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Through the Mirrorball

Page 5

by Browatzke, Rob


  And maybe, there was something to be learned from that, too.

  Chapter 16

  Sitting on the couch, I stroked Griffin with one hand and stared at Brandon’s name and number on my iPhone. Brandon who was all abs and ass. Brandon whose little twink du jour Allan had done Nathan’s dirty work for him, fucking with my head and my life, and who had shown absolutely no remorse about it. Brandon who had punched me hard when he thought I’d hit on Allan. Brandon who had hit on me that same weekend. Brandon who I’d punched That Friday Night when things went wrong.

  My finger hovered above the CALL icon. Taking a deep breath, I hit it, my hand trembling. It rang and then he answered. “Hello.”

  “Hey,” I said. It was noisy in the background. Of course. He was still at brunch at the Duchess. With everyone.

  “What’s up, Alex?” The way he said my name, I could tell he was letting everyone know who was on the phone. I could almost see their faces.

  “Sorry to bother you at brunch, but I need to talk to you. Can you come over after?”

  “What’s this about, Alex?”

  “Please, Brandon. In person is better.”

  “Are you high?”

  Ouch. That hurt. It was fair, but it hurt. Not that he was a saint, but it hurt. “No, and it’s important. You know I wouldn’t have called unless it was.”

  He sighed. “Just a sec.” He had clearly put the phone down to talk to someone. I strained to hear, but couldn’t make out what he was saying. “I’ll be there in an hour or so. We just started brunch.”

  “Thank you, Brandon.”

  “Yah. See you.” He hung up.

  I deserved his coldness. I knew that. Brandon had definitely been on the receiving end of a few Drunk Alex texts. They all had. And now they were sitting there, sipping their mimosas and wondering what I could possibly have to talk to Brandon about. I wondered if they’d even care, if they knew about the graffiti (faggot faggot faggot ). Had I used up all their sympathy? Why was I the one who was such a mess, they’d say as they said before, when it was Steven who’d been kidnapped, Steven who’d been beaten and tortured, Steven who’d been cheated on and lied to and betrayed by me? Nathan was from my past. It was to get to me that he’d done what he’d done. Steven was innocent and caught in the crossfire.

  I stared at the wall, scratching Griffin behind the ears. Could it be Nathan? Was he paying Allan to do this again? Or was Allan on his own, doing it just for shits and giggles? Before, it had been for cash, which he’d used for drugs, but now, who knew? Maybe he’d been high and thought it would be funny. Maybe he knew how badly it had affected me before; Brandon would have told him, for sure. Sure, the words were different, the writing was different, the color was different, no whore this time, just a faggot (faggot faggot faggot), but it was the faggot that hurt.

  The buzzer buzzed. Had it been an hour already? Sure enough, it was Brandon, and I felt my heart sink into my feet as I waited for him to catch the elevator up. What would he say? Would he yell? Would he condemn me for my actions and scream at me for my choices, and leave without even hearing what I needed to ask him? Did he hate me? Surely, they all must. All they had given me, all they had seen me through, and I threw it all away? I’d hate me, if I were them.

  I waited for the knock at my door, dreading, dreading, dreading. I was just heading over to the door when it opened. Brandon ran in, and wrapped his arms around me, and all he said was, “Are you okay?”

  I fell to the floor in his arms and started to cry again.

  Chapter 17

  How long I cried I don’t know, but all Brandon did was hold me, petting my hair, rocking me back and forth as it all came out. All the guilt and regret and self-loathing, and all the fear that that faggot brought back.

  “Why me?” he asked. “Why did you call me?”

  “It was Allan before,” I said, “and I thought maybe it was him again. Do you know where he is?”

  “I haven’t seen him since everything happened. He knows I would kill him if he set foot in my bar.”

  “So you have no idea where he’d be?”

  “Well . . .” He blushed. “No, that’s not entirely true. I keep tabs on the little fucker. I keep tabs on all the little fuckers.”

  “Where is he hanging out these days? I need to know if this was him again.”

  “Alex, why, though? Why would it be him?”

