by Damon Suede
“Drink?”
“I don’t.”
“Oh. Me neither.” Hope’s glance caught his as they walked to the living room. A silent question. “I’m a friend of Bill’s.”
Meaning she was in AA. An old code sober folks used to maintain anonymity out in the world. Anybody could be a drunk.
Ruben smiled and nodded, relieved to find an unexpected friend. “Me too. I’ve only known Bill about a year, but he saved my ass.”
“I met Bill when I was still dancing. Bad habit. Bad boyfriend, crazy debt. Little toot and a fresh bottle, I’d stay on my feet for a week. Then one night I fell off a stage and broke my arm.” Hope touched her nose and glanced toward the office. If Andy heard, he wouldn’t understand. “You?” Her voice dropped.
Sharing your drunkalogue was almost a handshake in the program. “Well, Miami. Odd jobs in bars, clubs breaking up fake fights. Free drinks. My wife worked the real job, y’know? Then one morning I woke up with a broken collar bone in the drunk tank, only she didn’t show to bail me out that time ’cause she’d left. Left-left.” It was a relief to tell someone up here. He looked at the office, but still no sign of their boss. “I sat there two days in pants I’d pissed and that was it.”
“I get that.” Nod. “The longer I’m sober, the drunker I was.” Shrug. “The program got me into business school. Apex. Life.”
“Good for you.”
“Likewise.” And for the first time since he’d come to work in the Iris, she touched him, placing her hand lightly on his shoulder like a benediction. She might not know his hell, but she’d crawled out of her own.
Peach always said, Let go or be dragged. He had admired Hope before, but now he understood her whirlwind intensity.
She left him out on the terrace. Andy was nowhere to be seen, and the sky was hazy with humidity. Ruben considered the extra four or five million it cost to have this kind of outdoor space on Park Avenue. After a minute, he hooked around past the guest room toward the library before he heard the hiss of a shower past the Jacuzzi.
He didn’t mean to spy, but somehow his body didn’t cooperate. He drifted toward the sound as if he’d gone deaf. He didn’t have any reason to spy on Andy, but a strange, hungry curiosity drove him.
Sure enough, Andy stepped out buck naked, toweling his scalp so roughly that his dick bounced. He had no tan lines and his flesh had a beige undertone, as if he’d tan rather than burn. His skin seemed one continuous biscuity length, broken only by the fuzz at his pits, pubes, and the spray between his tiny nipples. His calves were noticeably overdeveloped. The running, probably.
Andy hunched forward, scrubbing his hair and shoulders, dripping diamonds on the tile. His cock and balls seemed plump and vulnerable, although Ruben hadn’t seen many circumcised units in his life since boot camp. Then again, he hadn’t exactly hung around busy showers. Spying on Andy like this made him feel weird, somehow. As if he was doing his job and not, but at the same time. Oxymoron.
Andy turned, scraping water from the blocky muscles. The haircut had tamed his cowlick.
Ruben swallowed. In the short time he’d been working here, he’d never felt free to stare at his boss unobserved, but Andy was doing something he shouldn’t want to see. Huh. It made him feel powerful but guilty. His skin prickled with stolen excitement.
Andy bothers me.
Ruben knew the signs of envy. Guys in the gym did the same, checking his junk out “just to see” or whatever. A lotta guys checked out adjacent weiners. Gorilla logic. They didn’t want to seem like fags, but basic primate curiosity forced them to scope any competition in the vicinity. Instinct.
The shadow of Andy’s cock bobbed on the terrace stone. He’d watched Andy plenty. And if he hadn’t seen Andy’s junk, he’d seen enough to get a sense. He’d spent all week looking without ever satisfying that grunting impulse.
Finally, Ruben dropped his eyes. Any second, Andy was bound to sense him across the terrace and look up. Ruben turned and returned to the dining room door, making plenty of noise so it didn’t seem obvious that he’d been sneaking.
He pretended to look out over the balcony. He thought about that plump shadow.
A minute later, Andy looped a too-warm arm around his shoulders. “Haircuts.”
“Hope said. Why?”
Even rinsed Andy smelled like fresh bread. “We got a client thing tomorrow night, and we both could use a cleanup.” Without permission or explanation, he ran a warm hand over Ruben’s scalp. “He just finished me.”
