by Land, Alexa
I wanted to protest that he was trying to give my lunch away along with his, but the look of sheer desperation on his face made me feel bad for him. I pulled out my wallet, counted my cash, and said, “I have six bucks, so we’re up to eighty-three dollars. Look how much room that thing is taking up in your salvage yard, Mr. Dulane. It’s filling valuable real estate. Wouldn’t you like to see it gone? I know I would if this was my place.”
Tommy chuckled at that and finally relented. “Fine, but just this one time, you hear? And keep it quiet! I don’t want word gettin’ out that Dulane’s is extending credit to any little blue-haired white boy that comes along and says pretty-please.”
“I won’t say a word,” Skye promised.
“I expect the rest next time I see you, kid. Keep your lunch, though. The two of you look like a strong breeze would knock you right over, you need those sandwiches more’n I do.”
Skye jogged over to the little old man and grabbed him in a hug, then handed him all his money. I started to hand mine over, too, but Tommy said, “Skye always forgets that he needs to pay the bridge toll goin’ back into the city. You better keep a few bucks with you, you’re gonna need it.”
“Thanks,” I said.
It took a lot of effort, but we somehow managed to get the clock into the bed of the pick-up truck, wedging it in diagonally. We tied it down with lots of rope, but I was absolutely convinced it was going to go flying off on the Bay Bridge.
We were just about to get in and drive away when Skye exclaimed, “Woah, what is that?” He dashed off across the junkyard, reminding me of an errant puppy, and skidded to a halt beside a bunch of sheet metal. He slid aside some big, heavy panels and revealed an old neon sign, of which only a corner had been visible. “Tommy, I need this!” he exclaimed.
I walked over to my new friend and took a look at the art deco sign. It was about five feet high and seven feet wide, and it said ‘Welcome to the Buena Vista.’ It had at one time been red and white. Now it was scratched, rusty and faded out, but he said softly, “It’s so beautiful.” I really wasn’t sure why Skye was so captivated by it, but then, not many people saw the world like he did.
“You can’t afford that, Skye,” Tommy called out.
“How much is it?”
“More than nothin’ and that’s all you got right now.”
Skye looked dejected, but after a few moments he dragged the big metal panels back in place, covering the sign completely, and said resolutely, “I’m coming back for that, just as soon as I make some money.”
“It’s been here for years,” Tommy told him. “I’m sure it’ll be around a few more weeks, don’t you worry.”
“Promise you’ll call me before you sell it to anyone else.” Tommy agreed to that, and Skye looked relieved.
Soon we were on our way back into the city. The giant, precarious clock in the bed of the pickup had a calming effect on Skye’s driving, so much that when he wiped his hands on his jeans and started to eat his sandwich, I didn’t feel the need to panic and dig my fingernails into the dashboard. Instead I joined him, enjoying the view of San Francisco’s gorgeous skyline as we crossed the bridge.
When we finished our sandwiches and were back on city streets, Skye asked, “Do you dance?”
“Do I what?”
“You know. Dance.” He let go of the steering wheel and raised his arms up over his head, shaking his body to a tune only he could hear. I gasped and grabbed the wheel, and he grinned at me.
“No, not even a little. I’m incredibly clumsy. Why do you ask?”
“Okay, don’t laugh, but I moonlight as a go-go dancer. The place where I work encourages the dancers to partner up, but all the other guys at the club are kind of snooty. I was wondering if you’d like to join me. It pays really well.”
“You’re kidding.”
“About which part?”
“All of it.”
“I’m totally serious. In fact, if you wanted to, we could go in tonight and make a hundred bucks apiece.”
“Um, maybe you could, but I couldn’t. I don’t exactly have the body of an Abercrombie model, you know.”
“Like I do?”
“Plus, I’m pretty sure people would pay not to see me dance,” I said.
Skye rolled his eyes at that. “Come on, live a little! You’re exactly the right type for this place. It’s a club for older businessmen who like twinks, and they’d love you.”
“That’s kind of creepy.”