  “He did it before, Brandon. This is exactly the same.”

  “Well, he’s got to be hanging out at Boyz.”

  “What the fuck is Boyz?”

  “The new flash-in-the-pan club. Where have you been hiding? Oh wait, never mind. Yah, it’s been open a couple months now. It won’t last. Better clubs have tried. Nothing beats Wonderland.”

  “But that’s where he goes now?”

  “It’s got to be. That’s where all those druggy little kids are hanging out. It’s basically rent boys.”

  “Where is it? I’m going to find him.”

  “Okay, slow down, mister. First, you need to shower and change. You’re a mess. It’s early still, but they have a tea dance on Sundays, and I bet Allan will be working the room. We’ll go in a bit.”

  “We?”

  “Of course. A) I’m not letting you go by yourself, and B) if you’re going to squash that little loser, I want to be there for it.” He hugged me hard, and it was almost enough to make me tear up again. “Shower! Go!”

  I laughed and went to get ready.

  When I got out of the shower and was dressed, I walked into the kitchen to find Brandon stirring a pot of soup and making sandwiches. “What . . .”

  “I figured you hadn’t eaten. Hope you don’t mind, but I thought you should get a little something in you.”

  “Brandon, I don’t know what to say . . . I can’t believe you.”

  “Just eat, Alex. Eat and listen.” I sat down at the table and started into the lunch he’d made. “We all love you, mister. Yeah, you fucked up and pissed us all off, but we all love you. We’re worried about you. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like my partying as much as the next gay, but you’re out of control.”

  “I know. I . . .”

  “No talking. Just eat. The other guys, they don’t do the drugs thing at all. They don’t understand it. I do. I like partaking. It’s fun when you’re out at the club, and having a good time. But you, you’re doing it when you’re by yourself. You’re not doing it for fun. You’re doing it to punish yourself, and that needs to stop. You didn’t do anything that bad.”

  “I . . .”

  “Just think about it, Alex. We’re worried. If you have a problem, we will be there for you. I talked to the twins while you were in the shower. Well, I talked to Colton. Jesse’s still hurt. You need to apologize for cutting him off. He might act all tough, like all he cares about is dancing and dick, but he’s a softy. You know that. But the point is, they’re here for you. We all are.”

  “What about Steven?”

  “I didn’t call him. That’s between you guys. And I’m not gonna lie. He’s mad, and very hurt.”

  The food was good, but the words were a bit harder to swallow. I knew they were true, but hearing them, they were punches in the gut, and my instinct was to hide. To call the Caterpillar, order in some white powder happiness, and fly high and numb. And the faggot on my door just added to my need for numbness.

  But no, I couldn’t do that. I wouldn’t do that. That’s all I had been doing for too long now. “I hear what you’re saying, Brandon, and I’ll try to make things better. I promise.”

  “Good boy, Alex. All done?”

  I looked down, and sure enough, I’d eaten it all. Had I eaten yesterday? Maybe. Maybe not. “It was great, thank you.”

  “Okay, let’s go see if we can’t find Fucknuts.”

  Brandon held my hand as we left. “I don’t think it was him, honestly though. What’s in it for him? That little piece of shit is only out for himself.”

  “I thought that too, but I jus
t don’t know what else to do. And I have to do something.”

  “Something other than get high?”

  “Stay out of my head,” I said, with a smile. He smiled back.

  It had been a long time since I had smiled with a friend. Whatever Allan’s reason for the graffiti, I had to be grateful to him for opening the door to that.

  Chapter 18

  Wonderland was glamour. It was decadent and magical and you felt at home when you walked in, if your home was filled with spinning disco balls and lasers, hot shirtless men, sickening beats, and cheap, flowing booze.

  Boyz was anything but glamorous. The music was distorted, the lighting was sad, and the men were anything but hot. The small bar was filled with old guys nursing their beer, as a pair of tragic little go-go boys danced on a small stage against the wall. Some men were watching, but most seemed indifferent.

  Of course, I told myself, it is a Sunday afternoon.

