A to Z

by Marie Sexton

  He looked over at me with huge eyes and asked breathlessly,

  “Who the fuck was that?”

  “The neighbor. She owns the bookstore.”

  “She crazy?” There wasn’t even a hint of humor in his voice.

  “It’s a distinct possibility,” I said, smiling. He didn’t smile back.

  Who would have guessed that the punk with the attitude problem was afraid of little old ladies? It was too funny for words. It actually took him a minute to get himself back together. He straightened up and took a couple of deep breaths, then shook his head as he started to pick up the movies that had fallen off of the shelf. “Puking kids, a psychic lady, and a head shop. You’re surrounded by weirdoes, Zach.”

  Like I didn’t know that already.

  …Angelo

  NOT exactly sure how I ended up workin’ at that video store, but I’m not complainin’. Funny, though, that it should happen now, when I’d finally given up on ever catchin’ that guy’s attention.

  Zach. His name is Zach.

  I find Zach intriguin’ for a number of reasons. First off, there’s the store, A to Z Video Rental. Somehow that place is still in business, even though every other independent store like it went under years ago. Don’t know if he’s got a brilliant head for business or if he’s just lucky. Even more surprisin’ is that he’s kept the place runnin’ when he knows zilch ’bout movies. Seriously the guy doesn’t know The Legend of Billie Jean from Legends of the Fall. I think it’s hysterical.

  Second, there’s the simple fact that Zach’s cute as hell. I mean, he’s not the type I usually go for. He’s so fuckin’ preppy, sometimes I’m surprised there’s no tennis sweater draped over his shoulders.

  His jeans never have holes. His hair’s cut just right. His shirts always have little horses embroidered on them. And he actually wears loafers. I’ve seriously never known a guy who wore loafers before. It works for him, though.

  Zach’s got dark brown hair and thick dark lashes, but the bluest eyes I ever saw. If he was ten years younger I’d call him a twink. Not sure what to call him now, since I’m pretty sure that term doesn’t apply to anybody over the age of thirty. Still, he’s not exactly hard on the eyes. In pretty good shape, too, for his age. Not big, like he wastes time liftin’ weights, but he must do somethin’, ’cause he doesn’t have any of that extra weight ’round the middle that so many guys his age have.

  More important than him bein’ cute, though, is the fact that he doesn’t seem to realize it. Never knows when guys are flirtin’ with him. I’ve seen several try. Tried it myself. He never noticed. First, I thought maybe I’d read him wrong and he was straight. Then I thought maybe he was in a relationship. But the day I saw that big jock ask him out, I realized the truth—Zach’s simply oblivious. He’s so sure he’s not interesting, it never occurs to him that somebody else might think otherwise. And am I wrong, or is that just unbelievably sexy?

  Anyway, too late now. That muscle-bound dickhead Tom got to him first. Tom succeeded where the rest of us failed ’cause he didn’t waste time bein’ subtle. Of course now that I’m workin’ with Zach, he’s off-limits anyway. I don’t do relationships. If I hooked up with him now, I’d have to quit the job and find a new store to rent from, and that would bum me out.

  Workin’ for Zach’s easy. I mean, I watched that ditz Tracy do it before she quit showin’ up. She just sat on her ass bein’ stoned and Zach paid her. I won’t take advantage of him like that. I can get that place sorted out, and the truth is, it’s fun. Zach’s got all kinds of weird shit lyin’ ’round that store—old movies and B-movies I never seen before. And he lets me rent for free now.

  I’m happy he never realized I was flirtin’ with him before, ’cause if he had, I probably wouldn’t be workin’ for him now.

  Zach…

  I HAD a dinner date with Tom the next week. He was supposed to pick me up at the store at six. When he didn’t show up, I thought about calling, but then realized he had never even given me his number. It seemed ridiculous that I had never thought to ask for it.

  Even if he was nothing more than my landlord, it seemed like he should have at least left me a business card. I waited until seven before giving up and going home.

