Authors: Robert Lennon

The Miles (19 page)

BOOK: The Miles

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As he gathered himself together and apologized for the incident, Liam glimpsed at Zane, smiling and daisy fresh, off to the side of the race course, wordlessly savoring the turn of fortune since their last head-to-head.

“So did you see any Bobcats?”

Liam waited for Zane to wipe the smirk off his face and answer the question.

“Uh, no. But I know there weren't any in front of me. This was my best finish in a whileâtop ten finisher overall.”

Giving a quick survey of the area, Liam did not notice many finishers at all.

“This place is a ghost town,” Liam announced. “Almost everyone must have been behind us. I bet that Fast Trackers cleaned up today.”

“What about your new
friend?
” Zane asked wryly. “Surely he must be here.”

Liam knew that Didier had been crushed with work the past few weeks, and so they had not seen each other and had spoken only sporadically. Still, the race held some symbolic importance to Liam, what with its ties to the lesbian and gay rights movement, and he had secretly hoped that Didier would understand that and represent the Bobcats. Liam wanted not to care but had been eyeballing the crowds all morning, looking for Didier.

“Nah!” Liam paused and looked into Zane's eyes. It was one of those penetrating looks that can cause people to do the wrong thing, to say too much. “Let's go cheer for the Fast Trackers, Zane. That's what today is about after allâus.”

Liam and Zane had made it back to the finish line in time to see Riser and Matthew cross with their hands clasped above their heads in victory. Ben came through next, followed by Ferdinand. And then a jumble of unfamiliar faces made their way to the finish line. There were old Fast Tracker men with their sagging chests painted in rainbow flags, and more women than Liam had ever seen before at a club event, all wildly shouting as they completed the race. As Monroe hobbled through the finish line, Liam screamed his name so loudly that his vocal cords ached with soreness. Zane picked up on Liam's chant and shouted: “Make us proud, Monroe!” On his way through the finishing chute, Monroe turned and raised a fist in solidarity, making Liam well up with affection. The race meant so many different things to so many different people. For the next twenty minutes, the team proceeded through the finish in a beautiful tidal wave of blue and orange.

MILE 19

T
here was nowhere to hide. The midday haze hung heavy in Central Park, and the mature treeline along the East Drive offered no shade. Liam's shirt clammed to his back and his head went light. He had suspected a run in these conditions was a bad idea and decided now to cut his loop of the park short at Engineers' Gate and walk the few blocks south along Fifth Avenue to visit Gary. His door was always open, and Liam knew that Gary would want to relive the details of the Pride Run and the convincing win that Fast Trackers had over the Bobcats. Improbably, Fast Trackers had come within inches of the Bobcats with half the racing year completed. Keeping the momentum through the summer and fall would not be easy, though, especially since the Bobcats would surely redouble their efforts in future races. But Gary would choose to rejoice in the now. The promise of air-conditioning and an ice cold beverage quickened Liam's pace.

Liam did not think anything of the two police officers stationed at the corner of Eighty-fifth and Fifth or of the rope of yellow tape partially blocking the entrance to 1040. Prepared to waltz in past the doorman as he had so many times before, Liam fell speechless as the porter on duty grabbed his arm and said: “Only residents allowed in the building today.” Feeling humbled and apprehensive, Liam walked back outside and dialed Gary's apartment. No answer. He then tried Gary's cell phone; it went straight to voice mail. Liam began to worry. Who else could he call? In the months since their stormy fight at the Brooklyn Half Marathon, Mitch and Gary had appeared closer than ever. Liam dialed Mitch's number frantically.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Mitch answered the phone in a quick and distracted manner. “It's a mess. Gary's staying at the Surrey. Hold on, Liam. There's a beep.”

Mitch spoke as though he had been fielding calls all afternoon. What type of mess involved policemen, a closed-off apartment, and the yellow tape of a crime scene? Liam tried not to let his mind wander into worst-case scenarios. Clearly, Gary hadn't plunged to a sidewalk death; he was taking a sojourn to the Surrey Hotel. Two minutes had gone by and there was still dead silence on the line, and Liam gave up on waiting.

Feeling too invested in the mystery to turn around and go back to his own apartment, Liam straightened out his running clothes and fixed his hair as best he could in the dark windows of a Porsche parked by the corner of Eighty-fifth Street. The doorman in a neighboring Fifth Avenue building pointed Liam in the direction of the Surrey, on Seventy-sixth Street. The prospect of bad news intensified with the blinding afternoon heat. Not sure if it was curiosity or concern that sped him along, Liam had transitioned from a brisk walk into a light jog, his head pounding and his mouth sandpaper dry. The Surrey Hotel blended in so completely with the sedate town houses on the street that Liam at first missed its recessed entrance. He ran his fingers through his hair once more to look as presentable as possible before walking into the lobby and approaching the concierge.

