by Nick Nolan
A distant horn honked.
“Your carriage awaits. Now run upstairs and put on those new black shoes I bought for you; mine’ll be too big. And don’t forget to wear dark socks.”
“OK!” He sprinted for the stairs.
“Just don’t spill anything on it that our dry cleaner can’t get out,” Arthur warned. “And I want to hear all the details tomorrow at breakfast.”
Jeremy disappeared. The horn sounded again. He reappeared barefoot and grinning as he ran down the stairs, with shoes and socks dangling from his hands.
“And call me if you need a ride home. And don’t get into a car with anyone who’s been drinking!”
“Don’t worry, Mom!” Jeremy yelled back, slamming the door behind him.
“I prefer Fairy Godmother,” Arthur muttered, then turned his attention to the baskets of laundry on the floor of his room, waiting to be folded. He smiled, seeing much of it was the boy’s.
Carlo sat in his sister’s Tahoe, drumming the fingers of one hand on the steering wheel while adjusting the draped white sheet that covered half his bare torso with the other. He checked his reflection in the rearview mirror, then adjusted the tiara he’d constructed with a hot-glue gun and oak leaves, then spray-painted gold. The costume had been a risk, he knew, but he was determined to make a statement.
His gaze switched at once from the mirror to follow Jeremy as he trotted across the driveway toward him, opened the passenger door, and heaved himself up into the seat. He then slipped on a sock as he pulled on his seat belt.
“Hello, Sailor. Where’d you get that?” he asked.
“Don’t ask, because I can’t tell you. It’s a long story. And speaking of, what are you supposed to be?”
“Alexander the Great,” he replied proudly. “He’s sort of the patron saint of my people.”
“I didn’t realize the Mexicans of Ballena Beach prayed to him.”
“Very funny. What I mean is that he was a proud gay man, and he’s considered the greatest military figure of all time. His lover’s name was Hephaestion, a.k.a. philalexandros, or ‘best friend’ of Alexander—which meant they were screwing each other.” He slipped the transmission into drive and rumbled down the long driveway. “That, and they wore rainbow tunics.”
They made a right out of the open gates and sped toward Pacific Coast Highway. “I hope we don’t get there too early. Ellie’s parties don’t usually get started until after ten.”
“Really?” Jeremy replied, wondering how he’d look walking into a room full of jocks with a gay guy dressed like Cupid.
They drove in silence.
“So what’s with you? Aren’t you looking forward to this?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I just have lots on my mind.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll have a blast, especially with your new look.” They stopped at the highway, and then Carlo gunned the engine and turned south toward Santa Monica. “You do look really good, Jeremy. I mean it. You’ll be the hottest guy there.”
“Thanks, Carlo. You look really…good too.”
“Gosh, do you mean it?” They both laughed.
They zigzagged south for another ten minutes, then the Tahoe turned right and slowed. “And here we are,” Carlo announced, wheeling the vehicle into a line of waiting cars.
“Valet parking?” Jeremy asked.
“What else would you expect from Ellie?”
A man in a red vest jogged up to them and opened Carlo’s door, then handed him a white ticket. “How’s it goin’?” Jeremy said to the other valet, a guy barely older than himself.
“Just great,” came the sarcastic answer.
“Come on, Major McHandsome.” Carlo bounced from the car, then headed toward the house while Jeremy followed, looking up at the unusual structure. The house looked like one big block of cement with its almost completely blank façade, except for a huge tongue of walkway suspended drawbridge-style that connected the luminous glass entry to the street, and two teeny windows that glowed red, like suspicious eyes watching their entrance. Dance music thumped louder as they approached.
They entered.
Eyes darted in their direction.
“Thank God! Finally, some good-looking men!” Ellie exclaimed from across the room. Her platinum hair had been dyed black for the evening and was pulled tight into a bun at the back of her head. Her eyebrows were painted in high, dark arches, her lips a luscious plum. She wore a tight black turtleneck and tighter black Capris, and on her feet, perfect silk flats. Her hand held a martini glass, empty but for a bright red cherry.
