Calling Calling Calling Me

by Natasha Washington

  You don’t have to feel it to do it, honey, she said. But a smile can be the best armor in the world.

  Usually Josh had no problem putting on a smile when the situation required it. He’d pasted one on for any number of family parties and morning-afters, but today, he was having trouble faking it. Ironic, perhaps, in this place where he’d probably learned the most about acting.

  “We should probably go,” Josh said abruptly, when they got to the sound booth.

  Patrick and Mrs. Antoine, who had clearly been having a fabulous time getting to know each other, looked at him as if he’d just said it was best practices to murder puppies.

  “We’ve got time,” Patrick said. “The show’s not until later, right?”

  “Yeah,” Josh said. “But—”

  “It’s okay, hon,” Mrs. Antoine said. “This doesn’t need to take up your whole day. But make sure you take a stop in the choir room, okay? That’s your old stomping grounds, after all.”

  Josh gave her a weak smile. They said their goodbyes, Mrs. Antoine giving him a not-so-covert thumbs-up on his way out.

  Josh led the way out of the theater. The choir room was only a few doors down, but Josh felt physical resistance as they got closer to it. He stopped several paces from the door, and Patrick grabbed his arm.

  “You okay?” Patrick asked.

  “I don’t know,” Josh said. “I wanted to take you here. But I haven’t been back in close to four years and it’s…”

  “You haven’t been back in four years?” Patrick asked. “I thought you loved this school. Weren’t you homecoming king?”

  Josh swallowed. I’m being ridiculous, he thought. You’re being ridiculous, self.

  “Josh,” Patrick said. “Please tell me what’s going on.”

  Josh stayed silent, but he pushed open the choir room door, and Patrick followed him inside. The room was empty. It was arranged exactly the same way as it had been when Josh had been a student: music stands scattered around, a grand piano in one corner, posters all over the wall of famous musicians and composers. Bach next to Diana Ross. Man of La Mancha next to Hamilton. There was the autographed poster from the revival of Kinky Boots that Josh had donated his junior year. God. It was all still here.

  For a moment, Josh was his high school self: hamming it up, messing around on the piano while his castmates sang along. This room had always been a space of such warmth and high spirits. The last musical he’d done here had been Guys & Dolls, and Josh had been Nathan Detroit. He remembered looking out into the audience on opening night and seeing his parents, and next to them, Benny, clapping furiously as Josh took his bow to wild applause.

  Josh took in a shaky breath. “Can we go?”

  Patrick looked like he wanted to say something, but instead he bit his lip.

  “Yes,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  35

  Patrick didn’t know what was going on with Josh. He’d seemed jumpy and freaked out at his high school, but he hadn’t seemed willing to explain why. They’d grabbed dinner at a burrito place near the venue for Isaiah’s show, and he’d kept up his end of the conversation okay but hadn’t seemed fully present.

  When Josh had told Patrick he wanted to take him on “a different kind of tour,” Patrick hadn’t been sure what that meant. It felt like Josh was gearing himself up for something, but Patrick didn’t know what.

  Josh bought them drinks at the venue of his brother’s concert, which they sipped by the bar while examining the elaborate gilded walls and ceiling, remnants of the club’s bordello past. San Francisco had always been like this, Patrick realized. A city of people passing through.

  “Dude,” Isaiah said, bounding up and punching Josh in the arm. He proceeded to tell an elaborate story involving some girl his bandmate Kevin met yesterday at the beach who had edibles and gave them samples, which somehow led to Kevin getting naked and running into the ocean. Given the average temperature of the Pacific, this was highly ill-advised, despite yielding hilarious results.

  “You got edibles, and you didn’t bring me back any?” Josh asked.

  “Oh my God, you big baby, I was going to save them for later, but take this,” Isaiah said, reaching into his jeans pocket and stuffing a plastic bag into Josh’s coat pocket.

  “You’re the best brother,” Josh told him.

  “Enjoy,” Isaiah said, winking, and went to take the stage.

  “Those aren’t just dessert, are they?” Patrick deadpanned.

  Josh shook his head.

  “Okay,” Patrick said.

  Josh looked like he was half-expecting a lecture, but Patrick thought: This city has a lot to teach me.

  He held out his hand.

  Josh raised his eyebrows, giving him half of a brownie, and when Patrick reached for him, he slid his hand into Patrick’s and held on.

  The concert was great. The band sounded amazing, trippy and yet somehow coherent and fluid.

  “I never get tired of watching my brother up there,” Josh said. “He’s so happy. I remember when we used to play together, me banging on the drums and making noise, trying to keep up.”

  Patrick squeezed his hand more tightly. He could imagine Josh like that, all caught up in the music like he’d been that day Patrick had come up to move in. Dancing like the goofball he was, not caring about anything else.

  About an hour in, the weed hit. Patrick could tell the moment it happened to Josh because his movements got slower and more deliberate, like he was trying to think out each one before he did it.

  “How are you feeling?” Josh asked, pulling Patrick close so they could hear each other over the music.

  “Pretty good, actually,” Patrick said. “Is the room kind of…glowy right now?”

  Patrick could feel every one of Josh’s fingertips as it pressed into his arm. He blinked. Someone was saying something, but he couldn’t focus.

  “I want to make out with you,” Josh said, and Patrick leaned back against him, reaching around to clasp Josh’s hip.

  “Make out with me,” Patrick said slowly. “Is that really what you want to do?”