  “Wow, this is pretty sad,” Brandon said. “I haven’t been here during the day before, but wow.”

  “Why would you ever come here?”

  “Oh, it’s not always this tragic. Thursdays, they have a go-go contest. You’d be amazed by the boys that will take off their clothes for a few hundred dollars prize. And let’s be honest. I can land for free what most of these sad trolls have to pay for.”

  We went up to the bar. “Want a drink?” Brandon asked.

  Yes, absolutely, 100 percent. “No, I’m good. Maybe a water.”

  “Good call.” He ordered us two bottles of water, and when the bartender came back with them, asked him, “Hey, I’m looking for a dancer friend of mine. Floppy bangs. Nice blue-green eyes. Huge dick.”

  “Allan?”

  “You know him then?” Brandon said with a laugh.

  “Oh, I know him, all right. He’s not here yet, but will be along shortly. He’s dancing tonight.”

  “What time?”

  “Half an hour maybe?”

  “Thanks, doll.”

  Brandon led me to a corner by the stage, obscured in shadow, perfect for us seeing him before he saw us. We sat there and drank our waters and talked about nothing in particular. The day-to-day minutiae of our lives these past months. Since I’d last seen him, there’d been a Kyle and a Steve, and he was now focused on the new Wonderland porter, Travis. As he regaled me with stories of his love life, he showed me pics of the boys on his iPhone, each one definitely Brandon’s type, thin as a rail, smooth-bodied, and young. Not one stirred anything resembling lust in me. They were cute, but so young.

  The boys on the stage were young, too, but not so cute. What did it take to lead someone here, dancing for dollars, being pawed at by random men? Surely the dollar bills stuffed in the PUMP! undies they wore couldn’t justify it. And why would Allan be doing it? The kid was a fuckup and a total sociopath, but he was hot. Soulless, but hot. And who was I to judge? I had surely let enough random men paw me. At least these kids were making a few bucks at it.

  The song that was playing ended, and the boys disappeared offstage. The men who were watching turned back to their tables and their drinks, and the bartender, skinny with a goatee as opposed to Wonderland’s clean-shaven, well-toned clones, took the downtime to do a round of cleaning and serving on the floor.

  “You guys want another?” he asked as he spun by. “Allan’s in the back, he should be out soon.”

  “Gin cran please,” I said without thinking.

  “Make that two,” Brandon said, and I felt his hand squeeze my knee under the table.

  “So what do we do?” I asked. “Wait for him to finish dancing and surprise him? If he’s guilty, he’s going to bolt as soon as he sees us.”

  “Good point. Wait here.”

  Without explaining, Brandon left me alone to sit there and stare at the empty stage. The bartender brought our drinks, and I paid, and I stared into mine. Now that it was there, I wasn’t sure I wanted it. After all, I’d been drinking a lot. Maybe it was time for a break. I swirled it around in the glass, and tried not to hear Nathan’s voice in my head (faggot faggot faggot). Better Nathan’s voice than Taylor’s though.

  Taylor. There was a voice to drive me to drink. My leg twitched. The cran looked red and the gin smelled sweet. Maybe one sip wouldn’t be so bad. My lips were touching the straw when Brandon showed back up with a dark-haired kid.

  “Alex, this is James, he’s one of the dancers.”

  I put down my drink and shook James’s hand. I didn’t need the drink that badly. Didn’t need a fix-up with a go-go boy either, if that’s where this was going, though. “Nice to meet you.”

  “You too. Brandon says you’re here for Allan?”

  “Well, in a matter of speaking . . .”

  “They all come for Allan. Frankly, I don’t see what the big deal is. Lots of other guys have big dicks, and they’re not all crazy.”

  “Not an Allan fan, I take it?”

  “Not at all, and not just because he blew the manager to get prime stage time. He’s a liar and a thief.”

  “Well,” Brandon said, “we need to have a little chat with Allan. There somewhere he can’t see us until it’s too late, and somewhere he can’t get away from us?”

  “Rip you guys off too?”

