Blue Jay

by A Zukowski

Alex shakes his head to clear his mind since he

  has come into his bedroom for a reason. He opens

  the drawer in the bedside table and finds the small

  pendant. After he went out with Chris for a drink

  and they told him it was their birthday, he has been

  thinking about a small gift: a small silver disc with a

  pair of encased boxing gloves made with solid black

  stone. Dex gave it to him on his eighteenth birthday.

  It must have been from Coach’s youth since the

  back is marred and the metal could do with some

  buffing, but it will make a perfect present for Chris.

  Alex will buy a thin chain to thread through the

  small hole—he imagines it around their long, pale

  neck.

  Thinking about Chris makes him forget the guilt

  in his gut, forget where he is; he has been swimming

  in a deep, dark hole filled with a sticky mass as thick

  as oil. Thoughts of Chris calm him, slowly bringing

  him to light. He does not need to get out of his

  depressed state if he can see the radiance beyond.

  The knock on his door startles Alex, and his dad

  pushes the door open before he can answer. He and

  Gary have been at it since before lunch and now he

  is halfway to drunk, his face red and puffy. When

  Alex was a kid, he used to think he would turn out

  like his father. He nearly did, and it cost him his

  entire boxing career.

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  “Why you hidin’?”

  “I’m not.” Alex puts the pendant in his pocket in

  case his dad asks about it. He’s not ready to tell his

  family about Chris yet. “What’s up?”

  The older man sits down on a chair. “Your ma

  spoke to you about the ’ouse?”

  Alex nods.

  The lead, the guilt, the darkness.

  “Some guy roughed Gary up a couple of weeks

  ago.” He lights up a cigarette. Alex doesn’t like

  smoking in his room, but then this house no longer

  feels like his home. Even his box room in the flat

  has given him a stronger sense of belonging. He

  can’t envisage coming back here to live, so it doesn’t

  matter.

  “Why? He tried to chat a married woman up or

  something?” It’s the kind of idiotic things that Gary

  would do.

  His dad shakes his head. “Hard to tell. He was a

  bit vague. I suspect he owes someone money.”

  That would be it. Damn it.

  “Tony spoke to me, y’know. He can fix things up.

  He said a few matches, and you’ll be back on your

  feet.” His dad’s eyes are on Alex, waiting for his

  response.

  Back on my fucking feet. Alex frowns. “Wish he

  hadn’t contacted you. Going over my head like

  that.”

  “I know Tony’s a bit of a shark, but he’s always

  delivered. It’s not only about us. If you don’t want to

  help, that’s fine. Your ma and I will figure

  something out. It’s about fucking time Gary grew

  the fuck up anyway. But you’re too young to retire,

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  Alex. Too much of a waste, if you ask me.”

  That’s why I don’t ask you. But Alex isn’t going to

  argue with his dad. “I’ll think about it. I will call

  Tony, hear what he’s got in mind.”

