Sunset Park (8 page)

“All right, change the subject.” Raymond grasped my elbow, tugging me a little closer. “And put that lip away. I can’t deal with the pouting.”

“Too bad. You just shit all over my mood. I was happy to see you until you turned into Debbie Downer.”

“Yeah, yeah. Fragile little fuck.”

I scooted even closer, keeping just enough distance so it wasn’t obvious I was craving his proximity. If we were alone, he’d let me lie all over him. It had been that way from the start—since the weekend after we’d visited Michael in rehab. I’d offered to make him dinner at the house and wound up staying later than anticipated. We’d smoked together for the first time, and he’d talked about his mother and Michael. About finding his father dead. I’d hugged him without thinking twice, and at first, he’d been hesitant. So wary of giving me the wrong idea. But loneliness and despair had buckled his tough-guy facade, and he hadn’t pushed me away.

Just one hug, and he’d melted against me as though it was the first one he’d had in years. All of his armor, his unflappable hard-ass bio ware, had fallen away until he was clutching me as I held him. I’d tried to absorb all the fear and sadness that he’d let me take. Nothing more had happened, but that had been enough. I’d stuck around ever since. And the cuddling became a habit that we never talked about or acknowledged. It was just our thing. And I wanted it now. I think he did too. My hand slid closer to his, our fingers just slightly touching, and he draped his arm against one of the support beams to idly toy with my hair.

“You came all the way over here because you want to convince me in person to pack your shit.”

I smirked. “Maybe.”

“Uh-huh.” Raymond’s thumb dragged along the ridge of my ear. “So you think just me and you are going to get it all done ourselves?”

“It will take a long time,” I admitted. “But you’ll do a better job. You’ll come up with a plan and be organized and strategic. I just need you to tell me what to do, and then I’ll do it. Can you do that for me? Please?”

The dirty smile returned. “Claro.”

I snorted and hit his hand. “Seriously. Will you help me?”

“What’s in it for me?”

“My eternal devotion.” Raymond rolled his eyes, but I took the risk of sliding my hand through his entirely. “My undying affection? Come on, Raymond. Please. I don’t want to have to call anyone else. I can’t depend on them.”

I don’t know what it was about those particular words that got him to crack, but he released a long-suffering sigh and sifted his hand through my hair once before getting to his feet. I found myself eye-level with his crotch, which wasn’t an unpleasant place to be. “Fine. But you owe me.”

I pulled myself up and brushed the back of my pants. “What will I owe you?”

“Don’t know,” Raymond said, heading down the stairs of the gazebo. “But I’ll think of something.”

A desperate part of me wanted that to be an innuendo, but I had a feeling he was just going to demand food. Either way, I’d give him my devotion and affection whether he wanted it or not. Whether he ever admitted to wanting it or not.

I glanced down at the floorboards again and was finally able to make out the carved words without Raymond’s shadow darkening the floor.

In large unsteady slashes, it read:
Nunzio & Michael ’94.

I couldn’t help but smile. If Michael and Nunzio could find happiness, I had no doubt that Raymond could as well. Even if he didn’t let it come easily.

David

AS MUCH
as I couldn’t wait to swap the apartment I’d shared with Caleb for my new digs in Sunset, I spent the rest of the week dreading the day of the move. Prior moves in the city had involved me maneuvering a U-Haul truck in Manhattan traffic, fighting with cops or other drivers because I had to double park the hunk of junk, and then taking six hours to unload by myself or with one or two lazy friends. The last time Caleb hadn’t even helped. He’d been away on business.

This time things were a bit different.

Raymond showed up with Michael, Nunzio, Chris, and a mean-looking guy named Sharky. I’d had no idea how the guy had earned the nickname, and had assumed it meant he had a reputation as a shady person or was an actual loan shark. When I’d pitched my hypothesis to Raymond, he’d smirked and said it was because Sharky had been obsessed with the movie
Jaws
as a kid. I took that as a cue to shut my mouth for the duration of the move.