  “You could say that, yes,” Brandon said, and I suddenly had a new respect for my friend. This was a far more calculated approach than the screams-and-fists I expected.

  “I can take you to our green room,” James said. “He’ll go back there when he’s done. There’s only the one door.” He paused and looked at Brandon, then myself, appraisingly. “Maybe we can even find something to do while we wait . . .”

  Brandon put his arm around the kid. “Maybe,” he said, with that flirty Brandon smile I’d seen unleashed on so many unsuspecting people at Wonderland. “Can you show us where to wait, though?”

  “Yeah, come with me.”

  I deliberately left my drink on the table as James took us backstage and down a hall filled with boxes of empties and reeking of stale booze.

  “Wait here,” James said, pointing to a shadowed recess. “I’m going to go see if Allan’s still there.” He gestured with his head to a green door.

  “I am actually nervous about seeing him,” Brandon said.

  “Really, Brandon? It’s me who should be nervous.”

  “Well, I suppose we both have a bit of just cause. He fucked with your life as much as he did my heart.”

  The “relationship” had been a week, if that, over before it began. How was that fucking with your heart? Heart? No. Ass? Yes. That’s what I thought, but I just smiled reassuringly and squeezed his shoulder. The thought of seeing Allan again was working havoc on my stomach, and I kept thinking about the full gin and cran just sitting there, waiting for me, calling for me. I could call the Caterpillar, too, make the Sunday into a snow day. I could go home and forget about Allan and faggot and what that word on my door, again, might mean, for a life that was already about as unraveled as it could get.

  I almost had myself convinced to go home when the green door opened and Allan ran down the hall, right past us, oblivious of course, in his Allan way, to anything that wasn’t immediately in front of him or didn’t concern him directly. He’d shaved his head since last I saw him, and it didn’t at all suit him.

  James came back for us. “Allan’s on. He’ll be out there for half an hour. Why don’t we go to the green room and see if we can’t entertain ourselves?” His grin was crooked, and his desperation obvious, but Brandon took him by the hand and we followed him into the green room, which was anything but. It was a dingy hole in the wall, with a clothes rack, a few stools, a couch, and a floor-to-ceiling mirror that ran the length of one wall.

  “Have a seat,” James said. “So, tell me what that fucker did to you guys?”

  I couldn’t unload myself to this stranger, but luckily, Brandon jumped to my rescue again, with a story he pulled out of thin air, about a one-night stand gone sour, about waking to a st
olen wallet and iPhone. I closed my eyes as Brandon talked, and tried to lose myself in the blackness. I was on the edge. My whole body screamed for me to give it something.

  Was I that lost to the addiction?

  How long I stayed in my own head I don’t know, but the door opening and closing pulled me back to the room.

  “James went back to the bar,” Brandon said, seeing me jump. “He says Allan should be done with his first set right away.” He looked at me. “Are you okay, Alex?”

  My lip quivered. “No, Brandon, I’m really not.” Suddenly, my eyes were filled with tears and I collapsed onto his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed so hard, and I couldn’t help it. I started to cry, big ugly sobs that left me gasping for air.

  “You’re gonna be okay, Alex. It’s all going to be okay.”

  The door opened. “What the . . .” It was Allan’s voice, and I barely had time to turn my head to see him before Brandon was pushing me aside and leaping across the room. He grabbed Allan by the shirt and threw him into the center of the room, then slammed the door. “What the fuck do you faggots want?”

  I lunged at him. Down he went to the ground, me on top of him, and my hands were tight on his shoulders as I slammed him into the cheap carpet over and over and over. “Why did you do it? Why did you do it? Why did you do it?”

  “Alex!” Brandon called out. “Enough!” He pulled me to my feet, my body vibrating.

  “What the fuck, both of you? I’m calling the cops. You can’t fucking come in here and assault me.” He got up from the ground and headed to the door.

  “Just tell us why you did it, Allan,” Brandon said. “We know it was you.” Brandon was in front of the door, no way the kid was getting out.

  “Did what? What the fuck are you talking about? I haven’t even thought of either of you two losers in months.”

 

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