  Two days later, he showed up at the store just as Angelo and I were closing.

  “Hey baby,” he said, as if nothing had happened.

  “You’re two days late,” I said accusingly.

  “Baby, I’m so—”

  “My name is not ‘baby’,” I interrupted him. “It’s Zach.” I saw Angelo, who was just flipping the sign on the door to Closed, smile at that.

  Tom’s smile only faltered for a moment. “Zach. I’m sorry. Really.”

  Behind him Angelo waved goodbye and left the store. Tom put an arm around my waist and pulled me close. “Really, Zach, I’m sorry. We had a meeting, and I couldn’t get out of it, and the battery on my cell phone died. And I know I should have called yesterday, but I was just so busy.” His hands gripped my ass and his lips were against my neck. “I’ll make it up to you, Zach. I’ll take you out tonight.” I could feel his partially erect cock, pressing against my hip. He looked into my eyes. “I can’t stand to have you mad at me, Zach. Please tell me you forgive me.”

  Part of me wanted to stay mad, but that part of me was definitely losing.

  He kissed me, slow and deep, and it was incredible. I was so attracted to him. I couldn’t stop myself from wanting him.

  He broke our kiss and looked into my eyes again. “Say something, Zach.”

  “You’re forgiven.” I smiled at him. “This time.”

  He smiled back, that amazing, sexy smile that made me weak in the knees. “Good.”

  We had dinner and then went back to my apartment. We didn’t waste any time talking. I unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it off of him. His chest was covered with coarse, brown hair. Just below his right collarbone was a round mark, about the size of a quarter. I might have thought it was a birthmark, except I knew I had never seen it before. It was a hickey.

  “Who gave you this?” I asked playfully.

  “Must have been you, baby,” he said as he started undoing my pants. Apparently I was “baby” again already.

  “I think I would remember,” I laughed.

  “I haven’t been with anybody else.”

  The fact that he was obviously seeing somebody else didn’t bother me as much as the fact that he was lying about it. At this point in our relationship, there was no reason to expect that we were being exclusive. I would have been seeing somebody else, too, given the chance. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder if that was the real reason he had stood me up two days earlier, and his dishonesty bothered me.

  This time I insisted he wear a condom.

  “We already did it without one once, Zach. It’s too late now.”

  I bit back my irritation. “I want you to use it anyway.”

  “Come on, baby,” he groaned. “You know how much better it is without.”

  “I don’t mind wearing one at all if you want to bottom,” I said.

  Something flashed across his face—fear or disgust—it was hard to tell, it was there and gone so fast. He shook his head and took the condom from me. “Whatever you want, baby.”

  It was a little better than the first time. At least he lasted more than a minute. Still, it wasn’t exactly earth-shattering.

  Afterward we lay side by side on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

  “Can we get together sometime this week?” I asked.

  “I might be able to come by tomorrow night.”

  That wasn’t what I meant at all. “I was thinking more along the lines of dinner.”

  “I doubt it, Zach. We’re really busy right now.” He must have sensed my disappointment, because he rolled over and kissed me.

  “You’re right. We don’t get to see each other enough. I’ll check my schedule first thing tomorrow and give you a call, okay?”

  “Sure.” I wa
sn’t sure if I should believe him or not.

  “HOW ’bout Casablanca?”

  It was the start of Angelo’s third week, and he was quizzing me on the movies I had actually seen. So far I was about three for eighty.

  “No.”

  “That one’s kinda cool. That’s where lots of sayings come from. ‘Here’s lookin’ at you kid’ and ‘Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world’. And ‘Play it again, Sam’, except nobody in the movie ever says that exactly.”

  I was going through an inventory list which Angelo was making for me. To my surprise he was turning out to be the best employee I had ever hired. Hell, he was a better employee than I was. He was still working on reorganizing all of the movies, making the inventory list—his own idea—as he worked. He certainly was enthusiastic about it. He kept finding movies that made him as excited as a kid on Christmas. Most of the time, I hadn’t heard of them. Even more surprising than his work ethic was the fact that he was great company. We got along really well. It didn’t seem like we had much in common, but somehow it worked. I hadn’t told him yet that I was gay. That was the one thing I was a little worried about.

