“Oh, no, no, no, no, no, Frankie. It’s not like that. It’s strictly business. Nothin’ going on between us.”
“Then how come I’m hearing what I’m hearing in your voice?”
“What?”
“I been your sister a long time, Jesse.”
“And your point is?”
“Okay now.”
“And besides, he’s not really a model. He’s a kid that works in a bodega. It’s just that he has this…this…quality.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Look, I’m gonna e-mail you some pictures of him. You tell me.”
“All right,” she said, not very convinced. “Hey look, baby, lunch break is over and I gotta get back on set.”
“Okay, sweetie. Tell the family I said hi.”
“I will. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
“And take care of yourself.”
“I will.”
“And take care of your heart.”
“Good-bye, Frankie.”
I hung up.
Okay, what was that about? There was nothing in my voice. Étie’s a nice kid and, yes, the feelings I had for him were strong, but I wouldn’t necessarily call them romantic. Besides, I didn’t even know if he was gay, even though I had to wonder about a guy whose favorite show was America’s Top Model.
Nonsense. I’m old enough to be his…big brother. I wondered now if I should even e-mail pictures of him to her, confirming something that didn’t really exist. Sure, I was a hopeless romantic and Frankie knew it. And Étie was just the kind of guy hopeless romantics fall in love with: soft, vulnerable, angelic, thoughtful, funny, sweet, kind of spirit, generous of heart. Thank God I didn’t tell her I was having dinner with him.
Forget about Frankie, even though, Lord knows, she means well.
It was almost six o’clock. It was time for me to get ready for my date…my meeting with Étie.
At seven fifteen I stepped out of the shower, fussed a bit in the mirror, then slipped on my yellow Talsa Elba pima cotton polo shirt, my chestnut-colored Perry Ellis slacks, and slipped my bare feet into a pair of Italian loafers. I then sprayed on a hint of Annuci. I looked and smelled fine.
When I left my room and walked down the hallway toward the stairs, I ran into Sylvester, who was headed toward his room.
“Wow, aren’t we all dolled up,” he said. “Who’s the lucky piece?”
“Nah, I’m just taking myself out to dinner.”
“You’re not dining with us tonight?”
“Not tonight. I just don’t feel like being cooped up here in the hotel all evening.”
“You will be back in time for the boys, won’t you?”
“I…I’m not sure.”
“Edgar’ll be here tonight. He really wants to give you some, Jesse. He thinks you’re hot.”
“We’ll see,” I said as I skipped down the staircase, with a wave.
“Headed back out for safari?” Cedric asked slyly, eyeing my attire and the light whiff of cologne as I passed by the desk and headed for the door.
“Something like that,” I said, noticing some of the fellas sipping on cocktails and peeking out at me knowingly from the parlor while Carlos and Emilio prepared the table out on the dining terrace.
“So how was the photo shoot?” Will asked quietly as he walked me to the main entrance of the hotel.
“It went really well,” I answered.
“Good, good,” Will continued, “I’m just glad you’re having a good time.”
“I am, Will. Thanks. See you later.”
I walked through the front door and the wrought-iron gate, listening to them both lock behind me. The night air was humid, but pleasant. I checked my watch. Seven forty-six. The Hilton was an easy ten-minute walk away. I didn’t want to rush. With the moisture in the air, I didn’t want to work up a sweat.
I started down the street and noticed the handsome young man walking toward me. He looked familiar. I looked familiar to him.
“Hola,” he said with a smile, stopping.
“Hola,” I said, but kept walking. I didn’t want to be late meeting Étienne. I felt the young man watching me. In my mind I remembered the face. But of course. He was one of the bugarrones who had visited House of John on more than a few evenings. Without stopping, I looked back at him, over my shoulder.
“Me llamo Edgar,” he said, eyeing me seductively.
