by John Inman
So once again Joe pulled back, afraid of taking that last step, terrified of tumbling headfirst into what, he had no doubt, could be something wonderful. Or something absolutely disastrous.
Still afraid of doing the wrong thing, he said, “Best be getting home, I guess.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Ned muttered.
They walked on. They weren’t holding hands any longer. Joe wasn’t sure when he had let Ned’s hand slip away, and he wasn’t sure how to reclaim it without looking like a needy putz. A needy gay putz.
And even if he did, he wasn’t sure what Ned would think about it. And that worried him greatly.
NED LOOKED up at the sky again. The planes were coming in one right after the other now, dropping down through the flight path like lemmings sailing over a cliff. He had never seen the air traffic so busy this late at night. Even so, while gazing skyward, he took the opportunity to take a peek at Joe’s face in the moonlight. His dark hair. The clean line of his jaw, shadowy with beard since he hadn’t shaved since morning. He was so handsome, standing there looking up at the sky, the tendons in his neck taut. When Joe licked his lips, a tiny shudder ran through Ned.
He loved that Joe was so hands-on in his friendship, always touching, sometimes hugging. But every time Joe put his hands on Ned, he felt his self-control crumble a little more. He told himself he would never make the first move with Joe, and he had held himself to that. But it wasn’t easy. It wasn’t easy, and it most certainly wasn’t what he wanted.
Even now, Ned edged closer to Joe, and when their hands touched, he took it upon himself to fake a stumble. He casually slid his fingers through Joe’s as if he needed the support to keep from falling. Jesus, he was pathetic.
But at least he was successfully pathetic. After all, he was holding Joe’s hand again. And that had been the plan all along. Was he sneaky, or what?
They were crossing a glade now. The trees had fallen back, and the trails and valleys had ended. They were in a part of the park where the bocce courts were located. The lawn had been trimmed recently, and the smell of freshly cut grass hung heavy on the night air. The grass was wet with dew already, and the cuttings stuck to the toes of their shoes. Up ahead, at the edge of the park, they could see the lights of their apartment building. Ned’s heart sank. That meant their walk together was almost over.
“Look!” Joe suddenly cried, stabbing a finger at the western sky. “The birds!”
Joe startled Ned so that Ned slid in the dew-soaked grass and would have fallen for real if he hadn’t still been holding Joe’s hand.
“Wow!” Ned exclaimed, staring where Joe was pointing. “What the hell is making them do that?”
Directly in the path of the latest incoming airliner, a great flock of birds had risen into the night sky. The wheeling birds were so thick they looked like a solid mass. It was too far away to see what kind of birds they were, but limned in the light from the city skyline they could be seen blocking out everything in their path. It was like a great black cloud billowing up from the earth.
The airliner tilted to the left. Its turbines roared as they worked to lift the airliner back into the sky. In a desperate attempt to abort the landing, the airliner tipped away from the vast cloud of birds and veered off toward the coastline and the safe, empty skies above the calm Pacific.
Ned and Joe stood rooted like statues as the plane veered south. The swarm of birds continued to billow and swoop among the spires and towers of the downtown skyline. The flock was so thick it blocked out the tops of buildings and erased long swaths of starlight from the sky.
Hearing a second roar of turbine engines, Ned spun around and spotted another airliner angling away from the flight path, following the first plane out toward the water. They would circle around, Ned supposed, while waiting for the birds to leave. Waiting for the air to clear of avian life so they could line up for another approach to Lindburgh Field.
Again, under his breath, Ned whispered, “Wow. I’ve never seen so many birds in my life. And I’ve never seen the planes do what they’re doing either.”
“Neither have I,” Joe echoed.
He turned to Ned, and with a resigned look in his eyes, said, “I guess we’d better get home. You have to go to work early.”
Ned nodded, feeling as empty as Joe looked. “I know.”
At some point during the excitement with the birds, Joe’s hand had slipped out of Ned’s grasp again. This time, Ned didn’t have the courage to reclaim it.
They walked on in silence, Ned heartsick that their time together was ending.