Raymond meticulously tagged every box so the guys knew where everything belonged. I helped at first, but Chris advised me to hang out in the apartment and unpack while they finished hauling boxes upstairs. I didn’t know whether to be insulted or not by the princess treatment, but I didn’t fight it too hard. By the time they were done, I’d half unpacked the kitchen, ordered a few pizzas, gotten some beer, and now I was playing host to five handsome guys who were shirtless and covered in sweat. Life could have been worse.

After Michael and Nunzio went home, Sharky and I were left eating pizza while Raymond and Chris tried to set up the TV. I could sense Sharky was curious about me, but he just nibbled on a crust and idly called a suggestion to Chris about how to run the wires.

“I work for the cable company,” Sharky said in a conspiratorial tone. “Ray actually brought me along so I could do this.”

“So why aren’t you helping?” I asked with a laugh.

“Yeah, cockhead.” Chris pointed at Sharky. “Why aren’t you helping?”

“I’m supervising.”

Raymond muttered something in Spanish, and Chris cracked up. I didn’t know what he’d said, but I bit back a smile anyway. Sharky didn’t look fazed.

“How’d you and Ray meet?” I asked.

“We grew up together. Went to the same elementary school, junior high, etcetera. It’s always been us three and this girl Tonya, but she’s in the military. On her third tour overseas.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. She’s a badass.” Sharky licked grease off his fingertips. “What about you? How’d you meet him?”

“Through Michael.” I twisted off the cap of a Corona, nearly offered it to Raymond, and thought better of it. I took a sip myself. “I teach science at Michael’s school, and when he was going through some things last winter, I contacted Raymond to find out how he was doing.”

“Yo, Ray, what was that all about, anyways?” Sharky’s brows knitted together. “I heard he tried to kill himself.”

Raymond looked over his shoulder. He didn’t even have to say anything. He just looked, and Sharky leaned away from the force of the glower.

“That’s just what I heard. No need to get all pissy.” Sharky looked at Chris for confirmation. “Right? Ain’t that what people was saying on the block?”

“I dunno what you’re talking about.”

Sharky frowned. “You pussy.”

Raymond still seemed to be considering tossing his screwdriver at Sharky like a dagger, so I jumped in. “Michael just needed some time off to deal with things. It’s hard to cope if the world keeps moving when you’re not ready to rejoin it.”

“That was some deep shit.” Chris nudged Raymond. “I like this guy. He’s almost as smart as me.”

“Aiight, Mr. Community College Dropout.”

Chris pumped his fist in the air. “And I got a bomb-ass IT job to show for it.”

Raymond didn’t reply. How were his friends so oblivious to the feelings of inadequacy such simple statements provoked? They’d known him for going on twenty years, and I had only recently become close with Raymond. Yet my eyes grazed the slight slumping of his shoulders, and I noticed how he zeroed in on his task with a singular focus; how his one-liners had become monosyllables.

Was I reading too much into it? Pretending I had such a good read on him just so I could feel special? It was possible. It wasn’t like I hadn’t overanalyzed my connection with a guy in the past. In high school, creating entire fantasy relationships out of minor interactions had been a wretched hobby of mine. But this didn’t feel like a fantasy. My connection with Raymond had to be real. If it wasn’t real, it would be hard to have faith in anything ever again.

Sharky joined them by the mess of coaxial cables and HDMI connectors, looking to redeem himself for the suicide comment. Raymond ignored him for a few minutes before caving and blessing Sharky with the usual half smiles and snarky comments.

As I sat observing from the sidelines, I expected the outlier twinge to ping my heart the way it so often had in the past, but it never came. Raymond’s friends were so genuine and good-natured that I had a good time unpacking while laughing at their jokes. The only awkward moment came when Chris’s cheeks dimpled after he caught me paying a little too much attention to the way Raymond’s basketball shorts dipped past his hipbones. I suspected Chris got a kick out of tough, asshole Raymond rooming with a gay twink.

“I like your friends,” I said when they were gone. “They’re funny.”

“Hilarious.”

Raymond found the box with his many marijuana-oriented implements as soon as I’d locked the door. He was loading a bowl as an Internet radio station played mellow indie rock from his computer.

“Is this a station you listen to frequently?”

“Sometimes. When I don’t want to be amped up.”

“Makes sense.”

I finished folding the empty pizza boxes and shoved them in a garbage bag. The kitchen was in disarray—empty beer bottles, crumbs, and a litany of paper plates and cups littering the countertops.