“I'm sorry, but that guest has asked for no visitors, no calls, no disturbances,” the man said without ever looking at Liam.

“He would definitely let me up. Trust me.”

“They don't pay a thousand dollars a night for me to disregard their requests, young man. I suggest you leave a handwritten note. If and when Mr. Loblonicki comes down, I will be sure he receives it. Have a wonderful afternoon.”

The concierge managed a level of respect despite his complete lack of eye contact with Liam. In his clearest penmanship, Liam jotted a simple and concise message on the hotel stationery. He wrote, “Call me. I'm worried, G. Yours, Liam.”

As he walked through the Village from the Bleecker Street subway station, Liam imagined himself at home, facedown on crisp bed linens with the air-conditioning blasting. Even the kids playing in the makeshift yard between the Silver Towers on LaGuardia wilted in the mid-July steam. Before heading back to the apartment, Liam bought a six-pack of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale from the local bodega. He cringed at the thirteen-dollar price tag but couldn't wait to suck one down. He still hadn't figured out how the deli kept the beers so cold given its high customer traffic.

He swung the door to his building open with a thrust of his hip before realizing someone stood directly inside the teeny vestibule that housed an intercom system and a stack of unwanted telephone books. The man pivoted around quickly, knocking Liam backward into the street.

“Well, I have to say that I was hoping for a different reaction.”

Perhaps it was the heat or maybe just the surprise, but Liam found himself stumbling over his words and grasping for a name.

“Now, stop the theatrics, Liam. I don't biteâthat is unless you ask me to.”

The context was askew. Without his running shorts and athletic singlet, Didier did not have as many sharp angles. The dark jeans and knit polo shirt that he wore masked his slimness. After not hearing from him for the better part of a month, Liam had placed Didier firmly in the “go fuck yourself ” file, which involved a deletion of all contact information so that he would not accidentally drunk-dial him on some particularly lonely night.

Didier pulled Liam back into the vestibule and moved as close as possible to him without actually touching. Liam could feel the tingle of Didier's warm breath as he exhaled. The plastic shopping bag knocked against Liam's leg and the bottles of beer rattled in place.

“I have drinks. It's hot. Do you want to come up for a cold one?”

Didier continued to stare Liam down. He remained silent and pressed his heavy lips against Liam's, mashing their mouths into a kiss. Liam resisted at first but then separated his lips and let Didier's tongue glide into him. As the buzz of the kiss wore off, Liam realized they were making out in the entryway of his apartment building in broad daylight. He grabbed Didier by the arm and led him upstairs. Between the third- and the fourth-floor landings, Liam thought to ask why it was Didier hadn't called and what had brought him back. He decided not to spoil the moment. Liam's heart raced as he fumbled to get his key into the lock, trying to appear calm and nonchalant.

Liam had forgotten to crack the kitchen windows open before leaving for his run and, as if part of a chemistry experiment, the static apartment air had become charged and electric. Embarrassed by the inhospitable temperature, Liam ran through to the living room and cranked up the air-conditioning unit that hung in the window. With sweat pooling in the small of his back, Liam could think of nothing less inviting than having someone press into him and make him even hotter. He cracked open two bottles of beer and put the remaining four in his freezer.

“You better watch out there; those bottles could burst right open. You knowâthe pressure and all.”

“You're mighty big on innuendo this afternoon.” Liam did not want to expend energy on games.

“I'm just trying to help you avoid a mess.”

“Is that right? Then help me drink the beer before we risk catastrophe.”

The icy beer coated Liam's throat and helped keep his appetite at bay. Runners never advertise the fact that a cold pint of beer is the best elixir after a hard run, beating any energy drink or fuel bar hands down. The sense of fullness and the feeling of euphoria were immediate and incomparable.

They moved onto the second and third bottles within minutes, racing through the beer as if it were sport. Liam quickly felt invincible, and he knew as well as Didier what would come next. They drank in greedy swallows, with only the occasional exchange of a pointed look slowing the guzzling of the beers. Didier finished his third beer before Liam and smacked the bottle victoriously against the Formica countertop by the dishwasher. He gazed longingly into Liam's eyes.

“I'm going to take a leak. The facilities are down the hall?”

Liam nodded.