  “How ’bout Oliver! ?”

  “You mean that Disney cartoon with the dogs?”

  He laughed. “No, man, but they’re based on the same book I guess. It’s a musical. It won the best picture Oscar in ’64.”

  “I don’t do musicals.”

  “So I guess you never seen The Sound of Music, then?”

  “Hell, no.”

  “Yeah, okay, lotsa people don’t dig musicals. What about westerns? Like Clint Eastwood? You watch his old shit, right? I mean I know you seen at least part of Two Mules for Sister Sara.”

  “That’s the one with the trestle bridge?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s about all I remember about it.”

  “What ’bout The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly?”

  “Is that where he asks, ‘You feel lucky?’”

  “No, that’s Dirty Harry.”

  “I don’t think I’ve seen either one, actually.”

  He whistled. “You’re missin’ out man. Clint was fuckin’ hot back then, you know? Not Dirty Harry so much. But Blondie, for sure. I think it was mostly the attitude.”

  I stopped and looked over at him. He was standing practically knee deep in piles of DVD cases with his back to me.

  “What did you just say?”

  “I said, Blondie was hot. Smokin’ hot. Seriously fuckin’ throw- downable. ’Course, he’d have to top. No way would Blondie bottom for anybody.” I sat there, stunned, and he finally turned and looked at me. I must have been looking at him like he had just sprouted another head, because he dropped the DVD he was holding.

  “What?”

  “You’re gay?”

  “Yeah,” he said with obvious amusement. “You didn’t know that?”

  “How would I?”

  He shook his head at me. “Un-fuckin’-believable, Zach.” He laughed, like I had just said something really funny, as he turned back to what he was doing. “You crack me up.” I didn’t have the nerve to ask him what I had done that was so funny. It didn’t matter, though. He was already talking about movies again. “How ’bout A Streetcar Named Desire? Brando was kinda hot, too, back then.

  ’Course, he’s a fuckin’ rapist. I mean his character. Not him. And Blanche was a total bitch. I bet all you remember is him yellin’ ‘Stella!’”

  It was almost time to close and I was surprised at my disappointment. I was enjoying talking to him. Going home to my empty apartment definitely didn’t sound appealing. “What are you doing tonight?” I asked him before I had a chance to second guess myself.

  He looked up at me, surprised. “I gotta work tonight, but ’til then, I got no plans.” He had a night job at the gas station down the street—eleven at night until five in the morning, on weeknights.

  Then he would work with me from eleven until we closed, six on weeknights, and eight on Saturdays. I would have been a basket case if I worked that much, but he didn’t seem to mind.

  “Want to hang out for a bit?”

  “You tryin’ to get in my pants now you know I’m queer?” he asked in an impudent tone.

  “No!”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah, what?”

  “Yeah, I wanna hang out.” He smiled over at me. “Will your boyfriend be there?”

  I bit back the urge to say that Tom wasn’t my boyfriend.

  Somehow “boyfriend” implied that I actually knew something about him, other than that he talked dirty during sex. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Does it matter?” That came out sounding angry and bitter, but he just smiled at me.

  “No. What we gonna do?”

  That was a good question. I had no idea. I looked around the store. “Watch a movie?”

  His smile got even bigger. “Only if I get to pick.”

  “You’re on.”

  Just then one of my regulars walked in. The one I thought of as Eddie, because he always wore Iron Maiden T-shirts.

  Angelo immediately walked over to the counter to help him.

  “Hey, Justin. I got it right here.” He pulled a movie out from under the counter. “Knew you were comin’ tonight.”

  Eddie, whose real name was apparently Justin, smiled. I realized I had never actually seen his teeth before. “Thanks, man.”

  After he was gone, I turned to Angelo. “How did you know what he was going to rent?” I asked.

