“He’s a good boy.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Troy said, blushing.
“I am Vivian Woo,” she said to me. “Troy is not my son by blood, but in here,” she said, tapping her heart with her index finger, “he has always been my son.”
“Mom. Could we—”
Troy blushed as Vivian Woo leaned forward and kissed him on his forehead. “I will bring you food,” Vivian Woo said.
Troy and I sat alone. I said, “Vivian was my mom’s name, too.”
Troy smiled. “Are you close to her?”
“She died several years ago.” I paused as Vivian Woo served Mongolian beef and a whole baked fish along with a large plate of steamed rice and another large plate of stir-fried carrots; red, yellow, and green bell peppers; shallots; mushrooms; and shredded Napa cabbage.
I offered to pay, but Vivian Woo politely refused. Instead, she said, “Thank you for not hurting my son.”
I sat quietly, stunned as Vivian Woo walked away.
I glanced at Troy, who shrugged and asked in puzzlement, “What’s wrong?”
“Thank you for not hurting my son?” I sat speechless for a moment as I looked at Troy.
Troy chuckled. “I’ve had my close calls,” he said. “One time I picked up a straight guy who took me to his apartment. We got drunk. That’s when I found out he was into sadomasochism big time. Handcuffs, chains, knives, leathers—the whole bit. He was a closet basket case in denial about his sexuality. He wanted me to role-play his whore. Things got ugly when I said no. I bolted out of the apartment window.”
Troy paused as he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “Thank God it was a ground-floor apartment. Another straight guy put a gun to my head and forced me to give him head.”
I shook my head in disbelief and then asked, “Do you have a death wish?”
Troy lifted the ring that dangled from his gold chain, raised it to his lips, looked at me as he kissed the ring, and said, “What else do I have to live for?”
I gawked in disbelief, gritted my teeth as I leaned toward Troy, and said, “Your mom.”
Troy stood and looked at me and said, “You don’t understand.” I watched as he disappeared behind the double doors leading into the kitchen.
* * *
The following Wednesday as I sat at the bar, Troy sat quietly next to me. I motioned to the bartender and told him to serve Troy whatever he wanted.
“I want what he’s drinking,” Troy said to the bartender. Then he turned to me and asked, “Where’s your girlfriend?”
“I don’t have a girlfriend,” I replied.
“Why?”
“I’ve never been able to just walk up to a person like you do and start a conversation.”
Troy shrugged. “It’s easy.” He looked around the bar and pointed to a young woman sitting alone not far from us. “There,” Troy said to me. “Go get her.”
My hair stood up on the back of my neck. I blushed as I glared at Troy and said, “Stop, will you.”
“Come on! What are you waiting for?”
In disbelief I watched as Troy jumped off the barstool. Seconds later Troy was seated across from the young woman, pointing to me. She smiled and then, to my amazement, Troy got up and walked out of the bar. I was flabbergasted as she took the bar stool next to me.
“Your friend?” she questioned.
I nodded and flushed. She was beautiful. A silver ring rested against her throat held in place by a thin gold chain around her neck.
“I’m Sarah,” she said.
“David.” Oh, God, how I wanted to kill that kid.
I had goose bumps all over my arms. My teeth chattered behind closed lips. This just was not me.
“Troy said you wanted to talk to me.” She paused while looking around the bar and then back to me.
“Do I know you?”
I squirmed as I rubbed my forehead with the tips of my fingers on my left hand. I’m going to kill him the next time I see him, I said to myself.
“He’s gay,” she said.
Stunned, I looked at her and asked, “How did you know?”
Sarah grinned. “Most of my dates have been gay men.”
“Why?”
“I don’t have to sleep with them as a condition of the date.”
“That’s one way to look at it.” I shifted my weight on the barstool. My face reddened as I said to Sarah, “All I said to Troy was that I’ve always been shy at picking up girls.”
When Sarah sat on a stool next to me I asked,
“Can I buy you a beer?”
She glanced at my Guinness and put her palm out and said, “That stuff’s too rugged for me. How about a bottle of Miller?”
“What does Sarah do for work?” I asked as the bartender set a bottle of Miller on the bar in front of Sarah and left.
After a swallow, Sarah said, “I’m a reporter for the Post Examiner.”
I frowned and chuckled at once.
Sarah spread her hands apart and said while waving her left hand, “This is the newspaper end of the business.” Waving her right hand, she continued, “This is the tabloid side. The Post Examiner is closer to the tabloid side.”
I laughed and said, “My family and friends say the same. So why do you work there?”
“My job pays my rent, and it comes with medical, dental, and vision benefits.”
“What brings Sarah to the Block & Tackle?”
“Nostalgia and memories of my father. He died at sea.”
“Navy?”
She shook her head. “Merchant Marines. He was up on deck during a storm in the North Atlantic lashing down loose rigging. A wave crossed over the bow, and that’s the last anyone saw of him.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
She shrugged. “That’s a sailor’s life.” She paused and then turned in her seat to face me. “What do you do for work?”
“I’m retired Navy. Write a lot. Someday I’ll make a living at writing. For the moment, being a custodian is my day job. Doesn’t take a whole lot of gray matter to dump trash, vacuum... get the picture?”
She laughed. “I’d like to read what you write.”
I shrugged. “Maybe. Is Troy coming back?”
I glanced around the bar and then turned to Sarah and said, “I hope so. I want to wring his neck.”
“How long have you known him?”
