“Oh, baby,” Dylan said, frowning deeper than Bobby had ever seen him do before. He stepped forward, opening his arms, but not coming close, not without permission. “And then I came in and ragged on you like a total fucking tool. That conversation was the last thing you needed right then and I—shit, baby, I’m so sorry. I should have fucking known something was up. You were so shook up and he was so fucking sketchy and creepy and—”
“You had a right to be angry,” Bobby said, and walked right into those open arms. Dylan’s big strong body sheltered him, absorbing the shockwaves of Bobby’s trembling like the rock he was. “I didn’t have an answer for you then—I’m not sure if I even have a totally clear answer for you now—but I think you do have a right to ask, and at least be kept up to date with where I’m at on the whole thing. Especially since I want you to be mine for keeps.”
“For keeps,” Dylan echoed. “Mine.”
“Yeah, like Pogs,” Bobby said, and that made Dylan’s whole body shake with a slowly building laugh. “Except I won’t throw you in the trash a year from now when Tamagotchi comes out.”
“Heartening. Thanks.” Dylan kissed his forehead, just like that very first time. “So this new getup, this makeup, these portraits. Is this you, then?”
“That’s right. Bobby Ng. Flamboyant, femme, part-time girl, but all guy where it counts.”
“Good enough for me,” Dylan said, and kissed him again for real.
“So that’s where you’ve been slinking off to lately,” a woman’s voice said, and when Dylan pulled away, there was a middle-aged white couple standing there, looking on. “Your . . . boyfriend, Dylan?” the woman asked.
Dylan caught his breath and ran a hand through the hair at the top of his head. “Yeah. Mom, Dad, this is Bobby. He’s totally wholesome, other than the cross-dressing.” He grinned. “Bobby, this is Sheila, my mom, and Drew, my dad.”
Dylan’s parents both shook Bobby’s hand in turn, and they didn’t look the least bit bothered or weirded out, which won them instant points in Bobby’s book. Not to mention they’d raised Dylan, which was a win in and of itself.
“I’m Max, and this is Christian,” Max introduced, shamelessly butting in. “We’re the little guy’s roommates.”
“And I’m Bernice, Bobby’s sister,” Bernice said, with a smile at Bobby. “But I think I’m going to have these two freshen my drink, now.” With one last wink at Bobby, she hooked an arm in one each of Max and Christian’s elbows and led them away.
Drew watched them go, then clapped a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Now, Dylan, maybe you could show us your piece? Since that’s why we’re here, after all?”
“Have you seen it, Bobby?” Sheila inquired.
“No, ma’am.” Bobby didn’t miss a beat when she took his elbow. “But I am most certainly looking forward to it. I’m sure it’s a showstopper.”
“Not compared to yours,” Dylan said. “But I like to think I fulfilled the requirements of the assignment. In my own way.”
“You’re a very dapper young man,” Sheila said as they made their way through the tangle of people. “Maybe you could take Dylan shopping?” She nodded toward her son, walking ahead of them with his father, wearing ripped jeans and a red plaid button-down. At least it wasn’t flannel.
Rob thought the grunge look was actually pretty sexy, but he knew of at least one thing about Dylan that he’d gladly change. “New shoes. Top of my list.”
“Thank God.”
There was a buzzing crowd around Dylan’s piece, and Dylan had to yell, “Move along, move along, artist coming through!” to get them to make way.
And no wonder there was a crowd. Dylan’s piece was huge, five feet high at least, a collage assembled from blown up fragments of old comics, a bright nod to Lichtenstein. The background of the collage was one of those old jingoistic forties covers of a caped superhero battling a massive dictator figure who had two clawed hands wrapped around the globe. But whoever the villain had once been—Hitler or Hirohito—his face was now plastered over with a pastiche of other images, fragmented pieces creating a greater whole: Eskimos and Indians from ice-cream advertisements and sports teams and Wild West strips, parcelled out and reconstituted together in a strange new shape. The resulting figure wasn’t so much a menacing one as he was gleefully disjointed, absolutely unapologetic about the fact that he didn’t fit together right, that he didn’t make a lick of sense.
