by TL Gehr
I shake my head, already embarrassed at my rant. Brian is still giving me his full attention. Those eyebrows are drawn together. I shove my hands in my pockets.
“As far as my parents know, I work full days on Mondays and Wednesdays. Even that’s not enough to get away from social obligations on Saturdays, though. Luckily the Saturday classes finish at four and my parents know I have weekly meetings with my staff at five, so usually it’s fine.”
“That’s why you only work some Saturday nights?”
“Yeah. I do when I can.”
My heart is beating so hard. Have I made a terrible mistake telling him? He could hold this over my head, blackmail me or, worse, start thinking of me the way he originally did. Why did I tell him? None of my friends know. They wouldn’t understand. They’d think it was a big joke or a passing phase. I didn’t trust Jones, who I’ve known my whole life, with this. Why would I trust Brian?
“That’s amazing.” He gives me a tremulous smile, as if he’s not quite sure he’s allowed to smile when I’m clearly having a crisis. The tips of his ears go pink and he drops his gaze. “That’s a hell of a lot of effort to go to to avoid being a stuck-up dickhead.”
I can’t help the laugh that jerks from my chest. It’s sharp and probably unpleasant-sounding because my throat is so tight. “You won’t tell anyone?”
“Of course not. Who else knows?”
“Just you and Imana. I had to tell her in case my parents called looking for me on one of the nights I was supposedly working. Oh, and the registrar. I had to bribe him to enter me into the school with a false name. Which, I don’t mind paying for. I imagine it’s a nightmare for the records office.”
We pass Wall Street station without comment. I’ll meet my train at Fulton. It’s an extra five blocks of talking to Brian.
Either he doesn’t mind, or he feels too awkward to split. Maybe he didn’t even see the station, his head’s still down. “I’m flattered.”
“I guess it’s true what they say. Sometimes it’s easier to talk to a stranger.”
I watch his expression carefully to make sure he doesn’t take offense, but he nods and says, “Yeah, it’s definitely true. I tell my therapist things I wouldn’t tell anyone else.” His eyes dart to me and he presses his lips together. What, like I’m going to judge him for being in therapy? He continues, “I really think it’s great. I mean… borderline evil genius. But like in a good way. Good genius? Why are there never good geniuses in superhero movies? Is that a message we should be giving to kids?”
“I think the good geniuses are called the heroes.”
“No, I mean, yes probably. But that’s next level dedication to being a hero… have you always wanted to be a nurse?”
“You mean rather than a doctor?”
“I mean rather than an astronaut or a paleontologist or whatever kid crap.”
“Um… I think there was a time I wanted to be a cowboy.”
Brian grins and only then do I realize how seldom I’ve seen his full smile. He has small neat teeth. They’re a little skew along the bottom, because he’s a real human. Not like the crowd I hang out with who’ve had every flaw altered or removed.
“Yeah, I mean, since I was about nine. I fell off a horse and had to spend two days in hospital.”
“And so endeth the cowboy aspirations?”
I snort. “Yes, though, as you observed, the falling off horses did not endeth.”
He rewards me with a laugh and I’m flushed with happiness. “I hardly saw the doctor that whole time,” I continue, “but the nurses were there for me. I was scared and hurt, and they made everything better. I mean it’s not a glamorous job, but it’s one that really makes a difference. That’s what I want, not to waste away in a plush penthouse, doing nothing with my life but exchanging gossip and making money off other people’s labor. Sorry, that’s probably a longer answer than you were looking for. Short answer, yes? Do you think it’s strange?”
“No,” he shakes his head vigorously. “I think…” He clears his throat and looks at his shoes again. It’s another minute before he says, “You’re fucking amazing, Philip. I’ve been trying to think of a way to say that that doesn’t sound creepy. I mean I’ve known you all of three days… but, I just, I think you’re really impressive.”
