Sunset Park (13 page)

“Those people are idiots.”

“Those people are the majority.” Nunzio hunched forward, arms on his knees, frowning. “And it’s not just me. People judge Michael for not going into leadership classes. They think dedicating your career to teaching is a waste of time—you should always be trying to climb the ladder. It doesn’t matter if teaching is where his passion is. And you could talk to David about that—his generation of teachers is pressured to skip into leadership after spending only a handful of years in the classroom. Anything less, and he’s seen as a failed administrator instead of a dedicated teacher.”

“That’s just stupid. David busts his ass and so does Michael.”

“It is stupid.” Nunzio met my eyes, half smiling. “But it’s also stupid for people to think you’re a loser for not figuring everything out by twenty-five. You have a long way to go. The rest of your life doesn’t have to be mapped out in the first quarter.”

Nunzio was just as affectionate as David, so I wasn’t surprised when he leaned over to kiss my forehead.

“Be good, kiddo. Things will look up.”

I nodded, suddenly choked up, reminded of things I didn’t want to think about. Like Nunzio and Michael being my support because everyone else was gone. And how, despite my best efforts to push them away, I was grateful.

“I love you, man.”

Nunzio clapped my shoulder. “I love you too, Ray. Now be nice to that baby twink. Don’t underestimate the amount of shit he’ll take before he goes off. I’ve heard stories.”

David going off was the least intimidating thing I could imagine, but Nunzio seemed convinced that it was a valid concern. As if I needed anything else to worry about. He lingered until I promised to stop antagonizing David, and to look at the CUNY brochure, before rounding up Michael and going back to Queens to finish dealing with the real estate agency that was helping them rent the house.

I didn’t ask for more details. That part of my life was over. It was easier if I accepted that, and moved on.

INSTEAD OF
quieting, Fourth Avenue came alive in the evening. I listened to the sounds of Sunset Park while staring out at the purpling sky and the streetlights, trying to doze off but too hung up on the heavy silence blanketing the apartment. Once, I’d emerged from my sluggish daze to approach David’s room. I’d even raised my hand to knock, my knuckles grazing the door as I thought about what I would say.

Ask if he wanted to go to the pizzeria/taqueria across the street. Or to the Italian bakery. Maybe just take a walk to the park as the sun set in Sunset. He’d made the joke often enough, dragging me downstairs by the hand, that it was something we’d started doing several times a week. It was silly and pointless, but it made him smile. And that made me smile.

But each invitation seemed unimpressive—likely to be rebuffed. I lost my nerve before knocking, and retreated with only the faint squeak of floorboards to indicate I had been there at all.

I paced my room, listened to his quiet footsteps the few times he left his own, and watched the shadow play beneath my door to see if he would approach. It was immature. I was being an idiot. Nothing so serious had happened to make us avoid each other to this extent. An apology would suffice, but I couldn’t bring myself to break the ice. Not if it wasn’t a sure thing. Not if I didn’t have a good way to do it. That I was obsessing over him like a high schooler with a crush just showed how desperately I needed to get a life and start going out again.

I’d barely seen Chris or Sharky after moving out of Queens, and Crystal was still off with her cop boyfriend. Living the dream with some flatfoot in Staten Island. Apparently they were shacking up already, and I wondered if she’d been seeing him while she was having fun with me, but I couldn’t feel too broken up about it. She was a good girl. Smart. She deserved a normal person, not just a big dick, and I suspected that she’d only held off ending our regular fucking as long as she had due to the death of my parents.

I flipped my phone between my fingers and wondered if I should text someone. It was Saturday evening, and Chris always had something going on in the city since he worked uptown. My new coworkers were also having one of their gatherings at a bowling alley in Port Authority, but that sounded as enjoyable as a root canal. I could strike out on my own and pick up a girl at a bar in the Lower East Side, but that required way more ambition than I had to offer the world.

My finger glided over the surface of my phone, hesitating over the message icon. I clicked it to see what Chris was up to, but my eyes fell on the group of game icons burying the Grindr app. I hadn’t opened it since Oli had snapped the douche-bag pictures of my abs.

I opened the app, closed multiple pop-up ads, and cast a critical eye over my dash. The algorithm sorted guys based on their proximity to me, and there were several avatars with bright green dots indicating over a dozen guys in my area were looking for some ass on a Saturday night. Within five minutes of scrolling through the page, I received a number of messages.

Oli had been right—the sight of a fit body and golden brown skin had a bunch of dudes thirsting after me like a bitch in the desert. I received three unsolicited dick pics, a few messages simply saying “hello,” one demanding how many inches, and a red-haired twink who stated: “raw vers slut looking for NSA dude who wants to breed a tight ass.”

I had no clue what most of the messages meant, and flipped back to the app’s dashboard. Apparently, gay dudes on Grindr spoke a totally different language than me, and I was once again left feeling like a fish out of water. If hooking up meant memorizing a bunch of acronyms and weird terms, it wasn’t going to happen.

I tried to sign out, failed to find a place to do so, and swiped back to my dashboard in frustration. In the minute it had taken me to root around in the sidebar, a new guy had appeared in the space next to my own profile picture. He was blond with a bowed head and long, leanly muscled arms wrapped around his knees. His name was Davy Jones. According to his profile, he was 5’9,” 150 pounds, and listed himself as “clean-cut.” He was also estimated to be only twenty feet away from me.

Smirking, I lay back on my bed and sent “Davy Jones” a message.

Raymond: are you seriously making pirates of the caribbean jokes on grindr?