  His dad stands. “Good.” They are similar that

  way. Men of few words. At least Alex’s dad has

  never been a loud drunk. Instead, he’s usually sullen

  and morose. Alex was drinking way too much by the

  time of the car crash, but it was the easiest thing to

  give up. It’s the blame and shame that Alex will

  never be able to shake. Sobriety has become his

  fodder in the permanently locked prison of his

  mind.

  ~~~

  The restaurant Tony chooses to meet him at

  boasts a couple of stars awarded by a gourmet list.

  It is light and airy, autumn sun streaming through

  tall panes of glass, but it doesn’t entice Alex at all.

  He would prefer to turn back and forget about the

  whole thing. Despite the fact he is now dirt poor and

  working in a job he dislikes, he values the freedom

  away from all the bullshit associated with fame. The

  thought of returning to the ring only fills him with

  dread. So what the fuck are you doing here?

  Because he’s a good son, and he promised his

  parents he would speak to Tony.

  Alex only wears his beanie today without the

  sunglasses. Over the past few months, he has come

  to realise that with his size and stature, disguises

  serve no purpose, and being with Chris has given

  him the courage not to hide behind dark glasses

  anymore. He walks through the expensive

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  restaurant, following the maître d’, with half of the

  diners and all the waiters watching him. He tries to

  ignore the discomfort inside of him.

  Tony waves him over. No matter how sharp his

  suit is, Tony is still a lowlife underneath. But then,

  Alex is an ex-criminal on parole. Who is he to

  judge? He sits and is immediately presented with

  the heavy leather-bound menu. He glances at the

  fancy words and opts for the safe-sounding fish and

  chips of the beer-battered exotic fish variety with

  potato curls and lemon tartare mayo. That’s a whole

  eleven words for the same thing. Tony asks for a

  steak, medium rare. Sharks are always after bloody

  red meat.

  Tony chitchats, bringing him gossip about the

  boxing world that’s as alien as the restaurant. At the

  third forkful of their food, Tony gets to the real topic

  of conversation. “So, Blue. You’ve thought about a

  comeback?”

  Alex wishes he could choke on a fishbone, but

  there’s none in the perfectly cooked fillet.

  “Yeah, thought about it. What’s your proposal?”

  Tony is used to him. Alex’s reticence means he

  won’t say more than the absolute minimum, except

  when he talks to Chris, who can coax anything out

  of him.

  Tony puts down his fork, the remnant of a piece

  of steak glistening ruby blood on the shiny silver.

  “You know Lewis Keane?”

  Keane’s a big, strapping beast, an Irish

  heavyweight who was a few ranks below Alex and

  whom Alex has beaten twice before. As far as Alex

  knows, Keane retired two years ago.

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  “He wants to fight a few matches, add to his

  retirement fund, you understand?” Tony cocks his

  head to gaze at Alex.

  Alex understands, all right. If his circumstances

  were not so different, he might be doing the same.

  Now, he’s wary of the limelight. Lewis Keane would

  be a good match, though. The audiences will love it

  —two veteran heavyweights of similar skill level.

  “How much?” Alex is going to do the necessary to

  keep his family afloat. But what happens next time

  they need a bail-out is anyone’s guess.

  Tony’s shrewd eyes roam Alex’s face and body.

  “After my expenses, trainers
, insurance…” He

  taps some numbers on the calculator of his mobile

  and shows it to Alex. As Alex thought, it’s enough to

  buy a small family house in Essex.

  “And I can negotiate sponsorship, a percentage

  with the venue and a TV deal with a sports

  channel,” his ex-manager adds. More than one

  house, then. The start of a little savings for himself

  too.

  Alex doesn’t trust Tony, but he’s a good

  businessman. For his own benefit, Tony would get a

  good deal for Alex. That’s why Alex stuck with the

  twat over the years and why Tony managed to screw

  him over. Can he do this? Can he face the world

  again?

  “As little media as possible. No junkets, no

  commercials and let me see the contract when

  you’re ready.” Alex knows Tony won’t be able to

  stop the media interests, not if he wants the TV

  deal. “I’ll need some intensive training nearer the

  time.”

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  He will train with Coach, but for at least a few

  weeks before the match, a pro would be good. After

  all, it’ll be a demonstration fight, not a proper

  tournament or championship.

  Tony assesses Alex for a moment. “You won’t

  come back for real?”

  “No.” Alex answers without hesitation. His hands

  are already clammy. Anticipating a match never felt

  like this, as if he were being forced to stand naked

  and humiliated in front of millions. He sighs

  soundlessly and pops a few more chips into his

  mouth.

  Good but hardly worth the thirty quid they

  charge.

  ~~~

  Alex kisses the soft skin of Chris’s neck, drinking

  in the delicious scent: spicy yet floral. He can always

  tell who Chris is as if they are viscerally in tune.

  There’s something natural about Chris’s scent when

  they aren’t working. The rich fragrance they wear to

  appointments doesn’t suit Chris in any form—

  expensive, bland cologne as if they’ve just come

  from the perfumery of a department store.

  Alex traces a line down to her shoulder and tastes

  the sweet flesh. His fingers make a parallel line

  along her smooth chest, stopping at the nipples. A

  wisp of sensation flows through Alex while he licks

  her belly with a feather-light touch before he sits up

  and considers her. For the thousandth time since

  they met, he can’t quite believe he’s here, holding

  and savouring her.

  Chris pulls herself up and gazes at Alex, too. A

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  hint of a smile rivals Mona Lisa’s.

  Alex reaches out to his discarded trousers and

  retrieves her gift from the pocket. He places the

  small medal in Chris’s hand. He went to the Jewish-

  run jewellery shops near Farringdon and found a

  thin silver chain to accompany the pendant.

  “Happy birthday.”

  “For me?” Chris’s face lights up, radiating a

  beauty and grace incongruent with their grotty

  surroundings.

  Alex nods.

  Chris examines the silver disc, fingering the

  encased boxing gloves. When she looks up, tears

  glitter in her eyes. “It’s so beautiful. Thank you. Put

  it on for me.” She turns to let Alex reach the back of

  her neck.

  Alex struggles to clip the small hooks together

  because of his thick fingers, but when he succeeds,

  he beams.

  “I didn’t win this one. Coach gave it to me when I

  was eighteen.”

  Chris turns to face him again, touches the surface

  of the small disc and leans forward to kiss him.

  “It’s the best gift anyone has given to me.” Her big

  eyes shine with so much warmth and happiness.

  Alex grins. “I wanted to give you something

  personal, a gift that means a lot to me.”

  “And you have. You do.” Chris asks, her voice low,

  “Seriously, why aren’t we having sex?”

  Alex sighs. “I don’t know. I’ve been wanting you

  ever since I laid my eyes on you on the stairs.”

  His words are not enough because he’s aroused

  and Chris must be able to feel his woody.

