The Painting of Porcupine City (28 page)

I lowered the phone and looked out the window, checking for Mateo’s car. A second after spotting it I heard his voice. He was in the living room talking to Jamar. I deleted the texts, though they were nothing I should feel guilty about, and pushed back over to my desk. Soon there was a knock on my door and Mateo came in.

He dragged his fingers against the back of my neck as he walked by, then hit my bed on his stomach. He was still wearing his work clothes.

“How was your meeting?”

“Fine,” he said. “Got roped into conversation with Porn Randy afterward, though. For like twenty minutes. He was asking me about the new website.”

“He was at the meeting?”

“No, I think that’s why he was asking about it.”

“Why was he even there so late?”

“I don’t know.” He lifted himself up on his elbows. “How’s the writing coming?” He looked at the sheet hanging out of the typewriter. “Using your Christmas paper yet?”

“Not yet. I’m saving it for something good.”

“Ah. Then that’s no good?”

“Nothing special.”

“You seem a little distracted the last few days. I was hoping you had something good going.”

“Do I?”

“A little.”

“Oh.”

“Everything OK?”

“Just a little worried about Cara, I think,” I said, lowering my voice.

“She’s huge, huh? Is it possible she’s even bigger than when I saw her the other day?”

He seemed perfectly serious. I laughed. “I don’t know. The doctor said she’s supposed to take it easy.”

“Like bed rest?”

“I don’t think it’s officially
bed rest
, but she’s supposed to take it easy. And eat lots of M&Ms, apparently.”

“She’s still got another month to go, right?”

“Mm, three weeks. The twenty-seventh.”

“Bet she’ll be glad to have that kiddo out of her.”

“I sure would be.”

“I sure would be too.” He rolled onto his back and sat up, unbuttoned his shirt. “Want to come out with me tonight?”

“... It’s Tuesday.”

“You don’t have to.” He got up and opened my closet and put his shirt on a hanger. “Just thought it might be nice since we didn’t get much of an evening.” My grease-stained shirt with his knuckle print still hung on the inside door; he must’ve seen it a bunch of times but he never said anything about it. He took off his pants and hung them up too, carefully maintaining the creases, then put on a pair of my shorts that he had, over time, commandeered as his own. He tucked his t-shirt into the shorts.

“You’re funny,” I said.

“
You’re
funny. I need to pee.”

He left my room, kissing me on the head as he walked by, and as he passed through the kitchen I heard him say, “Three weeks!” and Cara responded, “I’m a whale!” and that cued Jamar to start singing
Baby Beluga
.

I smiled. He fit in so easily here, almost suddenly. I turned back to my typewriter, unrolled the page, crumpled it and dropped it in the trash.

I did end up going out painting with him that night. I hadn’t planned on it, and his alarm clock felt like a cattle-prod to my brain, but when he was out of my bed I didn’t want to stay in it without him.

I went back and forth

like that a lot. Tick and tock. There were things I liked about being in a relationship. All the weird, physical things that anchored me to it. I liked the way his clothes looked hanging in my closet. I liked the way the colored lights played over his face when he stared into my fish tank. And the way he would randomly show up in my cube at work, put a cup of coffee on my desk and leave without saying anything, only smiling. I liked the tastes of his body and the feel of his scratchy throat against my mouth. I liked hearing his stories about São Paulo and Vinicius and the mysterious Tiago, who I suspected he once cared for.

But other things, as trivial as any of those, would up-end me. A text from Mike. A guy checking me out on the sidewalk. Another invitation from Alex to hang out with him and Jimmy, which I decided not to turn down. Every single thought of the key-touching guy. Sometimes I’d be perfectly content with Mateo in bed, and an hour later I’d be following him around the cold city, wondering why it felt like I was in two separate relationships: a Mateo-Fletcher relationship and a Mateo-graffiti-Fletcher triangle. What made them so different? Was it the warmth of the sheets versus the cold of the street? Was it his bare fuzzy belly versus his chapped bleeding hands? Was it the horizontal versus the vertical? After all, both of our identities had been defined on flat objects: mine on mattresses, his on walls. Was bed just my turf? Or was it more basic than any of that? Was it simply that in our warm naked moments I had him all to myself—and out there, the rest of the time, I was sharing him with a
city?

