An Exaltation of Larks

by Suanne Laqueur

  “And I’ll be able to check you for worms.”

  Their eyes held as the joke crashed on the floor in a million pieces.

  “That sounded better in my head,” Alex said, handing over the change.

  “If I were you, I’d keep it in my head.”

  Alex nodded, having a hard time meeting the guy’s eyes. “Right.”

  “Call me if you plan to hit the bars any time. You’re in serious need of a wingman.”

  “Something tells me you’d be the worst wingman I could take to a bar.”

  Chuckling, Handsome took a mint and left.

  Alex fought off a weird embarrassment the rest of the shift, feeling like a freshman who’d split his pants in front of the senior jocks. The next time Handsome came in, Alex avoided him.

  As he cleared one of his booths, he overheard one of the girls attempting to draw the guy out.

  “Do you always dress up to study?”

  “I dress this way for work,” Handsome said, not unfriendly but not looking up from his reading.

  “What do you do?”

  “I’m a hired assassin.”

  Alex was passing by with his bus tub then. He stopped and half turned. “You got a card?”

  Handsome looked up. “Why? You got a problem?”

  “Big problem.”

  Handsome took out a card and leaned out of the booth and around the waitress to stick it in Alex’s fingertips. Alex milked the conquest in the girls’ faces for an hour afterward. They weren’t amused. One offered him half her tips in exchange for the card.

  Alex chuckled all the way home on the subway. He gave the card one last look—Javier Soto with a phone number beneath.

  Then he chucked it.

  “Be my thing for a thing?” Val asked.

  “What kind of thing?” Alex said.

  “Fashion Week benefit thing.”

  “I haven’t a thing to wear.”

  “Wear your best suit and your cute little dimples.”

  Alex only owned one suit and Val had picked it out for him. It cost a sock of money but she said it would last forever.

  “Who stood you up this time?” he asked.

  “Nobody,” she said. “I miss you.”

  “Bullshit. What happened to Matthew?”

  “You mean Jason.”

  “Sorry, I can’t keep up.”

  “He can’t come. And missing you is bullshit. We live in the same city. I shouldn’t have to miss you. Come on, be my thing?”

  The event was in Chelsea and attended by the glitterati of Manhattan society. Not Alex’s world, but Val was in her element. And she looked beautiful: shoulders rising soft and creamy above a strapless dress. Blonde hair in a sleek chignon. Providing a fascinating, murmured commentary through her teeth, half professional observation and half juicy gossip.

  “A lot of these society matrons have strangely hot dates,” Alex said.

  “Walkers and nephews,” Val said, spearing a stuffed mushroom from a passing waiter.

  Alex raised his eyebrows.

  “A walker is a young gay man who escorts ladies of society. If it’s a young straight man being paid to screw said lady, then he’s tactfully referred to as a nephew.”

  “Even if the lady is an only child.”

  “Exactly.”

  As if on cue, a smoky female voice shrieked from behind them, “Cynthia! Cynthia, come meet my nephew!”

  Val’s eyes went wide. Alex turned to see a maven in satin and diamonds, shouldering her way through the crowd, leading a tall man in a tux by the hand. Alex blinked and peered closer.

  It was Le Handsome.

  “Holy shit,” he said. “I know him.”

  “Who?”

  Alex took a finger off his glass and pointed. “The nephew. He’s a regular at the diner. I see him all the time.”

  “Introducez-moi,” Val said. “Good lord, he’s like illegally gorgeous.”

  “He’s hot,” Alex said. “Not that I judge a guy by his looks. But I will say, that guy is hot.”

  Val pushed her elbow against his arm. “You securely say.”

  “Straight observation.”

  Standing at the fringe of his aunt’s circle, hands behind his back, Javier Soto caught Alex’s gaze. He looked away, as if annoyed, and then quickly back. A smile unfolded. He set his hand at the small of his auntie’s back, murmuring at her ear as he took the empty glass from her hand. She waved ringed fingers at him, dismissing. Still smiling, he made his way over to Val and Alex.

  “You dress up nice for a worm checker,” he said.

