Boys

by Scott Semegran

  "Where's he going?" she said. "Did I hurt his feelings?"

  "Nah. He'll live."

  "OK." She drew something on the floor that I can only imagine was a flower.

  "Can I ask you a question?" I was nervous. I slid my hands in my back pockets, holding myself upright, bracing for a possible negative reply.

  "Oh, OK."

  "That dude I saw you with at Levonne's party. Is that your boyfriend?"

  "What? Ummm, Mick? Oh God, no! No, no, no, no."

  "Really?"

  "Mick is my roommate's boyfriend. We're just friends. He's nice. And he's nice to my roommate."

  "Oh... good. I mean, that's good."

  "We were probably just waiting around for her to go to the bathroom or something. She was at the party too and--"

  "Would you like to hang out sometime? Like, maybe after work tonight?" I said. I felt like a real dufus, too, all of a sudden, for asking. I don't know why. I just did, OK?

  "Ummm."

  "If you're busy then I understand."

  "No, sure. Let's see. I don't have any plans after work tonight. What do you want to do?"

  "I don't know. I wasn't planning on asking you to hang out. I guess we could just hang at my place, talk, eat something."

  "Well--"

  "Alfonso will be around too. He lives with me, if that's OK. I mean, he's my roommate."

  "I figured he was since you two always seem to be around each other."

  "So, is that a yes?"

  "Yes," she said, smiling at me, the toe drawing continuing again.

  SALUD!

  "Great!" I said, excited then tempering my excitement, not wanting to sound too bonkers about it. "So, what's going on here? Where's Paula?"

  "I don't know. There's rumors that her and Dan are upset about something but I don't know what it is this time."

  "I see. So, tonight then? Us, hang out?"

  "Yes, tonight."

  "Great! I'm going to check on Alfonso, make sure his feelings aren't hurt."

  "OK."

  I went to look for Alfonso.

  Dinner, a Confession, and a Novel about Something

  Mr. Whiskers displayed a level of whorishness on Laura Ann's leg that I had never seen before. The minute she stepped inside my apartment with us, he commenced to rubbing his head and neck on her leg in such a way that would make a hooker from Silicon Valley embarrassed. I mean, he just wouldn't stop. I didn't know what to say. Thankfully, Laura Ann thought it was cute (lucky for him). I was ready to toss his fuzzy ass out the window.

  "Your cat is so affectionate," she said, kneeling down to pet him. She started at the back of his head and stroked him the full-length of his body. Wads of fur came off in her hand as she pet him, plumes of loose fur twirling in the air, his purring getting louder, his whorishness more aggressive. "Sooo cute!"

  "Ummm, thanks," I said, closing the door behind us. Alfonso got a kick out of Mr. Whiskers unsavory behavior, chuckling at the brash display of favoritism toward our new guest.

  "Hooker," he said, setting his things on the side table next to the couch, his makeshift bed in the living room which was really his makeshift bedroom. "That cat is straight-up, a hooker."

  "Awww, you guys are so mean," she said, continuing to pet him. I stared at her for a moment, shocked at the idea that the beauty I had crushed on for the past few weeks was actually in my apartment, kneeling down and petting my cat. There was something inherently good about her--without a doubt I could tell--that emitted from her like warm rays from the sun, like the sound of ocean waves crashing on a remote beach, like the sound of the rain tapping on a roof. It was an undeniable truth, something good. I could see it in the way she carried herself, in the way she presented herself to the world, in the way she pet my cat and said yes to coming to hang out with me. She had a way about her that said, 'I'm a good person' and I believed that to be true. I liked that about her and Mr. Whiskers did too, obviously. "I miss having a cat."

  "You can have mine," I said. She thought that was pretty funny. "There are hundreds of cats down at the shelter too. You could go adopt one."

  "That's a great idea. I may just have to do that except... I'm never, ever home. I work too much. Maybe it's not a good idea after all," she said, giving Mr. Whiskers one last scratch then standing up. She looked around, investigated, wiping her hands together, releasing the loose fur into the air. "So, this is where you guys live, huh?"

  "Yup," I said. "The Palace on South First Street!"

  "The Chateaux of Shit!" Alfonso said.

