“Your name’s the best part,” Jav said.
“What?”
“Nothing. So what do you love?”
Flip waved a hand around the courtyard. “Music. Listening to. Playing. Performing. Teaching.”
“You teach?”
“At the High School of Performing Arts.”
“Why?”
“Because music makes good citizens and beautiful hearts.” He smiled. “Shinichi Suzuki said that. He was a Japanese music teacher.” He tilted the neck of his beer bottle in a salute and drained half of it.
During the second set, Jav didn’t dance as much. The gorgeous redhead chatted him up but he was distracted by Flip’s presence. Like the band members, Jav kept looking back to the drummer, not wanting to miss the moment when Flip’s face burst into a smile. He had deep dimples in each cheek. So did Alex, whose smile had made Jav want to tell a story.
This has happened before.
The five musicians and Jav closed down Savanna-la-Mar that night, clustered tight at a table covered with Red Stripe bottles until the owner regretfully kicked them out.
“We should hang,” Flip said. “I’ll give you my card. You got one?”
Jav gave him one. When he got home, he took Flip’s card out of his shirt pocket and pinned it to the board over his desk. He put a knee on the chair and reached for a pen. Across the back of a dry cleaning receipt, he scribbled:
Off the coast of Jamaica is a tiny sand island called Trueblood Cay. Its good citizens have beautiful hearts.
Flip called the following Friday, saying Trueblood Cay had a gig up in Port Chester the next night, if Jav wanted to come.
“Crap, I have a date,” Jav said.
“Bring her,” Flip said after a beat.
“I can’t, we got a thing. But put me down for the next one.”
“You don’t have to be nice.”
“I’m not. I want to see you.”
Another pause.
“I mean I want to see you guys play,” Jav said.
“A band I know is playing in Hoboken tonight. Want to come with?”
They went. It was a ska band with a souped-up horn section and a healthy number of groupies swarming the front of the stage.
“The horns are all my former students,” Flip said. “Are they beautiful or what?” His eyes lit up white and wide and the crescent moon of his smile shone beneath. He wore a dark grey porkpie hat with a small feather in its black band.
“I love the trombone player,” Jav said. “He’s something else.”
Flip laughed. “That’s a girl.”
Jav peered closer. “Shit, I’m drunk.”
When the band took a break, he and Flip drifted outside to grab a table and cool off.
“So,” Flip said. He used his beer bottle to push his hat up. “Russ tells me you’re an escort.”
Jav stared. “Oh, he does?”
“Mm.”
Annoyed, Jav took a long slow pull of beer, giving him time to organize his inebriated thoughts. “I guess I’ll have to put Russ in my next book and kill him.”
“I don’t think he blabbed to be a dick,” Flip said. “We were rehearsing the other day and my cousins were asking if you were a mascot.”
“A what?”
“Gay.”
“Christ.” Jav tried to laugh but it sounded like the bray of a jackass.
“Russ defended you. Said you get more pussy on a weeknight than any of us did in a month. And get paid for it.”
“What’s the Jamaican term for pussy?”
Flip’s laugh curled around the humid air. “In nice company we’ll say glamity.”
“Dominicans have about six words. None of them nice.”
“A mantel is what we call a guy who’s a real player. Or a guy who’s a gigolo.”
“You mean because the money is usually left on the mantel?”
“Is it?”
“It’s typically where I find it.”
“Huh. Learn something new every day.” He smiled, showing his dimples. “Teach me another trick of the trade.”
“A date without sex is called a walk.”
“What about a date with?”
“A run?”
“A crawl?”
They both laughed then. Jav’s anger with Russ sulked into a corner, still pissed off but acknowledging this might be a better conversation now rather than later.
Later when? Jav thought. Tonight?
“I’m not judging you,” Flip said. “You of all people know everyone has a story.”
“You want my story?”
“Only if you’re telling it.” Flip leaned back in his chair, feet wide on the planks of the dock, elbows resting easy on the chair’s arms. His fingers drummed an idle beat, making the dragonfly tattoo flutter. His T-shirt was tight across his chest and shoulders. Sweat glistened in the hollow of his throat.
