The House of Impossible Beauties

by Joseph Cassara

  “Are you telling me,” Daniel said, “that you don’t love me?” Neither of them were crying and Daniel felt like he needed to throw up again. Juanito’s face was so stern that it made Daniel want to crack into pieces.

  “I do love you,” Juanito said.

  “Then show me,” Daniel said. “It’s not supposed to be this hard.”

  Juanito nodded.

  “Leave his address on a piece of paper. But promise me this will be the end of it,” Daniel said. He couldn’t look at Juanito as he said it. “I gotta know where to find you.”

  “Okay.”

  “If I find you strangled under his bed like Venus was,” he said. “I’ll never forgive myself.”

  JUANITO

  Two wine glasses were filled to the top with white wine. Paul poured too much in and now Juanito was worried they’d spill over. Paul had ice cubes in his wine and they clanked around every time he picked up his glass. Sade’s “Your Love Is King” was blasting on loop, and by the time it played for a fourth time and Sade said, This is no sad or sorry dream, Juanito picked up his glass, closed his eyes, and took a gulp.

  “Do you like it?” Paul asked. “It’s a Riesling.”

  “A what?”

  “Riesling,” Paul said. “It’s a type of white wine. It’s sweet.”

  Juanito forced a smile. Maybe sweet was one word for it, but the sabor made his tongue squeeze like if he was eating a lemon raw. White wine was white wine. They all tasted the same.

  “So,” Paul said. He sighed. “Our last time together.”

  Juanito hadn’t expected the fanfare. The apple-cinnamon candles that made the apartment smell like a fucking apple pie. Paul had even spread rose petals on the satin blanket that was on the rug in the middle of the room. What a sick fuck. Was still gonna fuck him on the damn floor, but thought the rose petals would make it more cariñoso. Por favor. He should just quit now. Make like the shit on Maury Povich and throw the glass in his face and scream, You are not the father. And I quit. Don’t need that Lalalandia bullshit anymore.

  “How nice,” Juanito said instead. He sipped the wine slowly because he knew what would happen when the glass was empty. Juanito didn’t see another bottle of wine.

  “I do hope that one day,” Paul said, “you’ll see that I care for you.”

  Juanito didn’t say anything. Just took another tiny sip.

  “We should’ve never let the drugs get in the way of that,” Paul said, and Juanito thought, Exactly, dude. “We should’ve just enjoyed the carnal aspect of it.”

  The carnal aspect? The fuck did he mean? Juanito didn’t say anything. He knew he couldn’t. Because when he thought about who had started it all, he knew that all roads led back to him.

  “Say something, Juanito.”

  “What can I say?” Juanito said. “You’re forcing me here to have sex with you because you threatened me? Is that what you want from me?”

  “I think we just have a misunderstanding—”

  “What’s there to misunderstand?” Juanito said. “I didn’t want to come. You backed me into this corner with your talk of fraud and Amex and whatever. So, if you’ve got me here to fuck me one last time, just fuck me already or let me go home.”

  “Oh, come on, Juanito.”—gotta crown me with your heart—“You know that I love you. What else could I do? You were playing hard to get. You weren’t coming back to me.”

  “Ay, Dios mío,” Juanito said. He jolted off of the sofa. “I wasn’t playing shit. Would you shut that damn tape off? If I hear this song one more time, I’m going to rip my leg hairs out my body and scream.”

  “Didn’t you hear me?”

  “Oh, I heard you,” Juanito said. He thought about throwing the wine glass directly at Paul’s cabezota. “You gotta listen to what I’m telling you.”

  Paul was up near the tape player, pulling out the tape and putting it back on the shelf.

  “No, no, don’t put in another tape,” Juanito said. “Blow out the candles. Clean up the petals from the floor.”

  “But—”

  “No, listen,” Juanito said. “I don’t love you. I love Daniel. I was only having sex with you because of the drugs and because I was trying to get Daniel that sofa.”

  Paul stood up straight. “So you led me on?” Paul said.

  “Are you kidding me?” Juanito said. “Okay, I get it. I guess that makes me a horrible person, but I just wanted to make Daniel happy, and shit got out of hand.” It reminded Juanito of the nightmares he had as a child: standing in an ordinary place, nothing out of whack, then the ground turns to quicksand and it sucks him under until he startles himself awake, gasping.

