by Lou Harper
“Yes! What happened next?”
“Well, it turned out the asshole was a junior prop guy on the set of a zombie movie. They had some mix-up, and he ended up transporting a couple of very realistic corpse dummies in the trunk of his car. I can imagine how shocked Carol was when she first saw them, but then she noticed that the half corpse ended in a green plastic piece at the waist.”
“Whoa. I would’ve had a heart attack.” My warm salad was more like lukewarm by then, but still good, thanks to bacon.
“Yeah, Carol told me I could be the one opening trunks from then on.”
I saw him eyeing my salad, so I pushed the plate in his direction. “What happened to the driver?”
“We booked him for possession and for making us look bad. We were the butts of jokes for years. It even went beyond the squad,” he said, pilfering slices of mushroom.
“He probably never ran a stop sign again.”
“No, I suppose not.”
Nick had a hearty appetite, and I liked watching him eat. As the starch went out of his demeanor, my fears and reservations gradually peeled away, and by dessert we fell into an easy rapport. I started to think that at last my curse had dried up. One thing was sure: I was ready to take it to the next level. When Nick gave me a good-night kiss, pin-prickles of anticipation raced up and down my spine.
I got ready for our Friday night date with extra care. Green is a color nature can pull off without effort but the fashion industry struggles with. What looks good on a tree can be drab on a person. I had exactly one shirt in the right shade of green that said I’m friendly, fun, and most importantly, available. The sensuous finish of the silk-cotton blend was a bonus.
At Nick’s suggestion, we met at Ombre, a hot West Hollywood nightclub. I arrived with a slight unease. I’d been staying away from WeHo for years, mostly to avoid running into old acquaintances. From the entrance, I scanned the place for familiar faces.
Nick picked up on my unease. “Looking for escape routes?” His voice carried easily over the noise.
“Sizing up the competition. It’s been a while since I’ve been out clubbing.”
“Really? How come?”
I shrugged because that was not a subject I wanted to discuss. Not now, possibly not ever. “Are you gonna buy me a drink or what?”
The buzz of alcohol muted my worries and set my nerve endings on fire with anticipation. On the dance floor, you had to shout to be heard, but fortunately, words were unnecessary for the mating dance of the North American gay male. As time went on, the volume of the music seemed to increase to testicle-busting level. Sweaty bodies writhed everywhere you looked, and the smell of men and desire in the air was thick enough to choke a horse. God, it was exhilarating. I sent my brain on vacation and let my body have some fun. I was in the company of an officer of the law, after all. I felt safe and electrified at once. Nick must’ve felt similarly—his powerful body moving with the beat had me mesmerized.
Much later that night, I found out why he picked Ombre—we only had to take a short walk from there to his place. Nick’s place was a typical two-story complex with scant personality or style—a lot like my own. Boxy with beige stucco. However, he had a swimming pool. His place was on the second floor too. The rent must’ve been higher than mine, though, because of the plum location.
The moment we got inside, Nick pushed me against the wall and pressed his lips on mine. I sucked on his invading tongue—the sharp tang of whiskey cut through the lingering flavor of the appletinis I’d had. I pushed my hands under his silk shirt, but he grabbed them by the wrist and pinned them over my head. I groaned in frustration and felt his smile even as we kept kissing. Switching to a one-handed grip, he used his free hand to unzip my jeans. He swept his thumb over the sticky head of my cock, eliciting another groan from me. I canted my hip for more friction, but he pulled back.
“C’mon, Jem, we made it this far. The bedroom’s only a few more yards.” His voice rumbled like distant thunder.
I tried to keep mine even, with limited success. “Lead the way, oh fearless one.”
I followed him through the dark apartment. Between the living room door and the bed, we managed to lose most of our clothes. All I had left on were my unbuttoned shirt and my briefs when Nick pushed me down on the bed. Cool sheets soothed my hot skin. I lifted my hips to allow Nick to tug my underwear off.
