by Alexa Land
“Good thinking.”
“Want some?”
I was going to decline, but then I took the box when he offered it, along with a clean plastic spoon he produced from his shirt pocket. The cake was surprisingly good. “Thanks,” I said, settling back in my chair with the dessert pile. “So, how’s everything going?”
“I feel like I’m on death row. In one week, I’ll be plunged into the horror of my freshman year of high school. There are no words.”
“God, I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you it wasn’t going to suck.”
“But you’d be lying,” Josh said, and I nodded. “My dads keep trying to tell me it won’t be so bad, and that I just have to keep a good attitude. Yeah, right. They’re not even that old, it’s not like high school was fifty years ago for either of them and they’ve forgotten what it’s like. I’m willing to bet it totally sucked for both of them, but they’re acting like it’s all just going to be unicorns farting rainbows, as long as I keep a positive attitude.” He rolled his eyes behind his thick, black-framed glasses.
He was right about the fact that his dads were young. Trevor and Vincent were actually only in their twenties and had adopted Josh about three years ago. “Maybe it’s just wishful thinking,” I said. “They’re probably hoping it’ll go better for you than it did for them. Or, I don’t know, maybe they don’t want to scare you by confirming that it is, in fact, a four-year shit parade.”
Josh smiled at me. “That’s one of the many reasons I like you, Zachary. You never talk to me like I’m a kid.”
“Why would I? You’re way more mature than I am.”
“Speaking of kids, did you hear that my dads decided to have a baby? They’re using a surrogate and a donated egg. The procedure’s next week.”
He tried to look cheerful, but there was something in his eyes that made me ask, “How do you feel about that?”
“It’s awesome. I know how much they want this and I’m happy for them.”
“But?”
He chewed his lower lip for a moment, then admitted, “I have to wonder where I fit in. I mean, I was never the plan or anything. They just adopted me because I was, like, this pathetic orphan and they took pity on me.”
“Trevor and Vincent love you, Josh.”
“I know. I do. And I love them too, more than anything, but I’m not stupid. Trevor had been all set to adopt his cousin’s baby when she thought she couldn’t take care of it. Then she changed her mind about giving the kid up and pretty much broke Trevor’s heart. I happened to come along soon after that and needed a home, so he and Vincent adopted me. I was just a consolation prize, I filled the void his cousin caused when she took the baby back.”
“You were never a consolation prize,” I said. “You’re their son and they love you so damn much. That’s never going to change, no matter what.”
He looked embarrassed. “I know my dads love me. They show me that every day, and I don’t doubt it. I’m just, you know, not the most secure guy in the world, and I worry that I’m going to turn invisible when the baby comes along. Not because they’ll stop loving me, but because they’re going to be so busy caring for this new, fragile, little person. You know what I mean, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” I said gently, “I do.”
“I knew you would. You get me. That’s another thing I like about you.”
After a moment, I asked, “Why are they doing this now? The timing is kind of surprising, given all Vincent and his family are going through.”
I’d never been able to wrap my head around the fact that the Dombrusos had deep roots in organized crime. Apparently they’d gone legit, but that hadn’t stopped an unknown arsonist from going after the family recently, during Ollie’s bachelor party at a local bar. I would have thought that Vincent might have wanted to wait until the threat was resolved before bringing a baby into the mix.
“Actually, I think the attack on the family is exactly why they decided to step up their plans. I don’t mean to sound morbid or anything, but I kind of feel like Vincent wants to make sure there’s a piece of him left behind for Trevor, in case something happens to him. Not that he said that. It’s just my own theory.” Josh looked so sad for a moment, but then he pulled up a smile that didn’t drive the worry from his eyes. “Vincent’s awesome, though. He’s not going to let anything happen to him. He and his brother Dante are totally going to handle this.” It seemed like he said that mostly to convince himself.
“I’m sure you’re right.”
“Anyway, you came up here for some quiet time, not to hear me talk your ear off.” He picked up his paperback and I pulled up a book on my phone. After a minute, he glanced at me and said, “Thanks for listening, Zachary.”