  “You say I owe you one more session,” Juanito said. “Do it and let’s get it over with so that I can go back to my man, go back to my apartment and my regular life.”

  Paul stared at him and blinked. Juanito had never seen him cry before. It shocked him to see it happening, for some reason. It was like he didn’t think Paul was the type of person who could cry in front of others. He didn’t think someone who was cruel enough to threaten someone into having sex with them was capable of crying in front of that person.

  Juanito tried to feel bad, he really did, but he couldn’t squeeze any pena out of his heart, no matter how hard he tried. He couldn’t even believe that Paul was in love with him. Like, how the hell did he think the way he was acting was an expression of love? Juanito, más que nunca, felt like he was walking around with a giant sign on his forehead that said, HEY, YOU PEOPLE, IF YOU LOVE ME, THEN PLEASE, BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF ME. Why did people think they could treat him like that? He wanted to know. But the other question he asked himself sometimes, the one he refused to entertain for more than a scalding-hot moment was: Why did he take that shit from them in the first place?

  He didn’t have an answer, or if he did, it was buried under years’ worth of shit that he didn’t feel strong enough to shovel through.

  “Oh, my god, would you look at me,” Paul said. He ran his fingers through his hair. “I’ve become exactly what I never wanted to become.”

  “What’s that?” Juanito said. “A manipulative hijo de puta?”

  “No,” he said. “An old, bitter queen.”

  Juanito watched now as Paul placed his hands up to his face to cover himself as he sobbed. Juanito waited for the lágrimas to turn to violence. He waited for Paul to decide to punch him, to rip down his pants and fuck him anyway. He waited for Paul to take that Sade tape and whip it at his face from across the room. But then there was a knock at the door.

  Probably the neighbors knocking to complain about the loud music. He looked at Paul to see who was going to answer it. Paul said he didn’t want to answer the door in tears, and could Juanito see who was there. Juanito thought about saying no, making Paul open the door so the whole world could see him like that. But he didn’t do that. Even though Juanito didn’t feel any pity for the man in front of him, he didn’t want to be cruel to him.

  When Juanito opened the door and he saw Daniel standing there, his heart felt like it was levitating inside his body. “Why,” Juanito said, “are you here?”

  “Are you okay?” Daniel asked. Juanito stood in the doorway. He didn’t want to open the door all of the way to let him in. He didn’t want Daniel to come and play like he was some kind of knight in shining armor.

  “Now?” Juanito said. “You came now? You don’t think I can handle this on my own?”

  “Who’s there?” Paul called out. Juanito envisioned a room with a giant fan. Then piles of shit being thrown up at the blades like confetti.

  “It’s me,” Daniel shouted out to him, “you fuckface.”

  “Daniel, por favor,” Juanito said. He put his hand on Daniel’s chest. He could feel the nervous beats of Daniel’s heart. Daniel pushed the door open and walked down the hallway toward the sala.

  “Candles?” Daniel said. “Rose petals?” He turned back to look at Juanito now, as if his eyes were asking Juanito what was going
on.

  “It’s not what it looks like,” Juanito said. His heart was beating loca-loca and he had to focus on his inhales to make sure he was breathing. He felt dizzy.

  Juanito looked at them both standing there, the sofa separating the two. He threw up his hands. “I can’t do this,” Juanito said. “I just can’t.”

  He bolted toward the bathroom with his hand up against the wall to make sure he didn’t pass the hell out. Once inside, he locked himself in.

  The cold water ran in the sink when he twisted the knob. He splashed some on his face and watched as the droplets slid down it. He stared at the dark circles under his eyes, like bruises in the shape of crescent moons. He could never understand why they were called circles when the shape itself wasn’t complete. He forced a big smile and stared at the lines where the gum met the tooth. Why did teeth have roots? How could they just sit there all tight, so sturdy, and function?

  When he walked backward and leaned back against the wall, he slid down until his nalgas were slapped up against the cold tile. Seashell-patterned tiles. A magazine rack that placed the fashion magazines before the pornos, so that visitors wouldn’t be able to see the dirt that Paul was really into when he was alone in that room with nothing but himself and his hand. The thought of it made Juanito want to vomit. And he could do that. He could vomit into the little toilet seat, but no, he didn’t feel like making more of a mess.