Ruben had begun to ignore being petted. It didn’t feel bad, which probably meant he was just as starved for human contact as his boss.
Pot. Kettle. Black.
Andy herded him to the right. “Terry’s on the other side.”
Sure enough, somebody had set up a beauty parlor on the terrace outside the living room’s doors.
“Terry.” Andy introduced him to a trim older man with intense eyebrows. “This is Ruben.”
“Terry Foster.” His hand was cool and smooth. “Mmh?” Glancing at Andy, he scrutinized Ruben’s face and the shaggy buzzcut gone to seed. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
You have?
Andy said, “Severe, I think.”
Terry dried his comb with a towel that he flicked over his shoulder. “How severe?” He directed the question at Ruben, but Andy spoke first:
“Scary and expensive.”
Terry looked down at Ruben. “That good by you?”
He shrugged. The fuck did he care about his hair? He usually sprang for a high-and-tight four times a year at Supercuts.
“You’re sure?” Terry spritzed Ruben’s springy mop with water.
“Yeah. This is grown out ’cause I been busy. Mostly I just buzz it short with clippers in the tub. Cheaper than going to the mall.”
“Oso.” Andy chuckled and shook his head.
Ruben expected scissors then, but Terry produced an old-fashioned straight razor and unfolded it.
Ruben’s eyes widened. “Whoa. Okay. Okay. Wow, man.”
“You’re perfectly safe, Mr. Oso.” Terry smiled. He took a handful of Ruben’s shaggy top and hacked at it methodically. He released and ruffled the hair, then gripped another lock.
Ruben blinked, wondering for the first time what Andy wanted to make him into.
Black strands floated onto Ruben’s shoulders and the tile of the terrace. Terry tugged at hanks of his hair in what felt like a random pattern that polka-dotted his scalp. He sniffed. He’d never get laid looking like a mangy Dalmatian.
“We’ll see what we can do.” Terry worked quickly: tug, snick, flick. The long fingers yanked and hacked at his hair. Tug, snick-thwick, ruffle. He paused to address Ruben. “How are you adjusting to all this?”
“This?”
“Park Avenue. Your first time.” Terry gestured at the skyline and the apartment, then took another fingerful of hair, as if Ruben’s history was encoded in his follicles. “You cut hair, you learn things. Right, Mr. Bauer?”
Andy chuckled but kept his eyes on Ruben. “Fair enough.”
Hope came outside with a stack of papers. She shook her head at Andy, some secret signal.
Andy looked back. “Ruben’s visiting for a few weeks from Colombia. We’re both Columbians.”
Ruben gave him a look. “The country has an O. You’re a U.”
Andy pointed at his own sternum sheepishly. “Math guy. My spelling sucks.”
Hope handed him a file. He crossed his legs to look at it, giving Ruben a quick flash of his bunched junk.
Ruben coughed and looked away.
The hell?
Andy stood, flipping through the file’s contents, and Hope followed him back inside.
“How did you end up in New York?” Terry raked his damp scalp.
“Business, I guess.”
Terry snipped his hairs at an angle. “Serious or Monkey?”
Ruben grinned but said nothing. Lying to him seemed foolish and Andy trusted him.
/> Terry snipped and combed.
“I moved up north after my divorce.”
“What was her name?” Terry looked at him with gentle intelligence. This nice old barber was the first person he’d met up here who didn’t seem to want anything from him. “Your wife.”
“Marisa.”
Whether he’d really wanted to know, Terry bent forward to flick a few of the clippings off his torso.
Andy barged into the quiet moment. “This is looking sharp, Terry.” He leaned in close enough that Ruben could see an eyelash that had fallen to his cheek. Andy didn’t seem to realize what he was doing looked odd.
Bzzzzzzz.
Humming from behind him, then Terry’s voice. “Sure?”
Ruben blinked, but the barber was talking to his boss. Andy nodded so he did as well.
“Keep still.” Bzzz-bzzzt-bzzzz. Terry cleaned the back and sides of his head, leaving the top intact. Bzzzzzt-bzzz.
