Pent Up

by Damon Suede

  “Rube?” His brother came out of the bathroom, hair damp and wrapped in a towel. “We’re good.”

  Ruben put the groceries on one of the stools in front of the tiny counter to put away later. No way could they both fit in the kitchen.

  “Nice threads. My jackets looked like shit on you. Jesus.”

  “You got fat, man.”

  “Fuck you.” His brother rubbed his hard gut.

  Charles was tubby, had no kinda chin, and lived on maxed out credit cards, but he got way more pussy because he was without shame. He’d lie, beg, and whine to get inside a girl’s ass. Daria had managed to hang on to him for seven months, which was some kinda record. “Bauer’s right about the suit, though. He dressed you up sharp.”

  “Yeah. I guess.”

  “Job still kosher?”

  “I guess? He’s buying.” Ruben nodded. “But I still can’t figure why Empire.” Why me?

  For a moment he imagined Andy’s shark smile. He realized it didn’t scare him anymore, which scared him.

  “Bauer wants to feel like a badass with some pit bull on a leash, so let him.” Charles shrugged. “It’s all in his head, and he wants you to put on a show.”

  “He thinks the pigeons are spying on us. Rich people don’t cheap out on safety.”

  “Then who fucking knows, Rube? Slumming? I say thank God for paranoid cheapskates.” Charles took a swallow of milk and wiped his mouth. “He a homo, y’think? Crushing on your mean pinga.”

  Ruben snorted. “Bauer? No way. Uptight is all.” He didn’t add that he’d probably spent more time scoping Andy than vice versa. “That dude uses the Playboy channel like the home shopping network.”

  An odd look, clenched eyebrows. “You should get with some ladies, mingle. Get your ashes hauled.”

  “Yeah.” Ruben pressed his lips together and looked at the mottled floor. For five seconds he considered braving the hot night to hit a meeting then crapped out. Tomorrow.

  “Socialize. Everything you got’s been taken. I get it, Rube. You’re not a kid, and you’re gonna have to get your feet under you again. Man up.”

  “I’m not a charity case, Chucky.”

  “No. No, you’re not. A charity case would say thank you and get off my back. No, you gotta bust my balls and bitch that I’m not sending you into something crazy and dangerous.”

  Ruben exhaled. “I gotta feeling.”

  “A feeling. You’re thinking about Marisa.”

  Ruben shrugged. Actually he hadn’t obsessed about Marisa in three months, but it made more sense than what he had been obsessing over.

  “Ruben, all that’s past. Almost a year, huh? She’s done. Moved on. You do the same.”

  “Sure.” Eyes up. “No. I’m good.”

  “I thought you dug Bauer’s assistant. Hot and smart.”

  “Hope? Yeah. No. Engaged.” Every time Ruben flirted she held up a diamond the size of a throat lozenge, but she seemed unoffended by his attention.

  “How engaged can she be?” Charles always assumed they could talk their way into any panties. Maybe he was right. Down the hall, Daria’s plaintive voice asked something.

  Charles raised his voice to answer. “Almost, cariño. M’talking to my brother, huh?”

  No reply from the bedroom, but Charles nodded toward Daria anyway.

  How did they talk about Ruben when he wasn’t here? Did he even want to know? Shame choked him.

  I’m intruding here. Irrationally, Ruben wanted to be back at the penthouse spying on a life he’d never be able to afford. Plenty of room there. At least Andy listened. He swatted that thought away.

  Peach’s voice in his head: Analysis is paralysis.

  He needed to make himself scarce somehow. The apartment was tiny, but it had an old, footed tub in there big enough for three people. Charles hated to sweat so he liked to sit and soak. Ruben tried to keep his showers short ’cause this wasn’t his place and never would be.

  Ruben pointed at the john. “Okay if I rinse off?”

  “Please! You stink, papá.” Charles wiped his face again and ducked back toward the safety of his girlfriend.

  After making up the sofa, Ruben washed fast and went to bed wet and wobbly. If he slept at all, he didn’t remember it in the morning.

  SOMETIMES A plan is just a list of things that don’t happen.

  Ruben talked Andy into working out and some basic self-defense training. In exchange, Ruben consented to hit the paths in Central Park three mornings a week at dawn. He refused to sleep over, but the tradeoff seemed fair.