My heart swells and just keeps on swelling, like it’s going to fill my whole chest, and I’m going to explode. Or cry. I’m struck dumb. The wash of emotion at that kindness, that acceptance, completely stuns me. I didn’t know how badly I needed someone to validate my sneaking around, to approve of me.
“It’s not creepy,” I manage to say.
We’ve reached Fulton and we go down the escalator in silence, although I catch Brian gazing up at the giant terra cotta murals depicting various ships coming in to dock. This is clearly not his usual station. I hope he doesn’t get lost. I did read that people with dyscalculia struggle with directions, but it would be patronizing to ask. Maybe I’ll call him later to check he got back okay. Would that be weird?
“I think I’m down there,” he points towards the sign for the A train. Either he does know his way, or he’s doing a good job of pretending. We separate.
“Brian!” I call to him over the crowd. “What did you want to be? As a kid?”
The corner of his mouth twitches upwards.
“An accountant,” he calls back.
15
Brian
I’m in love with my boss. My boss who I’ve only known for three days.
When I get back to the apartment, I put on some loud music, shove my earphones in and sit on the fire escape with the last of the beers Alex left. I listen to music that’s all bass and dirty guitars, and I somehow still find love in the lyrics. Shit. And I pretty much told him I liked him. I take a swig of beer. I still feel like I’m swooning. This is all going to blow up in my face, so why can’t I stop grinning?
I make sure to arrive early for my night shift on Thursday. I know Philip won’t be there, but Maxine will be and I want her to know I can be on time. I only just catch her. Day shift’s leaving as I arrive and she grabs my arm as we pass in the doorway.
“Let Malena deal with Table 7. She’s like the dickhead charmer. If Imana asks you to check on them, just say I told you to stay behind the bar tonight.”
I keep my voice low. “That doesn’t sound very chivalrous.”
“Trust me. And if they try anything inappropriate, call me. I can be here in ten.”
“You’re kinda freaking me out.”
Maxine shakes her head. “They’re drunk and rowdy. We’ve had issues with them before is all.”
Table 7 turns out to be the bikers again, but the place is busy enough that they’re not a problem. At least for the first hour or so. At about seven, one of them comes up to the bar, “Hey sweet cheeks, you’re new here, aren’t you?”
I check next to me to make sure he means me, but I’m alone. Imana went to the stock room. “I am. What can I get you?”
He has a round face, ruddy skin and a bright green bandana over his curly auburn hair. “Another round. And we always get discount on account of us being regulars.”
I’m pretty sure that’s bullshit. “I’ll let Imana know.”
“You giving me attitude?”
Ah, one of those kinds of dickheads. The ones that are so insecure about their masculinity that they have to constantly assert it. I’m plenty familiar with the type. “No, sir. I don’t have access to the register yet. Imana will ring you up when she gets back.”
I bend down to grab the beers for him and he whistles. Okay… maybe a different variety of dickhead. When Maxine said they’d give me trouble, I didn’t think she meant sexual harassment. I make no comment as I pass him the drinks. My survival instincts are pretty well-sharpened. Instead, I offer him a sweet smile as if I’m flattered. He leers back, but returns to the table without incident.
My stomach is a knot of memories I absolutely do not want to dwell on right now. I focus
my entire attention on the job. Imana rolls her eyes when I tell her he tried to get a discount out of me and adds the full price to their tab. Mom weaves between the tables carrying food. When she gets to Table 7, a different biker pulls her onto his lap. She laughs loudly and gives his cheek an affectionate pat. It’s disconcerting… A part of me, the part of me that recognizes her as my mother, wants to leap to her defense. There’s a bigger part of me that realizes she’s not just deploying the same survival strategy I did. She knows them, and their attention is welcome.
“Walking clichés, aren’t they?” Imana asks. I didn’t realize she was watching me. “They call themselves the Dragon Riders. Think they’re Hell’s Angels.”
“And they hang out in the financial district?” I’m not particularly au fait with Manhattan, but I’m pretty sure that’s weird.