There were good things and there were bad things. But I tried to focus on the positive. I tried to stay in the groove. Because it was February, and February is a month for romance.

“So what’s Jammies getting you

for Valentine’s, huh?”

“Hopefully a vasectomy,” Cara said. She was lying on the couch with her feet up on the arm and a
People
magazine sledding slowly down the slope of her belly.

“Haha. Be nice.”

“Heh. Diamonds. Jewels.”

“Diamonds! Here you go.” I handed her a bowl of steaming cream of wheat.

“Awh, you put an M&M smiley face on it!”

“There’s more underneath. They kept sinking.”

“Even better.”

“Aren’t I amazing?”

“Truly you are.”

I sat down on the coffee table. The baby gear filling the living room hadn’t moved much since she unwrapped it at her shower, although some of the bigger boxes—a playpen, a crib—had migrated into a partition that resembled a baby-festooned cubicle wall. Wouldn’t be long now before they’d have to start unpacking it and setting it up. I made a mental note to be away that day.

“In exchange for my food preparation services,” I told her, “you can advise me on tie selection.”

“So then this is a dress-up dinner?”

“Alex wants to do it fancy. I don’t really care either way. Are you sure you and Jamar don’t want to come?”

“You know I hate Alex,” she said nonchalantly, the way she’d turn down lima beans. “I can’t be seen in public, anyway, especially on Valentine’s Day. I’m a poor advertisement for sex these days.” She sucked an M&M off the spoon. The magazine slid off her belly onto the floor.

“You’re more like a cautionary tale.”

“Heh.”

“You guys should come, though. You can hold me back so I don’t climb over the table and rape Jimmy Perino during dinner.”

She rolled her eyes.

“What, you’ve seen him.”

“Like ten years ago.”

“From the pics I’ve seen he’s even improved with age.”

“He’s a four.”

“A four? C’mon, he’s a ten. Dude’s gorgeous. He should be in that calendar with all those naked French rugby players.”

“He’s a seven, max. And I just mean physically.”

“Whatever.”

“Mateo’s an all-around ten, babe.”

“I never said he wasn’t.”

“So what do you care about a seven when you’re hot and heavy with a ten?”

“I wouldn’t say we’re
hot and heavy
.”

“You would be if you weren’t pining for five minutes with a five, dumbass.”

“...”

“Why are you going out with them anyway? Valentine’s Day is for couples.”

“They asked us. It’s a double date. I haven’t seen Alex in forever and he’s been pestering me. I turned down Christmas. I couldn’t turn down Valentine’s too. It’ll be fun.”

“Fun. Sure.” She sucked in another M&M. “
Alex
and
fun
don’t go together for me. He’s like a fingernails-on-chalkboard concert.”

“You’re terrible.”

“Am I wrong?”

“You’re just terrible.” I smiled. “Maybe I’ll be able to ditch him and get some Jimmy time solo. See if the sparks fly.”

“And where will Mateo be during this?”

“He can join in if he likes.” I offered her a dramatic wink.

“Mateo aside,” she said, “I don’t see Alex sharing anybody. Or, if he did, he’d share just so he could yank Jimmy back afterward and leave you out in the cold. A free sample so you’ll know what you’re missing.”

“Jeez, you make him sound sinister.”

She smiled, swirled the spoon in the cream of wheat, turning up a melted M&M that left an orange streak along the bowl.

“This one time,” I said, “in college, at the silverware thing in the dining hall, Jimmy and I both reached for the same fork at the same time. And the way he looked at me, I could
tell
he wanted me.”

“Oh you could, could you?”

“But he wasn’t out yet, which is obviously why he didn’t act on it. Alex said he came out late—and now he’s trying to make up for lost time.”

She could tell what I was thinking. “Don’t
even
. Leave him alone. I know you’re kidding— I
hope
you’re kidding, Fletcher. Seriously, leave Jimmy alone.”

“Of course I’m kidding. I have a boyfriend.”

“That’s right, you do. An amazing one, by all accounts.”

“I know.”

“I mean, Fletcher, have you seen those swoon-worthy tattoos on those magnificent arms? Have you heard that to-die-for little accent of his? Have you seen the way he
looks
at you?”

“The way he looks at me?”