  Ruben made it downtown half-awake, freshly rinsed and wearing old soccer shorts and duct-taped Nikes. The Iris doormen watched them leave with undisguised pity. What did they know about staying in shape at forty?

  Madness.

  The first time they met in the Iris lobby at 6:00 a.m., Andy chided, “The early bird catches the worm.”

  “Sure.” Ruben raised one grumpy brow. “But the early worm gets eaten by the bird.”

  What he learned is that jogging is legalized suicide.

  Ruben, a few steps behind for much of the trek to the park, watched the sweat spread across Andy’s back like faint wings and then creep toward his waistband before they’d even started in earnest. He’d forgotten that it was almost July.

  They ran.

  Andy, for his part, led the way silently, allowing Ruben to follow the subtle cues of his body. No need to speak really. Together, they fell into a lope that Ruben hoped he could sustain without puking, pissing his shorts, or passing out.

  Central Park was shaded, but the morning sun still drizzled over them like hot grease. Humidity made breathing slow and arduous as they pounded the concrete paths under the trees. His quads burned, and after ten minutes he could feel sweat glinting off him with every step.

  Andy obviously knew how to pace himself, matching Ruben tread for tread. He was slippery with perspiration but looked relaxed and happy for some horrible reason. His corded legs took the terrain effortlessly.

  Ruben focused on keeping his breath steady. He’d been cooped up indoors for too many weeks. He hadn’t realized just how much he missed sun, trees, sky. On the other hand, his thighs and calves felt flayed raw.

  Without thinking Ruben took off his T-shirt and wrapped it around his fist. Too hot to feel self-conscious. Besides, he’d been in New York long enough to start losing the Florida color, his brown skin dulling to a fishbelly-beige. Sunlight slid over his shoulders like a heavy robe.

  Andy looked him up and down but said nothing.

  Suddenly jogging seemed like a great idea.

  After fifteen minutes, the air didn’t even feel hot anymore, and Ruben could feel his thirsty skin drinking the crazy green light that snuck through the trees. Sweat slid down his ribs, staining his waistband dark.

  Andy gave what sounded like a big, satisfied sigh, and Ruben realized he could hear it as if Andy had exhaled right into his ear because the city was so far away.

  Quiet.

  Aside from the scuff of their shoes on the path, the noises of Manhattan waking up had all but vanished. No cars yet. A dozy scent of bark and fresh grass hung in the air, and the skyscrapers rose like geometric cliffs too distant to deserve caution. He snuck a look at Andy and caught him looking back.

  Andy nodded and raised his eyebrows, some secret arcing between them.

  Not that Central Park was a secret, but that it hid one: this mild dappled glow that filtered out the city. Strange, but somehow familiar.

  When have I been in the park before? That first day he’d come to break into Andy’s place. He looked again to his right.

  “Good?” Andy’s hushed voice sounded loud suddenly.

  Ruben nodded. “I think so. I guess. You’re strong.” He glanced at the perfect legs.

  “Habit. I ran at Columbia. Fencing team.”

  “You don’t even stretch.”

  “Massage later.”

  In other words, someone else was scheduled to stretch
him. Them?

  “Fuh.” Ruben clamped his jaw, unsure how he felt about that. “You do this every morning?”

  “Clears your head. Builds the appetite. Charlotte’s making brioche.”

  “Fuck you.” But Ruben smiled, his lungs sluggish from the cigarettes and his blocky frame not built for speed. He tried to breathe through his nose. Maybe he wasn’t built for running. “I’m too thick.”

  Andy looked down at Ruben’s churning legs. “Bullshit. Those calves? Sprinter, probably.” He was still looking as he thudded along in sync.

  “Wrestled. High school. No running.” The unblinking attention made him feel funny. The burn in his lower body was excruciating.

  Andy spun and ran backward, jabbing at Ruben’s slick midsection. “Candy ass.” How did this nutjob stay so chipper? He turned and pulled ahead of Ruben to let a cyclist pass.

  “Easy for you.” A little smile of sweat on the top of Andy’s shorts drew Ruben’s eye. “To say.” He exhaled raggedly. “Asshole.”

  Grin. “You’ll get the hang, vato.” Andy fell back into judding sync with Ruben, at his right elbow. “One mile and we’re done. How else am I gonna keep my ass in shape?”