LATER, IN his bedroom all by himself, Joe didn’t think back to the birds or the planes. He had all but forgotten them, in fact. Instead, he relived that one spectacular moment on the footbridge when the wind had lifted Ned’s T-shirt, exposing his belly button. It was a silly thing to have captured his imagination, but there was no denying it had. Joe milked the memory for all it was worth, and then he dragged out other recollections too. He had a collection of them. The line of Ned’s hip as he retrieved something from the ground. In a splash of sunlight, a vein pulsing in the little triangular hollow at the base of Ned’s throat. A glimpse of a pale collarbone peeking through a shirt collar. The promising bulge under the fly of Ned’s blue jeans. The spray of blond hair across the arch of a foot when Ned ran barefoot through the apartment, kidding around.
So beautiful. Everything about him was so beautiful.
As his collection of memories played out on a continuous loop inside his head, one right after the other, Joe touched himself beneath the covers in his lonely bed. He squeezed his eyes shut when that lingering touch became hungrier, when his fingers no longer stroked, but clutched, when his cock no longer stiffened, but sang. At the moment of release, when his juices splattered across his chest, Joe bit his lip to keep from crying out.
Later, he felt lonelier than he had before. It was that loneliness that carried him into sleep. But even in sleep he could not escape his longings. For Ned always waited for him there.
And in his dreams, Ned was just as hungry as Joe.
JOE OPENED his eyes to the craziest morning he could ever remember. Through his bedroom window, the sky was red! Not the orangey blush of an early summer day, but the deep, deep red of fresh, steaming blood. A crimson miasma drenched the atmosphere and inflamed the sky from one horizon to the other. Joe pressed his cheek to the window pane and strained to peer eastward, seeking the familiar sight of the fiery sun cresting Mount Miguel, climbing its daily path heavenward, en route to bathing the coast in its glorious golden light just as it always did in Southern California.
But the sun wasn’t there. It was lost somewhere behind that vast infusion of bloodred haze that coated everything, including the very air. When Joe thrust the grubby curtains aside, dust motes shimmered pink, dancing around in the reddish fog that penetrated even his own little bedroom. Joe went so far as to shake his alarm clock, thinking it had stopped, thinking it was still dawn. But he was wrong. It was after nine, just as the stupid clock said.
He stood naked at his window, once again staring out. He remembered his lonely orgasm the night before and had to squeeze his eyes shut for a second to keep his cock from lengthening again at his thoughts of Ned.
Joe gazed out at the street that bordered the park on one side and his own apartment building on the other. Cars were moving along it as usual. The only difference was that some had their headlights on, since the day was so muddied by that scarlet murk. From his vantage point, he could see a couple of people standing in their front yards, staring upward behind shielding hands, contemplating the strange red sky just like Joe.
Grabbing a pair of jeans off a chair, Joe awkwardly climbed into them while stumbling across his studio apartment. He tapped lightly on the wall inside the tiny hallway that led to his bathroom. Laying his ear to the plaster, he listened for Ned’s answering knock, but it didn’t come. Ned had already gone to work.
Suddenly Joe was worried. Ned could be so easily
freaked. Had that weird red sky frightened him? Had he rushed off to work terrified anyway, not wanting to disturb Joe’s sleep, because Ned always worried about things like that? Did Ned—like Joe—figure whatever that red sky meant, it was connected somehow to the pinkish haze that had lain over the moon last night? Did Ned simply decide it was one of those odd quirks of nature that sometimes surprise everyone? Or had he raced down the street to the deli where he worked, scared out of his mind, his beautiful blue eyes flitting nervously about while his heart thumped in terror?
Joe grabbed his cell phone, but just as quickly tossed it on the bed. No. He wouldn’t call the deli; he’d go down there himself. If Ned was okay, Joe could have breakfast, and maybe they could sneak in a little conversation between Ned’s duties. His boss was pretty cool, never minding when Joe stopped by to visit. He also seemed to genuinely like Ned and always tried to take care of him. For that reason, Ned’s boss was one of Joe’s favorite people and always would be.