“What do you think?” Dylan asked, and Bobby was charmed by the note of uncertainty in his usually confident voice.
“I don’t get it,” Drew said.
“It certainly is . . . well, it draws the eye, doesn’t it?” Sheila added.
“Love it or hate it, you sure as fuck can’t ignore it,” Bobby whispered with a conspiratorial smile, so close to Dylan’s ear he could almost kiss the lobe.
Dylan beamed back at him, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe this wasn’t a dream. “I fucking love you,” he replied . . . at full volume.
“I like this androgynous goth look on you,” Dylan said, on his knees and opening the many black buttons fastening the fly of Bobby’s wool pants. They were back in Bobby’s room together, for the first time in what felt like weeks, a little buzzed from the wine and a lot buzzed from the night’s revelations. Dylan kissed Bobby’s erection through the fabric of his boxer-briefs.
“Thanks,” Bobby replied on a moan. “I don’t know how long I’ll stick with it, though. I’m . . . experimenting.”
“Hmm.” Dylan used both hands to frame Bobby’s dick, stretching the fabric of Bobby’s boxers taut so that a clear outline came into view. “Just with clothes?”
“And makeup,” Bobby said. “Just a little guyliner, though. Maybe some nail polish. And jewellery.”
“What about a piercing?” One of Dylan’s hands wandered up Bobby’s bared stomach, up under his unbuttoned shirt to tweak his nipple.
“Ah! Nothing permanent. No body alterations.”
“No hormones?” Dylan asked, going serious.
Bobby shook his head. “No way. Not for me. I might grow my hair out though.” He liked the thought of that, having shoulder-length hair of his own. A more lasting commitment to his feminine side, and no more extensions to worry about clipping in and caring for.
Dylan growled into Bobby’s crotch, the combination of sound vibrations and hot breath making Bobby’s dick twitch. “More for me to pull.”
“Don’t even think of it,” Bobby warned, but even though they’d gone back to joking, he couldn’t help but ask, “So this is okay? Me? Being the way I am?”
“I dunno, am I okay, being the way I am?” Bobby couldn’t tell for the life of him whether Dylan was being serious or not.
You’re absolutely perfect just the way you are, just so long as you’re mine. He stroked Dylan’s cheek, cupped his jaw, then gave him a quick little tap on the cheek, just enough to make him jump. “I’m dumping you if you lose any weight. Oh, and also, you could probably stand to learn a little bit of tact.”
There was a look of challenge in Dylan’s eyes, dark and irreverent and playful, everything Bobby loved about him and more. “Never happening, Puny. I am a man whose mouth cannot be tamed.”
“Oh, I think I know a way to tame it.” Bobby reached down with both hands and yanked his underwear down, freeing his needy cock and balls. “Open up.”
Dylan smiled up at him, eyes twinkling mischievous. “All guy where it counts, indeed,” he praised, opened his mouth, and went down.
That night, Bobby did indeed tame Dylan’s mouth.
Twice.
Bernice pulled her compact mirror out of her purse, using it to give her makeup a last-minute inspection, then offered it to Bobby so he could do the same. He shook his head at her, gesturing to his room’s full-length mirror with a smile.
“So who’s this party for, again?” she asked as Bobby turned back to his mirror and rubbed at a smudge in his eyeliner. As he’d expected, Bernice hadn’t cared who th
e party was for or where it was being held or even who was going to be attending, only that it was a party and that she’d be going with her brother.
“Dylan’s sister Tina,” Bobby replied patiently. “She’s retiring.”
Bernice whistled. “Retired? How old is this chick, exactly?”
“Um, twenty-six?” He handed Bernice back her compact, which she stowed in her purse with a little shake of her head.
“Retired at twenty-six. Damn, why can’t I have her life?”
“I thought you wanted Paris Hilton’s life?”
“Yeah, but I thinks she still works. Well, if you consider being paid to go to parties ‘work.’”