  "It's not sooo bad," she said, maneuvering around my small apartment, trying her best not to knock anything over. "It's just a little cramped but nice."

  "Alfonso sleeps out here," I said, then pointing to the bedroom. "That's my room back there."

  "Can I see?" she said.

  "Sure." I watched her walk into my room and I looked at Alfonso. He shrugged. I followed her in.

  My bedroom was sparsely furnished. I had a pretty nice double bed although I rarely made it. I had an antique nightstand my father gave me with a digital alarm clock on it, an ashtray, some coins, a lighter, and a framed photo of Mr. Whiskers when he was a kitten. Laura Ann thought that was cute. The only other piece of furniture I had was a massive drafting table that I used for a desk, its tilt-able top set at a perpendicular angle to its base, with a beat-up Toshiba portable computer on it. There were some papers scattered on it too, some pencils, and some empty cigarette boxes. It was a pathetic excuse for a desk, really.

  "What do you do with that?" she said, pointing at the computer.

  "I write on it, sometimes."

  "Write? Like what?"

  "He keeps telling me he wants to be a writer but I've never seen him write anything," Alfonso said, looking into my room through the door.

  "I've been too distracted lately," I said.

  "What are you writing?" she said, standing closer to me.

  "I've been working on a novel... kinda."

  "Can I see?"

  "Sure." I turned around and opened my closet door, revealing a small walk-in closet, big enough for one small person to step into, which I did. I reached for a cardboard box up on a shelf above my hanging clothes and pulled it down. Stepping back out of the closet, I set the box on the desk and opened it. Inside, a stack of white papers with a title page on top looked back at us. The title page said, "Untitled" with my name below that. "See," I said.

  They both looked at the box with part amazement and part befuddlement. There obviously was a stack of a few hundred sheets of paper that was a couple of inches thick in the box, some typed text on every page, which meant a lot of time and effort must have gone into creating them. But what did it mean? What was it really? A novel? A book of stories? I wasn't even sure myself.

  "Holy shit," Alfonso said. "You are writing something. I'm sorry, homie. I didn't mean to give you a hard time."

  "What kind of novel is it?" she said. "You know, is it a mystery? Science fiction? What do you call that?"

  "You mean, what genre?" I said.

  "Yeah! What genre is it?"

  "I have no idea. I don't even know what I'm doing, really. I just feel that since I studied literature in college then I should write and try to be a writer. I'm trying anyway."

  "You can do it!" Alfonso said, slugging me on the back then he left my room for the living room.

  "Thanks."

  "Well, I'm impressed, Seff. I had no idea that you were following your dream, wanting something more than working at the P.W. I admire that. Me and my roommate, all we do is work. Most of the people I know, that's all they do, just work. You're the only person I know following a dream, doing more than just work."

  "Do you want something to eat or drink?" I said. I was so embarrassed from the attention that she was giving me that I didn't know what else to say.

  "Oh, OK," she said, caught off guard.

  "We have lots of food and wine. Food or wine? Just wine?"

  "Either or
all of it is fine with me."

  I motioned for her to lead the way out of my room then after she left, I quickly shoved the cardboard box with my writing project back up on the shelf in my closet.

  In the kitchen, Laura Ann was petting Mr. Whiskers again while Alfonso listened to a message on the answering machine. I could make out a few words here and there in the message but I didn't know who it was. I was too busy looking for a cork screw for the bottle of wine to pay attention.

  "Who called?" I said to Alfonso.

  "I think it was Sarah. Weird."

  "Really? That is weird."

  "Who's Sarah?" Laura Ann said, curious.

  "A very cool, old lady we met not long ago. Get this! Dan sent us to deliver food one day a while back and we met the coolest old lady with the coolest story."

  "Really? I have never delivered food. How interesting."

  "Yeah, then we went back again on another delivery and met a neighbor of hers who also had a very cool story. They both had WAY more interesting lives than us. I mean, infinitely more interesting. Plus, their families have kind of abandoned them so it was nice hanging around them, listening to their stories."

  "Are you going back?" she said.

  "Yeah, hopefully. What do you think, Alfonso?"

  "We're going back."

  "Yeah?" I said, pleased.

  "Yeah, she invited us back over. That's what she said in the message."