  He shook his head at me. “He rents the same movie every time, Zach. Heavy Metal. You never noticed?”

  I shook my head.

  “You gotta pay more attention to your regulars, man.”

  “If he always rents the same movie, why did he spend so much time here?” I asked, trying not to sound defensive.

  Angelo smirked at me. “’Cause he couldn’t ever find it. Said you put it in a different place every time. He thought you were doin’ it to fuck with him. I told him you were just clueless.”

  That explained why Justin always seemed pissed, but I wasn’t sure being known as a dumb ass was much better.

  I stopped on the way home and picked up sushi for myself, teriyaki chicken for Angelo (because the look he gave me when I mentioned raw fish wasn’t very enthusiastic), and a small bottle of sake.

  We settled on the floor around the coffee table, and he put the movie in. It was Seven, with Brad Pitt. At least it was in color—and had Brad Pitt.

  “That was seriously disturbing,” I said when it was over.

  He just laughed. “Kevin Spacey kicks ass as a bad guy, doesn’t he?”

  I split the last of the sake between our cups, and then I remembered that he still had to work. “Are you going to get in trouble for drinking before your shift?”

  He shrugged. “As long as I’m not shit-faced, nobody will even know. Nobody there but me and the customers, and they don’t notice anything.”

  “Doesn’t it bother you, working so much?”

  “What else am I gonna do?” he asked lightly.

  “Do you have family around here?”

  He hesitated a minute, then said, “No, man. No family.”

  “No family around here, you mean.”

  “No,” he said with just a hint of annoyance in his voice, “I mean, I got no fuckin’ family.”

  “How can that be? Are you an orphan or something?”

  “Or somethin’.” He kept staring at the TV, even though it was just credits rolling, but when he realized I was still waiting, he sighed. “My mom was Indian. Not like… from India but American Indian. She married my dad in New Mexico. She said he was Italian.”

  “And his last name was Green?” I asked skeptically.

  He gave me his lopsided smile. “Apparently. Not like I ever met the guy. All I know is, they moved to Denver before I was born.

  And then a year later, my dad split. And then when I six or seven, my mom left m
e with the neighbor, and she split too. After that it was foster homes ’til I turned sixteen and dropped out of school and started takin’ care of myself.” He looked over at me, and I was trying to not look too horrified. “It’s not a big fuckin’ deal, so don’t go all after-school-special on me, all right?”

  “Sure.” But I had to look away from him, in case my face betrayed me. My family had been stereotypically Cleaver-ish. My homosexuality was the worst thing that had ever happened to them, and even that hadn’t shaken things up too much. I couldn’t imagine growing up without their rock-solid support.

  He looked down at the cup of sake in his hand. “This shit must be stronger than I thought, if I’m tellin’ you ’bout my parents.”

  “It can sneak up on you.”

  He glanced at the clock, sighed and said, “Gotta get goin’.”

  “Hey, Angelo?” I said just as he was going out the door.

  He stopped. “What?”

  “You want to hang out again sometime?”

  “You think I got nothin’ better to do?” It was that impudent tone again, and I didn’t know if I should be offended or not.

  “It was just a thought,” I said, trying once again not to sound defensive. “Never mind.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah, what?”

  “Yeah, I wanna hang out again sometime.” I wondered if I would ever get used to these convoluted exchanges. “See you tomorrow, Zach.”

  …Angelo

  CAN’T believe Zach didn’t know ’bout me bein’ queer. All those times I was tryin’ to flirt with him, tryin’ to get his attention. Guess he just thought I was bein’ extra friendly. Talk about clueless. It makes me laugh.

  Surprises me when he invites me over. It’s cool, though. He actually wants to hang with me and isn’t just aimin’ to get laid.

  Can’t even remember the last time that happened. Still, not sure why I told him ’bout my parents. It’s not somethin’ I generally tell people. Hate seein’ that look on their faces—that same look Zach had—part horror and part pity. It gets old real fuckin’ fast. Zach at least did his best to not let me see it.