by W. S. Long
Cujo was easy to talk to. It didn’t seem to matter to Cujo that people stared at him at the restaurant with his red flannel shirt, worn open over an exposed white T-shirt, acid-washed blue jeans, and heavy work boots, or that he talked with a slight Southern drawl. He didn’t talk fast or walk fast like all the New Yorkers. Cujo was a good-looking guy, and yeah, maybe he looked like he could replace the old Brawny paper towel guy minus the pornstache, but he was real. He didn’t come across as someone putting on airs, or trying to be something when he wasn’t, unlike the guys Tristan had dated the last few months. Cujo was being Cujo and not someone else.
“Ma’am, can we get that dessert menu again?” Cujo asked. Their server nodded. “And can I get some coffee?”
“Coffee doesn’t bother you?” Tristan asked. “If I have coffee after six, I have a hard time going to sleep.”
“Nope. Not at all. I can usually sleep like a baby. What about decaf?”
“Yuck. I get headaches with decaf.”
The server dropped off the dessert menu and scooted quickly to another table. Cujo picked up the menu, opened it, and advanced his chair closer to Tristan. “I guess we can look over this menu together.” Cujo’s thigh brushed against Tristan’s. “Here’s the tiramisu. You’ve had it, right?”
“Yes. Sometimes I split one with Olivia.”
“Let me guess, you have one spoon and she eats the rest.” Cujo hunched forward in his seat, bumping against Tristan’s leg. Tristan’s skin tingled.
“Well, she does love the tiramisu here. There’s also a chocolate lava upside down cake, that’s pretty good.”
“Tell you what. If I order both, will you have a couple bites of them?” Cujo asked. “I don’t want to eat them both. It’ll stop me from judging myself and the lack of self-control over food.”
“Both?”
“Dude. Do you see me? I don’t care if I have washboard abs. I want to live. And for me living is having a good brewski, an occasional wine, and food.” Cujo patted his belly. “Okay. I do work out a little because I have to not because I love to. I ain’t Caleb. I know I have a little beer belly. So what? I’m happy with myself. Except when I order two desserts. That’s why you’re going to help me. Right?”
“Sure, I’ll have one bite of each.”
“Awesome.” Cujo raised his hand to catch their server’s attention. As he ordered, Tristan sat back, and pushed his plate farther from him. Cujo scooted his chair away from Tristan. He glanced at the empty spot that Tristan left. He had liked how Cujo’s thigh brushed against him.
After their plates were cleared and coffee was poured, Tristan asked, “So what do you think so far of the city?”
“You know, I didn’t think I would like this city but I have to say I very much enjoyed my day. Millions of people living on top of each other in apartments and buildings I don’t get, but I had an awesome time today sightseeing. I’ve always wondered what the fascination was with the Empire State Building, but I get it now.”
“If you don’t have anything to do tomorrow, I’ll be glad to show you around,” Tristan said.
“Sure. I think Caleb said he would take me to the Statue of Liberty tomorrow, but maybe he wants to just take it easy and rest some more.”
“Any interest in seeing a Broadway show?” Tristan asked.
“Not really. Not one for musicals or plays. Now if we could see the Yankees play, that’d be something.” Cujo sipped his water for a moment. “You like baseball?”
“I don’t follow it. In high school, I caught a couple of games because my sister liked one of the players on the team, but that was about it. I wasn’t very athletic.” Tristan faced away from Cujo’s gaze briefly. Obviously their experiences in high school were different. Cujo was the jock, and Tristan, well, the token gay kid who hung out with the nerds and geeks at school.
Cujo placed his hand over Tristan’s. “Nothing wrong with not liking sports. Heck, most of the girls I dated hated sports.”
Tristan wasn’t sure if he wanted to be compared to girls that Cujo dated in the past. “If I can somehow get tickets to the Yankees, do you want to go?”
“Hell yeah!” Cujo shouted. Several patrons at the restaurant looked their way. Cujo leaned closer and whispered. “Are you sure you want to go, though?”
With you, yes.
“Yeah. I’ve never been to the stadium. And, I guess it’s an experience I probably should be open to.”