He’s hot, Jav thought, turning the fact over and over, as if looking for sharp edges. Generally speaking, any human being would think so. He’s a good-looking guy.
The thought was smooth in his mind.
He looks good to me.
“Once upon a time?” Flip said.
“It’s not an uncommon story in the industry,” Jav said. “I got into escorting for the money. I’ve stayed because I’m good at it.”
“And you like it.”
“I do,” he said. “And I like the life it lets me lead. I can write all day and love all night. Get paid for both.”
Flip pushed the brim of his hat back and scratched his head. “How long they hire you for?”
“Typical date? Three, four hours.”
Flip’s grin was wicked. “And are you making love three, four times in a night?”
Making love hung in the air like two shimmering soap bubbles. The roll of Flip’s lips around the M, the touch of his tongue to the roof of his mouth for the L.
Jav looked away. “When I was in my twenties, yeah,” he said, forcing a laugh. “But now let’s say the focus is on quality, not quantity.”
“I figure you always have Viagra in a back pocket.”
“It does the job but gives you a mean headache,” Jav said. “I’d rather rely on my imagination and nature.”
Flip drained his beer and set the bottle on the table. “Your clients are women?”
“Only women. No pay-to-gay, no couples.”
“No girlfriend of your own?”
“No.”
“So who loves you?”
Jav laced his hands behind his head. “People always ask me that.”
“You seem lonely.”
Jav looked at him. Flip gazed back, slowly blinking.
“I do what I do,” Jav said. “So I can get loved a lot. Without anyone leaving me.”
“That’s fair,” Flip said. “Who left you?”
From inside, the band kicked off a song and the crowd screamed its approval.
“Story for another day?” Jav said.
Flip smiled and stood up. “It’s what you do.”
Reggae became Jav’s soundtrack for the summer of 2001 as he worked on The Voyages of Trueblood Cay. At first he scoffed at the idea of writing an adventure story. But the tale begged to be written. It bloomed like a flower in his dreams. It ran alongside him as he did laps around Central Park. It sat down next to him on the subway. It made love to him when he was on dates. And it became real life whenever he saw Flip.
He could laugh it off, but he couldn’t not write it.
“You’re hanging a lot with Flip,” Russ said.
“Yeah, he’s cool. We get along.”
“He likes guys.”
“Man, Russ, you need to work on your subtlety. A fucking hippo has more finesse.”
Russ shrugged. “He used to date my sister, Jade. So I think he goes both ways.”
“You think or you know?”
“Do you know Jamaica’s one of the most homophobic places on earth—”
“You’re preaching to the choir,
my friend.”
“Personally, I think he dates girls to take the edge off. His brother and cousins tease him about being batty, but only within their circle. He’s the baby of their bunch.”
“He’s the heart of the band,” Jav murmured.
“The Truebloods are a fierce clan. They’ll kill anyone who tries to give him shit.”
“I’m not giving him shit about anything. We’re just hanging out.”
“Well they’re teasing him about that, too.”
Jav didn’t say anything for a moment, then asked, “Batty is Jamaican slang for gay?”
Russ nodded. “You know I never asked you. About the escorting thing. You know.”
“What? If I have male clients? No, I don’t.”
“Okay.”
“Anything else you want to ask?”
“You have the copy for Banks and Levi ready?”
The summer slipped away in a blur of music and words. One early September day, Flip invited Jav to come with the band to Flushing-Corona Park.
“It’s part of a summer music festival,” Flip said. “They call it Playing in the Neighborhood. My mates say you can help out.”
“Me?” Jav said. “You mean on cowbell? Say yes.”
“They want you to stand around and hold the CDs. It’ll make the girls stop. Where girls stop, guys stop. People who stop to listen buy. You’re a marketing man’s wet dream. And mine. But that’s a story for another day.”
“Wait, what?”
“Can I rope you in?” Flip said. “So to speak?”
“Jesus,” Jav said, laughing. “I haven’t been to Corona Park in years. You know it’s my old hood.”