I nodded, still without stopping. “Hola,” I said, then turned to look straight ahead of me. Ahhh. Edgar. The guy Sylvester wanted me to meet. I kept on walking. A smile of confidence and relief decorated my face. I could hear the doorbell of House of John ringing behind me. I could hear the clang of the door unlocking, the wrought-iron gate unlocking. I glanced back once more, just in time to see him disappear inside, and I was happy. I was on my way to have dinner with Étienne Saldano.
Chapter Twelve
I arrived at the Hilton at eight minutes to eight. I guess I rushed after all, in spite of myself. I entered the lobby and anxiously looked around. He wasn’t there yet. I took a seat. A smiling cocktail waitress approached me and asked if I wanted a drink. “No, gracias,” I said. She nodded and walked away.
I checked my watch again. Five of eight. When I looked up, there he was, all twenty-five years of him, as neat as a prep school boy, as handsome as a prince. He wore a simple white shirt, white pants, and white bucks, a complementary ensemble against his beautiful brown skin and black hair.
I watched him as he scanned the room. Then he saw me. He smiled that smile of his as he approached me. I smiled as I stood.
“Hola,” he said, extending his hand.
“Hola,” I said, shaking it. “Shall we?”
I escorted him to the elevator, which took us to the fifth floor. We rode in smiling silence before the doors opened onto the beautiful dining room of the Sol y Sombra restaurant. I was as stunned by its beauty as Étie was.
The maitre d’ promptly found the reservation I had made earlier and led us to an intimate candlelit table that overlooked the sea beyond the glass wall.
Again I raved on and on about how great he was during the photo shoot.
“You really could be a professional model, Étie.”
“Do you think?”
“I know.”
The waiter came over and took our drink orders. Étie ordered a Presidente beer. I ordered a glass of Chardonnay. As we studied our dinner menus, the photographer in me could not help but notice how the candlelight played upon his face, giving it a sort of Rembrandt sheen. He caught me staring; studying his face.
“Qué?”
“Oh it’s nothing,” I said, snapping out of it. “Yeah, kiddo, you really could have a great future as a model.”
He blushed and smiled.
The waiter came and took our dinner orders. I had a taste for Dominican cuisine so I ordered one of the house specialties, a crayfish medley with brown beans and rice and a frog legs appetizer. Étie ordered steak and fries.
The food was as nourishing as our conversation. I learned a lot about Étie that night, and I revealed much about me. I no longer had to guess whether he was gay or not, not that it mattered. He was very forthcoming about it, in fact rather cavalier. Somehow we had gotten on the subject of relationships. That we had both recently gone through breakups based on our ex’s infidelity was something we had in common. Neither one of us wanted to spoil the evening by going into sordid details, but when he said “my boyfriend was total asshole,” he wanted to make sure that I knew it wasn’t a woman he was talking about.
“I am proud gay man,” he declared with a sweet arrogance.
“Me too,” I said.
“I know.”
“You did?” I asked, not remembering if I had identified my ex as male or female, not that it mattered to me either.
“Sí.”
“How did you know?”
“How you say? Gaydar?”
“Very good gaydar,” I laughed.
“Sí
, muy bueno gaydar,” he laughed too.
He told me so much about his life. His mother died delivering him. His father raised him with an iron fist.
“He hate my softness,” he said without pity. “Call me señorita, sissy, faggala. He say why I no die with mi madre.
“He try beat gay out of me. That is scar on my face. From beat me. That is why I go to my escape. Swim all day when not in school. Stay from home, stay from beating.
“Maybe it was good he put me out when I was, how you say? Fifteen. Living in street better than living with him. Hungry many nights, but hunger better than beatings.
“Get jobs, shine shoes, wash car windows at stoplights, make jewelry and sell to tourist. Men try to buy my sex, but I say no. Never me be bugarrón. Never!
“Now I have good job at bodega. No mucho dinero, but boss good man. Kind, like padre I never had.”
I sat there for a while in silence, not knowing what to say. I saw a side of Étie that I could not have known existed. Behind the child-like innocence, the gentle smile, the fragile beauty, was a strength of character, a survival instinct anchored in dignity and self-respect. Behind the delicate demeanor was a man.