“Oh my God, Maria Callas!” Carlo exclaimed, gently taking her hand and pressing it to his lips.
“An excellent deduction, Caesar, excellent. I had no idea you were an opera aficionado.”
“Actually, I’m Alexander the Great.”
“Yes, of course.” She waved her cigarette holder dismissively. “And what have we here, an officer or a gentleman?” Ellie batted her long false eyelashes.
“Thanks for inviting me.”
“You’re ever so welcome. Come and get yourselves stuffed and tipsy. We’ve got everything, and everybody’s here. But don’t stray too far; I’m expecting Coby to show up anytime with that beast, and I’m gathering a small group to point and laugh at whatever she’s wearing. In the meantime, Carlo, would you show the Commander around while I freshen my Manhattan?”
“As you wish, Miss Callas.”
She sauntered away.
“I’m starved,” Carlo announced. “Let’s see what she’s got.”
The boys wove their way through the horde toward the buffet table, where Carlo filled his plate with sushi while Jeremy assembled a heap of nachos.
“Oh my God, this is sooo good!” Carlo exclaimed, after shoving some smoked eel in his mouth.
“Yuck. How can you even put stuff like that in your mouth?” Jeremy scrunched up his nose.
“A tacky guy would make a nasty joke right now, but not Alexander the Great.” He yanked Jeremy’s hand. “Come on, Nacho Man, let’s see who’s here. I’ll give you the dirt.”
He led Jeremy out to a deck that stretched out over the sand. From there, they watched the party through the windows. “See that girl over there, the one dressed as Jewel?” Carlo pointed to a girl wearing ill-fitting bell-bottoms and a sloppy gauze blouse. “She’s the biggest slut at Ballena High. Been with the entire football team.”
“Jealous?”
“You catch on fast. And see that dude over there with all that Abercrombie shit on? He’s an escort—a professional boyfriend—and he goes both ways. But during normal business hours, he folds sweaters at the Gap. Can you believe his clueless parents don’t even question where he gets the money for his tacky yellow Corvette?”
“Juicy,” Jeremy replied flatly, suspecting Carlo was trying to bring them back to their conversation of the other night. He changed the subject. “So what’s the story about that one guy, Ellie’s ex-boyfriend?”
“Oh, you mean Coby?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Why are you suddenly interested in him?”
“I made the swim team. I heard he’s the best, my biggest competition.”
“Oh. Well, you should know right off that he’s one screwed-up dude.”
“Really? He seems OK to me; I thought he was pretty cool.”
“Pretty, yes. Cool, no. Unless you like game boys.”
“Huh?”
“It’s a loooong story. But if you want to know the dirt on Coby for competitive purposes, no one knows as much as Ellie. Ask her. She’ll set you straight. Pun intended.”
“I am straight, thanks.”
“Of course. I’d forgotten. Girl, I need a drink. You want something?”
“Yeah. Coke.”
“You’ll have to ask Avery for that; he’s the one over there dressed like a rapper. How tired.”
“I meant to drink.”
“No duh. I’ll be back in a sec.”
Jeremy watched as the expanding party spilled onto t
he sand below, while those inside yelled to one another over the thunder of the music. He saw how kids posed themselves like living sculptures, laughing while leaning or sitting on every surface within and outside the sleek house, drinks in hand, eyes scanning back and forth for masquerading friends and potential evening hookups. Then a flash of black caught his eye. It was Ellie, the exquisite hostess, flitting like an elegant wasp to a variety of Halloween flowers, her manner even more grandiose than usual.
So where was Reed?
At once he spotted her, outfitted in a red one-piece bathing suit and a frazzled blond wig. She giggled as she tried flipping a torpedo-shaped rescuer’s float in the air, TV lifeguard–style. Only she bounced it off the ceiling and hit a pirate on the head, causing him to drop his sandwich.
Jeremy figured he should approach her before Carlo returned, so he threaded himself through the crowd and tapped her on the shoulder. “Hi, Reed.”