“Any time.”
*****
After about an hour, Josh closed his novel and said, “Damn, I knew I should have brought a second book. I just reached the end.” I noticed he’d been reading Asimov, which made me grin. I’d been heavily into classic science fiction in my teens, too.
“You should join the digital age,” I said, holding up my phone. “Then you could bring dozens of books with you, wherever you go.”
“I know, but what can I say? I just love everything about a secondhand paperback: the feel, the look, the smell. Not to mention the fact that used bookstores are seriously the best place on earth. I don’t want to give any of that up.”
“You’re an old soul, Josh.”
He slid off the desk and stretched as he said, “I hear that a lot. I take it to mean I have no idea how to act my age.” He picked up his green Army surplus jacket and stuck the book in a pocket. “I guess I’ll put in an appearance downstairs and see if Nana’s about to blow up anything else. Are you going back down at some point?”
“Yeah, might as well go now,” I said as I reluctantly got to my feet.
“We got this,” he said. “Extrovert disguise activated!” He pantomimed putting on a mask and faked a big smile. Yup, that about summed it up.
*****
I made myself stick it out at the reception almost until midnight. It was mentally exhausting though, and by that point I was more than ready to retreat, even though the party was still in full swing. When I went to say goodbye to Jessie and Kai, I found them snuggling on a deck chair. We chatted for a minute, and then I asked, “Where are you going on your honeymoon?”
“It’s more of a familymoon. We’re taking Izzy to Disneyland,” Jessie told me.
“She’s way too excited about seeing the princesses and the castle,” Kai added with a grin.
“Sounds like a great trip.”
“It will be,” Jessie said. “We’ll only be gone five days, two of which will mostly be spent driving down and back again, but we plan to cram the maximum amount of fun into our three park days.”
I hugged Jessie quickly, and when I let go of him, I said softly, “Congratulations again. I hope you spend the rest of your life as happy as you are today.” He thanked me, and I raised my hand in a little wave before slipping into the crowd.
I ran into Elijah as I was leaving, and he said, “Just so you know, Tony and Cory got to our house about an hour ago.”
It took a lot of effort to hold back a frown. Not that there was anything wrong with Chance’s dad and the kid he’d adopted, but the converted warehouse was going to feel pretty cramped with seven people living there, even just temporarily while they house-hunted. I asked, “Why are they a week early?”
“The sale of Tony’s bar went through faster than expected, and then it only took them a couple days to drive here from Wyoming.”
“Ah.”
“Are you headed home?” When I shook my head, Elijah studied me for a moment, then said, “Does that mean we won’t see you for a couple days?”
“Most likely.”
“You never want to talk about it, but I’m curious where you go when you disappear like that.”
I broke eye contact and told him, “I just stay with a friend.”
“It’s complicated,” I said. “Alright, I’m out of here. You and Colt have fun. Where is he, anyway?”
“Bringin’ us some more cake. It’s our third helping. I tried to tell him I’ll explode like that volcano if I eat one more bite.”
“Definitely try not to explode. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Take care of yourself, Zachary.”
I left by the side gate, and when I reached the bus stop, I just kept going. It felt good to be out and moving around. Kai’s family lived across from a hilly park, in a neighborhood called Bernal Heights. I skirted the park and headed north, in the general direction of the Castro. It would take about an hour to reach it, and once I did, San Francisco’s gay neighborhood would be insanely crowded on a summer Saturday night. But it wasn’t my destination. I just felt like walking.
I headed up Valencia, which was busy, too. Bars and clubs overflowed onto the sidewalk. It seemed like everyone in the city (plus a massive influx of tourists), was out and about, despite the late hour. I lit a cigarette as I walked, which earned me a couple dirty looks. Yeah, yeah. Filthy, disgusting habit. Whatever.