“Keep an eye out for it,” she told me. Then she went digging in the cream of wheat for more M&Ms, was close to being disappointed, and then turned up a red one. Licking the chocolate off the spoon, she said, “I know the relationship thing is new for you, but it suits you. So don’t screw things up with the Brazilian.” She booted my leg with her slippered foot. “Seriously. I’ll pound the shit out of you if you do. Someday, you know, you’re going to look back and realize he’s been the best thing that ever happened to you.”

“Cara,
you’re
the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Well, me and Mateo both.”

He was giving me a look.

“Remind me again why we’re doing this,” said the best thing to ever happen to me.

“Because Alex is my friend, Teo, and he asked us to go. That’s why.” I turned away from the mirror, satisfied that my tie was straight, and found him pulling off his shoes. “What are you doing?”

“They hurt my feet. I’m wearing my Chucks, fuck it.”

“You can’t wear Chucks with a suit. Come on.”

“Guys wear sneakers and suits all the time. Turn on MTV.”

“We’re going to a nice restaurant, not the VMAs.”

“Then my feet will be under the table and it won’t matter what I’m wearing. Could go barefoot. Maybe I will!”

I looked up and took a deep breath. When I lowered my eyes he was lacing up his paint-misted sneakers.

“I’m wearing a suit, Fletcher. That’s good enough. I’m going out with these strangers.”

“They’re not strangers, they’re my friends.”

“I don’t know how good a friend this Alex can be if you haven’t seen him since last summer.”

“Well it’s not like people who go to sleep at eight o’clock have a lot of opportunities to socialize.”

He glared at me.

“I didn’t want to say no to the first invitation he gave us. —They’re going to be here any minute.”

“Cara says Alex is weird.”

“She barely knows him. Come on, Teo, it’s just dinner.”

“Just dinner. OK, I’m ready. I’m ready.”

He looked good—I was too annoyed to admit that he looked fucking great. His suit was tailored, a hip cut. It even looked good with the sneakers. I resented having an off-the-rack suit myself.

Alex texted me to say they were out front. The cold air slapped our shower-warm skin and we ran coatless (because who owns a coat that goes with a suit?) from the door to the waiting coupe. As we arrived at the car I heard the click of locks and Jimmy grinned from the other side of the driver’s window. From this angle, shoulders-up, he was like Alex’s post-coital photo sprung to life. He had a shirt on now of course but my imagination effortlessly removed it.

“You better let us in!” I said, tapping on the glass, playing along. In the reflection I caught Mateo roll his eyes.

“What?” Jimmy cupped his hand around his ear. Nice fingers, clean nails. In the passenger seat Alex was laughing. “I can’t hear you!”

Right before it would’ve become awkward the locks clicked again and the door swung open. Jimmy got out, blue tie swinging against his chest. He was tall, eyes the color of the tie, with short brown hair you know would lighten in summer.

“I’m Jim.”

“I remember,” I said, excited to have his hand in mine. “This is my boyfriend Mateo.”

He gave Jimmy a quick, wimpy shake.

“You guys look killer,” Jimmy said. “I don’t own a suit.” He had on Dockers.

“You look great anyway,” I told him.

“So can we get in?” Mateo said, breathing on his hands as though he weren’t used to spending every night in the cold.

“Sure, sure.” Jimmy pulled forward the seat.

Mateo held out his hand to say
after you
so I got in first and slid across the backseat, annoyed that I wasn’t getting to sit behind Jimmy. When Jimmy uprighted the seat and got in I had a good view of his profile, though, so all was forgiven. He’d just had his hair cut and the edges met his skin in razor-sharp lines.

“Hi,” I said, reaching forward to squeeze Alex’s shoulder. “Sorry it’s been like forever.”

“Yeah, yeah. I forgive you.”

“This guy’s been keeping me busy. Mateo, Alex, Alex, Mateo.” They shook hands against the armrest.

“Happy V Day!” Alex said.

“Va
gi
na day!” said Jimmy. “Not!”

Mateo slumped forward and closed his eyes.

The restaurant we went to

was one Mateo had tagged the side of three years earlier. He claimed the piece ran for less than six hours before it was whitewashed by a frantic maitre d’.

The table was round, the lighting dim, the food French and expensive. The waiter sported a yellowed comb-over and wore a white towel on his forearm. He sold us on a bottle of wine. Alex and Mateo got carded; I didn’t, and didn’t know how to take that.