“How about we make a deal? You get Yankee tickets, and I’ll go to any Broadway show you choose.”
“Really?”
Cujo held out his hand. “We got a deal?”
Tristan shook on the agreement. “Sure.”
If I can only get Yankee tickets.
Tristan’s thoughts were interrupted by the server bringing the desserts over. Cujo took his spoon, carved out a small helping from each, put them in another clean dish, and pushed them to Tristan. Cujo winked and Tristan couldn’t help but smile.
“This tiramisu is heaven,” Cujo said, his eyes closed, slumped back against his chair
“Wait ‘til you try the lava cake. It’s chocolate and goodness all rolled into one.” Tristan finished the small piece that Cujo had given him, and he craved more deliciousness.
Cujo tasted the lava cake. “Wow, that is amazing, too.”
“Wait until after dessert. I want to show you something that is incredible.”
“Incredible?” Cujo asked. “I can’t wait.”
* * * *
When Cujo stepped outside the restaurant and walked two blocks, he hadn’t expected the full intensity of Times Square to wallop his senses. All the lights were on and the different screens blasted alternating pictures, advertisements, and music. “Wow, this is amazing.”
“I told you I was going to show you something incredible.”
“You delivered, buddy. You delivered all right. This is epic.” Cujo fished out his cell phone, tapped the camera icon, and took pictures. “Hey, Tristan, stand over there, I want to take some pictures of you.”
Tristan moved so that “The Lion King” JumboTron was immediately behind him as a Coca Cola sign flashed red and white lights nearby.
Tristan posed effortlessly for Cujo’s camera. The way Tristan walked, talked, and acted reminded him of Brett. Sweet, kind, and shy Brett. Cujo stopped taking pictures and scrolled through the photos of his camera. Tristan had inched closer and Cujo smiled.
“How’d they turn out?” Tristan asked.
“Very beautiful, I think.” Cujo showed him a photo of Tristan smiling. “It doesn’t hurt that the model is pretty attractive.”
“Thanks,” Tristan said. Cujo wasn’t sure with the lighting outside, but Tristan probably blushed at the comment.
“You remind me of someone I knew in college. He was a sweet, kind guy. A little soft. Not in a bad way but just someone who probably didn’t have an ounce of anger or hate toward anyone.”
“If that’s a compliment, I’ll take it,” Tristan said.
“It is.” Cujo showed the rest of the pictures to Tristan. “His name was Brett. And he was my first and only experimentation with the wild side.”
“You’re quoting me a phrase from a Lou Reed song?”
“Yes, I am,” Cujo said. “It’s actually one of my favorite songs. Did you know that David Bowie was one of the producers of that song? And he played guitar for it?”
Tristan nodded. “I love that song, too. So forward for the 70s. You know I think it was the first song about transgendered women and gay men to become popular?” Tristan leaned against a metal rail as they both took in the ever-changing spectacle of lights around them while casually crowd-watching the tourists and locals. “Why do you like it?”
“I just like the feeling the lyrics conveyed and the tempo,” Cujo said.
Cujo wanted to admit that he’d first heard it when Brett had played the song for him. Brett had explained the lyrics when they were both high on pot at the frat house. Then Brett leaned over u
nzipped Cujo’s pants and jacked him off to Lou Reed and later to Billy Squier’s, “The Stroke.”
“I love this place! I love this city,” Tristan said. “I thought I’d miss Florida but I don’t.”
Cujo laughed. “You know, I’m starting to fall in love with it, too.” And maybe it’s because of you. “Hey, if you’re ready to go, let’s grab a taxi. I don’t want to ride the subway back, if it’s okay. I want to see the lights of the city from the cab.”
“Fine by me,” Tristan said.
It didn’t take them long to stop a taxi as several had dropped off tourists in the same area. Once inside, they settled in the back seat. “Let me text you some of the pictures I took.”
Tristan handed Cujo his cell phone so Cujo could punch his number in and Tristan texted him a greeting text. Hey.
Hey back. Cujo typed before he sent a few pictures. “I had a good time tonight.”
“Good. I’m glad.”