“I know, but so what? You don’t have to sleep with any of them. The only person that’d even lay a finger on you is me.” He grinned and wiggled his eyebrows at me.
“Even if this somehow didn’t sound like the worst idea ever, I seriously can’t dance. I’d make a fool of myself.”
“We can practice beforehand. I’ll be Baby and you be Patrick Swayze, since you’re a couple inches taller than me.”
“You’ll be what?”
“Baby? As in, nobody puts me in a corner?” I stared at him blankly, and he said, “Dirty Dancing? Hello!”
“I never saw it.”
We’d pulled up to a red light, and he pivoted around in his seat and stared at me with surprise. “Oh! I totally assumed you were gay. Sorry dude, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything.”
“I am gay.”
“Then why have you never seen Dirty Dancing?”
I laughed at that. “It’s not actually mandatory viewing for all gay men everywhere.”
“It kind of is,” he insisted. “I own it on VHS, not that I actually have a player. I’ll have to borrow one from somewhere so I can show it to you.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because it’s Dirty Dancing. It’s tragic that you’ve never seen it. I think I’ve watched it about a hundred times.”
“Now that’s tragic,” I teased.
“Don’t judge me,” he said with a grin.
“Too late.”
Skye took a corner a little fast, and the big clock swayed a bit, which made the whole truck weave slightly. “Woops,” he said, slowing down again. Then he asked, “How long have we been gone? I hope River’s not mad at us.”
“Maybe ninety minutes? It’s probably fine, we’ll get back in time to help him clean up.”
We started climbing one of the steeper hills in the city. It probably had a name, but I hadn’t lived here long enough to know what it was. Hunter’s apartment and my catering job was at the very top of the hill.
The grade got even steeper the more we climbed, and I began to get nervous. I twisted around and watched the huge clock through the rear window. “This might be a bad idea, Skye,” I said.
“Why?”
“Because steep hills and giant, round objects are kind of a recipe for—” Before I could say ‘disaster,’ one of the ropes snapped. Right then, Skye hit a pothole, and the Man in the Moon bounced. More ropes snapped, and suddenly the huge clock was in motion, easily clearing the gate on the truck bed. “Oh holy crap!” I yelled, and Skye slammed on the brakes.
We didn’t have to worry about anyone rear-ending us, because all the cars behind us were already dodging out of the way of the huge, rolling object and hitting their brakes, too. The hideous face leered at everyone it passed, pedestrians quickly grabbing their cellphones to record the spectacle. More cars swerved out of the way, miraculously not hitting each other, drivers getting out of their cars to stare after the tremendous timepiece.
Meanwhile, Skye threw his truck in park right in the middle of the street and took off down the hill after the clock. I hurtled over to the open driver’s door and ran after him, even though I knew we didn’t stand a chance in hell of stopping that clock.
I happened to glance to my left as I sprinted downhill. Oh, great. Vincent, Nana’s handsome grandson, was on the sidewalk with a grocery sack, staring at me with a surprised expression. If a giant sinkhole opened up and swallowed me right then, I would have been grateful.
The clock was a couple block
s ahead of us, and I froze and cringed when it shot through an intersection. It actually had the green light and made it through without incident. I let out the breath I’d been holding and took off running again.
Finally, finally, the Man in the Moon met his match. He launched into a little park at the bottom of the hill and crashed into a palm tree, then face-planted onto the lawn anticlimactically. We caught up to it a few moments later and looked around. Aside from the tree, the clock had hit absolutely nothing, no people, no cars, not a thing. When I realized this I dropped to my knees and started laughing, out of relief as much as anything else.
Skye dropped onto the ground beside me, and then he was laughing, too. He threw his arms around me and we fell onto our backs on the grass. “I can’t believe that just happened,” he said when he caught his breath. “It was like a Charlie Chaplin movie. I wish we’d somehow recorded it.”
“Lots of other people recorded it,” a deep voice said. “You’ll probably be on the evening news.” I sat up and looked at Vincent. Apparently he’d driven Skye’s truck down the hill and was standing at the edge of the lawn, trying not to look amused.