Nearly a full minute passed before he replied. I imagined he was staring at my profile and trying to figure out if it was me before noticing the proximity. Or maybe he’d already seen the proximity and was planning to ignore me.

David: It’s an idiom which originated in the 19th century. Disney didn’t create it.

Raymond: you are an idiom

David: What are you doing on here?

Raymond: what are YOU doing on here

David: What do you think…?

Raymond: looking for a NSA dude to breed your tight ass?

David: OMG.

Even through my door and down the hallway, I could hear David’s burst of laughter. I was pleased with myself.

Raymond: i was going to add “raw vers slut” to my profile. do you advise?

More laughter. I rolled over, pressing my mouth against the pillow as if he would be able to see my smile.

David: You need to stop. You’re out of control.

Raymond: these dudes on here are out of control… dunno what theyre even saying. also, mad dick pics for no reason.

David: Well, it’s not for “no reason.” They’re hoping you will reciprocate.

Raymond: no fuckin way

David: Good luck picking up anybody, then.

Raymond: are you kidding?

David: Nope.

I tried to picture David taking pictures of his cock and sending it to random guys in the neighborhood, and it bugged me.

Raymond: well youre gonna get abducted

David: It’s okay. My catlike reflexes will save me.

This time, I was the one cracking up.

Raymond: you have fun with that. just dont be expecting me to go all liam neeson on some dude if you get taken

David: I wouldn’t expect you to spend that many calories on my well-being.

…. And there he went ruining my attempt at ice breaking with his passive-aggressive bullshit. What a royal pain in the ass. I almost closed the app and marched down the hall to tell him a thing or two about accepting a Grindr-flavored olive branch with some grace, but he sent another message.

David: Have you talked to anyone?

Raymond: yea. You.

David: You haven’t replied to any messages? I’m sure you got a lot. Your profile is… really good. Lame profile name, though. “Q”. What is that supposed to mean?

Raymond: questioning, you vers slut. you should know. its in your damn acronym

David: It’s your acronym too.

Raymond: uh huh.

I wasn’t positive about that. Even if I was curious or questioning, I was still stuck in the “discreet” pigeonhole, which meant I wasn’t out and proud and ready to march down Broadway for the Pride Parade in June. And David had made it crystal clear how he felt about guys like that. I wondered if he was being a smart-ass.

Raymond: so does raw mean no condoms bcuz that seems pretty stupid for some randos meeting on an app

David: Um. Yeah. Some guys prefer that it seems.

Raymond: not you though

Raymond:… right?

David: Is that really a question? You think I wouldn’t be cautious with strangers?

Raymond: bro I have no idea. im just asking if its common practice. i dont have all of this random hookup/one night stand experience. ive only really fucked girls i knew for years.

David: Really?

Raymond: really.

David: Interesting.

David: Anyway, no. I’ve never had anyone I just met ask to not use condoms. I would only go condom-free with someone I trust. Someone I’ve known for a while.

Raymond: i see

My mind did a nosedive into the gutter.

Raymond: yea, well. whatever. either way, i dont know what to say to these people on here. so forget it.

David: It’s easy. I could help. If you want.

Raymond: how?

David: You could practice talking to me. I’ll tell you what things mean, or try to make it obvious. Or something. I dunno.

Raymond: like… pretend?

David: Yeah. I guess.

I went over the suggestion again. Pretend David was a piece-of-ass random? It sounded good in theory, but potentially humiliating in practice. But it could also be… interesting.

As I deliberated, my phone chimed again.

David: Never mind. Stupid idea. Sorry. I’ll just tell you whatever you want to know, okay?

Raymond: its not a stupid idea

David: Are you sure? It is kind of weird.

Raymond: its only weird if you keep talking about how weird it is

David: Fine.

A moment passed and I received several more messages from other users. The number increased in the little blue envelope in the upper right-hand corner of my screen. I didn’t look at any of the messages, and waited for David to do something since I had no idea how to initiate some kind of Grindr role-play activity.

David: Hey. Nice abs. Do you have a full pic?

Did he want me to send a real picture? Judging from the wait time, I assumed he did. I did a quick search of the pictures in my phone and found nothing interesting to upload to a potential Grindr hookup. It was mostly pictures of people playing handball, Chris’s dog, and food. Even that was in limited quantities.

Shifting on the bed, I held my phone out and took a half-assed picture of my face and bare upper body. It didn’t come out too bad, but my concentration face made me look like a serial killer. Maybe the memorial tat for my mom that was inked over my heart would make me less frightening.

I uploaded the picture to David without bothering to take another one. His reply was instant.

David: Is that a real picture?

I frowned.

Raymond: yea obviously. why?

David: Because your face is perfect. You’re gorgeous.

No witty reply came to mind. I just stared at his text.

David: I’m David. What’s your name?

Raymond: raymond

David: Do you ever smile, Raymond?

Raymond: no.

David: Too bad.

Raymond: maybe i would if you sent me a picture of your face

The picture filled the message box instantly. David lying on his side with hair spilling over his face as his eyes twinkled with mischief. His wide mouth was caught in a half smile, but he was biting the swell of his lower lip.

I’d seen him wear that expression a hundred times before, but there was something different about it when the picture was dissociated from his real self and our friendship. Especially since I now knew he was fully aware of how hot he looked when his eyes grew hooded and sleepy. Maybe he even knew how I would react to it.

David: Don’t go silent on me now. I’ll get self-conscious. :(

I reached down to adjust the growing hardness trapped in my jeans. With all the blood coursing to my dick, I didn’t hesitate to type exactly what was on my mind.

Raymond: youre fucking hot. that mouth makes me think dirty thoughts.