He licked a swath across the length of my cock and swirled his tongue around the head. I had to think seriously unsexy thoughts to avoid embarrassing myself. Fortunately, he moved on and nibbled his way up my stomach and chest till his body covered mine and we were nose to nose and dick to dick. My whole being reduced to the sensation of friction of skin slick with sweat, scratch of hair, and the feel of the hard globes of his ass undulating under my fingers. My nostrils filled with the scent of Nick and our combined arousals.
Animal urges kept us grunting and rutting against each other till I couldn’t hold back anymore and my release erupted and coated our stomachs. Nick thrust a few more times; then he came too, groaning into my neck.
After a minute, he rolled off me, and we were quiet for a few breath-catching moments. Conscious thought trickling back, I realized if anything, I wanted Nick even more now. I wanted to fall asleep in his arms, wake up later and make love again, slower this time. I wanted to wake up next to him tomorrow, just to see his morning face. I was afraid if I wasn’t careful, I’d burst out my cravings too soon. So I said, “That was nice.”
“Understatement of the year.”
I squinted down at the mess on my belly. “Do you have something—”
He pushed a box of Kleenex at me before I could finish the sentence. He also flipped the reading light on, so I could actually see the damage. I dabbed our combined jizz up the best I could, while he did the same on his end.
“Are you always this full of yourself, or were you saving it up for me?” I handed him the crumpled tissues.
He dropped them in the wastebasket. Yeah, he was the kind of guy who had one of those in the bedroom. “There’s more if you’re not in a hurry.”
“I have all night,” I said with a happy grin.
He turned to his side, and so did I, fitting my buttocks into his groin. He brushed a hand down my side and stopped at my hip. He traced his thumb over a spot on my lower back. Oh yeah, my spider tattoo. It was an unusual design. I’d gotten many comments on it, especially back when I’d been prone to show it around. Nick didn’t say a word, but his grip went tight. I swear the temperature of the room dropped two degrees.
I rolled around to see what was wrong. Nick’s face was a frozen mask, and I couldn’t understand why, but my heart began a skittish gallop.
He stared into my face, searching for something. “Sasha.” The word dropped between us like a venomous snake.
I froze. Nobody had called me by that name in ages. He couldn’t have known—and then I recognized the utter revulsion in his eyes. It hit me like a sledgehammer: Nick and I had met once before, and nobody else had ever looked at me with that level of loathing before or since. Shame and humiliation flooded me in a hot wave as I leapt out of the bed. I snatched my clothes off the floor and yanked them on as I fled. I had my shoes and jeans on—the latter still unzipped as the front door slammed behind me. Oh yeah, the curse was still firmly in place.
I managed to catch a cab on Santa Monica Boulevard. Sitting in the back, still in a state of shock, I started to swear at fate that had brought me together with the man I least wanted to ever meet again. For additional irony, I reeked of his spunk. The Armenian cabbie caught it too, judging from his disgusted silence. I wiped a tear of misery and frustration from the corner of my eye.
Up in my apartment, I took a hot shower, scrubbing till my skin turned red. I seriously contemplated taking a prescription sleeping pill but decided I’d better not on top of the alcohol. With my luck, I had a good chance of ending up like poor Heath Ledger. I swallowed a handful of valerian capsules instead.
&n
bsp; Chapter Two
The night was warm, but I wrapped the blanket around me like a protective cocoon. Unfortunately, it couldn’t shield me from the memories. Sasha was my middle name, but in my teens I’d dropped Jeremy completely in its favor. I loved the way Sasha sounded—exotic, romantic, a bit swishy. That was me at seventeen. My way of rebelling was dressing up like a tart and engaging in casual sex with strangers in exchange for money.
When I’d grown my hair out longer than my sister’s and dyed it raven, my parents had taken it with jaw-clenching exasperation. They hadn’t batted an eye at my matching fingernails. Mom and Dad thought I was having a goth phase, but they had no idea about my secret life that had gone along with the clothes. Many nights I’d squeezed myself into my skinniest black jeans and put on a gauzy shirt before sneaking out of the house. Complete with eyeliner and lip gloss, I’d rocked the androgynous look. I’d meet up with Riley at the corner, and the two of us would set out to have some fun.