“Okay, point, sort of, but still. Tina’s, um, not actually retiring, per se, she’s changing careers.” Bobby’s own natural tendencies toward privacy and secret-keeping made it tough, but it would be worse to spring it on Bernice at the party. And it wasn’t his secret to keep, anyway. It was Tina’s life and she’d made a point of being open, just like her brother. “Getting out of porn. It’s a whole lifestyle and has its own culture, so leaving is a pretty big deal.”
“Oh,” Bernice said.
“That’s not a problem for you, is it?” Bobby asked carefully, watching her out of the corner of his eye. “Her being in porn?”
“No, oh God no! No no no. You could have told me earlier though, damn. I’d have worn a push-up bra.” She squished her breasts together in illustration.
Bobby rolled his eyes. “You look just fine.”
“Sure, you say that now, but put me next to a porn star and I’m going to look like the Vancouver chapter leader of the IBTC—you know, the Itty Bitty Titty Committee? You can be the secretary if you want.” She gestured to Bobby’s chest, where underneath his tight long-sleeved top he was wearing a bra of his own. Another of his experiments.
Having her not only acknowledge it, but accept it, was probably one of the most wonderful feelings Bobby had ever experienced, not that he showed it. “It’s a party, not a wet T-shirt contest.”
“A party for beautiful people,” Bernice said with a pout.
“You are beautiful people, Bernie.”
She looked to him, eyes soft. “You are too, Bobby.”
Despite all of Bobby’s attempts to the contrary, a long sappy hug seemed imminent, but then the doorbell rang—or, well, made that sickly doooo-wong noise the old thing had a habit of making.
The spell broke. Bernice took one last second to fluff her hair, and then they headed out.
Austin’s room was closed up and silent as they passed; the guy hadn’t moved out, but he’d definitely been scarce since the night at the gallery, and as much as Bobby told himself Austin’s opinion didn’t matter, it still hurt. Well, it wasn’t like Bobby hadn’t done his fair share of hurtful things. Maybe Austin would come around.
When they got down the stairs, Dylan was standing by the open front door, wearing a black button-down shirt, jeans, and—yes!—new shoes.
He waved at them both. “Hey, Puny! Hey, Bernice! Ready to go?”
“Just gotta get my shoes on,” Bobby said, and pressed a kiss on Dylan’s mouth.
Dylan hummed with pleasure, then pushed Bobby back to arm’s length and got a good look at him, brushing some stray hair out of Bobby’s eyes. “You look great. You guys are going to love my sister, especially you, Bernice, I think she’s a lot like you.” Which made perfect sense in Bobby’s mind, because if Bernice had ever done porn, she’d probably throw a party when she moved on to other things, as well. Okay, Bernice wouldn’t even need that as an excuse to throw a party.
How times had changed. Once upon a time, Bobby would have been terrified at the idea of going to a big party for a woman he didn’t know, especially considering the fact that Tina probably had a pretty colorful friend group. But now he was buzzing with excitement. Genuinely looking forward to the evening ahead as he laced his suede ankle boots.
As excited as he was, though, the reality of the evening was ten times better, because waiting for them at the curb was a stretch limo.
“Oh my God!” Bernice shrieked, and immediately put on her red carpet impression as she made her way down the front path—easier said than done when you took into account how badly damaged their yard was.
Bobby looked to Dylan in silent disbelief, and Dylan just shrugged. “She said she wanted a party. Never does anything halfway, Tina. Also, I think she’s making up for the fact that she didn’t get one at prom.”
Free limo ride. Bobby wasn’t going to waste time questioning it. He took Dylan’s hand and followed Bernice across the yard, then climbed into the car after her.
Inside, the limo was huge and swanky as fuck, with leather seats and a light-up ceiling. Someone pushed a glass of champagne into Bobby’s hand before he’d even sat down. Dylan’s parents, Sheila and Drew, were sitting across from him, and beside him, the one who’d put the glass in his hand . . . must be Tina. She was a striking woman, tall as her brother and just as round-faced, but with sharper features and glossy black hair that fell to her elbows.