“Apparently. They only started coming here a few months ago.”
Huh. Philip made it sound like they’d been coming here for years before he took over the place. “Maybe their old haunt kicked them out.”
Mom takes a sip of the one’s beer and laughs at something another said.
Imana leans on the bar. “What I don’t get is where do they put the bikes? Do you think they actually have bikes, or is it more of a subculture thing? You know, they only own the merch?” She raises a good point. I didn’t see any bikes outside.
“Maybe they have a secret lair near here.”
“If that’s the case, they can definitely afford to pay full price for drinks.”
As one, they look at us, as if they heard her. Even though they can’t have.
“Oh shit,” Imana whispers. “That’s some creepy shit.”
Mom grins and gestures for me to come over. I know Maxine said I should stay behind the bar, but this doesn’t seem like a situation where I have a choice.
I go to join them. Mom is smiling ear-to-ear. “Fellas, this is my son, Brian. He just moved to the city.”
“I didn’t know you had a kid,” one of them says.
She shrugs. “His father and I split years ago. I thought he could be an asset to the business.” She gives the guy a wink.
She introduces me to each one in turn, but their names blur together, and so do their faces. They’re just a wash of leather jackets and greasy hair. She hops off the guy’s lap to go check on her other tables, leaving me with them.
They appear to be sizing me up. The one she was sitting on asks where I’m from, another asks what I’m doing here. I give them an answer I expect them to like, that I came to get closer to my mom as we didn’t have much of a relationship when I was growing up. I’m the picture of calm, though I can feel sweat prickling along my spine. I knew men like them in prison. I sucked off men like them in prison.
Gene said I should process everything that happened there, but I prefer to lock it away in a steel box inside my head. When you’re in prison, it feels like a different world. To me, that was a different world. That was a different Brian. Only, standing here with them it feels all too close to this world.
The pervy guy whispers something to the guy next to him. That guy nods. I’m just standing in front of them, like a piece of meat up for auction. Will it be safe for me to walk home tonight? I dismiss the thought immediately. Mom knows them, she’s clearly friendly with them. They wouldn’t hurt her kid.
With that thought, she returns. She stands next to the leathery guy at the head of the table who must be their leader. “So, Billy, what do you think of my boy?”
He shows a row of uneven teeth. “Bit scrawny.”
“Well you’re not intending to cook him up and eat him, are you?”
Imana calls my name and I’m so, so grateful. I make my apologies and slip away.
“Thought you could use some help,” Imana says, once I’m standing next to her again.
“Yes. And a stiff drink. Don’t worry, not while I’m on duty, I know.”
“Ha! Who said that? Wait ‘til you work a weekend. They’ll be buying you shots.” I take her to mean customers in general and not the bikers in particular. I can’t imagine them being that generous.
I feel their eyes on me for the rest of the night, even when most of the other patrons have cleared out and I’m sitting at the register studying Philip’s infographics. They get progressively drunker and rowdier. I can sense Imana getting nervous, but at about ten they finally leave and she makes a sound of relief.
I’m helping Mom wipe down their table when Philip walks in. His cheeks are rosy from the late night cold and he’s wearing a navy blue scarf. Blue is definitely his color, but I preferred the aquamarine. The navy makes him look too serious. Or maybe that’s his expression. Maybe something’s wrong.
He looks to the bar first, then scans the room. His eyes settle on me.
As he approaches, a number of different scenarios race through my head, all of which result in me losing this job. Prison is fresh in my mind. What if he found out about that? Or maybe it’s the drugs. Maybe he did a full background check on me and discovered both things?
“Hey, Brian, can I talk to you a minute?”
My insides go cold. I can feel my heartbeat in my ears. “Sure.”
Mom gives me a smile and a wink as he leads the way into his office. It does nothing to ease my anxiety.
Philip closes the door behind us and unravels his scarf as he walks to his desk. Then he runs his fingers through his curly blond hair and if he doesn’t tell me what this is about soon I think I might die of stress.