  No comment. Andy’s ass needed no help. Ruben looked down to the pavement as he jogged. “Too fucking old.”

  “Bullshit. At forty-whatever?” Andy swallowed and his big jaw flexed, what Ruben had come to think of as his concentration muscle.

  “One. Almost two.”

  “C’mon, Rube.”

  Ruben stopped in his tracks, drip-dripping on the asphalt. “That’s what my family calls me.” Except, for once he didn’t mind it. He tried to throttle the cool rush of inappropriate affection that surged over him.

  Andy jogged in place till Ruben started running again. He shook his head. “What?”

  “No. Nothing.” Ruben ran easy after that, not even feeling his legs till he stopped moving.

  Even jogging slow, they eventually reached the edge of the bubble and emerged onto Fifth Avenue next to a big white building with columns that looked like a wedding-cake courthouse bank.

  Andy caught him goggling. “The Met. Big museum.”

  The façade stretched up several blocks of Fifth Avenue on its park side. “Cool.”

  “I used to love it. My parents brought me all the time as a kid.” Andy watched him, unblinking. “We’ll be back. Promise.”

  Ruben thought it was weird that this gigantic museum should be tucked away up here in such a quiet neighborhood, but then realized the Upper East Side gazillionaires had probably built this mausoleum and then filled it with whatever Picassos and sarcophagi they couldn’t fit in their condos: a very fancy storage unit, not designed to keep the commoners out, but to keep all the valuables in.

  He was getting a feel for New York, finally. In a way, the entire island of Manhattan had been designed for the convenience of the people living in this zip code. Upper East Siders could order anything to be delivered. He could imagine a couple of these rich buzzards who only descended when it was time to scoop up the millions that paid the bills on their swank perches.

  They made it back to the Iris in no time. The doorman saluted them as they passed. After the park, the lobby’s groomed green wall seemed tame and lame. Ruben’s legs throbbed if he didn’t keep moving, so he did.

  Inside the elevator, Andy eyed him. “You lift, right?”

  Ruben nodded. “When I can.”

  “Thought so. I got a surprise.”

  “Is it alive? Do I have to walk it?”

  Big laugh. Dimple. “Private gym, if you ever wanted one. All ours,” Andy said, pressing the button for the thirty-third floor. His white tee was translucent with sweat.

  “You’re gonna work out now?”

  Andy regarded him from the other side of the elevator. “I just wanna cool down.” He rested his hands at the waistband of his shorts so that his fingertips dipped inside the elastic, grazing the tops of where his pubes had to be.

  Glass double doors rose opposite the elevator, with a bunch of fancy exercise equipment on the other side.

  Andy pressed the pad with his damp thumb and the door popped open, revealing a plush gymnasium about twenty-five feet square. “Building already has your prints.”

  Ruben could see an elliptical trainer, a couple treadmills. A basic weight circuit. All the machines looked untouched. Creepy. “Brand new.”

  “Been here seven-plus years, but I’m the only tenant who uses it.”

  To the east, a wall of sheet glass looked down on a tiled terrace: polished teak furniture and sculptured trees ringed a shimmering rectangle the color of a Miami sky.

  Beside him, Andy peeled off his sopping shirt, revealing the sun-kissed torso.

  “No one at all?” Ruben walked into the spotless corner room. Sheet glass windows. Shrubbery beyond. Turquoise water.

  On the fucking thirty-third floor.

  “When Equinox was remodeling, Lisa on seventeen came here with her trainer.” He shrugged at Ruben. “She does the morning weather for Fox.” He made a face.

  “Nobody uses the deck even?”

  “Mmmh. Some of the kids come splash around in the winter because it’s heated and has a wave machine. Teenagers sneak out to smoke weed and make out. But I’m the only tenant that doesn’t summer out of town. Like, summer as a verb. I hate that scene. I get enough during the week.”

  Ruben looked at the sparkling equipment and through the sheet glass at the impeccably landscaped terrace. Low trees grew in teak boxes filled with white quartz gravel. Their dense leaves were clipped and sculpted into mod blobs. “Looks… clean, I guess.”

  Andy folded his shirt and wrung the dripping cotton out. His blocky muscles were pinked and pumped. His arms bunched and his drips polka-dotted the deck.