  I found my cork screw in the knife drawer, opened a bottle of cheap red wine, and poured a couple of glasses of wine. I didn't pour one for Alfonso because I hoped he'd get the hint and take a hike. He didn't get the hint. I slid one glass over to Laura Ann and the other was for me. When we clinked glasses, Alfonso looked over.

  "Where's my glass?" he said. I tilted my head toward the door, slowly craning it as if to say, 'Your glass is somewhere else.' Then he got the hint. "Fine. Let me just change my clothes first before I go." He got up with an armful of clothes and went into the bathroom.

  "He doesn't have to go anywhere," she said, embarrassed.

  "Are you sure? It just seems--"

  Calling from the bathroom, he yelled, "I suppose you're going to eat all of our discarded feast, too?" Laura Ann looked at me and I looked at her. I wasn't expecting my roomie to blurt that out but he did. He came out of my room, pulling his shirt over his head and into place on his barrel-shaped torso. His hair was a tangled mess. "Are you?"

  "What's a discarded feast?" As she said that, I felt a rush of electricity through me, a confessional streak of lightning. I looked at her and looked at my roomie and all I could think was, 'Uh oh.' I turned around and opened the refrigerator and the freezer, revealing stacks and stacks of aluminum trays that were obviously from the P.W. When I turned back to look at Laura Ann, her mouth dropped open.

  "Oh shit," she said.

  "Oh shit is right!" Alfonso said.

  SALUD!

  ***

  Alfonso left to go run an "errand" and said he'd be back later, probably to go mope around The GODDAMN or something like that. While he was gone, I told Laura Ann the truth about the food and how it was just a few seconds away from turning into trash. She didn't seem surprised at all that we brought the food home. It was decent food and more than edible--better than trash really. More than anything, she was surprised that she didn't know of anyone else taking the food home too, like Levonne or any of the other mooching servers like Warren the mooch or the other mooch Paul. Info like that got around quickly at the P.W. and as far as she knew, no one else was doing it. She had, on occasion, hung out with several of the other servers and kitchen staff from the P.W. at their homes or apartments or condos or duplexes and not once did any of them mention the idea of taking home the leftovers after the P.W. closed. Not to say that no one noticed the sheer volume of food being wasted in the nightly dumpster toss. It was plain as day what Levonne was doing, pushing the cart over to the dumpster, and heaving the trays in there.

  "But WHY did you do it?" she said, turning her chair to get a better look at me. We had moved to the patio for a smoke break shortly after finishing our meals. It was a nice night, especially since Alfonso was gone. "What made you bring all that food home?"

  "I don't know," I said, lighting another cigarette. I felt like I was part of an informal inquisition. I started to sweat a little.

  "You don't know? Really?" She reached for my pack of smokes on the small patio table and held them up as if to ask if she could have one. I nodded. She lit one and exhaled, a sexy plume of smoke erupting from her mouth.

  "Really. I was ready to heave the trays into the dumpster and something told me to bring the trays home. Maybe it was because we're dirt poor. Maybe it was because, deep down, I felt like the P.W. was screwing us. Or maybe I just really felt that it was a waste of good food."

  "I get that. I really do but... you could get in trouble."

  "How could I get in trouble?" I said, sitting up, actually curious. I didn't think of myself as a thief for taking the garbage home but I guess, technically, I probably was, maybe more like Robin Hood. Maybe.

  "Isn't it stolen property?"

  "But isn't it just garbage the minute it leaves the building? I mean, that's where it was intended to go--in the garbage."

  "Who knows what corporate would do."

  "Are you worried about me?"

  "No!" she said, immediately. Even though I was joking, deep down, I hoped she'd say yes. I was crushed a little bit. "No, no, I'm not worried. Just saying."

  "Oh, OK."

  We sat together for a few quiet minutes, finishing our smokes, enjoying the night sky. Mr. Whiskers batted at a bug on the other side of the sliding glass door, his paw tapping the glass. We looked at him and laughed. He was being really cute.

  "So," she said, pausing while she crafted her thought. "Are you going to do it again?"

  "Do what again?"

  "Load up your refrigerator?"

  "I don't know. Probably. Maybe. You got me all paranoid now."