He swallows. “I, uh, have a favor to ask. It’s kind of awkward.”
Slowly, blood flows back to my limbs. A favor. I’m not getting fired. Unless the favor is that I should resign.
He scrapes the hand through his hair again. “Where to start? Um… Well, my ex is throwing a party tomorrow and asked me to come and I, like an idiot, said that I would.”
My brain has to reconfigure itself to this new reality where I’m not in trouble, a reality that has parties in it.
“Right.”
“Right, so here’s the thing. He made a big deal of the fact that I am still single.”
He. It’s like I’m being flipped inside out. All the stress of this evening replaced with sudden, unexpected joy. I’m so caught up on the fact that his ex is a he, that I almost don’t realize he said still single. Philip is gay. Philip is single. Philip is still speaking. I tune in to him again.
“And I was trying to tell my friends I didn’t care what he thought and somehow they now think I have a secret boyfriend.”
He looks at me. His eyes are pleading. I don’t understand… until I do. Favor.
“Wait, are you about to ask me to be your pretend boyfriend?” My heart is going mile a minute, like it completely skipped over the pretend part.
“No! No I wouldn’t.”
He paces away from me while I deal with the emotional whiplash of that statement.
“I mean you wouldn’t have to actually do anything. Like no affectionate stuff or anything, I swear. This was a bad idea, I’m so sorry.”
He heads for the door. No ways. I put an arm out to block his exit. “Hold on, slow down. You need a guy to go with you to a party tomorrow so your ex thinks you’re not single? Is that what you’re saying?”
“No. Yes, but it’s not about him. It’s… you’re the only one who knows. About the classes.”
“Sorry, you’ve lost me.” And I’m pretty sure he’s not making sense, it’s not just my brain being weird.
“Okay, so, my friends… they’re like my parents. They wouldn’t understand why I was doing it and they’re great, really, and I’m sure they’d support me, but…”
“…but?”
“…but I don’t want them to know about the nursing just yet. Not until I’ve actually achieved something. They wouldn’t understand and they wouldn’t take this seriously, especially since it’s at a, well you know, not exactly ivy league.”
“They’d make fun of you for attending community college?
”
“They’d make fun of every part of it. So now when they thought I was seeing someone that explained the time I’m spending in class.”
“I thought The Spindle explained the time you were spending in class?”
“To my parents, yes. My friends don’t know about The Spindle either.”
Before I can respond he says. “Yeah, I know. Supervillain.”
“I was trying to think of the Shakespeare quote. Something about webs and weaving.”
“What a tangled web we weave when at first we start to deceive? It’s actually Scott.”
“Right. Well, what have you told them about this guy?” Shouldn’t it be someone more like you, someone who knows the difference between Shakespeare and Scott? Or who Scott even is?
“Nothing. Literally nothing. They’re so ridiculously intrigued by how little I’ve told them. The less I tell them, the more they’re rooting for you, I mean him. God, what am I even doing?” He buries his face in his hands.
“Okay.”
He looks up. His eyes are so bright they don’t even look real.
“I said okay. I’ll go to the party with you. If it has a dress code, I’m going to need to get new clothes though. This is what I’ve got.” I hold out my arms to display my leather jacket and ripped jeans.
“It’s a Fashion Week thing. You could wear a pink tutu and you wouldn’t look out of place. Seriously, thank you. I… I’ll make it up to you, somehow. Anything you want.”
I almost tell him that he’s already giving me what I want most, that the party could be on a nudist colony in the middle of winter and I’d still want to go with him.
My anxious mind tells me that I’m setting myself up for heartbreak, that this is the plot of like a million romantic comedies. I get to be the fake boyfriend until he finds someone real. But for once, I don’t have a problem telling that part of my mind to shut up. “I told you, I don’t really know anyone in NYC. It’s a chance to meet people.”