“You must be Bobby,” she said as the cab pulled out into the road, and something about the soft, careful way she spoke seemed to resonate in Bobby, like there was a word on the tip of his tongue he couldn’t quite remember.
“And you’re Tina,” Bobby replied with a bob of his head, but there was that feeling again niggling at him, a scratch right in the center of his back. “This is my sister, Bernice. She never passes up a party.”
“Also,” Bernice said, crossing her legs with a dramatic swing, “These two owe me one after they stood me and my girlfriends up at Celebrities last month.”
“Dylan stood somebody up? Color me surprised.” Tina laughed, then pursed her lips and raised her glass. She conspicuously looked for something to tap it with, but eventually settled on using her acrylic nail. “Anyway, I know you all think I’m the type of person to just rent out a limo for kicks, but I actually have a pre-party announcement to make and I wanted all of you here for it. Well, except for Bernice, of course. No offence. Not that I mind you being here, but I hadn’t planned on it.”
Bernice smiled. “Don’t worry about me.”
“Oh, I’m not planning on that, either. Anyway, so I have some big news. Just before I crossed the border, I got a letter from the BC health plan people saying my psych evaluation has been approved. I’m scheduled for my gender affirmation surgery in Montreal next year!”
Before Bobby could even process what she’d said, Dylan whooped and Sheila let out a squeal and enfolded her daughter in her arms.
“That’s amazing!” Dylan said. “And the government’s going to pay for it?”
“Everything but the airfare and the recovery time in hospital,” Tina said with a rapid, ecstatic nod. “And I think I’ve got enough saved up for that.”
“Well, if not, you have a year to save,” Sheila said.
“Or your mother and I can just pay the difference,” Drew added.
“Dad!” Tina dabbed at the tears in her eyes. “You’re the best. The absolute best.”
Gender affirmation surgery. She’s trans. It all clicked, and suddenly absolutely everything made sense. Dylan’s sensitivity to Bobby’s issues, his knowledge, the way he’d been so tentative to touch Bobby in certain ways. Every single assumption he’d made. He’d watched his sister walk this path, probably from the beginning, and had seen something of the same in Bobby that led him to believe that Bobby would follow her, sooner or later.
He was happy for her. Happy for Dylan, who was incandescently happy for her.
But no, he would never follow her.
Even growing up as Bernice’s brother, Bobby had never seen a party quite like this. An entire hotel ballroom space rented out for something other than a wedding or a funeral, and not only that, actually stuffed to the gills with people. He’d thought Tina might have colorful friends, but none of his preconceptions could have prepared him for the infectiously happy crowd that Tina surr
ounded herself with.
Diverse would be an understatement, and Bobby loved it. His roommates all (mostly) loved him, and so did his family, but he was still always the odd one out, and that was a feeling that no amount of acceptance and kindness could quite make up for. But not here. Gender here flowed along a mad and amazing spectrum, from drag queens in pink wigs and four-inch platforms to genderqueer people in trim, tailored suits. Tina and Bernice had gotten on just as well as Dylan had predicted, and the pair of them had been absorbed by the motion and the rhythm of the crowd, becoming a part of the wonderful chaos.
For Bobby, it was loud and incredibly overwhelming, but Dylan stayed by his side the entire time, his arm safely tucked around Bobby’s waist but never steering him.
“What do you think?” Dylan asked in Bobby’s ear after an hour had passed in a bass-thumping multicolored blur.
“Amazing!” Bobby shouted back. “Your sister must be super popular, I’ve never seen this many people at one party.”
“She has a real cult of personality,” Dylan agreed with a nod. “Better watch out or your sister will become a worshiper!”
How strange that Dylan and Bobby had both grown up so similarly, in the shadow of a glittering older sibling, but Dylan had turned out so different. Bobby might have been bitter about that, once upon a time, bitter that he couldn’t have handled his shit better, but now all he felt was happy that he and Dylan understood and complemented one another so well. He couldn’t ask for much more than that.
Wallflower (Rear Entrance Video, #2) Page 16