Cujo rolled the window down and people-watched as they drove down the city blocks back to apartment in Chelsea. After a few minutes of this, Cujo partially rolled his window up, just enough to get air inside the cab and at a level that he could talk in a low whisper to Tristan. “You ever wonder if you could change things from the past and if you could how things would’ve turned out?”
“Sure. All the time.”
“The friend I was talking to you about, Brett, he was crazy about me. And I liked him a lot, too, but not in the same way.”
“You didn’t reciprocate his feelings?”
“No. It was college. We were in the fraternity together. I loved him like a brother but he wanted something more than that. Looking back on it, I wonder if I ever led him on to believe I wanted something more than friendship.”
Tristan sat there silently.
Is Tristan judging me?
“We got drunk one night. The pot also had something to do with it. He jerked me off, I jerked him off. It happened a couple more times after that. I didn’t see it as anything other than me helping him, and vice versa. College was tough. So many beautiful girls. I never really thought what we did meant anything until he tried to kiss me—’’
“Go on.’’
“I told him I wasn’t gay. He said I was confused. I told him to fuck off and never talk to me again.”
“And then what happened?”
“I dropped out of college a couple of weeks after that. He tried to reach me, get ahold of me through friends. He even emailed me one time, but I just ignored him.”
“So I remind you of this guy?”
“Yes, and in a good way. You’re a great guy, Tristan, and I’m not going to deny it, I am attracted to you. It’s just—’’
“You’re not gay. I get it.” It was Tristan next who rolled his window down, his face turned away from Cujo.
Cujo didn’t like that Tristan closed himself off. “I don’t want to mess things up with you,” Cujo said. “I want us to be friends. You’re friends with Caleb and Sebastian.”
Tristan sighed. “It’s okay. I’m cool. Thank you for being honest with me.”
Despite what Tristan said, Cujo didn’t believe him. Not by the way he spoke, and especially since Tristan didn’t face Cujo as he spoke. Neither of them said anything as the cab driver pulled up to the curb of the apartment. After Cujo’s credit card went through, both Tristan and Cujo exited. They walked up and before they got to the door, Cujo stopped. Lou Reed’s “Take a Walk on the Wild Side,” was playing from inside the apartment. Cujo faced Tristan who stood wide-eyed.
“Interesting coincidence,” Tristan said.
“Coincidence or a sign?”
“What?” Tristan asked.
“Fuck it,” Cujo said. He moved toward Tristan and kissed him. At first Tristan’s lips remained pursed, but soon as Cujo’s tongue flicked the corner of Tristan’s mouth, Tristan reciprocated. When they finally broke it off, Cujo was the first person to say anything. “Man, I’ve being wanting to do that for some time.”
“And?”
“Your lips are very soft like a woman’s, but it was weird to feel a little roughness outside the lips from where you shave.”
“I only have to shave every other day.”
Cujo kissed Tristan lightly on the lips. “I didn’t say it was bad.”
“You never kissed Brett, did you?”
“No,” Cujo said.
“You wish you had?” Tristan said in a low whisper.
Cujo shook his head. God, I’ve confused Tristan with my messed up feelings of Brett. “No. I’ve never felt anything like this before. What I felt about Brett is different than what I feel about you.” Cujo held Tristan’s face with both hands. “I’m glad you’re my first male kiss.”
Tristan brushed off a tear that had formed in the corner of his eye.
“You’re not crying, are you?”
“No, I just have something in my eye.”
Cujo brushed off the tear that still pooled underneath the moist eye with a soft brush of his knuckle. He kissed Tristan again. “I definitely like kissing you. It feels as natural as eating a ripe peach on a hot summer day.”
Tristan smiled. “I’m not sure what that means, but I liked what you said.”
“Which part?” Cujo asked.
“The part where you said you liked kissing me.”
Chapter 5
Caleb handed Cujo a bottle of water. His throat had parched from the walking earlier in the day, so he sipped his own.
“Thanks,” Cujo said. “Never knew I’d be walking so much.”