“Come with then.”
It was a glorious September day. Bright and crisp, a lusty wind kicking up hard yet blowing soft on skin. Not wanting to lug around drum kits, amplifiers and a generator, Trueblood Cay pared themselves down to acoustics: Flip and Smoky had a collection of bongos and hand-held percussion, and Talin had swapped his electric bass for an upright. Simeon thrust a box of CDs into Jav’s hands. “Stand there and look gorgeous,” he said. “We’ll do the rest.”
They busked a rigorous two hours, Flip’s porkpie hat open on the sidewalk. They made $134 in tips and emptied one box of discs. The crowds after lunch were lazier, with a tighter hand on their money. Only coins lay in Flip’s hat and two boxes of music were yet unopened.
Jav ripped a cardboard flap free, borrowed a magic marker and wrote FREE HUG WITH PURCHASE OF CD.
Flip laughed. “You? Giving it away for free?” He wore jeans and black converse sneakers today, and a mustard-gold T-shirt. When the sun hit him, it lined his face and body in bronze.
“Taking one for the team, my friend,” Jav said, pulling off his shirt. Trueblood Cay let out a collective yell, peppered with wolf whistles. Jav tossed the shirt at Flip’s face, then turned to the public with his sign.
In an hour, all the CDs were gone. The band howled laughing as Jav turned out his pockets, scraps of paper with phone numbers wafting to the pavement.
“What a fucking mantel,” Simeon said, scooping them up. “Unbelievable.”
“You’re coming to all our gigs,” Smoky said. “Hey, look, this is a guy’s number. Flip, you want this one?”
Talin punched him in the arm and indicated the gear that needed to be packed up. Jav helped load it into the van and refused a cut of the tips. “No charge to stand and look gorgeous.”
“Coming home with us?” Talin asked. “We can grab dinner at Savanna-la-Mar.”
“No,” Jav said, putting his shirt back on. “Think I’m going to take a walk and see my old battleground.”
“I’ll come with,” Flip said. A look passed between him and his brother, then the members of Trueblood Cay waved and pulled out, heading back to the Bronx.
“Which way?” Flip asked.
They were quiet a few blocks, anticipation rising in Jav’s chest the closer they got. The neighborhood seemed smaller. A diorama of days gone by. Then it loomed large overhead, memories lurking in alleys and skulking on rooftops. Sniper rifles poised. Jav in the crosshairs.
Relax, he told himself. It’s been more than twenty years. Nobody knows you. And if they do, they’re old now. Miguel’s an old man. He can’t hurt you. Not with his fists, not with his words.
The decades jumped on his shoulders like an unwanted piggybacker. He felt old, too. Wordless and with no fight in him.
“Tell me why it’s a battlefield,” Flip said.
“Story for another day,” Jav said.
“No.” Flip put a hand on Jav’s arm and stopped him. “No, it’s for today. Make it a simple story, and tell me now.” His eyes flicked toward the intersection. “You have until the light changes. Go.”
“My family threw me out when I was seventeen. My father died. My sister ran away. My mother… I don’t know where she is. I haven’t seen or talked to any of them since.”
Flip’s eyes twitched, not quite blinking. “What happened? Simple story.”
“They thought I was something I wasn’t. It got into a thing of someone’s word against mine. And my word lost. I was young. Ganged-up on. I lost friends, I lost family, I lost my place around here. Then they took the last thing I could call my own. Prize money from a story contest I won. They beat it out of me. My sister tried to save it and they beat it out of her. So I left.”
The light changed. They stood and stared, the crowds jostling past. Flip’s hand still on Jav’s arm. “Did anyone look for you?” he asked.
“My uncles. To squeeze more money out of me.”
Flip’s hand slid off. “Money seems to be the driving force in your life.”
Jav smiled and shrugged. “I can’t argue. Come on.”
The restaurant had a different name. Jav didn’t recognize anyone sitting on stoops or standing on corners. He looked close at the names next to buzzers but didn’t see the name Gil deSoto among them.
“You want to go in?” Flip asked, indicating the restaurant.