Joe quickly finished dressing. He stood in his bathroom long enough to brush his teeth and try to do something with his mop of brown hair short of actually shampooing the sleep out of it. When he was as groomed as he was likely to get, Joe grabbed his phone again, snatched up a few bucks from the dresser, and headed out the door.
Since the deli was only six blocks away, he decided to walk. Well, jog. After all, he was in a hurry. He really was that worried about Ned.
It was strange seeing his neighborhood cast in vermilion tones instead of the usual California banana yellows and sunlit greens, with crystal spears of brilliant white light bouncing off high-rise windows. Even out here on the street, when Joe aimed his eyes eastward over the trees in the park looking for the sun, there was nothing there. Not even a hint of the rising sun penetrated the bloodshot sky. In fact, the rosy haze was so thick Joe couldn’t see the mountains either. It was as if a ketchupy fog had settled over the city, over the state, maybe even the world, painting the air adobe red, leaving nothing as it used to be.
Leaving nothing looking—right. This was science fiction stuff, Joe decided. Something you’d see in a movie. Something that simply couldn’t be.
He quickened his pace. The few pedestrians he met appeared as confused as he was. Some of them were clearly frightened by the monster-movie haze that had been pulled over the city like a red cloak. But still, life goes on. People have to work; they have to shop; they have to do the things they always have to do. Even in fear, the mundane survives. Even in moments of deepest terror, the desire to floss one’s teeth probably pops up now and then.
Joe quickened his pace. His need to know that Ned was all right was almost a physical pain inside him now. It was a nagging ache. The only way he could cure the ache was to see Ned with his own eyes, safe and sound and innocently handsome. Just as he always was.
Just the way Joe loved him.
At that thought, Joe stumbled to a stop. It was as if the L-word passing so unexpectedly through his brain had short-circuited all motor functions it crossed along the way.
Love. Yep. That was a show-stopper all right. And perfectly true, Joe suddenly realized, standing there like a dunce in the middle of the sidewalk. He did love Ned. Joe didn’t just have the hots for Ned. He was head over heels in love with the guy.
And just what the hell was he going to do about that? Joe had never talked with Ned about being gay or not being gay. He had never questioned the deep friendship they shared. Had never spoken to anyone else about it either. But somehow Joe knew there was more than friendship constantly hammering away at the two of them these days. Not only inside his own heart, but inside Ned’s heart as well. Wasn’t there?
Joe stood on the sidewalk as headlights zoomed past in what should have been broad daylight but wasn’t. Instead, the sky rolled red and sunless across his head. While the world fell to shit around him, Joe found himself wondering if Ned might conceivably love him back.
And at that astonishingly untimely thought, Joe actually laughed at himself. With the planet gone to hell in a handbasket, here he was fretting about romance. Talk about having your priorities screwed up.
NED WAS on weekly bacon duty this morning. Today was the day he stood at the grill and continuously fried up mounds of the stuff, enough to last the deli for a week. After he fried it up, he would stuff it in plastic bags, each bag holding about five pounds, then toss them into the big walk-in refrigerator to be hauled out when needed. By the end of the day his clothes, his skin, even his hair, would be coated with bacon grease. It was annoying, but he was used to it. He even liked it. On the days when he worked the bacon, he didn’t have to deal with customers. Ned didn’t like dealing with customers. He always thought they were laughing at him. Joe told him they weren’t, but he could never convince Ned. God knows Joe had tried often enough.
Ned grinned while methodically flipping away at a carpet of bacon on the sizzling grill. Thoughts of Joe always made him grin. Either that or they made him frown. The frowny thoughts weren’t really sad, of course, they were just contemplative. He could never tell in which direction thoughts of Joe would take him. He just knew he liked thinking them.
As he worked, he occasionally wiped the greasy sweat from his brow and the back of his neck with an old towel. Mixed in among his thoughts of Joe, he also thought about the eerie red sky that had hovered over his head while he walked to work that morning. He had almost been afraid to leave the apartment. Had even considered waking Joe up to see what he thought about it. But in the end he had swallowed his fear and let Joe sleep. The guy worked so hard. He needed his rest.
Spooked, but determined to be brave for Joe’s sake, Ned had walked to work all by himself, just like a proper adult.