“Titanic timepiece terrorizes town,” I blurted, despite myself, and Skye and I burst out laughing again. Vincent covered his mouth with the back of his hand and cleared his throat. I was pretty sure he was hiding a smile.
Once we’d calmed down a bit, Vincent said, “I hate to break up the party, but you’re probably both going to be arrested any minute for numerous public safety violations. You might consider getting out of here.”
Skye looked at me and said, “I totally can’t afford bail,” then leapt to his feet. I followed, and we hoisted up the clock. Surprisingly, the face was still intact. The only damage was to the metal frame around the inner workings, which had gone from a perfect circle to more of an egg shape on impact. That made it wobbly when we rolled it over to the truck, but we still got it there, and Vincent helped us load it into the pickup bed and quickly tie it down.
“I’d suggest not attempting that hill again,” Vincent said once the clock was secured.
“Yeah, no kidding,” Skye agreed. “I’m going to run this home, then I’ll come right back to get you and River and your catering equipment, Trevor.”
“How will you get it inside?” I asked.
“I’ll have one of my neighbors help me. There are some body-builders that live downstairs, they live for this kind of thing.”
Nana’s grandson turned to me and said, “If you need a lift, I can take you home in my car.”
“I couldn’t trouble you like that,” I said, and Skye none-too-subtly kicked the back of my shin. When I shot him a look, he raised his eyebrows at me and tilted his head to the left a couple times.
I stared at Skye blankly, and he sighed and said, “Oh for the love of God! Go with the hottie, Trevor. If you don’t, I will.” He shot a blatantly flirtatious smile at Vincent, who suddenly looked nervous. It was surprising and kind of cute, since he’d looked so perfectly composed up to that point. “I’m kidding, sexy,” Skye told him with a wink. “You kids get back to that party before the fuzz rolls up and throws us in the slammer! I’m going to make a break for it, in the manner of a cartoon super-villain. Peace out!” With that, Skye leapt into his truck and started to take off down the street. But then he leaned his head out the window and yelled, “Trev, don’t forget what I said about the go-go boy job! I could show you everything you need to know. Just think about it!”
I gave him a little wave as I watched him drive off and murmured, “I hope his apartment is all downhill.”
“I hope he’s heavily insured,” Vincent muttered.
We started up the hill side-by-side, and I tried to pretend the steep incline wasn’t kicking my butt. Less than halfway up, though, I had to stop pretending. I flopped down on some stairs in front of a yellow building and gasped for breath. “Gotta rest for a minute. My heart’s about to explode,” I managed as I drew air into my lungs. “Go on without me. Save yourself.”
Vincent sat down beside me on the stairs. “Save myself from what?”
“I don’t know. I’m too winded to make sense. Pretend I said something witty and coherent there.” I leaned back so far that my head was resting on one of the upper stairs. “Wow, this hill was so much easier when I was sprinting down it.”
While I sweated profusely and gasped for air like a carp that had been hauled out of the water, Vincent sat beside me placidly, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt and suit jacket. “I’m Trevor, by the way. How are you not even a little winded?”
“I spend a lot of time on the treadmill at the gym. And I already knew your name.”
“Oh, right. You heard Skye say it.”
“Actually, I asked my grandmother who you were,” he said, his dark eyes on the slow line of cars climbing the hill.
“You did?” He didn’t say anything, so I said, “I asked about you, too. So, do people call you Vinnie? Or Vin? Vin’s pretty cool, although my mind automatically goes to Vin Diesel, and I’m not sure that’s a good thing. I mean, he was hot in Pitch Black, but later on he made that babysitter movie with the diaper jokes, and I just couldn’t quite build up a whole lot of enthusiasm for him after that. I mean, it’s probably just me. He’s still hot, just not, you know, as hot. To me.” Oh geez, and I’d been doing so well on the not rambling thing until that point.
“No.”
“No what?”
“People don’t call me either of those names.”