“Bring your ass over here and stop cleaning.”

“Crumbs attract bugs,” I said, swiping them into the trash with a paper towel. “And I hate bugs.”

“If the troops gather that quickly, it’s inevitable.” Raymond packed the bowl of his pipe. “It’s our first night here. Relax.”

If I had a dollar for every time Raymond told me to relax, I could pay off my student loans in a year.

“You’re going to smoke with me,” he said.

“Is that an order?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

I padded over to him, navigating the clutter of our belongings while relishing the cool hardwood beneath my bare feet. The apartment was strewn with boxes and mismatched furniture, but I was still in love with it. It was cozy but had a slightly unfinished quality that was very urban. The french doors leading to my room added to the feel—like it had once been a library or a study before being converted into a bedroom. It was flooded with deep golden light from windows that overlooked the neighborhood. We didn’t have the most breathtaking view, but watching the setting sun reflect off the windows of warehouses in Industry City had its own charm. A lot of things about our apartment had a certain charm. Raymond was one of them.

“Does Chris make fun of me?”

Raymond flicked his lighter and took a hit from the pipe. He stared at me through the drifting smoke.

“Stop worrying about my friends.”

“I want them to like me.”

Raymond passed the pipe and slumped down on the sofa. “They seem to like you just fine. I dunno why you’re so paranoid.”

“Because I’m not like them. I’m an alien.”

“Yeah,” Raymond agreed. “But you expect me to go have cocktails with your white-bread friends, and then you act like I’m an idiot for worrying, so what’s the difference? If you think my friends are calling you a fag, why shouldn’t I think your friends will call me a loser?”

“Because you’re not a loser.” I inhaled too deeply and heat spread through my chest. I wanted to say more, to go through a list of all of his wonderful qualities and explain why he was anything but a loser despite whatever social standing he thought he had, but I didn’t. He would think I was placating him. Or worse—he would think I was being saccharine and get uncomfortable and create distance where I wanted none. Coughing, I handed the pipe back and slid closer, curling into his side. “Would they think it’s weird that you accept that I’m a stage five clinger?”

“Most likely.” Raymond exhaled smoke into my face. “Even I think it’s weird.”

I slid my arm around him to make it weirder. “What about Michael and Nunzio? Did your friends freak out when they found out?”

“They might if they knew.”

I fumbled the pipe when he passed it back. He
tsked
and removed it from my hand. He was always half-amused, half-exasperated with how little I knew about smoking pot despite enjoying the experience. But I was too distracted by his comment to recover from my marijuana faux pas.

“Are you saying Michael isn’t out?”

“What a stupid expression.
Out
.”

“It’s not funny.” I twisted on the sofa, leaning closer and nearly pressing my nose against his cheek when I listed too far. Two tokes and I was already wavering. I knelt on the cushion and braced my hand against his shoulder. “You don’t get it, because you never had to hide who you are. The ability to be out is a big deal. Not too long ago—”

“Cut the sermon. I get it.”

For just a moment, I shut my mouth. Something between a clean streak of rage and a bubble of embarrassment welled inside of me. He was so concisely belittling, and he had no idea the power he had over me with so few words. Taking a small breath, I tried again, “Don’t be an asshole. I’m serious. For decades, centuries, generations, gay men in this country had to love in the dark. Always having to pretend and give up little pieces of who they are just to not… be hated or killed, but things are changing for our generation—there’s no reason why Michael should still be hiding who he is. Especially to people he’s known his entire life. And Nunzio—how the hell does he feel about it? He’s out, isn’t he?”

“Nunzio couldn’t wait to piss everyone off by talking about how much he loved dick.”

I didn’t think it had anything to do with wanting to piss people off so much as him not caring about what people thought, but I kept the opinion to myself. I wasn’t the expert on Nunzio. Raymond and Michael were. “They’re from the same neighborhood and from families with similar cultures. He survived, so what’s Michael’s problem?”

Raymond set the pipe on the table, smoke seeping from his lips. “He doesn’t have a problem. Just because he didn’t feel the burning need to tell unnecessary people his biz doesn’t mean he’s a coward.”