  Unaccountably, the sight relaxed Ruben at a primitive level. Maybe because they were both guys, both sweated, both had worked hard. Maybe.

  “All the plants are leased seasonally. So much for nature, huh?” His pecs looked even more square than his dumb jaw.

  Ruben smiled to himself.

  Andy twisted his shoulders to crack his back. He had a relatively smooth chest and thighs and then this springy golden fluff on his calves and forearms that caught the light. Ruben couldn’t take his eyes off it, partly because it was so unexpected and partly because he’d never seen body hair that looked so soft.

  Andy walked straight down the stairs into the water.

  Ruben wanted to join him, but felt strange splashing around with his boss with the possibility of other tenants spying on them from some window.

  Except, they think I’m his buddy.

  “Wanna cool off?” Andy turned back. “Feels great.”

  Headshake. “Needta stretch.” But he didn’t.

  Instead, Ruben stood and watched while Andy dove in: a single hard line of sinew that made no splash. On the swim team at his prep school. He popped back up, scraping his hair out of his face and squeezing the water from his scalp. Powerful arms, snub nose, peachy skin. The prince of Park Avenue rinsing the dust of the commoners from his perfect body before returning to his cage above the city.

  Ruben flashed on the crowded neighborhood pool he’d gone to growing up, cracked tile and cloudy water. Now he faced a forty-foot heated bathtub hovering above Park Avenue that didn’t get used because the tenants forgot it was here.

  He gritted his teeth in loose envy and frustration.

  Andy had no fucking idea how the world worked. He lived in an imaginary bubble of spare houses, ignored pools, decorative gyms… wine that needed to breathe and dresses worn once.

  For a good thirty seconds he spent watching Andy bob and surface, Ruben wished that his brother had given him the stupid bouncer job on the West Side. Nowhere near the pay but way easier on his ego and libido.

  “You don’t know what you’re missing.” Andy stood on the little run of steps facing him. His running shorts stuck to his muscular legs and his hair darkened by the dip.
“Grab me a towel?” The sheen of water made his muscles look even more perfect.

  Ruben nodded, wondering if Bauer expected him to run up three floors, and then saw the fluffy white pile on a pedestal just inside the door.

  Andy’s wet feet slapped toward him until his broad shoulders filled the doorway, so Ruben tossed the folded terrycloth rather than carrying it like a fucking Key West cabana boy. There are limits. He drifted toward the hall door.

  Andy grinned dimple-deep and muttered in a teasing voice, “Se siente cachondo, Oso.”

  “What?” The word “cachondo” sounded dirty and slightly familiar.

  Andy looked at his face, shoulders, chest, legs. “You’re all jacked up. Sun did you good.”

  “Thanks.” Ruben rubbed his hot skin. He’d be darker as a result, is that what Andy wanted? Cachondo.

  Andy scrubbed his ear, squinting. “You can use it whenever. Pool, I mean.”

  “Sure.” Ruben was here to do a job, not get a tan.

  Inside again, Andy scraped himself semidry before following Ruben back to the elevator. “Seriously. Nobody ever uses this deck in summer.”

  Ruben grunted noncommittally. He pressed the UP button and turned to nod thanks to his boss.

  Except Andy faced the other way and his thin blue shorts were plastered to his flushed skin, and wedged between the high cheeks of his ass.

  Freeballing?

  Ruben swallowed and aimed his gaze at the elevator ahead. What the hell?

  Andy scrubbed his thick hair with the towel. “Most of the tenants vanish. The wives move out to the Hamptons or the Hudson Valley in May with the kids and the staff. A couple of the artsy types take the Jitney on Thursdays. Stays pretty dead up here.” His eyes hardened a moment.

  “I’ll bring a pair of shorts.”

  Andy shrugged. “Or you can borrow—” Yeah, no.

  Bing. The silent doors slid open, and Andy gestured Ruben inside first, swimsuit loaners forgotten.

  Keeping his eyes low, Ruben could just make out the faint dimples above the waistband and the white straps of the jock Andy was wearing. Nothing but creamy skin under the pale blue shorts, so Andy must shave fore and aft. The sight made Ruben’s dick feel funny—hollow and somehow heavy—to creep on a dude that way. He glanced back up into that intense gray-blue stare again.