Blue Jay

by A Zukowski

  Paula’s happy relationship. They must have been

  together for forty-plus years and remain strong.

  Dinner is lovely, and the Johnsons are as loud

  35

  and friendly as always. Alex sits among them, being

  treated like one of the children, except it reminds

  him of Sam and what could have been, and the

  imaginary knife sears through his heart once more.

  He closes his eyes and lets the weariness consume

  him.

  ~~~

  Alex barely sees any of his flatmates. He ran into

  Dmitri doing a transaction in the lounge one day.

  Great. A drug deal in the middle of his fucking

  sitting room. Of course, he turned a blind eye as he

  would have done in similar situations in the nick.

  The probation officer must have been desperate,

  putting him in shared accommodation like this. He

  wouldn’t have allowed it if he’d known the easy

  access to drugs. No wonder lots of ex-cons

  recidivate. It’s lucky Alex no longer takes drugs

  because even the prison was full of them. Alex was

  shocked to discover the availability of illicit goods

  there when he first arrived.

  Another night, he heard Alberto shouting in

  Italian on his mobile for an hour, arguing with

  someone at the other end.

  Chris.

  Since Chris’s room is next to his, Alex feels his

  presence all right. On his one night off a week from

  the late shift so far, Alex heard Chris and his

  companion. Alex shifted uncomfortably in his single

  bed. The narrow space and flimsy mattress are

  inadequate to accommodate a tall man like him,

  making sleep all the more difficult.

  A woman with her middle-pitched oohs and ahhs

  36

  and Chris’s more muffled reassurance sounded like

  soft porn.

  I’m going to make you feel so good, sweetheart.

  Jeez. It’s the worst kind of torture to listen to sex

  through a thin wall when you’re alone. The more

  Alex tried not to hear the noises, the more they

  became like surround sounds.

  Alex’s gaydar was pretty much dormant, but he

  did assume Chris’s orientation after their first

  encounter on the stairs because of how Chris looked

  and behaved. Serves him right to be presumptuous.

  A few days later, Alex returns home about six in

  the morning after the overnight shift. He should

  hate every day of his newfound freedom if it means

  sitting in an office and surveying empty spaces

  through the CCTV. At one point in the night, he

  began to imagine he was an insect trapped under a

  magnifying glass with nowhere to go. He laughed

  because it was better than crying; the lonely sounds

  he was making vibrated through the walls of the

  vacant building.

  Chris and a guy are French kissing in the lounge.

  Is this the same lover? Alex tells himself off for

  analysing Chris’s hookup habit.

  Chris is clad in a small red thong and wriggling

  against his fully dressed boyfriend. Thank fuck

  someone is wearing clothes. He is the mirror image

  of Chris but less pretty: blonde hair tied up in a top

  knot, big blue eyes. Alex hovers, undecided whether

  to walk around them to his room and pretend he

  hasn’t seen them. Either way, he’d look ridiculous.

  He waits, trying to minimise his presence as Chris

  and the kisser break off after some prolonged and

  37

  elaborate tongue-twisting. Chris glances at Alex and

  pushes the other towards the door.

  “Shush, shush. Can’t ever get rid of you. I’ve got

  to grab some beauty sleep. Work to do, people to

  see, et cetera.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Text me later, babycakes. Okay?”

  Babycakes? Who ever says that? Have I just seen

  him squeeze Chris’s arse? Alex can’t help but stare

  at the two white, shapely globes.

  After his lover has left, Chris turns and gazes at

  Alex with a perfect arch of his right eyebrow. “Have

  you seen enough?”

  Alex can’t believe Chris’s cheek, but it’s refreshing

  at the same time. No one speaks to Alex like that

  because of his size.

  “I didn’t ask to see you tongue-fuck your

  boyfriend in the middle of our flat. Sorry, if I

  intruded.” Alex adds a large dose of sarcasm to

  those words, but he can’t tear his eyes away from

  Chris’s elegant and completely hairless body. A

  montage of what he and the top-knot were doing

  minutes before he interrupted plays in Alex’s mind.

  He swallows and shifts to regain his composure.

  Chris crosses his arms as if hiding his modesty

  from Alex’s sharp gaze and meandering thoughts.

  “Well, I don’t expect people wandering in at the

  crack of dawn.” He sits down and picks up a pack of

  cigarettes from the coffee table and lights one then

  holds the pack out to Alex. “You smoke? Want one?”

  Now it’s impossible to ignore Chris and go

  straight to his room. Alex sits down at the other end

  of the sofa, keeping a safe distance.

  “No, I don’t smoke.” He is overdressed in his

  38

  security guard uniform since Chris is as good as

  naked and is considering him with wide-open eyes.

  Alex forces himself to look away from Chris’s very

  small underwear, which hardly conceals his size.

  Chris holds the cigarette away with his long

  fingers, while he’s not sucking it like a lifeline. He

  looks at Alex intently again as if he can bore into

  Alex’s mind, as if he can access his soul with the

  intense indigo gaze. Under the bare light from the

  ceiling lamp, Alex can see Chris’s irises—a mix of

  dark blue, violet and emerald. Is that anatomical

  detail possible? The combined hues make them

  turquoise. Chris wears red nail varnish and a hint of

  rose colours his cheeks.

  Sensing Alex’s paradox of fascination and

  restraint, Chris challenges him. “Like what you

  see?”

  Alex swallows. “No…I mean, yes. You…” Damn

  the stutter. “You’re nice-looking.”

  Chris laughs, sardonicism clear on his face.

  “Nice?”

  Nice. Why couldn’t he think of something else to

  say? Alex opens and shuts his mouth a couple of

  times but fails to defend himself for using such an

  innocuous word. He should have known that Chris

  would find that inoffensive word offensive.

  After several seconds, Chris schools his face to

  neutrality. “So, what the fuck do you do? Why are

  you always creeping around in the middle of the

  night?”

  Alex wants to point out that six o’clock is early

  morning for most respectable folks but thinks better

  of it. It’s not the right thing to say to someone who

  39

  has been staying up all night banging the next pop

  idol. “I’ve been working.”

  “As?” Chris raises an eyebrow like a questi
on

  mark.

  “Security.”

  Chris’s eyes roam Alex’s face once more, making

  him uncomfortable. Once Chris is satisfied with his

  effect on Alex, he yawns with raised arms and

  slowly stands. “Well, it’s been a long night. I’ll let

  you go to bed.”

  He sashays back to his room with the cigarette

  dangling from his mouth, reminding Alex of the

  dangerous dame from 1950s Hollywood movies. A

  femme fatale. Or Glenn Close who boils bunnies.

  Dead bunnies.

  Alex is out of his mind these days to be so

  intrigued by his flatmate. He has never met anyone

  like Chris in his life. He wants to find out more, and

  he is, without doubt, attracted to his neighbour.

  Blood rushes to his head, leaving Alex shaken with

  the realisation.