  He could hear Daniel screaming at Paul, but he couldn’t hear the exact words. Then the sound of glass breaking. He felt too tired to stand up and do something about it. That was it. Paul was going to call the charge card company and he would be sent to jail for a crime he didn’t commit. No way was a jury gonna find his ass not guilty. Not after the shit the lawyers would pull up. And then he’d be gone for one, two, how many years? Without Daniel. He pushed his head back against the wall and looked up, like when the mujeres were in trouble in the telenovelas and they looked up as if Jesus himself was gonna come down to rescue their sorry asses.

  And then he saw it. The pipe. In the corner, cuddling up against the side of the sink, behind the toilet. An odd place for a pipe. Either Paul had forgotten it there after dropping it, or he thought it was good for the feng shui.

  Juanito held the pipe in his hand. He loved how smooth the glass felt, and when he closed his eyes, the feeling of his fingers wrapped around it made something tingle. If he really focused, he could almost imagine his lungs filling with that sweet rock. Just the fantasy alone was orgasmic.

  He got up and rummaged through the cabinet across from the toilet. He knew that Paul kept his rock stash in a little plastic baggie wrapped inside of a toilet paper roll. He fished through the rolls, first ripping off the paper that encased them. By the time he got to the fourth roll, he found a smushed up plastic bag jammed into the center of the tube. He used his finger as a hook and pulled it out.

  He could hear them fighting now. He heard Paul laughing. Juanito looked at the beautiful rock between his fingers. He placed it into the pipe. All he needed was a light.

  “Come on, Juanito,” Daniel called. “Let’s get out of here.”

  No. You can’t do this. Not now. Not anymore. Deja la rock. There was a knock on the door. I’m fine, Daniel. Just splashing water on my face. Where was the torch? He needed the torch. Search under the sink. Razors, shaving cream, toilet cleaner, mounds of cotton balls, bags full of Q-tips. What could Paul possibly do with all those fucking Q-tips? Then, the torch. Silver. No.

  Do not touch it. Not even a finger. Another knock. Water running.

  But fuck, it’s so clear like a salt rock. Water running and click the lighter up, fizzle-sizzle, that inhale all minty fresh. Yes.

  When he finally opened the door, he was high and Daniel was leaning up against the wall. “Oh, thank god,” Daniel said.

  “What happened to your eyebrow?” Juanito asked. He put a hand up to Daniel’s face as if touching the blood would answer the question. Maybe he could find a butterfly bandage somewhere.

  “It’s nothing,” Daniel said. “Don’t worry.”

  Juanito could feel the tingle spreading to two areas. From his toes up through his ankles and further up. And then his chin through his jawline and further down. The two tingles would meet halfway and everything would be ecstatic and charged.

  “Look at me,” Daniel said. Juanito looked at his lips. He looked at his ears. He moved his right hand up to the hair near Daniel’s ears to push the longer strands back a little.

  “You need,” he told Daniel, “to get a haircut this weekend.”

  And there it was: the tingle, the merging. Oh yes, that fucking feeling. Yes.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Daniel said. “We can leave right now if you want—”

  Juanito ate Daniel’s face with his eyes. Daniel really was so beautiful. The small beauty mark on his right cheek. The way his five o’clock shadow made his face look rugged. His dimples whenever he smiled. But Daniel wasn’t smiling now.

  He watched as Daniel’s eyes glided over Juanito’s shoulder. The pipe was still on the bathroom counter. Surely this is what made Daniel’s mouth curl into itself. Juanito felt too high to give a damn what Daniel could see.

  Juanito put his hand on Daniel’s cheek and even though he felt like every particle in his body was charged with static electricity, he could tell that his own eyes were crying because his cheeks were wet. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking straight at Daniel’s neck.

  “Fuck, Juanito—” Daniel said. “Again?”

  “Goddamn,” Juanito screamed, so much energy he was up on his tippy toes. “Don’t you feel it?”

  Daniel put his hand up to Juanito’s cheek to wipe away the tears. “No,” Daniel said. “I have no idea what you’re feeling right now.”