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  Chris’s eyes shimmer in the dusk. “Then, why are

  we still dancing around? Is there something wrong

  with me?”

  Alex cups her head in his big hands and kisses

  her. “No. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with

  you. Maybe I want you to think of us as special.”

  “We are… You are special.”

  “And you are too, Chris, and I want you to know

  that. It’s not a threat or anything like that. I want to

  wait for our first time when I’m confident. Until I

  am not scared that I won’t be good enough for you.”

  Chris leans in to kiss him again. “But you are

  good for me.”

  Alex touches his head of wild, thick hair. “Chris,

  I’m afraid… Sometimes I’ve not been able to get it

  up.”

  Chris blinks. “Since when? I’ve felt your

  erections.”

  Alex looks away, embarrassed. “With you, yes.

  When I was in prison and with the meds… I

  sometimes want to, y’know, jerk off, and then… I

  can’t.”

  Alex’s eyes turn down, afraid of Chris’s reaction.

  “I love being with you, Alex. I don’t need a

  working dick. I like your penis when it’s sleeping.”

  Alex grins. “It’s often sleepy these days.”

  “Then I like it a lot.”

  Alex pulls Chris closer to him, his heart dancing

  with her easy acceptance. “Why do you want me,

  though? Why are you interested in battered old me?

  And I’m not fishing for compliments.”

  “And you won’t get any, Big Blue.” Chris kisses

  him. “I wouldn’t call thirty-something old.”

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  “You know why I feel that way.”

  Chris lies flat on the bed. “Well, you’re depressed.

  It doesn’t make you…flawed. I should be the one no

  one wants.”

  “Plenty of people seem to want you.”

  Chris opens her mouth to protest, and Alex raises

  his hand to stop her, but she goes on. “They want

  me for what I sell them, give them the illusion that

  they get what they want.”

  “I want you, no pretence, no illusion. You’re not

  kidding when you said you’re my security guard. I

  feel safe with you. I trust you.”

  Chris smiles.

  “Well, do you trust me?” Alex asks as if he’s

  posing a challenge.

  Chris covers her face with both hands. “Gah. I’m

  so off this conversation. I don’t do this. I can’t do

  this.”

  Alex laughs, forgetting his moroseness for a

  second. “Do what? I told you I love you and trust

  you.” He tickles Chris under her smooth armpit.

  “Tell me you love me too?”

  Chris wriggles and starts chuckling. “I’m not

  telling you anything! I don’t like…talking about

  feelings.”
/>
  Alex tickles Chris some more because he knows

  he can.

  “Get off me! Get off, now!” Chris tries to move

  away, but Alex grips her by her wrists. In one fluid

  motion, Alex overpowers Chris onto the bed and

  hovers on top of her, still gripping her arms over her

  head.

  “This is so unfair—”

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  Alex’s mouth claims Chris’s over her protest and

  kisses her and tastes her sweet and fresh lips and

  tongue until she stops struggling against his

  rawness. He releases Chris’s arms. Heavy breaths

  fill the air between them. When he moves away a

  few inches to catch his breath again, Chris kneads

  Alex’s hips with her smooth palms and pulls him

  down against her, whispering, “Stop acting like a big

  romantic, just… Rut against me, Alexander.”

  Alex does. Chris arches and they move in unison,

  building their need together. Move. Press. Kiss. All

  rational thoughts leave Alex’s head. He closes his

  eyes and forgets about his fears, drowns in the

  sensation of Chris’s body against his.

  His dream moves along her body.

  Alex opens his eyes and sees the indigo of her

  dilated pupils. Heat bubbles and consumes them

  until Alex tenses and shouts as if his fist has been

  raised by a referee.

  It’s been five years since he was intimate with

  someone like this, and he feels the threatening tears

  as he gazes down at Chris. He moves off the

  beautiful body underneath him and flops down on

  his back.

  They stare at the ceiling.

  “Fuck. You made me come in my underpants.”

  Chris smiles. “You got it up no problems, mate.”

  Alex laughs. After stilling himself, he touches

  Chris’s briefs. They’re damp, too, and he grins.

  “We’re going to have dried cum in our pants. Go

  and clean yourself up.”

  Chris turns and now looks down at Alex, their

  legs entangled and hanging outside the bed. “That’s

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  it, isn’t it? You’re a prude. You think spunk is dirty.”

  “No, I don’t!” Alex protests.

  Chris giggles. “You better not. I work with the

  stuff.” She puts her hand in Alex’s boxers and

  scoops up a mouthful of his seed. She licks her hand

  and fingers clean, saliva and white streaks

  everywhere. Chris eating his cum like that has

  aroused Alex again.

  She beams. Before Alex can say any more, Chris

  hops off the bed like a Jack-in-the-box. She goes off

  to the bathroom to have a pee and comes back to

  bed in another clean, tiny thong.