  ~~~

  “Wow, we meet in broad daylight at last.”

  Chris’s sultry voice startles Alex, whose head jerks

  up from his lunch of ham sandwiches and water,

  knocking a spoon off the table. He manages to catch

  the falling cutlery with his quick reflex.

  Chris strolls into the kitchen area: an open-plan

  diner-lounge-kitchenette

  arrangement.

  The

  worktop and cooker are in an alcove to the side of

  the sitting room.

  A sunbeam streams through the open window

  40

  this late morning, gracing Chris’s dirty-blonde hair.

  Alex almost does a double take because this Chris

  has no make-up and is dressed in a plain tee and

  cutoff ripped jeans as though he’s shed his

  androgyny. The fragrance from his shampoo or

  body wash wafts through the room like jasmine in

  the summer. Whenever his flatmate is near, Alex’s

  keen heart races and his palms sweat. Alex blinks,

  trying to control his reaction.

  Seemingly ignorant of the effect he’s having,

  Chris makes a pot of coffee and a piece of toast and

  plonks himself down across from Alex. The tiny

  dining table sits only two, creating an intimacy that

  no one in the flat cares about until now. Chris’s

  proximity causes Alex’s heart to beat fast once

  again.

  “Coffee?”

  Chris has brought two cups to the table. Alex

  nods.

  Chris pours two coffees and takes a bite from his

  toast. Speaking with his mouth half-full, he tells

  Alex, “Staring is rude.”

  “I wasn’t.” Heat rises in Alex’s face.

  They eat in companionable silence for a few

  minutes.

  “How’s your job going? Caught anyone breaching

  your security yet?” Chris asks but he doesn’t seem

  interested in the answer at all.

  “Funny.”

  Chris shrugs. “Yeah, comedian me.”

  Alex is not going to talk about his numbingly

  boring job at the office block down in Islington.

  “You’re not really a comedian, are you? Whatever

  41

  you do seems to be less time-consuming and more

  interesting than my job, though. Let me guess. A

  student?” Chris doesn’t keep to regular hours and

  he’s always sleeping in late. Alex imagines the

  college kids’ lifestyle to be like that.

  Chris huffs. “Nope. Been told all my life I don’t

  have two brain cells to rub together. How am I a

  student? Unless you’re talking about the School of

  Hard Knocks.”

  Alex has seen the way Chris speaks and how he

  subtly riles him up and observes him to work him

  out, all evidence of Chris’s intelligence and

  curiosity. The hard-knocks part might be true. Alex

  wouldn’t expect anyone well off to be living in this

  dump.

  Chris finishes his brunch and lights a cigarette. A

  swirl of pungent smoke envelops them both.

  “You seem clever enough to me. Bar job?” All the

  young kids in London work in the restaurants and

  bars until they get better offers, don’t they? Alex

  sounds old to his own ears. Chris looks about ten

  years younger than Alex. He adds, “You’re waiting

  to be a star or something?”