“Little over six months. He likes swimming, hiking, camping, and biking. So do I. I thought it would be good to get out, clear my mind of all the crap, the guilt I place on myself for failed relationships. Troy brought me out of my slump. I think he means well. He’s just more outgoing than I am.”
“You’re not looking?” a tone of disappointment rang in her voice.
I shook my head. “Later, maybe. I like being alone for a while. To be honest I don’t know what I want.”
I turned to Sarah and asked, “You?”
“I just broke up with my boyfriend. He’s a reporter for the Post Examiner. We’re both independent and strong willed.” Glancing at the clock over the bar, Sarah said, “Got to go.”
“Do you come here often?” I followed her out the door.
“I just wanted to be around people tonight.”
We stood outside the door. She smiled and asked, “You?”
“Wednesday night you can find me here. It’s usually quiet.” I pointed to the gold chain and silver ring resting against her throat. “Troy’s got a ring like that. Any significance?”
Holding the ring out from her throat with her left index finger, she said, “Jacob’s ring.”
“Jacob?”
She folded her hands against her chest, sighed, and said, “Jacob was my brother. He and Troy were lovers for several years. One night after the two had an argument, Jacob left to be alone.” She bit her lower lip, glanced at me, and said, “He never came home.”
“What happened?”
“He crashed a party at a friend’s house. A mixture of booze and marijuana...” her voice tr
ailed into silence. “I worry so about Troy. Sometimes, I think he has a death wish. When I try to talk to him about my fears, he shuts me out.”
“Oh, God,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry. I...”
A tear dropped from Sarah’s cheek as she leaned forward and kissed me lightly on his cheek. She stood back, smiled. “Catch you later.”
Unable to speak, I stood quietly watching as Sarah disappeared into the shadows of the evening.
* * *
The following Saturday evening, Troy showed up at my apartment with a gallon bottle of Black Jack Daniel’s.
I got drunk and passed out on the sofa.
I awoke the following morning with a hangover and noticed Troy was gone. I realized as I sat up in the sofa that, with the exception of my pullover shirt, I was naked.
Later that evening, Troy came by the apartment.
As he sat on the sofa, I walked up to him. He glanced at my crotch and blushed. He looked up at me and said,
“Me giving you head doesn’t make you gay.”
“Get out,” I yelled.
“Why?”
“I’m not gay, and I don’t appreciate you taking advantage of me when I’m passed out drunk.”
“I didn’t do anything to you,” Troy snapped.
“I wanted to, but I didn’t.” Then he added, “I’ve never been good enough for you, huh?”
I gritted my teeth, glared at Troy, and said, “I shared my life with you these past several months because you have some of the same likes I do. I’ve enjoyed our times together.” Deep inside me, I realized my lies about my sexuality were tearing me apart. I wanted to give into him, but I didn’t.
“It’s not enough for me,” Troy said.
I stepped back, clenched my fist, and said, “Really? So what else am I supposed to do for you besides climb into bed, which I’m not about to do?”
Troy walked up to me and said, “Most people have conditions to their friendships. I—”
“Conditions! So. That’s it, isn’t it?” I caught myself yelling. “Why can’t you be my gay friend and let me be your straight friend?”
“You’re not straight.” Troy paused as tears streamed down his cheeks. “I want to make love to you, just once.” He reached down and gently touched my crotch. The fingers of his hands brushed against my cock. “You’ve always liked the touch of my hand. I know you have.”
My body stiffened as I felt my crotch begin to flush. He was trying to maneuver me into having sex with him through guilt, a tactic I had to admit I had used to get men into bed, and I resented having the tables turned on me.
My face tensed. I gritted my teeth and gripped Troy’s arm. I rested my forehead against Troy’s shoulder. My breathing was shallow, my eyes reddened. I stood back and looked at Troy’s drawn face. I began slowly, deliberately phrasing my thoughts.
“I know you want to give me head. I also know you sucking my cock doesn’t make me gay. I would be doing it to please you.” I paused. I stood face to face with Troy and said, “No. Not now. Not ever. It’s not me!”
“If I was Sarah, you’d be in the sack, right?” Troy stepped back, turning, as he walked toward the front door. I reached out, seized Troy’s arm, and wheeled him around.
“You’re not leaving! We’re going to settle this here and now.”
Troy broke loose. He thrust his finger in my face and shouted, “I’d do anything you asked of me, and you know I would.”
I dropped my trousers and boxer shorts to my knees and yelled, “You want me!” I snapped my fingers, pointed to my genitals. “Come get it! My cock is the only part of me you give a shit about. When you’re done, we’re done!”
Troy leaned forward and kissed me on my left cheek. He pulled my shorts and jeans back up around my waist. He zipped, buttoned, and re-buckled my jeans.
We stood apart, silently observing one another. It was so quiet in the apartment we could hear one another breathe.
My body trembled.
Troy hugged me and said, “David, I’m sorry. I never meant...” He raised my hands to his lips, kissing them softly.
Moments later, Troy slid open the patio window and screen door.
Devastated, thinking I was alone, I whispered out after him, “I love you, Troy.”
Troy replied, glancing back at me, “I know. I love you too, buddy.” He walked through the patio and out onto the parking lot.
I stepped onto the patio and yelled, “Let’s go swimming later?”
Troy waved both hands above his head as he rounded the corner of the parking lot and disappeared from view.
A week passed, and Troy did not come by or call. Another week passed and still another. Several times I started out the door to go to the China Clipper to talk to Vivian Woo about Troy. About us. I missed the kid.
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Pieces of Broken China Page 10