West Hollywood boasts more gay bars and nightclubs than you can shake a dick at. We had our false IDs, and a couple of cute twinks like us got all the free drinks we wanted. Hollywood, on the other hand, had offered skeezier entertainment, and we’d liked it exactly for that reason. There, tourists mingled with locals, Scientology clones, street entertainers, runaways, the homeless, hustlers and partygoers. You never knew who you were gonna run into.
As my conscious brain started to power down, old memories floated to the surface.
There’s a movie opening at the Chinese Theater, fucking up the traffic at Hollywood and Highland. Onlookers are stacked several people deep behind the velvet ropes, waiting for the celebrities arrive. Riley is determined to dig his way through them, all the way to the front. His eyes shine like glitter at the prospect of seeing a star up close. I leave him there; we’ll meet up again later. A few blocks down, where the sidewalks no longer have stars in them, the hubbub barely makes a ripple. Buses rumble along; people of all sorts walk past me. I get more than a few looks—smirks, gapes and double takes. One guy catches my eye—he’s pointedly not looking at me. Backpack, red Cardinals cap, and the Stars Map in his hand give him away as a tourist.
Red is the sign of danger, but I ignore it. He turns and pretends to survey the collection of garish T-shirts in a shop window, but I catch his glance in the reflection. I sidle up to him, feigning to admire the display. Our elbows touch, and he doesn’t pull away.
“Where are you from?” I ask, friendly-like.
“Saint Louis. Here for a week.”
“So, how do you like LA so far?”
“It’s…interesting.” His gaze slips to my chest, where the sheer fabric leaves little to the imagination.
I know I’ve gotten him hooked. “I could show you some local sights most tourists don’t see.” I keep my voice neutral, but I bat my eyelashes at him. He gulps and nervously glances around. “Don’t worry,” I tell him. “Just follow me.”
I stroll away, down a side street. I keep walking without a backward glance but I know he’s behind me. The motel is as ugly as it is cheap. I wait for him at the entrance. He goes inside, pays for the room. I watch him take the key before heading after him.
The room smells of mildew and stale cigarettes. He drops on the edge of the bed, and I push myself between his knees. He doesn’t move, so I take his hands and guide them to my ass. He avoids my eyes. Nervous? Maybe a virgin. I pull off my shirt to break the ice. The brim of the baseball cap hides his eyes, but I see the quickening beat of his pulse on his throat.
Time to talk business. “I’ll blow you for fifty, but if you want to fuck, that’s a hundred.”
Wordlessly, he counts out five twenties. I unbutton my jeans and hear his breath hitch.
“Turn around,” he says. His voice grinds like gravel under heavy boots.
I turn, and he grabs my wrists. CLICK. The handcuffs bite into my skin, and my heart begins to race.
“You’re under arrest.”
He whirls me around, and I see the grimace of revulsion on his face.
That’s how I’d gotten arrested for prostitution. Funny how these details had stuck in my head, despite my best efforts to get rid of them, while the rest of the night is a blur. I know that Uncle Charlie came and bailed me out, but I don’t see it in my head. My parents’ reaction, Dad’s shouting and Mom’s crying—they hid in a haze.
But that expression of contempt on that cop’s otherwise unremarkable face… That had lodged in my memory like a bullet. Because it hurt the most. By then I’d been used to getting the stink-eye or being called a fag. The cop’s disgust had gotten to me because deep in my heart I’d known he’d been right—I’d been trash.
So my first time with Nick was really the second round, I thought before the sandman mercifully took me into his arms.
Saturday morning, I plodded around my apartment in a state of gloom. Usually, the first thought in my head after opening my eyes was that maybe this day would be when my curse broke. Life would be calm and uneventful, and I’d relax, until misfortune smacked me in the face again. This morning I had no doubt the jinx was still going strong. The previous night’s memory assaulted me on waves of nausea. The worst part hadn’t even been the humiliation, but that I’d really liked Nick. I considered going back to bed and staying there for the rest of the day.