“You no worry, Jesse,” he said, gently touching my hand. “You no have to say anything.”
“Let me get a taxi to take you home.”
“Oh no, I no live far from here. And it is beautiful night to walk.”
“Well then at least let me walk you home.”
“No, gracias, Jesse. You be so nice to me already.”
“Then you be so nice to me and let me walk you home.”
How could he refuse?
We walked along the brightly lit Malecón into a sleepy neighborhood lit by gas-fueled streetlights straight out of an old black and white movie. Colonial houses, their brick and stone façades peeking through brightly colored stucco finishes, lined the winding narrow cobblestone street. I expected a horse-drawn carriage to come clickity-clacking by any moment, but no. There was just the silence of the night and the echo of our quiet conversation.
“This is where I live,” Étie said. We had stopped in front of a lovely place with a gated and canopied archway that opened onto what seemed to be a tropical patio dotted with lush mango trees. Beyond the patio was the house. A single lantern light, illuminated, hung over the large wooden door. “I have room here.”
“Nice,” I said admiring it, then admiring him. “Étie?”
“Yes, Jesse?”
“I’m really glad I met you.”
“Me too.”
“I’ll be here for ten more days. Maybe we can hang out some more?”
“Hang out?”
“Be together. Go places.”
“Oh…I would like.”
“Good. I will call you.”
“Okay.”
“Except yo no tengo su número de teléfono.”
“Oh!” he realized with wide eyes. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a small note pad and a pen. “I write down.” He did, and handed it to me with a small giggle.
“Thank you.”
“You are welcome, Jesse…And Jesse?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for tonight, for everything.”
“De nada, kiddo.”
“Jesse?”
“Sí?”
“What is ‘kiddo’?”
“Hmmm. Let’s see. It’s kind of like ‘amigo.’”
“Ahhh. Amigo.”
“But not totally.”
“I no understand.”
“Okay. It’s more like what an older amigo like me would say to a younger amigo like you.”
“But you are not ‘older.’”
“I’m a lot older than you, Étie.”
“Oh? How old?”
“Thirty-eight.”
“Qué?”
“Treinta y ocho.”
“¿Treinta y ocho?”
“Sí.”
“But that is not so older.”
“I’m afraid it is.”
“But look at you. Remember what you call me? You said ‘Es muy hermoso.’ Usted es muy hermoso también.”
“You think I am very beautiful, too?” I asked in quiet amazement.
“Yes,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving mine. “From moment I first saw you.”
And then it happened. Slowly, he drew closer to me, our eyes still unwavering, closing only as our lips touched, softly, ever so gently. We parted slowly, but held in the embrace neither one of us realized we had been in. We stared in each other’s eyes. We smiled.
“I will go in now,” he whispered.
“Okay,” I whispered back, finding myself gently pushing back the curl that had fallen over his eye, touching his face, the scar on his cheek, caressing his earlobe, allowing my fingers to scan a picture of his beautiful face, before letting him go.
“You will call me, no?”
“I will call you, yes.”
He then entered the gate. The gentle clang as it closed brought me out of my daze. I looked after him as he walked through the patio, past the mango trees, to the big wooden door where the illuminated lantern hung overhead. I watched him wave to me, and I waved back. And as I watched him open that big wooden door and disappear behind it, I had to finally admit what my heart had been telling me. Not only had my camera fallen in love with Étienne Saldano, so had I.
Chapter Thirteen
I nearly danced my way back to Casa de Mita, wondering if I had dreamed it all, afraid I had dreamed it all.
As Casa de Mita came into view, I had to decide what I was going to do. There was no way I could disguise the glow that lit up my face, quiet the joy that filled my heart. Did I dare tell the others what just happened? But then, what was there to tell? I had fallen in love with the most wonderful guy in the world. I could hardly explain it to myself, so how could I possibly make them understand? Or did I even want to?