Ned’s boss, Mr. Wong, gave Ned an idle pat on the back as he hustled past on the way to the ovens in the corner where biscuits were baking for the breakfast crowd. “Good boy,” Mr. Wong mumbled, as he always did when he patted Ned on the back for no earthlier reason than the fact that he was a good guy. Ned knew he would never find a nicer boss, and he was grateful. Ned had limitations, and to find a boss who was willing to overlook them was a godsend. Ned wasn’t smart like Joe. He wasn’t as good at dealing with people as Joe was either. But still both Joe and Mr. Wong liked him, so he supposed he must be doing something right.
Mr. Wong was a wiry little guy in his high forties who smiled all the time, bowed in respect to everyone he met, and who had eight kids of graduated height who were always popping into the deli for free stuff, which Mr. Wong didn’t seem to mind doling out at all. Ned had never seen Mrs. Wong, but he could picture her in his mind, standing at a kitchen sink somewhere in San Diego’s tiny Chinatown district, where he knew the Wongs lived. He pictured her forever leaning over the stove in her immaculate kitchen with a kid on her hip, whipping up a mess of pot stickers or stirring fried rice in a wok. Despite never having met Mrs. Wong, Ned liked her as much as he liked Mr. Wong. Ned was magnanimous that way. If he liked one person in a family, he liked them all.
Still flipping endless rashers of bacon, he peered through the greasy kitchen air and out the back door leading to the alley where the garbage cans sat. The day was still red out there. In fact, it looked like maybe it was even redder than it had been earlier. The sun didn’t appear to be close to poking a hole through the bloody haze that coated the sky, and that was odd in itself. It gave Ned the creeps is what it did, and Ned found himself hoping Joe would pop in for breakfast. Sometimes he did. At least when he could afford it. Ned hoped today would be one of those mornings when he could.
While Ned worked, and while he kept a hopeful eye peeled for Joe coming through the deli’s front door, he allowed his mind a little time off so it could wander here and there at random. A lot of times, those random thoughts steered him toward the scar on his head and the history behind it, but not today. Today he concentrated on last night’s stroll with Joe through Balboa Park while that funny pink moon floated high above their heads.
He remembered the feel of
Joe’s gentle hand at the back of his neck, the gentle probe of his fingers on his skin. He remembered the warmth of Joe’s khaki zoo shirt pressed against his cheek when Joe playfully squeezed him into a hug. Joe’s shirt had smelled faintly of sweat and loam and some sort of plant life—maybe the miniature palm trees Joe said he had planted at work—and underneath it all there was the homey, welcoming scent of Joe himself, a scent Ned couldn’t imagine tiring of.
Ned also remembered how he never wanted those hugs to end. He could have happily melted into Joe’s broad chest and snuggled there, wrapped in Joe’s strong arms, content for the rest of his life.
He remembered wanting other things to happen between him and Joe too, but this was no time to think about those. They were better left pondered when Ned lay naked and alone in his bed, not while he was flipping forty pounds of bacon and trying not to drown in his own sweat or gag on the stench of grease. Yet even naked and alone in his bed, those were thoughts he tried not to let in. Not usually anyway. Not on a regular basis. But sometimes thoughts of Joe simply couldn’t be stopped. No matter how hard he tried.
Ned often laughed at himself when he let himself get too carried away in the endless ways he found to think about Joe Chase. But not today. Today it seemed important to know that Joe had been there for him last night, as Ned knew Joe would be there for him today. And tomorrow. And the day after that.
Joe was his friend. And at the moment, being friends was enough.
Almost.
Once again, Ned’s eyes were drawn to the door leading out to the alley and to the crimson canopy covering the city. The air was cooler now, he noticed. Even with the heat of the grill billowing up around him, he could feel a cool breeze wafting in through the open door. It felt nice.
He readjusted his grease-drenched paper hat, which he was convinced made him look like a bozo. Then he flipped a few more rows of bacon. Others, once they acquired the right crispness and color, he scooped up on the belly of his fat spatula and dumped into the bags the deli stored them in.