  "Now you're paranoid?" she said. We both laughed. It was pretty funny. Hearing her laugh was an aphrodisiac and I found myself daydreaming about kissing her, caressing her hair, touching her skin. A moment of silence set in as we extinguished our cigarettes. I crushed my smoke in a tin can next to my chair and she did the same. As she leaned over, making sure that her cigarette was out, I locked my eyes with hers and I looked deep into them to that place that everyone knows to look for a connection. I could see something there. She didn't look away. The corners of her mouth turned up slightly. Then she said, "I'm not going to kiss you, Seff."

  "Right, of course not," I said, startled a bit. I sat up, embarrassed, straightening my shirt. "My bad. Sorry, so sorry. I wasn't trying to--"

  "Well, I'm not going to kiss you tonight but that doesn't mean I won't kiss you another night."

  "Really?"

  "Really," she said. "If you play your cards right."

  "Sorry if I spaced out there for a moment."

  "Don't be sorry. Just not tonight, OK?"

  "OK."

  "So, what would you say if I helped you with the next discarded feast?"

  "Huh?" That caught me more off-guard than the kiss rebuff. I sat up in my chair. "What do you mean?"

  "You know? The next time you bring home the food the P.W. throws away?"

  "Oh, I don't know. I don't know if I'm going to do it again. I really don't want to get in trouble or lose my job. I have bills to pay."

  "Who doesn't?" she said, looking up at the clear sky, the stars sparkling.

  "It is stolen property, right?"

  "Who knows?"

  "Right, who knows. Besides, there would be so much, I'd have to give a lot of it away. My fridge is still full. Maybe I'll give some to the old folks we met--Sarah and Arthur. You'd like them."

  "My refrigerator isn't full. It's practically empty." She leaned back in her chair and extended her hand towards mine. I put her hand in my hand and held it gently. The touch of her skin a
gainst mine sent goose bumps up my back. "I wouldn't turn down free food."

  Mr. Whiskers tapped at the sliding glass door some more and I thought he was trying to get our attention but he was swatting at a roach, hoping to maneuver it into his mouth. We watched him wrestle with the bug, attempting several times to have it for a snack.

  Laura Ann pulled at my hand, getting my attention, then said, "Can I read what you've written so far?"

  "You want to read my book?" I said.

  "Yes."

  "OK. If you really want to."

  "I really want to."

  "I'll let you take it as long as you bring it back when you're done. That's my only hard copy."

  "I'll be careful with it. I promise."

  Mr. Whiskers finally got the bug into his mouth and ate it.

  Spanish for White Bread and Party for Mooches

  Once the bread was 86'ed, the entire wait staff was toast. Alfonso and I wished for a good night of tips but it wasn't meant to be that night. You see, once the complimentary bread was gone, everything else went to shit. We didn't know why that was, although, we had plenty of theories. 1) Our customers loved the free bread more than the actual meals and even though they paid for the meals, they really just wanted to stuff their pie holes full of free bread. 2) The free bread curbed their hunger until they could stuff their faces with cheap pasta but without the bread, their hunger turned our already grouchy customers into even worse tippers. 3) I could go on forever with our stupid theories. Mostly, when Dan the G.M. or Paula the A.M. came into the kitchen and yelled '86 bread!' then we knew our shifts were done. We weren't going to make any money, no matter how hard we tried. It was over like Donkey Kong grabbing Pauline and climbing up the girders, leaving Mario to stare blankly at the emptied scaffolds, empty handed. We were powerless. Me and Alfonso stared at our empty sections knowing full-well that we were going to be hard pressed to pay rent.

  "This shit sucks," Alfonso said.

  "You're telling me," I said.

  "Might as well enjoy the rest of our night. Smoke break?"

  "Duh."

  We abandoned our stations and careened around the perimeter of the dining room, passing the other staffers, some pretending to work or others just standing around. Warren the mooch asked to tag along (we didn't say he could, by the way) and followed us. Soon after, Laura Ann followed us too. We barreled through the kitchen, all in a line like segments of a crazed centipede, and out the back door to the alley before anyone could tell us to start side work or sweep the floors or wipe down menus or whatever busy work was waiting to be done. The night air was clean and crisp and it was very apparent that doing anything else besides standing around in the P.W. not making money was the right thing to do.