  Alex gestured to the room at large. “Who’s the target tonight?”

  “You.” He turned to Val. “I’m Javier.”

  “Valentine,” she said, using the name she preferred professionally instead of her real one, Valerie.

  “I still don’t know your name,” Javier said to Alex.

  “Isn’t that preferred in your line of work?”

  “For some. Me, I like to have a name when I make a kill.”

  “I’m Alex.”

  “Your date is glaring at you,” Val said, touching Javier’s arm and nudging her head across the room.

  “She’s thirsty.” Javier gestured with his empty wineglass and with a last smile and a wink, insinuated himself through the sparkling crowd toward the bar.

  “Walker,” Val said.

  “Nephew,” Alex said, although he was trying to work out if the parting wink was for Val or for him.

  The encounter kept them thoroughly entertained for the rest of the evening. They ogled away, fascinated by Javier, making outrageous speculations while he barely threw a glance their way.

  Later on, though, emerging from the men’s room, Alex saw Javier and Val standing together. Javier had his hands behind his back—it seemed to be his parade rest position. Val looked up at him, poised and confident in Javier’s intent stare. Her clutch purse under an arm, holding her drink easily as she talked.

  Val turned her head and looked at Alex. A corner of her mouth went up and her eyes crinkled. Javier turned and looked as well. And smiled.

  A bubble of self-consciousness swelled around Alex’s head. As if he were coming downstairs in prom finery, and all parental eyes turned to gape and coo at their not-so-little boy. The kind of attention that made you want to throw up or kill yourself.

  Alex did neither, but his dress shoe caught on the carpet and he stumbled as he reached them.

  Why does this guy make me act like such a dork?

  “Could you move that dead body?” he said to Javier. “Nearly killed me.”

  Javier hadn’t stopped smiling at him. “You’re going to be harder to bump off than I thought.”

  “I’ll see myself out,” Jav said.

  Kristina reached behind her and handed him the ice pack. “Get me a new one before you go?”

  “Of course.”

  He switched out the packs, wrapping the fresh, cold one in a dish towel and laying it on her bum.

  “Thanks, baby,” she said. Breezy, confident, good-natured. No resemblance to the school-uniformed woman over his knee a couple hours ago, cotton panties down around her penny loafers. Getting her ass handed to her until she apologized to Daddy and sucked his cock to show what a good girl she could be.

  People were weird.

  “Call me,” he said, leaning to kiss her forehead. “Be good.”

  She laughed. “Get out of here.”

  He collected his jacket and bag from the living room and the envelope from the hall table. The lobby doorman gave him a nod and touched the bill of his cap. Jav nodded back, pulling on his sunglasses and catching sight of himself in the gilt-frame mirror over the front desk. He looked good.

  He felt good. Well, his hand was a little numb from spanking Kristina for twenty minutes, but one had to make certain sacrifices while making an honest living.

  Jav smiled at New York as he strode into the perfect spring twilight, the air soft around him. He could walk a bit up
town before catching the subway to Harlem. A disco nap, a shower and off to his once-monthly dinner with Gloria. Thank God. No baggage, no bullshit, no daddy issues or self-punishment by proxy. A leisurely meal with good wine and excellent conversation, then back to her place for relaxed, unscripted sex.

  I will do this, and you will give me that.

  The day’s net intake of that: $800

  Cha-ching.

  While his mind was on money and the evening ahead, his feet had their own agenda, and he looked up to see the red neon sign of Morelli’s Diner.

  What, this again?

  This again.

  He did a walk-by, scanning the interior through the windows. He paused and looked at his watch, casually shuffled through his messenger bag. Then walked by the other way, scanning again.

  He’s not there.

  Alex hadn’t been there in weeks. Jav tried different days, different shifts, everything except flat-out asking one of the staff.

  Disappointment curled up in his gut. Where did Alex go? Heading up Broadway once more, his pace was heavy and the evening leaned on him as if it were exhausted.

  “Son of a bitch,” he mumbled.

  Then he laughed under his breath. He was an idiot, but it was fun while it lasted. Something to feel dumb about yet look forward to. And it didn’t suck looking at it.