“You’re welcome.” Caleb glanced at Sebastian and Tristan several yards away, snapping pictures as the boat left Ellis Island. Other tourists milled about doing the same. The sun had already started its retreat into the horizon and orange and pink hues colored the sky making the small wisps of cumulus clouds seem painted against a canvas backdrop.
“Glad you and Sebastian could show me around.”
“Enjoying the view?” Caleb asked. “We tried to time this tour so we’d be heading back just about sunset.” The city skyline loomed ahead, and Lady Liberty’s draped gown appeared darker with the fading light. “And it looks like we won’t be disappointed.”
“I can see why you’re in no hurry to head back home to Florida.”
Caleb nodded. “I’d love to be back in Daytona. I miss the beaches, and man, I was freezing during winter. But Sebastian loves it here. Get this…He even has us signed up for Big Brothers as youth mentors. Apparently, he forged my signature on the application more than a month ago, thinking he would convince me to do it in the meantime.”
“And are you?”
Caleb shrugged. “It’ll be good to mentor. But, I know Sebastian. There’s an ulterior motive behind this.”
“What’s that?” Cujo asked.
“He wants us to have kids. I’m surprised he hasn’t forged my signature on adoption paperwork yet.” Caleb yawned. “Shit, I need some coffee.”
“Come on, I’ll buy.” Cujo waved Caleb to follow. Before they left Caleb gestured to Sebastian that they were going downstairs. Sebastian nodded as both he and Tristan fought to keep the wind from their eyes.
“I think you’d be a great dad.”
“I don’t think we’re ready.” Caleb queued behind Cujo at the food stand. “Plus, babies and kids are expensive.”
“Well, if everyone waited to have kids when they could afford it, no one would have kids.”
Caleb inched forward as the line moved closer to the cashier. “I can’t believe by the way you’re so calm about the fact that Earl’s on the cusp of filing for bankruptcy. Again.”
“I drove for other teams. I’ll find another team, and you could, too, if you wanted to. So could Garrison.”
Caleb laughed. “Man, you have a very short memory. Didn’t you remember all the flak I got and Youngblood Racing got when that story broke last year that I was gay?”
“Are gay, you mean,” Cujo corrected. “You’ve been gay as fa
r back as middle school.”
“That’s not the point.”
Cujo ordered two coffees while Caleb grabbed some sweetener and non-dairy creamer. Caleb grabbed the sweetener after Cujo handed one of the Styrofoam cups to Caleb. “You know when I won first, and you placed second, we got a lot of attention. Earl said last year that we raked in more money in those six months after the Daytona 400 than he had made the last four years. Having a gay driver didn’t hurt.”
“I heard that from Joan, too, but my dad’s against me racing again,” Caleb said.
“He’s not the only team owner in town, you know.”
“True, but if I want to have a relationship with my father and siblings, I’m not going to race for another team.” Caleb paused. “Besides, that’s not the only resistance I’m getting.”
“Sebastian?”
Caleb nodded. “Uh huh. After the exhibition race, and the trip to the hospital, he freaked out.”
Cujo clapped his hand hard on Caleb’s shoulder and gripped. “You can’t blame him, right? Look what happened to Garrison when he crashed. You had to step in because he couldn’t get clearance to drive. Head injuries aren’t something to ignore in this line of work.”
“Look, you can see some of the lights coming on ahead.” Caleb studied the skyline of the city. “It is very pretty, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Cujo breathed in and then exhaled. “This air, being on the water. Being with you, Tristan and Sebastian…it’s probably the most fun I’ve had in a long time.”
“You mean sober, right?” Caleb laughed.
“Fuck you,” Cujo whispered as he chortled, too.
“So, what’s up with you and Tristan?” Caleb asked.
Cujo’s brow furrowed, and his lips pursed. “What do you mean?”
“I got up to get a glass of water from the kitchen this morning. I didn’t see you on the couch, and before I closed our bedroom door, I heard you tiptoe to the couch. I saw from the nightlight by the fridge that you had bedhead, you had your shoes in your hand, and you were clothed.”
Cujo stood silently. Finally, he shrugged. “So?”
“Oh, come on, Cujo. You weren’t coming out of the bathroom, not with bedhead. And you weren’t coming out from Olivia’s bedroom.”