Then a knocking sound behind him and the smell of herbal soap. Terry used some kind of fat brush to wet and foam the exposed stubble all the way around, and down to Ruben’s neck.
Pausing, Terry held up the gleaming straight razor. “Won’t feel a thing.” Terry’s fingers held his skull firmly as he shaved the sides of Ruben’s head right down to the bare skin.
The metal skimmed light and deadly. Ruben held very still, conscious of Andy watching, almost entranced.
Terry dragged the long blade in arcing strokes that chilled his scalp. Man. The afternoon air felt cool on the exposed skin. What the hell kind of haircut was this?
Terry stopped and dunked the razor in a glass full of pungent blue solution.
“Rock and roll.” Andy clicked his tongue and shook Terry’s hand. Whatever the cut looked like, he dug it. Hope reappeared with a portfolio under one arm.
Ruben took the mirror and saw. “Jesus fuck.”
Terry had cleaned the sides and left a wide, wavy mohawk down the center of Ruben’s skull. The hair remaining up top was long enough to curl, but smoothed to the side, so it looked like a conservative side part but for the bare skin beneath.
All this for a club where he wasn’t a member.
“Extreme undercut.” Terry squinted. “Easy to keep clean whenever you shave. Safety razors will be fine.”
Ruben touched the top. “I look like a villain.”
Andy grinned. “No. Not a bad man, a bad boy. Different thing.”
“Yeah, uhh….” Ruben wanted to end the discussion.
“Fantasy.” Terry dried his hands with a small towel. “Love is messy. Gentlemen like a challenge and ladies love a rake.”
“Et al,” Hope said. “Same principles apply whatever folk you poke. Human nature.”
Ruben looked at her. The fuck did that mean? “Uh, yeah.”
Andy crossed his arms. “Definite upgrade.”
She looked at the air and let go of whatever thought she’d been having.
Why discuss him while he was sitting between them? Why were they discussing him at all?
Terry considered him again. “Most people are too close to even see the circle they’re born into. Nobody makes it out.”
“A few make it out,” Hope added. “But not in one piece.”
“You take my point.” Terry handed her the towel.
“Yeah, I’m nowhere near this cool.” Ruben gulped staring at his new reflection. “I feel like a fraud.”
“It’s only a haircut, Mr. Oso.” Terry started tucking away his razor, scissors, and comb in the pockets of a leather pouch. He caught Ruben’s eye.
Right then, Ruben knew that Terry had figured out some version of the truth with his scissors and razor. He knew that Ruben didn’t come from wealth or Colombia or anything else Andy had said. What’s more, Terry probably could’ve named his old stomping grounds in Miami just by reading his old haircut.
Terry looked hard into Ruben’s eyes, as if telegraphing something critical. A warning? A promise? “Mr. Oso, You have a unique opportunity to be a tourist behind enemy lines. You mustn’t squander it.” He rolled his case into a tight bundle and straightened, precise as a surgeon.
Andy rose with his salesman grin. “Nobody cuts like you, man.”
Ruben ran a hand over his mohawk thing.
As Terry reached the foyer, he held a hand out to Ruben to shake. “Keep your eyes open, Mr. Oso. There is so much to see when you open your eyes.” It felt like a warning. Was he afraid of Andy?
Ruben nodded. “Hope so.”
BACK IN his room, Ruben took a shower he didn’t need so he could hide for ten minutes.
He’d never wanted a roommate. Certainly not one who got under his skin like this.
Living in the Iris tested him daily. The easy camaraderie, the swanky partying, and Andy’s dogged kindness would make a drink start to seem safe.
He called Peach and tried to explain. She was less than sympathetic.
Of course, he didn’t confess his feelings about his boss.
After a few minutes, Peach coughed. “You make no sense, Ruben. Why is this security thing bugging you so much? Is he a prick, this Bauer?” Her gravelly voice made it sound like a sly compliment.
“No. Not to me, at least. He has money, but he’s been cool.”
“The checks clear? You’re being careful?”
“Sure.” Which was a lie, but not for the reasons she thought. He had no way to explain his freaky fixation. Even if she understood, he didn’t want to understand. Talking to her about Andy would make it real. “This place is…. Living in this environment is tough.”