“No. No, I just wanted to see. Look the tiger in the eye, you know?”
“Are you disappointed no one recognizes you?”
Jav nodded. “Weird how within the dread is hope.” He made a visor of his hand over his brow, shielding the sun and squinting up at the rooftop. His tongue moved over the roof of his mouth, trying to remember a sweet taste. Before it all turned bitter.
“Up there,” he said, pointing. “Fourth of July, nineteen seventy-nine. The last good night of my life. No, that’s not true. It was the last night of my youth. I went up to the roof a boy, and got thrown down the stairs a man.” He laughed. “Good opening line. I should write it down.”
Flip’s hand pressed wide and warm between Jav’s shoulder blades. “I’m really sorry.” His hand slid and gently closed around the back of Jav’s neck. His thumb moved up and down once, then was still.
Jav closed his eyes. “Thanks.”
“You want to go?”
“Yeah.”
As they walked away, Flip’s hand stayed on Jav’s nape a minute, then slowly slid off.
They wandered back toward the park, the late afternoon air soft and warm. The Unisphere sparkled on her throne, majestic and melancholy.
“What do you have going on this week?” Jav asked. They were leaning on the wall of the Pool of Industry, the wind blowing a spray in their faces.
“I’m going to San Francisco on Tuesday,” Flip said. “Buddy of mine is getting married.”
“Ah.”
“I was thinking. When I get back. Maybe you and I should have a talk?”
Jav looked at the noble face of Trueblood.
“Because I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” Flip said.
Jav slowly nodded, taking a long careful breath, as if trying out a new pair of lungs.
“I’m not out to force your hand or give an ultimatum or change you or…” Flip smiled. “I’m just confused what’s going on. I’ve been bisexual all my life. My social
antenna’s pretty good but Jesus Christ, I can’t get a fucking bead on what you are.”
Jav felt his own mouth unfold in a small grin. “It’s…strange.”
“Well that’s one I haven’t heard. Sexual orientation: strange. I like it. Can I steal that for our next album title?” He leaned on the wall of the pool, fingers laced, hips kicked back and ankles crossed. “Just a conversation,” he said, tapping his thumbs together. “If you’re open to it. Or hell, shoot me down now and we’ll part as friends.”
“I’m straight,” Jav said.
Flip didn’t look at him. Only closed his eyes and tilted his face into the sun. “I figured.”
“I have zero interest in men.”
Flip winced, then his chin rose and fell. “Gotcha.”
“And I don’t stop thinking about you,” Jav said, closing his eyes and letting the sun color his lids orange and yellow within. “I dream about you. I wake up wondering when I’m going to talk to you. And I write about you. I don’t even have fucking language for it but I’m writing…you.”
“Will you show me?”
“Maybe.”
“Change my name if you publish it.”
“I can’t. Your name is the whole point.”
“Philip?”
“Trueblood.”
“If it makes you feel better, my heart’s pounding right now. I’ve been feeling pretty idiotic since we met.”
“Same here.”
“Look. This is fragile, but it’ll keep. Why don’t we call it a day and split? I’m going to Cali on Tuesday. I’ll be back Sunday. A week to process.”
“All right.”
But neither moved. The day was too beautiful. The moment too fragile to leave alone where it could slip and smash.
The sun glinted off the silver continents of the Unisphere. Jav’s fingers itched.
Captain Trueblood leaned on the railing, staring out at the approaching storm. “Within the dread is hope,” he said.
Flip’s elbow nudged his side. “You really write about me?”
Jav nodded. “I’m doing it right now.”
“Shit.” Flip’s cheekbones rose as he smiled. His top teeth were perfectly straight, though the incisors were slightly longer than the others. His bottom teeth were a crooked mountain range. As if swapped from someone else’s mouth.
Jav thought, If you were a woman, I’d do and say a lot of stupid things to get you to smile like that. And I’d tell you I was acting like a clown to get you to smile. But you’re not. And I can’t. I can’t say it. I can’t write it. I barely know how to think it.
An Exaltation of Larks Page 15