And I certainly did not want to spoil getting to know Étienne with the specter of sex hovering like a dark cloud. If I told them about him, my feelings about him, they would be right back on the sex thing again. How was he in bed? And even if something intimate were to happen between Étie and me, that would be the last thing I would discuss with them. I didn’t know why I was feeling that way. Correction. I knew exactly why I was feeling that way. I was in love.
Although it was late, I entered Casa de Mita to raucous laughter and loud music. The fellas were in a festive mood, having obviously had their physical needs satisfied. Except for Tomás, Dr. Mo’s vacation boyfriend, and a couple of over-nighters, most of the bugarrones were gone for the night, but that did not stop my American friends from celebrating, excited by Cedric’s announcement that a new crop of fresh young men would be making their appearances over the next few nights.
“Of course some of the old standbys will be back,” Cedric assured them.
“Including Edgar,” Sylvester updated me with a whisper and a wink. “Edgar said that he saw you tonight, and that the two of you made eye contact.”
“Oh yeah,” I said. “Seems like a nice enough guy.”
“Nice enough guy? The motherfucker is phine as fuck. And he’s got the hots for you, dude.”
“You mean he’s got the hots for my dollars.”
“Nah, Jesse, seriously.”
I gave him a look.
“Okay, okay, okay,” he demurred, “Yeah, he wants to get paid, what’s wrong with that? But dude ain’t just gay for pay. He’s gay for real. And you saw what he looks like.”
“Yeah.”
“Good-lookin’ dude, man.”
“So what’s up, Syl? You dude’s pimp or something?” I joked.
“Just tryin’ to share the wealth, baby. Just tryin’ to share the wealth.” We knocked knuckles and shared a laugh and a brothaman hug. As I headed toward the stairs, Will stopped me.
“Is everything okay?” he asked, looking at me like a doctor looks into the eyes of a patient in denial.
“I’m fin
e,” I assured him with more enthusiasm than I wanted to display.
“You’ve been so quiet, sort of off to yourself,” he continued. “Are you having a good time?”
“I’m having the most incredible time of my life, William,” I said, barely able to contain myself. In fact I wanted to find a mountaintop and sing from it, sing that old Rodgers and Hammerstein song, “I’m In Love With a Wonderful Guy,” but I was trying to play it cool. I grabbed Will, gave him a big hug, and kissed him on his big fat cheek, then skipped up the stairs.
I entered my room and plopped on my bed. I didn’t even undress. I just lay there, hands folded behind my head, and stared up at the ceiling, at the wonderfully stupid ceiling fan, my face aching with a silly grin I couldn’t erase from my face. Sleep? Tonight? Hardly. But somehow I did fall asleep, and what a wonderful sleep it was. All I did was dream of Étie.
The next morning I woke at eight and hoped that it was not too early to call Étie. I knew he had to be at work at ten, so I was hoping that we could have breakfast together first.
He picked up the phone on the second ring. The mellow sleepiness in his voice portended a nocturnal solace as sweet and as satisfactory as mine. I could hear him smiling that smile.
“That would be nice,” he said when I asked if we could meet at the little café on the Malecón. We agreed to meet at nine, which was not soon enough for me. I showered quickly and rushed to our rendezvous early. I sat there sipping the delicious Dominican coffee the lovely copper-toned waitress had brought me. Something in her smile let me know that she knew what I knew. Love cannot keep itself secret. And when she came to re-fill my cup, she looked up before I did; saw him before I did. And she knew. He was the one I’d been waiting for all morning, maybe all my life. She sat him at the chair across from me, and without asking, brought another cup and filled it to the brim.
“Hola,” he said, extending his hand.
“Hola,” I said slow and melodiously.
“I so glad to see you,” he whispered.
“Me too, Étie.” Our eyes met with memories of last night’s kiss.
We picked over our egg, bread, and sausage breakfast and cursed the clock that would soon part us.
Visible Lives Page 25