“Ah.” Rather than risk another ramble, I just left it at that. After a few moments, I pushed to my feet. “Alright, apparently I’m no longer at risk of death by heart explosion. I’d better push on, since I left my catering partner short-handed while I went off to help his brother.”
We once again began making our way up the hill. After a couple minutes, Vincent stooped to pick up a brown paper shopping bag on the curb, glancing inside before falling in step beside me again.
“What is that?” I asked.
“Eight jars of Maraschino cherries. Apparently no one bothered to steal them.”
“Why do you have eight jars of Maraschino cherries?”
“Because my grandmother wanted them.”
“For what?”
“She got the idea to invent an alcoholic Shirley Temple,” he said.
“That’s so wrong.”
“I know.”
Half a block later, Vincent asked, “What did the blue-haired guy mean by that go-go boy comment?”
“The blue-haired guy is named Skye, and he wants me to come work with him as a dancer in some club. There’s so much wrong with that idea.”
“So, you’re not going to do it?”
“Uh, no. Go-go dancing isn’t for people that are shy, awkward and built like a beanpole.”
“That’s your personal assessment of yourself?”
“That’s everyone’s assessment of me.”
“Not everyone’s,” Vincent murmured. We reached the apartment building, and he pushed the intercom for Hunter’s penthouse. We were immediately buzzed in, without being asked who we were.
Once we boarded the elevator, I said, “You must have driven here, since you offered me a ride. But then why did you walk to get the cherries?”
“I was trying to kill time.”
“Even if it meant climbing that horrendous hill on purpose?”
“It’s not that bad.”
“Not that bad? Maybe not if your last name is Sherpa and you were raised on Everest.”
Right before we entered the apartment, Vincent said, “I’m glad you’re not considering a job as a go-go dancer.”
“Because I’d make a fool of myself?”
“Because you’re too good for that.” He headed into the party, leaving me staring after him.
*****
“You have got to be kidding me.”
River had just gotten his first look at the Man in the Moon. It had seemed big when it was outside, but now the
clock looked absolutely enormous crammed into the living room of the small apartment he and his brother shared. River was rooted in the doorway, and Vincent (our driver) and I were stuck behind him. I was holding stacks of trays, and they were getting heavy.
“I’m going to put this stuff in your kitchen, River,” I said as I squeezed past him and began weaving my way through the living room. It was a weird maze of old car parts, bits of architectural salvage, and a lot of rusty hunks of God-knows-what.
“You can’t tell me that isn’t awesome,” Skye said to his brother.
“Oh, yes I can,” River exclaimed, and the brothers began bickering. I deposited the stuff I was holding in the kitchen, then went back into the living room, took the wrapped packages of food from River’s hands and brought them into the kitchen as well. Nana had insisted on sending leftovers home with us.
Vincent had come into the kitchen too, and put down the box he’d been carrying for us. Once we’d returned to the party he’d stayed close to River and me, helping us without being asked. He didn’t talk much, but the fact that he was trying to be helpful said a lot about him, I thought. I was rapidly learning to be at ease around him, even if his attractiveness was still slightly intimidating.
He stepped into the little alcove that was meant to house a table and chairs. What occupied that space instead was a larger-than-life three-dimensional sculpture of a man, made entirely out of bent and welded mismatched cutlery. “This is surprisingly good,” Vincent murmured, reaching up and running a fingertip over the perfectly defined collarbone on the sculpture.
“River told me that Skye goes to Sutherlin, that private art college, on a full scholarship. It figures that he’s talented,” I said as I loaded their completely empty refrigerator with leftovers. When I finished, I turned to look at my companion. He was still studying the sculpture closely, almost analyzing it, his dark eyes serious as ever.
“What do you like about this?” I asked, coming to stand beside him.
“The way he’s transformed common household objects, elevated them into something of such raw beauty. Look at the expression on that face. All Skye did was bend this knife, right here,” Vincent touched a spot above the sculpture’s left eye, “which imbued it with so much character. Both that and the way the hands are positioned convey a real sense of longing. Don’t you agree?”