“Cooped up? Of course it is,” Peach said, “Spend enough time in a barbershop, you’re gonna get a haircut. So talk to him. Don’t make it into a new cage.”
“I know.” If he wanted to stay sober, he needed to set some ground rules with his boss.
“Ruben, look at where you are and whatcha got. If you find a path with no obstacles—” She coughed. “It prob’ly leads nowhere you wanna go.”
He nodded. “Maybe I need to get out. Get clear. Get my head on straight.” She couldn’t know what he meant by straight, and he didn’t want to tell her.
“Good. Yes. Right,” she said distractedly. “Do your job. Finish your Fourth Step.” A rough cough. “Lighten up. Remember: it takes time to get your brains out of hock.” A bell and a voice. “Hey! That’s my soup.”
He had zero desire to go back out there and face his boss and his feelings, but he needed to let her eat. “Sure. We’ll talk later. Thanks, lady.”
“God isn’t finished with you yet, kiddo.” She hung up.
Ruben sat looking at her picture on the phone, her face like a pink raisin and a loud print because she still liked to draw focus. He missed her more than he missed his parents.
FROM THE office he heard Andy’s angry voice. “Do what you’re told. Why won’t you just do what you’re told?”
When Ruben checked the door was locked. Andy sounded pissed at whoever, and his voice had that chilly, tactical bite that set Ruben’s teeth on edge. He’d heard that shark snap but never felt it directly. He didn’t know this Andy at all.
What if that’s the real him?
Resisting the urge to eavesdrop, he retreated to the other side of the apartment. Surely Andy didn’t want him overhearing anything personal.
A searching and fearless moral inventory. How long could he do this, live up here with Andy before he broke and started telling uncomfortable truths?
He drank a glass of water and then went out to the terrace, staring back through the window at the imprisoned bear skull. He left a guilty message for his parents so they wouldn’t grill Charles about him. He almost called Marisa but thought better of hassling her.
Ruben dug out his wallet and flipped to the last personal photo he still carried in it.
Marisa had gotten knocked up before he headed to boot. They’d gotten married outta high school. He couldn’t stand the thought of her living with her ma, but he needed the Army paycheck. Seven
weeks in she’d had a bad miscarriage, so he’d ditched the service with an ELS discharge and come back to Miami to set up house. In the first six months of enlistment, anyone can request an administrative separation. Price tag, plan.
Truth was, he’d been grateful for the excuse to drop out of the military. His face had made him a target day one; he got pegged as a troublemaker, and hardly a week went by he didn’t have a black eye and stitches from twitchy pukes with shit to prove.
Instead he came home to Florida and worked in a paint store and a garden center hauling trees before he started doing pickups and deliveries for a couple clubs on the South Beach strip.
He had the right build and had a knack for intimidation. Plus, free booze tastes the best… and the pussy! He shook that tree and sweet peaches fell all over him. Year by year, he and Marisa fought more while he drove more, cheated more, drank more. The clubs sloshed around him till he got so wet he started to drown while his marriage dried up and blew away.
But his pothead brother Charles? The lazy dumbass who’d jerked off seven times a day and dropped out of school junior year? He jumped at the Big Apple and landed in cake: promoting illegal clubs long enough to make a nest egg and then setting up his security company by hiring a couple cops he’d been bribing.
Down in Florida, Marisa got her divorce. Ruben got sober and dragged his sorry ass to the big city. Price tag, plan.
“Oso?” Andy’s voice.
Ruben looked up to see Andy looking at him strangely.
Ruben laughed. “I guess I still got her picture hanging on my mind.”
“Who’s hanging?” The voice sounded closer than it should’ve. At least Ruben managed not to flinch.
Sure enough, his boss had returned silently and stopped behind him. Andy took the wallet from his hands to inspect the photo.
“Man, she’s a dime.”
“What?”
“Dime. A dime. A ten. She’s a stunner.” Andy nodded at the old snap.
Ruben could feel the male bullshit faucet clank. Were they all about to start swapping pussy stories?
Still, for whatever fucked-up reason, the thought of Andy finding her hot seemed sexier somehow. For a breath or two, he imagined what it would be like to have a three-way with them. Just as quickly he kicked that door shut, because he saw the twisted action hidden there once he tugged it open.
