by E. Davies
Sure, there were good things about the city—and Brooklyn in particular. But I’d traded the feeling of grass between my toes for the electric sunshine of the city. The 24/7 lights always managed to sneak through the gaps of my blinds. It was like I could never quite escape the reality of where I was.
“Okay, I really need a drink,” I addressed the bouncer, who grinned and waved me in. Two shots of Jack later, I at least had something to distract me—the burning liquid that slid down my throat.
It took me a few more minutes before I really started to unwind and notice my surroundings, like time had passed in a few heartbeats instead of half an hour.
The place was maybe a third full, which was pretty good for this early in the evening. Once, I would have felt a thrill of excitement at the possibilities. I could be a little more overt when the club was busy, but when it was quiet, I didn’t want the bartenders’ attention drawn to me by a harsh rejection or a tattletale.
Now, all I wanted was a quiet evening—the kind where you could strike up a conversation with whoever was next to you. Someone who might understand a little of my life, who I didn’t have to explain shit to first. Since finding that was hard, I resigned myself to dancing instead of chatting. Different medicine, same effect—forgetting my problems.
The dance floor was already starting to fill in, and I had no qualms being one of the first on it. I didn’t have to push through a crowd yet to find a place to dance to the beat. Every song made my mood improve, even with just a couple of drinks in me. By the time I was working up a sweat, I was smiling.
There was liberation in collective movement, and a kind of joy that I didn’t have to say a word to share. We all knew the soundtrack, from Britney to yet another It’s Raining Men remix, and the DJ tonight was on top of his game.
“Oh, hey,” I called out with a wave and grin when a familiar face passed by.
Darren stopped for a moment and looked around. As soon as he spotted me, he shook his head and kept walking. “No, hon.”
I opened and closed my mouth for a moment as he headed to the other side of the dance floor. I hadn’t even been coming on to him, which made his reaction even more of a slap in the face. I’d never slept with him—we’d gotten close a few times, but he’d never been willing to pay and I’d never been willing to call it a freebie.
Like that, my mood crashed again.
“Fucking fine.”
My cheeks burned with humiliation. This hurt worse than it would if I’d been hitting on him, actually. A simple “not tonight” or “not my type” was easy to write off, and I’d gotten very used to rejection at work. But just wanting to say hi to someone I’d seen around, even chatted with, for months, and having that shut down so coldly?
It wasn’t the last time, either. Every time I spotted a familiar face and smiled, he turned away or pretended not to see me. The only exception was one of my clients, who pushed through the crowd to get to me.
“Working tonight, baby?” Jack smirked at me. “You haven’t been answering your phone.” He wasn’t bad-looking—another one of those guys in suits who couldn’t make time for a real boyfriend, but wanted the experience or illusion sometimes. I’d gone out with him a few times, slept with him every time, and I didn’t regret it.
Now, though, I couldn’t even muster a smile back at him. I had nothing against him, but my own gut was still twisted too tight from the string of rejections. “Sorry. I’m getting out of the business.” I had to speak louder than I’d like over the music in order to avoid leaning in close to him and presenting an opportunity to grope me.
A surprised expression crossed Jack’s face. “Got a boyfriend?”
Shit. I hesitated. My first instinct was to defend myself and say no, it wasn’t like that. But maybe it was like that, just a little bit.
“Hah. Lucky guy. Let me know if he doesn’t appreciate you enough,” Jack told me, and then headed for the bar.
I stared after him for a moment and then shook my head. The mood was all wrong tonight. It was one of those nights that, if I stayed out, I’d just regret more and more. So instead, I pushed through the crowd that had gathered on the dance floor and headed outside.
All I wanted tonight was community—to be around people like me, and talk to them, and feel like I was at home. Instead, they didn’t have time for me. Because of what I’d done, presumably. It was like a scarlet brand I couldn’t take off, and knowing that I didn’t have another career I actually wanted to do lined up…
That was the other realization I was trying to avoid: massage was not where my heart lay. I’d only thought of it because it was the easy, obvious option to transition out of my old life. But now, my old life was starting to feel more like shackles than the freedom I’d thought it was buying me.