  DANIEL

  He only had two options: stay in the sala while it happened or watch. He chose to watch. The cama was so big, it felt like it was the only thing in the bedroom. Daniel could hear Angel’s words in the back of his mind: Never trust a man that only has a bed and a kitchen table because then you know that all they think about is their damn appetite.

  He brought a wooden chair from the cocina into the bedroom. Placed it next to the bed to make sure that Paul didn’t pull some sick shit. Paul was just as high as Juanito. Daniel watched as Paul stripped the bed of its comforter and its sheets. Paul placed two brown towels in the middle of the bed, crisscrossed. As he leaned over the bed, he looked at Daniel, squeezed his own nipples, and smirked.

  It was that smirk that made Daniel want to bash his face in, but he knew that would solve nobody’s problems. He knew that if Paul called Amex, they would be fucked.

  It broke his heart to know that Juanito was loaded and still wanted this. It was like there was some switch inside Juanito’s mind that made him desire that kind of sex when he was high. Even though Daniel couldn’t understand it, he could at least be there to make sure that Juanito didn’t get too hurt in the process. Por lo menos, that was what Daniel told himself in order to comfort himself. In a fucked-up situation like this, he had to do all he could to convince himself that he was trying to be a good and loving boyfriend.

  Paul held Juanito’s hand as he led him in. They collapsed onto the bed together, Paul on top. Daniel watched Juanito’s face burst into pleasure as Paul slid his cock inside Juanito’s ass. Daniel shivered and closed his eyes.

  He tried to think of happy things. He thought of freshly made tembleque, still cold from the nevera. He thought of the time they had taken the ferry to Sandy Hook so they could go to the nude beach. Juanito had been too shy to take his trunks off for the world to see, and it had made Daniel quietly sad to think that Juanito was unaware of his own body’s beauty.

  The room was hot and dark. Daniel didn’t know why Paul kept his windows closed. A little air wouldn’t kill anyone. Juanito’s body was covered in sweat. So was Paul’s. They slipped against each other like there wasn’t any traction to be had.

  The light from the
sala glowed off the sides of Paul’s arms, which he was using to support himself on top of Juanito. Juanito was on his stomach. Paul pushed his hands against Juanito’s back to keep his body still. He slapped Juanito’s ass. Juanito cried out so loud that when he inhaled, it sounded like a whoop.

  Daniel thought of the time they went to the mermaid parade in Coney Island, got hot dogs and cheese fries at Nathan’s, and Juanito had dabbed a bit of cheese sauce on the tip of his nose, crossing his eyes like a goofy clown, just because he wanted to make Daniel laugh. He thought of the time that Juanito had asked him in bed if he thought, and to be straight with him, if Juanito was beautiful and worthy of love. Daniel had turned Juanito over to face him in the dark, where he could see the city streetlights creating shadow patterns on Juanito’s softly illuminated face and said, Yes of course, baby. Of course you are beautiful.

  Now Paul stopped fucking Juanito and twisted him by the legs into a new position. Juanito was on his back, legs flailing in the air. Daniel thought about what would happen if Juanito suddenly changed his mind. What then?

  Paul was fucking him so hard, hand over Juanito’s mouth to muffle any screams or moans. Daniel could no longer watch. He thought about throwing his hands up, getting up, and walking out. But he knew he couldn’t leave that room. He couldn’t leave Juanito there, so he shut his eyes and his mind was filled with nothing but the smell of sweat and shit and the sounds of Paul’s skin slapping against Juanito’s culo.

  Outside the room, Daniel could imagine the candles still burning, the empty glasses of wine, the tape player without sound, the rose petals stranded on the rug. Paul grunted and then stopped. Daniel watched Paul lay his entire weight on top of Juanito’s wet body. Paul was crying.

  “Why,” Paul said, nuzzling Juanito’s cheek with his chin. “Why don’t you love me?”

  Because you’re a sick fuck, Daniel thought, who has no idea how to express your love.

  “Why, Juanito?” Paul said, stretching his arms so that he wasn’t leaning on Juanito no more. “Why why why why?” And with each why, he pounded harder until Juanito sobbed for the first time. Juanito looked directly at Daniel.