Alas, my phone rang. I picked it up and squinted at the screen—my sister. If I didn’t answer, she would just come by to check on me.
“Morning, Charly,” I grumbled into the phone.
“Jem, how are you? Have you had breakfast yet?”
As always, her natural buoyancy lifted my spirits too, but I was reluctant to let go of my funk. “Dammit, Charly, how the hell can you be so chipper at dawn?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s almost ten.”
“Exactly. No, I haven’t had breakfast yet, but I’m not hungry.”
I suspected she’d suggest meeting up somewhere. She lived in Pasadena and I in Burbank—not a great distance, with plenty of diners and restaurants in between, but I didn’t feel like driving.
“Not a problem. I’m in your neck of the woods already, standing in line at Porto’s. What do you want?”
Hearing the name of my favorite Cuban bakery opened my mind to the idea of food. “Mmm…a breakfast sandwich would be nice. Or maybe a butter croissant. You know what? I leave it up to you. But definitely get some potato balls.”
She laughed. “That’s a given.”
By the time Charly knocked on my door twenty minutes later, I’d gotten myself washed and dressed, and the aroma of fresh coffee filled the apartment.
She stepped inside carrying an FTP canvas bag I’d given her, stuffed full of bakery boxes. “Unpack this while I get the plates.” The women in my family always bossed the menfolk around. We were used to it and accepted that it was for our own good.
Charly was my closest friend, but it hadn’t always been so. When she was a toddler, I’d tried to sell her to a couple at the park. Hey, they’d commented on her cuteness and I’d been only five. Twenty bucks and an ice-cream cone had seemed like a fair price. They’d laughed and called me funny. I’d been dead serious.
In hindsight, I’d realized I’d resented her for taking my place as the baby of the family and sending me on an identity crisis. Stuck between an ever-so-responsible big brother and an adorable baby sister, it was no wonder I’d became the troublemaker.
Then a building collapsed on me, and I had to learn to walk and talk again. People I’d considered my closest friends vanished into thin air, but my little sis, who’d just gotten into the nursing school at USC, postponed her studies for a year to look after me. So yeah, she could boss me around all she wanted.
I moved a stack of books from the coffee table to the entertainment center, and then opened the boxes and laid them out. Charly, who knew her way around my kitchen, brought out plates and napkins and cups of coffee. I poured myself a glass of carrot-orange juice, and we sat down around the co
ffee table.
After the first bite of my medianoche sandwich, I realized I had plenty of appetite after all. Charly appeared similarly famished, and for a while, munching and slurping were the only noises to be heard. However, Charly kept surveying me over her sandwich. At the time of my convalescence, she’d appointed herself as my personal caretaker and hadn’t been able to completely give it up since. With a concerned expression, she put her plate down. “You look pale. Are you taking care of yourself?”
“You sound like Mom. I’m fine.” She had a knack for making me feel like a kid, even though she was four years younger.
She eyed me skeptically. “Are you sure?”
“Just tired. Went out last night.”
Her face lit up. “Oh really? Hot date?” Charly was far too interested in my love life. She’d kept hoping I’d meet “someone nice”. She and Mom.
I had to disappoint her. I was good at it. “Sorry, it didn’t work out.”
She sighed. “Oh, Jem. You’re too picky. Like that doctor I introduced you to. He was a perfectly nice guy.”
Unfortunately, my sister was the worst matchmaker in the world. “We had nothing in common, aside from being allergic to girl cooties.”
During our one date, Doctor Lombard had yammered nonstop about his golf game and how much he’d paid for his Mercedes. And his vacation in Majorca.
She shook her head with resignation. “So, what was wrong with this one?”
“Ehrm, we didn’t click, that’s all.” I tried to sound offhanded, in hopes she’d drop the subject. “Mmm… This is so good,” I added, biting into a potato ball. Mashed potato wrapped around meat stew and deep-fried. What’s not to love?
She ignored my diversionary tactics. “Something’s bothering you, I can tell.”
“I’m fine.” I grinned and shoved more food in my mouth, chewing as cheerfully as I could. A wasted effort.