Who the hell was I, anyway? It felt like I was a dozen different people, and none of them could agree on what was next. I just knew what I didn’t want to do: compromise my integrity, or end up broke and homeless, or end up in a situation where I had to make that choice—again.
Rather than drown my sorrows in whiskey, I headed next door to Bubbles. At least there was always a place here for me.
As I walked in, I stifled my groan.
The place was always friendly unless I had the same waitress I’d run into several times, who had never been nice to me. Of course she was working tonight. But I didn’t want to head back home and deal with a grumpy Adam swearing at the TV.
The hangover special would kill some time, at least. I swallowed my eye roll when the waitress greeted me without a smile and moved me from the booth of my choice in the window to one at the back, far away from the windows. Like she was worried I was advertising my wares in the window.
“Saving that for someone special?” I half-joked, trying to convey my annoyance without getting confrontational.
“Ya got a problem with that?” She was the picture of a stereotype, popping her bubblegum as she propped a hand on her hip, but then again this whole damn place was. All the bright red seats, counter accents, and menus, and the Americana on the walls, mixed with vintage gay kitsch.
Swallowing the insult to my already battered pride, I raised my hands. “Didn’t realize it’s not a seat-yourself place anymore, that’s all.”
“Mmhmm.” She kept an eyebrow raised. “It’s sit here or get out.”
It was the closest table to the kitchen, and no doubt the noisiest, but I gave in. I felt like I was doing a lot of that lately. I didn’t want to lose what precious spaces I had, and tonight of all nights, I needed them. “Sure, fine.” I slid into the booth. “Hangover special with black coffee.”
“Sure.” She headed to the kitchen, and I tried not to listen in. Instead, I pulled out my phone and fiddled with it, but there was nothing very interesting there to occupy my attention.
Hours ahead of me in Singapore, Charlie was in the middle of his work day. Was I just being needy, wanting to talk to him now when he was busy with things that were undoubtedly more important than me?
God, I was being a whiny, self-centered asshole. He deserved a good career, even if that career took him to places I worried about, and took him away from me when I was having a bad day. I hadn’t survived this many years on my own only to become dependent on someone else.
Vulnerable at their loss, more specifically.
I nodded at the waitress when she dropped off coffee. I liked my food spit-free, after all, even if she seemed to hate me for some reason I couldn’t work out. And having just been on the other end of that shit, I couldn’t bring myself to yell at an employee, even if they were treating me like crap.
A shadow fell across my table and I looked up. At least my mood was already at rock bottom, so Darren’s appearance couldn’t ruin my day for the second time. “Yeah?”
“Hey. Can I join you?” I shrugged noncommittally, and Darren slid in with his cup of coffee. “You’re looking pretty down. Why you hiding at the back? You’re always up front!”
“Apparen
tly that’s where they put the whores.” I couldn’t bring myself to lower my voice in case she heard me. “I tried to sit at the front and she moved me.”
Darren blinked and then leaned back to see into the kitchen. “Hey, Enrique? You guys taking reservations?”
A peal of laughter and then a hearty, “Fuck off,” was his answer.
Darren shrugged and turned back to me. “Talk to Jared when he’s in.”
“I don’t wanna get in trouble. Uh, get her in trouble.” The slip made me cringe. Maybe that was closer to the truth than I’d meant. “Or start anything. I’m not ashamed of what I did.”
Darren frowned. “Did?”
“I’m quitting hustling. Dunno what I’m doing next.” I sipped my coffee, not bothering to hide the moody scowl. “Now I just need a face transplant so people will give me the time of day.”
“I’m sorry,” Darren sighed. “I shouldn’t have been a dick earlier. I assumed you were…” he trailed off with a guilty expression. “Looking for business,” he finished when I didn’t interrupt.
I didn’t have the energy to console him or pretend it had been okay. I shrugged. “Well, I wasn’t. Just wanted to say hi.”