Startled, she turned to face him as her pink-lipsticked mouth split into a huge smile. “Oh! Mr. Sailorman!” Reed pointed her index finger at her chin. “Has your ship run aground out in that big old dangerous bay, the former pristine waters polluted by corporate greed?” she feigned a look of panicked concern, flipping her blond wig back from her face and blinking drunkenly.
“Yes, Miss Lifeguard, and the boat’s filled with Chinese orphans that’ll drown if you don’t save them.”
“But I can’t save your ship, Mr. Sailorman, ’cause I’ve just broken up with my stunningly gorgeous boyfriend, and my recurring eating disorder has made me too weak to swim. But please don’t tell Mitch, or I’ll lose my job.”
“I won’t tell as long as you go out with me. By the way, what’s your name?” Jeremy reached out and touched her shoulder, feeling her buttery skin for the first time, the delicious warmth of her body.
“Tarzana,” she giggled hideously.
He laughed back, looking her up and down. “Honestly, Reed, you look great.”
“Yeah? Thanks. You too, and I’m not just saying that. That uniform fits you great! Was it your father’s?”
“Actually, I got this from our butler.” He loved saying “our butler.”
“As the saying goes, I love a man in uniform, so long as it’s not a McDonald’s. So where’s Carlo? I thought you were coming together.”
Jeremy blushed. “Yeah, he was my ride. Which reminds me, have you seen him? He’s the one dressed as Alexander the Great in the toga; he was supposed to be bringing back drinks.”
“Isn’t that the greatest military figure in history over there talking to that tore-up drag queen?” Jeremy turned to where she pointed and saw that Carlo was indeed listening to a babbling, platinum-wigged transvestite who lasciviously traced the muscles of his bared shoulder with her hand. Carlo glanced across the room at them and rolled his eyes. He still held a fresh drink in each hand.
“I think I need to execute a rescue,” declared Reed, grabbing her torpedo float and twirling it in the air, but once again missing the catch as it tumbled through her hands and bounced into the lap of a girl in a football uniform, splashing her drink. She apologized, then grabbed Jeremy’s hand and pulled him toward their friend. “You coming, Mr. Great?” she shouted as they whizzed by, her free hand snatching Carlo’s tunic as the drag queen’s mouth hung open mid-word.
They moved outside, where desert winds blew in circles like nosy ghosts, flapping costumes and blowing out candles in the jack-o’-lanterns strewn about the deck and sand. And the three leaned over the deck’s railing, watching a noisy game of strip volleyball on the sand below. They gabbed like old friends.
Jeremy learned that Reed’s mother was Swedish and her father Jamaican. They’d met while dancing for a music video in the early ’80s and lived now as a happy family of three at the northern end of Ballena Beach just south of County Line. Her parents had since made a small fortune selling real estate, and Reed’s professional ambition was to have her own advertising agency someday. He also learned that Carlo came from an extremely traditional Mexican-American family, living on what was left of the rancho that had been in his family since the 1840s. Up until recently, they had operated one of the last working ranches in Southern California, where they raised and trained Andalusian horses. Then his mother had taken ill, and his father had become a recluse, and they’d been forced to sell the last of the horses to settle their mother’s staggering medical bills, as well as the property’s gargantuan taxes. Sadly, their home was now in danger of being sold to one of the vulturous developers who’d been circling for years.
So Jeremy felt safe enough, finally, to disclose some details about his journey back to Ballena Beach, while leaving out the most sordid details of his mother’s affliction, as well as the filth in which he’d been raised. They expressed polite approval about her finally being in rehab and appropriate sorrow that his father had been dead for years. The pair nodded attentively and sympathetically as he spoke, making him feel, in his costume, like a war hero addressing reporters.
Then thoughts became romantic, so their conversation dwindled.
“What are you so deep in thought about?” Reed asked him, finally breaking the silence.
“I guess I was just wondering what time it is, or how much longer until I’ve got to get going.”
“Don’t worry, Cinderella,” Carlo giggled, grabbing his wrist. “It’s only a quarter past eleven, so you don’t have to worry about your carriage leaving for another hour.”
“Carlo, you need to tone that faggot shit down,” Jeremy snapped, yanking his hand away. “We all get that you’re gay, and that’s ‘fabulous’ and all, but I’m not.”