The air-conditioning had made the living room slightly more bearable but the bedroom still felt like a kiln. As he drifted from room to room in the railroad apartment, Liam heard a clamor from the bathroom, as though something had been knocked over.

“Is everything okay?”

“Can you come in here for a second?”

As Liam approached, he heard the hard drizzle of water and slowly opened the bathroom door. On the floor in a neat little stack were Didier's jeans and his polo shirt. Behind the closed plastic of the shower curtain, Didier's shadow moved, his arms raised up high and his head swinging in circles under the shower nozzle.

“What do you need?”

“I needed to cool off but now it's so chilly under here that I need some body heat.”

Liam took off his clothes and gingerly poked his head around the shower curtain to glance at Didier.

“Why the fuck are you so shy all of a sudden? It's nothing you haven't seen before.”

Liam climbed in and felt the icy spray of the water off Didier's body. He reached to adjust the temperature of the faucet, but Didier slapped away his hand. Feeling the alcohol high full throttle, Liam grabbed Didier around the waist and let his hands massage Didier's butt while the brisk water poured over their heads. The intensity of the coldness gripped Liam, and he bit into Didier's shoulder for relief. Pulling away in pain, Didier glanced at the teeth marks and drew Liam in tight for a deep, long kiss. Water slid between their lips as Didier moved in and out of the kiss in a playful, teasing fashion.

Feeling numb from the shower, Liam disentangled himself and hopped out to wrap himself in a warm, dry towel. Didier turned the water off and joined Liam on the little square bath mat. They shared a large beach towel, which Liam hoped had looked like a romantic gesture rather than a hint at the sad state of his linen closet. Didier's bony limbs clung to Liam as they dried off. A brief recollection of their last encounterâthe hurried kisses on the construction site and the quick ejaculation that followedâsped through Liam's mind as he led Didier buck naked through the apartment to his bedroom. The air-conditioning had taken full effect, and Liam looked forward to the warmth of another body against his skin. He stirred at the thought of sex, and Didier quickly took notice and knelt down on the hardwood floor in front of him.

With the shades up and the early evening light filtering through the trees outside his bedroom window, Liam let Didier take his penis further and further into his mouth. He looked across the street to the strip of ritzy town houses where the owners prepared themselves for the night's activities. A woman in a gingham dress dotted some perfume onto her wrists as she danced from room to room getting ready to go out. A tweenage girl in the building next door paraded an army of friends into the television room where lights had been dimmed and a large blue glow irradiated all the young faces. And in the peach town house almost out of viewâthe one rumored to be Anna Wintour's residenceâa long good-bye embrace was shared before a tall, thin man exited the building and flagged down a taxi.

Liam began to feel alone and unattached. Didier asked if anything was wrong, whether what he was doing was pleasurable. What was there to say? No one wants to hear about solitude or existential ramblings. And so Liam committed himself more fully to the sex act, falling onto the bed and positioning Didier on top of him. He instructed Didier to take a condom out of the little nightstand drawer and then helped roll it down Didier's shaft. Liam asked him not to use lube, to force the whole cock in at once regardless of how much he winced in pain. This would be the actâlike running itselfâthat jolted him out of his melancholy; this would be his atonement for never being able to settle, for navel-gazing and not allowing himself to be whole. Liam accepted himself for who he wasâhighs and lowsâand could never be sure whether his life was richer for always being a little depressed. Happy people had their happy outlook and a palette of bright and shiny colors. People like Liam had so many shades and tinctures, subtle hues and tones in their lives.

Didier thrust himself quickly and forcefully into Liam. The pain was exquisite. Liam lost his breath for a few seconds but once he relaxed, the motion of Didier rocking inside him made him feel weightless, not of this world. Didier took Liam by the waist and lifted him off the mattress, looking for a way to probe deeper inside him. As he watched Didier focus and concentrate, Liam gently moved his foot against Didier's chest, pressing his toes against his nipples. Didier jerked back in surprise and wrapped his mouth around Liam's foot. Somehow it was now almost seven o'clock (the red squares of Liam's digital alarm clock blinked the time), and the black branches of the tree outside grew sharp in contrast to the purple sky. In one quick yank, Didier had removed himself and proceeded to strip the condom off and masturbate on Liam's chest. The cum sprayed out in long, clear strands, and Liam felt relieved that it was over.

When Didier started to stroke his penis, Liam gently stopped his hand and stood up from the bed. He foraged around in his closet for something to wear, and Didier came up from behind and kissed his neck.

“It's your turn. I won't feel satisfied unless you get off.”

“You don't owe me anything, Didier. This is what it is.”

“What are you talking about? This was amazing.”

BOOK: The Miles

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