  Especially his smile.

  From day one, before even knowing the guy’s name, the smile nudged Jav in the ribs. Hey, it said, I got a story for you. Sitting in a back booth at Morelli’s, Jav strained eyes and ears, his fingers itching around a pen poised over a notebook.

  He dug the way the smile flew up the waiter’s face like a window shade, his cheekbones rising to the bottoms of his glasses. The two bullet-hole dimples on either side of white, straight teeth.

  The story unfolded to include the way the waiter took off his glasses and rubbed at the indentations on his nose. Clowning around with the waitresses during a rush, he’d tilt the frames off-kilter and mess up his hair, crying, “Mother of God,” as they all ran here and there.

  Chapters detailed the waiter’s natural, athletic grace and dexterity: he could hold a loaded tray one-handed, or balance five hot dishes on his bare arm while pouring coffee for six people. He had a social grace, too. His regulars laughed and joked with him. Parents handed him their babies to hold while they took younger children to the restroom. Girls checked out his ass when he walked by, then giggled behind their menus.

  Charming, Jav thought, while his fingers turned a page in his notebook and picked up a pen. His looks had an old world, pagan charm. Some invisible promise of luck, long life and good fortune clung to him like gold dust. His smile was a gift from the gods and you wanted it to shine on you, include you and keep you in the warm, rough palm of his hand. “Hold the baby,” women said, not because they needed a favor, but because they wanted a blessing.

  Weeks of heady, covert observation passed. The staff at Morelli’s didn’t wear name tags, and the waitresses called everyone honey and sweetheart and love. Jav had no name to go with the smile until the night at the Chelsea event.

  When their eyes met across a crowded room.

  Like hell. Jav almost looked straight past the guy. Who could blame him? The waiter was completely out of context: slicked up and sharp in a well-cut suit and really good shoes. Looking Jav dead in the eye, he was Rob Lowe with glasses, a cool, gorgeous blonde at his side. A predatory edge in his grin that made Jav look away a moment, annoyed and defensive.

  Wait a minute…

  He looked back. Gold dust swirled in the chandelier light. The waiter raised a hand. Jav felt it close around his heart and gently pull him forward, into the story.

  Finally he had a name. Alex. Great name. A heroic name. You bit it out of the air and let the X puff up against the roof of your mouth, then melt out with a little hiss.

  When Alex introduced his date, Valentine, Jav’s interest made a swift pendulum swing in the other direction. His mind turned a page and picked up a pen. Valentine was hot from across the room but close up, she was stunning. A sunshine blonde with wintergreen eyes. Slender, but real solid flesh and muscle under the strapless dress, beautiful shoulders and breasts. While making small talk, he admired her cool composure and the serenity of her hands: she never once touched her hair or her clothes. She reminded him of Gloria. No apology to the air for breathing, the same economy of movement and the ease in her own skin. Friendly, but sexy as hell. She’d listen to your troubles, give sound, practical advice and then fuck you senseless.

  Is he fucking her?

  Jav glanced back at Alex, whose head and shoulders lined up with Jav’s six-two frame. Behind the lenses, his eyes were green as well. His hands also stayed to himself. He didn’t touch Valentine, not casually, not territorially. Still, a chemistry crackled between them. A complicity. Or a weighted history. A relationship.

  For a moment, the three of them stood in a tableau. The golden flame of Valentine posed between the dark pillars of Jav and Alex. For the single, shining, gold-dusted moment, Jav felt part of the charm. They were in his story and he was in theirs.

  Later in the evening, he saw Val standing alone, gazing over the rim of her martini glass at an invisible horizon. Jav supposed his professional side drew him over to chat with her: a woman standing alone was a potential client.

  “Do you have a card?” Val asked.

  He never went anywhere without a card. He gave her one.

  I will give you this, and you will give me…

  He glanced through the crowd at Alex, returning from the men’s room.

  That.

  Four days After the fashion event, Jav was back at Morelli’s, but Alex worked tables in another section, not even glancing in Jav’s direction. Jav tried not to take it personally, though he wondered if Alex knew Jav had given Valentine his card and was pissed about it.