“Yeah.” Darren looked at me closely and then leaned in. “What’s wrong? Nothing bad happened, did it?”
I hadn’t expected him to care. I gave him a slight smile and shook my head. “Just trying to make a legal life for myself. Do something more interesting now that I’ve got the option. It was good for me while it lasted, but…” I shifted uncomfortably. “If not good for me, whatever. It got me through.”
“Fuck,” Darren murmured. “I had no idea you were having a rough time.”
I wanted to defend my old career, but my ability to bullshit was at an all-time low. It felt like life was slowly sliding a rug out from under me, and whatever I grabbed just gave way. “And I’m into this guy who’s too good for me. I’m just a nobody trying to make ends meet. I was screwed up way before I started screwing for money. And now I’m… just generally screwed all over.” I choked up and folded my arms tightly, trying to get myself under control as I stared at the table.
Fuck. I was not having a meltdown about this—especially not in front of an acquaintance I barely knew.
“Hey,” Darren said gently. Then, he did something I really hadn’t expected—he got up and moved to my side of the booth, and he put an arm around me.
Even more surprising was my reaction to being held. For all I’d told Charlie he was skin-hungry, so was I. Once I got used to the touch, my muscles unknotted and I slumped into the hug, resting my forehead on his shoulder. He was even rubbing my back gently.
The waitress cleared her throat loudly and set plates down in front of us so hard I half-expected them to crack.
I tried to pull away, but Darren held me tightly. “What’s your problem?” he snapped.
“You know what.”
“No,” he said, his voice still razor-sharp. “I don’t. Tell me.”
“The only business on these premises is Bubbles, all right? Take it to a hotel or back alley or wherever,” she said. I didn’t have to look up to hear the sneer in her voice.
I was perfectly capable of ripping into her, but before I could gather my strength, Darren let go and stood up. I wiped my eyes as I gripped the back of the booth to keep myself both calm and upright now that my support had abruptly vanished.
She stared at him. “We got a problem, mister? I gonna have to call the cops?” she taunted. Behind her, Enrique poked his head out of the kitchen and stared. The diner was quiet now, so everyone heard when she added, “Bet he wouldn’t like that.”
“Yeah, I’ve got a problem,” Darren told her icily. “You can’t treat him like shit.”
“Jared told me what he is.”
“It’s none of your fucking business, is what he is,” Darren snapped. “If you have a problem with a couple gays hugging, you’re working at the wrong place. He’s more than whatever you think he is, and I bet Jared wouldn’t want you treating him like crap.”
My heart was in my throat. I’d never dealt well with raised voices, and I was starting to shake.
All I could think of was being screamed at. You’re dead to us, Kev. Get out. Forever.
I touched his arm. “It’s okay,” I mumbled.
“No, hon. It isn’t.” Darren shook his head, and I gave in. The emotion choking my throat was gratitude. I was grateful for the support, and that she was facing off with someone else and not just me, terrified of losing my safe place in this community…
Honestly, if he wanted to absolve his guilt by standing up for me, I wasn’t going to stop him. It wasn’t even about this in particular—it had just been a long time since anyone had stood up for me in any way at all.
“Sounds like you’re causing a disturbance,” she murmured with a smug grin.
“If you call the cops, I’ll call Jared,” Darren retorted.
Enrique’s head was snapping back and forth between them like a tennis match. When she turned to him and gestured toward the phone, he didn’t move.
“Call the police, bitch,” she snapped at Enrique.
Enrique’s brows climbed. He was only about her age, but his confidence came across even in the way he stood. He folded his arms. “The fuck did you call me?”
“Numbnuts, I’ll beat your ass later. These assholes are a bigger problem.”
Enrique laughed out loud. “I’d like to see you try.”
“The way I see it,” Darren interjected, “one person here’s causing all the problems.” He moved past her for the door.
“Good. Get out!” she called after him and then turned her gaze to me. It was hard. She’d dug her heels in now, past the point of reasoning. “You too. Go get your money off him, you whore.”