“Hmmm.” Carlo’s happy smile vanished. “I can tell it’s time for me to freshen my drink. If you need me, I’ll be hunting for other sodomites; they’re much more fun on Halloween than the Self-Righteously Insecure.” He turned and disappeared into the crowd.
“What was that all about?” Reed asked.
“I guess it was just that, well, I think Carlo has the wrong idea about me. I think he thinks I’m like him. You know, gay.”
“Well are you?” she asked.
“God, no.”
“Have you told him that?”
“Yep. The night he came over to study.”
“Then what’s the problem? Or didn’t you know that he kids around like that with everyone.”
“I just didn’t want you to get the wrong idea about me. That I don’t like girls.”
“I already figured that out,” Reed murmured, touching his hand. “But I wouldn’t mind being convinced.”
“Convinced?” he raised an eyebrow.
“You know. Prove it to me, so I can testify at your court martial.” She flicked the medals on his chest. Their eyes held.
“You mean like this?” He leaned in and pressed their lips together, then felt her mouth nudge his lips open and urge their tongues into a slippery game of tag. Jeremy was thrilled; he was finally having his first kiss, and he was enjoying it.
And the tingling between his legs told him he’d been right about her: she did, apparently, hold the puzzle’s missing piece.
Their mouths separated finally, and they hugged, but when their eyes met, she could see he was far away. “What are you thinking about?” she asked.
“Oh, just that we should probably go inside. I feel bad about Carlo.”
Her expression clouded. “That’s what you were thinking?”
“Sure, I mean…no. I’m just kind of embarrassed to say.” He turned to survey the rolling waves. He couldn’t possibly tell her what he’d been thinking.
“You don’t have to tell me. It’s OK.”
“But I do…I mean…just a couple of weeks ago, my life was so different, and now here I am with someone like you, and what I mean is, I wouldn’t have ever thought someone like you could go for someone like me, I guess.”
“What, because I’m black?” Her voice dropped a notch.
“No! No.” He shook his head. “I mean, some
one who’s…so beautiful and popular.”
“So you think I’m beautiful and popular?” she giggled. She stretched up on her toes and whispered into his ear. “Do you think, then, that I’m out of your league?” He felt her breasts press against his chest.
“Well, yeah. Sure.”
“Then come with me!” She grabbed his hand and led him from the balcony back into the house, where the party’s population now bulged in the hundreds. They pushed and pulled their way through toward the industrial-looking stairway at the far end of the living room, then climbed the stairs quickly. Once at the top, she led him down a hallway toward the bedrooms.
This was all going too fast. Ten minutes ago, he was enjoying his first kiss, and now they were scouting out bedrooms? His stomach knotted as they stopped in front of a closed door. She knocked.
“What!” It was Ellie.
“It’s me, bitch!”
“Go away, I’m busy.” Her voice sounded far away.
Reed pressed the side of her head against the door. “If that’s Coby in there with you, I’m gonna knock your brains in, girl.”
“It’s not, so go the fuck away!” Ellie’s giggling mixed with the muffled laughter of not one, but two male voices.
“Ugh, that filthy ho. Come on with me, Jeremy.” Reed pushed open a bathroom door. “And please don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not that kinda girl.” She batted her eyelashes and shot him an innocent smile.
The pair entered, and Reed switched on the light. Jeremy looked. They were standing in front of a generous mirror. It was the first time he’d seen himself as part of a couple with anyone other than his awful old mother.
“Do you see?” she asked.
“See what?”
“See us, you ’tard!” Reed grabbed him by the chin and pointed his face at the mirror. “Now, do you still think I’m out of your league? Look at yourself. You’re absolutely beautiful!”
“No, you’re the beautiful one.” He lowered his mouth again to hers, and this time their kiss was more passionate than before, more assured. As her arms slid around his back, he reached up and ran his hand through her hair, for the moment forgetting it was a wig. Their mouths opened wider to each other, and their tongues danced wildly. At once, Jeremy felt his genitalia tingle again, as if his naughty bits had been submerged suddenly in warmed-up soda pop.