  “Dude, you were in the men’s room,” he mumbled. “I went over to make a little chit-chat and she asked me for it.” He drained the last of his coffee. “I’m not the morality police. Just trying to make a living.”

  Maybe what Jav did for a living was the reason Alex was avoiding him.

  “Hey, don’t knock it until you try it,” Jav said under his breath. “Actually, don’t. Good-looking guy like you could put me out of business.”

  “Private conversation?”

  Alex stood by his booth with a carafe.

  Jav gave a weak laugh. “Was I talking out loud again?”

  “Mm.” Alex reached and topped up Jav’s cup.

  Jav uncapped his highlighter and started marking text. “You never called me.”

  “Pardon?”

  “I gave you my card. You didn’t call.”

  Alex smiled around a chuckle. “I’m afraid I lost it.”

  “Ah.”

  “And I’m between vendettas at the moment.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Jav said, taking a sip of coffee.

  “Dónde trabajabas esta noche?” Alex asked, putting down some creamers.

  Where were you working tonight?

  Jav looked at him. Alex stared back a moment, until the carafe in his hand tilted and splashed on the linoleum. Then he shrugged and ran his foot across the drips.

  “Actually, don’t tell me,” he said. “You’ll kill me and if I miss my lab practical tomorrow, I’m screwed.”

  Alex’s Spanish was melodic, with a slightly mushy accent Jav couldn’t place. He decided to take the inquiry at face value.

  “I was at the Plaza,” he said. “New York Historical Society was having their History Makers Gala.” He accelerated his already-rapid lingo, challenging Alex’s ability to dissect the string of words.

  Alex’s face didn’t move. “Como un caminante o sobrino?”

  Walker or nephew?

  Jav stared, the gauntlet at his feet and the blood crawling up from his collar. He felt a corner of his mouth lift as Alex’s eyebrows slowly raised over the top of his glasses.

&n
bsp; “Your pants are smart,” Jav said.

  “When they fit right.”

  “How’d you figure it out?”

  “Your date was far too hot for you.”

  Both the crack and the language leaned on Jav’s ears like a brother’s loving, playful hands. He wanted more, wanted Alex to keep talking, wanted to point to the bench opposite in the booth and say, Sit the fuck down, you. Stay awhile.

  Alex raised a palm in farewell and went back to his tables. Jav went back to reading, sure something significant had happened but unable to say what.

  Alex rung him up at the register. Taking his change and receipt, Jav noticed the tattoo on Alex’s forearm: it was the Unisphere of the World’s Fair.

  “You from Queens?” Jav asked, pointing at it.

  Alex looked down and gave a half-laugh. “No,” he said. “I… It’s kind of a story.”

  “I love stories.”

  Alex turned his arm in, regarding the inked globe. “I came to the States from Chile when I was eleven. My uncle picked me up at JFK.” A corner of his mouth grinned. “In a nineteen sixty-six Ford Thunderbird convertible.”

  “Nice,” Jav said, nodding.

  “We drove through Queens and he took me by the fairgrounds. I looked up to see this globe. This big silver planet Earth, the side with South America facing dead-on. It was like a welcome sign, you know? It always meant something to me. My first memory of America. That and the World Trade Center. I remember going across a bridge and my uncle pointed down Manhattan to the two towers. It was nineteen seventy-three, they’d just been finished…”

  He trailed off and leaned his forearms on the counter. Jav was tempted to trace a finger around the fine detail of the tattoo but held himself in check.

  “That’s a good story,” he said. “I grew up in Corona. I could see the fairgrounds from my rooftop. I always thought something was so awesome about the structures, but sad at the same time. A giant’s abandoned playthings.”

  “Yeah.” Alex’s eyes were wide as he looked up, nodding slowly. “It’s kind of a haunted place. Everything about it is crying, Don’t you love me anymore?”

  Jav nodded as well. Words piled up on the tip of his tongue: You want to hang out some night?

  Instead he slid another card across the counter. “Don’t lose it this time,” he said in Spanish.