Eventually, I reached Delores Park. I’d intended to just cut through on my way to the Castro, but when I spotted an open bench beneath a palm tree at the edge of Gay Beach, I decided to rest for a few minutes. The sloping hill in the park’s southwest corner wasn’t a beach at all, but had earned the nickname because every warm day drew the gay community in droves for sunbathing, picnicking, and people-watching. Even though the park was technically closed at that hour, plenty of people still lounged on blankets and towels, talking with friends, eating and drinking, and enjoying a terrific view of the city lights. The smell of beer and pot smoke drifted on the light breeze, and off in the distance, a drum circle kept the beat.
For a while, I felt pretty good there. Unlike the wedding, I didn’t know anyone, so there was no pressure to interact. I could just be. Eventually though, a craving that was becoming a bit too familiar drove me from the bench. I’d been ignoring it all day, even though part of me always knew where I’d end up that night. I pulled my phone from my pocket as I left the park and sent a text that said: Hey Gracie, you home?
She wrote back just a moment later: Sure am, sweetie. Come on over. I stepped into the street and stuck out my hand. Luck was on my side. A cab rolled to a stop in front of me.
*****
The run-down Victorian in a marginal neighborhood north of Market Street was known by pretty much everyone as the Haunted House. When Gracie took over the three-story structure, which apparently belonged to some absent relative, she hadn’t been inclined to do anything about its condition, so the gray paint was chipped and peeling, and the overgrown yard was dominated by a gnarled, dead tree. It was always Halloween at Gracie’s place.
I navigated the sagging steps carefully and knocked on the metal security door. The buzzer had stopped working long ago. Gracie’s boyfriend, a dolt named Puck, let me in after a minute. He and I nodded at each other in place of an actual greeting.
Gracie was in the parlor to the right of the front door, same as usual, but she was dressed to go out. “Hey there, Zachary,” she said as she slid her feet into a pair of black heels. “I’m about to make a house call. Let Puck know if you need anything while I’m gone.”
“Okay.” I didn’t like the sound of that, but whatever. “Is anybody up on the third floor?”
“Just Gabriel.” Gracie grasped her long, white-blonde hair, twisted it into a quick bun, and stuck a pen through it to hold it in place before applying some crimson lipstick. Though she was about twenty-eight, the bun and makeup made her look older, which was probably the whole point.
She pulled on a dark red wool coat before stepping behind her desk and asking, “The usual?” When I nodded, she unlocked a drawer using a key she wore around her neck and removed a couple items. Meanwhile, Puck dropped onto a creaky couch draped with a velvet blanket and took a hit from a huge bong. Oh yeah, awesome that he was in charge.
“I just got a new shipment today, real high quality,” Gracie said. “I think you’re going to like it.” When she told me the price, I counted my cash and gave her most of it. As usual, she tucked my purchase into a brown paper lunch sack before giving it to me. I was never quite sure why she did that. She pulled a small, metal lockbox off the shelf behind her and handed that to me as well. My initials were written on the side in permanent marker.
Gracie came around to the front of the desk and kissed my cheek. “Enjoy, sweetie. I’ll be back in a couple hours.” She grabbed her purse, waved to her boyfriend, and hurried off, leaving a comet trail of perfume in her wake.
As the front door closed behind her, I glanced at Puck. His eyelids were heavy and his gaze was even more vacant than usual. I wondered what the pot was laced with. I also wondered what the hell Gracie saw in that guy.
I left the parlor and paused in the entryway as I fished in the lunch sack. My fingers soon found the plastic baggie, and I pulled it out to take a look at its contents. The little chunk of heroin was the color of sand, a lot purer than the cocoa-colored stuff I was used to. I slid it in my shirt pocket and climbed the stairs.
Chapter Three
Whenever I was in the Haunted House, I always gravitated to the small, dark blue bedroom on the third floor. I sat on the worn bedspread and took in the peeling indigo paint, the bordello-worthy paintings of nude women, the narrow window obscured by a heavy, velvet drape, and the half-burned-out chandelier, which hung crookedly from the high ceiling. The room never changed. I liked that, and I was grateful that I got to stay there. It was a privilege Gracie only granted to a handful of people.