  Chris scowls. “Why does everyone see my face

  and assume things about me? I am not only a pretty

  face. I think it’s fucking stupid trying to be famous.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.” Alex’s

  mouth turns down. “Put me out of my misery. What

  do you do?”

  Chris says, “I work as an escort.”

  Alex coughs, choking on his coffee, and covers his

  mouth with his hand as a hot flush reaches his

  cheeks.

  42

  Chris grabs some kitchen towel and helps Alex

  clean up. He watches with detachment; he must be

  used to that reaction.

  “Say what you’ve got to say. Spit it out. Oh, right,

  you’ve already done that.” Chris makes to stand up.

  “Hey.” Alex puts his hand over Chris’s, around the

  handle of the mug. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to act

  shocked. You don’t need to leave.”

  Chris sits down again.

  “That guy and the woman before. Are they…

  what’s the word?”

  “My clients?” Chris shakes his head. “No, I do

  out-calls to people’s houses and hotels. I never

  bring them back here. Don’t you worry.”

  “I’m not worried.”

  “I see other people, y’know?” Chris sucks in a

  chestful of cigarette smoke.

  Alex is finding all the new information difficult to

  digest. If his brain is a computer, there’s already a

  folder for Chris-related info. Alex has never given

  prostitution much thought, but he wants to

  understand how someone who seems so perfect to

  him would sell himself.

  “You

  mean

  they

  were

  your

  lovers?”

  Inquisitiveness isn’t in Alex’s nature, but the info-

  bank is calling.

  “Yes.” Chris cocks his head.

  Chris is bisexual. That must be who I am too.

  For the first time in Alex’s life, there’s no need to

  hide from that simple fact. His admiration for

  Chris’s openness nudges up another notch.

  “Okay. And your clients? Do you sleep with men

  and women as well?”

  43

  “I don’t like servicing women, so I don’t. I earn

  enough. Guys are easier to find and more

  straightforward. Path of least resistance works for

  me.”

  Alex nods. “Wow. An escort. That’s not a…usual

  job,” he whispers.

  Chris throws his teaspoon at Alex. “Seriously!

  What’s your problem, man? What’s a usual job?

  Security?”

  After picking up the spoon, Alex is thoughtful for

  a second. “Is this an in-between thing?”

  Chris blinks three times. “No.”

  Alex inclines his head to show he understands.

  Chris sulks, seemingly annoyed with Alex’s

  questions. He takes his cup and plate back to the


  kitchen to wash.

  Alex can’t stand the grumpy face on Chris. He

  picks up the rest of the dishes and follows Chris into

  the kitchen area. He leans against the worktop next

  to the sink and waits for Chris to finish washing up.

  Alex’s eyes travel Chris’s body.

  “Stop undressing me, Alex. I’m used to people

  looking at me funny when they find out what I do

  for a living. Unless you have a problem with sharing

  a flat with me? Or want my services? I can do you a

  neighbour discount.”

  “I have no problems, Chris. It’s a job.” Alex

  continues watching him. “I can see why you do it.”

  Chris’s nostrils flare, though Alex thinks it’s a

  good look on him too.

  “What? Like I’m born a slut or something?”

  Now Alex is a little unsure. Whatever he says

  always sounds wrong and irritates Chris. Alex

  44

  doesn’t want that. He wants to be on Chris’s good

  side.

  Alex picks his words carefully this time. “Sorry. I

  mean…you are sexy.”

  Chris’s mouth opens, but the speech bubble is

  empty of comments for long moments.

  “You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?”

  Alex wants to tell him how fascinated he is, but he

  doesn’t mean to come across as a twat or a potential

  stalker. Chris has no shortage of friends or sex

  partners, so he’ll think Alex is a weirdo if he tells

  Chris of his interest. Alex is a disgraced boxer and

  an ex-con. He can’t get it up most days. What can he

  offer someone like Chris?

  “I can hardly talk about my job. It’s like watching

  paint dry. It doesn’t make for a riveting

  conversation. At least yours is interesting.”

  Chris glances at Alex sidelong and tries to

  suppress a grin. “I suppose escorting has the same

  appeal as an exotic wildlife programme. The

  animals grunt and rut, and you can’t take your eyes

  off them.”

  Alex chuckles. “A drug dealer. An escort. What

  does Alberto do?”

  “He’s a trainee chef. He works in a small family

  pizzeria in central London. Why?” Chris focuses his

  gaze on Alex again.

  “Do you think he’s a serial killer? He has access to

  knives,” Alex says with deadpan irony.

  Chris’s answering laughter sounds like bells to

  Alex’s ears. “No, I believe he only throws pizza bases

  and chops leaves for the salads.”

  “That’s reassuring.” Alex joins Chris, forgetting all

  45

  his personal issues for a minute.

  The way Chris giggles has distracted Alex, and