Before I could do anything, though, Enrique snorted. “Stay where you are,” he told me. “Darren isn’t leaving.”
“Yeah, he is, fuckface.” She gestured to the door, and I had to agree with her, even if I wouldn’t say as much. Then she paused, an expression of horror crossing her face.
“Uh huh.” Enrique smirked and looked around the place. “Lots of regulars in here tonight. Hope you’re ready to stand by your words, ‘cause I ain’t putting my neck on the line for you, fuckface.”
Before they could get into an actual catfight, the door opened and Darren came in again, with Jared—the owner of Bubbles—in sweatpants and a t-shirt, hot on his heels, and looking pissed.
How the hell he’d found Jared so fast, I didn’t know, but the gasps were audible as he came in. Most patrons had abandoned any pretense of ignoring the unfolding drama.
“What the fuck is this shit?” Jared addressed us, a scowl on his face. His hair was pushed up at weird angles, and he looked like he’d just been in bed.
“These two,” the waitress gestured between Darren and me, “were getting it on.”
“Really?” Jared looked at me, raising an eyebrow. Enrique laughed in the background, and Jared pointed at him. “Were they?”
“I wish. Would’ve made a better show,” Enrique said with a shrug.
I shook my head, my cheeks burning. “I was just… he sat next to me and hugged me. I’d never…” It was hard to hold back the mix of emotions now. I was still shaking, staring at Jared in a silent plea not to throw me out.
“You know what he is,” the waitress snapped.
“Tara, shut up,” Jared told her. He looked around and pointed at a guy sitting at a table—someone I didn’t even recognize—and pointed at him. “Billy?” He was a total queen rocking silvery platinum hair and a gorgeous red floral wrap.
“That guy,” Billy pointed at me, “was pretty upset. Darren hugged him and then that—” he pointed at the waitress and glared before continuing, “gorgeous individual told them to break it up. Told him to take his business to a back alley.”
The thundercloud gathering in Jared’s expression was frightening to watch for someone like me, who didn’t de
al well with conflict. I found Darren standing next to me, and I grabbed his hand to keep myself from running out the door.
“It’s okay,” Darren whispered and pushed me gently to sit in the booth again and scooted in next to me, keeping himself between everyone else and me. I could have cried, I was so grateful for the physical shelter.
All I wanted was Charlie there, shielding me from everyone’s stares, joking to cheer me up, holding my hand.
Fuck. This was not the moment to think about all that.
“Tara, with me. Now.” Jared stomped toward the kitchen and pointed for her to keep going past us. He stopped and turned to us, his body language softening. “Sorry you guys had to go through that. I can’t apologize enough.”
I gaped. I hadn’t expected that answer. Half of me still felt like I was kind of sneaking around here, somewhere I shouldn’t be, and I’d been about to get caught out.
Darren squeezed my shoulders. “It’s fine,” he murmured again. “Jared’s solid.”
I could hardly tell up from down to know who to trust, but my gut instinct said Darren—and thus Jared—was safe. I just nodded slightly and managed a smile. “It’s… thank you, sir.”
“No, thank you. You come here a lot.” Jared reached out to offer a hand. “You belong here.”
Fuck. My cheeks were hot and wet, and I found myself staring at his hand instead of making eye contact as I took his hand. He had no way of knowing how much I’d needed to hear that. “Thanks,” I whispered as my voice cracked, and I shook firmly.
Then Jared nodded and headed into the kitchen while Enrique snickered and crept in after them.
When I finally wiped my eyes and looked around, everyone was pretending not to look at us again. Conversations were resuming, and the silence was no longer squeezing in around me like a ring of spikes. Darren hugged me hard around the shoulders again and gestured. “Eat up.”
The idea of eating seemed laughable, but my stomach grumbled and reminded me that those hash browns did look really good. I picked at first, but as we listened to the rumble of voices and clattering pans in the kitchen, my appetite slowly returned.
