, ready to be fired.

“No. I can’t. Like I said, I need the money.”

“Money,” he huffs. “Okay, fine, if that’s your choice. Todd DiTempto and his porn brigade instead of me. Thanks for letting me know where I stand.” He stomps back to the car, leaving me by myself with a beach blanket in hand.

Someone once told me that every gay man is caught in a never-ending love spiral with every other gay man. We’re big fish chasing after smaller fish chasing after minuscule fish. I know Nick has a thing for me, but when I’m with him, I’m fantasizing about being with Todd—or, more recently, Marty. Todd’s busy with whomever he dates who isn’t any of us. Marty’s busy fucking whomever. We’re all just going in circles, this ridiculous line dance where our bodies never meet and we’re forever switching and turning in opposite directions. I don’t know a single happy gay couple, just hundreds of guys chasing after guys who are chasing hundreds of other guys. When does that stop? Who’s at the front of this race, and will he ever hit a wall or plummet off a cliff?

Luckily, Nick and I will be in separate cars for the ride back.

Nick’s parents drive the rest of us to the train station in the early afternoon. None of us want to leave, but the skyscrapers beckon. The boys have appointments, dates, photo shoots, parties, and barhops to attend to. Nick doesn’t even look at me as I board the train.

We leave the sleepy suburbs with their highways and cars, their strip malls and bars that close at 2 a.m. I watch Merrick disappear and fight back jealous tears. Nick will get back in the car with his amazing, accepting, welcoming, weed-smoking parents and head back to his castle of a house, where he’ll probably lay out by the pool, or play foosball in the game room on the third floor, or get in his Jaguar and head out to the mall to spend his parents’ money on things he doesn’t need. Even if he’s hurt by my snub, he certainly has enough creature comforts to console him. Meanwhile, I
have to head back to my tiny NYU summer dorm that I wouldn’t be able to afford if not for the full-ride scholarship. Back to that dirty city, where you can’t even see the sky unless you venture to the center of Central Park. To my date with The Actor.