I wouldn’t call us friends, exactly. It wasn’t like Gracie would ever invite me out for a coffee or anything. But she and I had known each other a couple years, going back to when we both worked as prostitutes, and we trusted each other. That trust was why she let me rent a room in her home by the day or hour, and why I felt safe enough there to let my guard down.
After I kicked off my shoes, I dialed in the combination on the lockbox and the lid popped open. As I unpacked the box’s contents onto the mattress, I mentally ticked off each item: a half-empty bottle of water, several wrapped syringes, a section of surgical tubing, a metal spoon, packets of cotton balls, and alcohol wipes. Everything I needed. I was glad Gracie let me keep my supplies at her house. The last thing I wanted was for Chance, his cop husband, or the teenagers I lived with to find out I was using, so I never carried stuff with me or brought anything into their home.
Anticipation crackled across my skin and my heart beat faster, but I refused to rush. It was one of the ways I proved to myself I was in control, not the drug. I moved aside the faux-Tiffany lamp on the nightstand and kept the chunk of heroin in its baggie as I placed it on the worn wood surface. I crushed it meticulously with the back of the spoon, and it gradually became a fine, crystalline powder that looked just like sand.
It was quiet in the little blue room. All I could hear was the soft crunch of the rock under the spoon and my breathing, which had sped up with my heartbeat as my body yearned for what was about to happen. It won’t be long now, I told myself. Almost time. Almost there.
I found my lighter and put it on the nightstand, along with the flattened paper bag. The spoon went on top of the lunch sack, its handle propped up on the base of the lamp to keep the bowl level. I gingerly emptied the baggie’s contents into it and added a drizzle of water to begin dissolving the drug into an injectable form.
My hand shook a little as I cinched the tubing around my left wrist. I made a fist and released it, trying to pump up the vein that ran from my wrist to my thumb. I sometimes bruised when I injected, but I’d found the bruising was pretty minimal if I used that spot. The fewer telltale signs of my drug use, the better.
I tore an alcohol pad from its wrapper and ran it all over my left thumb. Maybe it was a contradiction, w
anting to do something as risky as shooting heroin as safely as possible, but I liked to think I wasn’t a complete idiot. Why risk infection if I didn’t have to?
The closer I got to that moment, the more my need thrummed through me. I used the lighter to heat the bowl of the spoon and stirred its contents with the capped tip of an unwrapped syringe, speeding the dissolving process. As I did that, I held my thumb up to keep it clean.
When the ‘sand’ was gone, I popped the cap on the syringe, dropped a miniature cotton ball into the heroin to act as a filter, and carefully drew the liquid into the syringe through the cotton. I was shaking, my brain and body screaming for what was coming, and I had to be so careful. If I spilled the contents of that spoon, I was sure I’d go out of my mind with grief.
“Come on, come on, come on,” I chanted quietly.
Finally, finally, the syringe was full. I slid the needle into my thumb with practiced skill. To make sure it was in the vein, I drew back the plunger, just a little. A tiny cloud of red bloomed in the yellowish liquid, telling me I’d gotten the needle in the right place.
A moment before I pushed down the plunger, I almost wanted to cry, both because I hated needing this, and because I loved it so desperately and was about to get what I ached for with every part of me. In a way, it was like running into a lover’s arms. Not that I’d ever had a lover, but if I did, I imagined being held by him would be amazing bliss.
I took a deep breath and slowly pushed the drug into me. When the syringe was empty, I put it on the nightstand and stretched out on the bed. In just a matter of seconds, the heroin took hold of me.
It wasn’t a high, not really. Instead, it was a warm blanket. I wrapped my arms around myself. They felt heavy. So did my legs. My breathing and heartbeat slowed. Everything slowed. The world didn’t matter anymore. Nothing did. There was just that moment and the blue room and the chandelier that looked like starlight, even with only three lit bulbs.