  “Let’s go,” Josh whispered, and stroked Patrick’s neck with his thumb, firm along his throat.

  * * *

  There was no teasing. Patrick walked into his bedroom and pulled his sweater and his shirt over his head in one motion.

  He imagined what he must look like to Josh: his skin pale and smooth, his back curving like a wave. He pushed his jeans off his hips and to the floor, kicking them to the side, and climbed onto the bed. He didn’t even meet Josh’s eyes until he was pressed against the wall of pillows.

  Josh was looking at him with some combination of admiration and nervous fluttering, as if he were afraid to touch him because he might leave him bruised.

  “Are you just going to stare at me?” Patrick said.

  There was an edge to Patrick’s voice. He wanted Josh to understand that this was how he wanted it to be. Open. Ugly. Beautiful. Together.

  Josh didn’t say anything, instead climbing onto the bed next to him. But when he reached for him, Patrick pushed him onto his back, pinning him there.

  “I want to know how much you want this,” Patrick said.

  Josh twitched, curling one hand into a fist. “I—”

  “I don’t want to hear how this is real, or that you care about me, or any of those things scared boys say in movies because they’re trying to be nice,” Patrick said. “Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear. Tell me what you want.”

  Josh sucked in a breath. Patrick let go of his wrists.

  Josh looked up at Patrick. “I…I don’t know,” Josh said. “If I can do this here.”

  Patrick felt his own breathing get shallow, and the heat that had been building, fuzzy, soft-edged, disappeared in an instant.

  He pulled back and climbed off Josh, needing space between them. “Please tell me what’s going on.”

  “Fuck,” Josh said. “I thought I could be here and be fine. I
thought it would make it better to be here with you, like…exposure therapy or something? I don’t know. But I can’t stop thinking about prom.”

  Me and a few friends rented a suite here on prom night, actually.

  “What happened at prom?” Patrick asked.

  Josh sighed. “I told you…that Ramon and I were friends in high school. For senior prom, I went with Ramon and these two girls, all just as friends. We got pretty drunk, typical prom-night-level wasted. That night we stayed here, and the girls went to get ice down the hall, and I…I don’t know. I looked at him and I thought…I tried to kiss him.”

  Patrick stiffened.

  So Patrick’s instincts had been right. Ramon hadn’t been only a friend. To Josh, anyway, he’d been more.

  “He pushed me away,” Josh said. “Then he basically avoided me until we both left for college. Or…well, he left. I stayed here.”

  Patrick blew out a breath. “Jesus Christ, Josh,” he murmured.

  “I liked Ramon a lot,” Josh said. His eyes were hazy. “He was kind of…I don’t know. The first person I’d had serious feelings about. The first guy I’d ever made a move on like that. But when I did, I ruined our friendship. I read the whole situation wrong, went for it, and messed things up. That’s why we stopped talking. I was an idiot, and I fucked it up. The next morning, I woke up in the hotel bed alone. Ramon had gone to sleep in another room, probably with the girl who’d been his date. I felt like such an idiot. I texted Ramon that I was sorry, and he didn’t text me back. I panicked. I left the hotel and went directly to go talk to Benny, because he was the person I could always talk to about anything.”

  “I knocked and knocked on Benny’s door, but nobody answered. I tried calling but no one picked up. I could hear the phone ringing, over and over again. Benny still had a landline. He didn’t like cell phones. I started making up scenarios in my head as to why Benny wouldn’t be there. He’d always been there before when I came over in crisis. Always.”

  Patrick felt his stomach drop. He was fairly sure he knew where this story was going.

  “Finally Benny’s neighbor Troy opened his door, saw me there, and said: If you’re looking for Benny—”

  Josh stopped. His voice had cracked on the words.

  “Josh,” Patrick said. “You don’t have to…”

  “That morning they’d taken him to the hospital,” Josh continued. “He’d collapsed in the lobby of his apartment building, and the doorman had called 9-1-1. I rushed over there and for a while they wouldn’t let me in because I wasn’t blood-related to him. He’d had a stroke. After like an hour of waiting, one of his friends convinced them to let me sit with him. There wasn’t really anything I could do except be there and hold his hand.”

  “Oh God,” Patrick whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

  “He was all doped up,” Josh said. He was talking so quietly now that Patrick had to lean forward to hear him. “I remember that his hand was warm. I kept thinking, Oh, he’s going to be okay, he still has warm hands. I don’t know why I thought that meant anything. There was all this bustle going on around me, and doctors kept coming in and out, and I…blocked it all out. All I could do was sit there and hold his hand.”

  A tear slipped down Josh’s cheek. Patrick lifted his hand, but Josh hastily wiped it away.

  “I wanted to tell him about prom, about Ramon, to ask for his advice,” Josh said. “Isn’t that crazy? I felt like such an asshole. Here he was in the hospital, just had a stroke, and all I wanted was for him to give me some advice about how to get over this guy that didn’t like me the way I liked him.”

  “From what you’ve told me about Benny,” Patrick said, “I’m sure he would have loved to hear about all that.”

  “He died a few hours later,” Josh said. “Another stroke. Total fluke, right? He wasn’t even that old. Blood clot to the brain. Totally fucking unfair.”

  Josh curled one hand into a fist. Patrick wanted to reach out.

  “After that happened, I felt like…fuck this, you know? I don’t need relationships. Relationships set you up to be rejected, or they set you up for hurt. The way I felt after Benny died…I never wanted to feel like that again. At graduation, I managed to make it through the part where they called my name, went up there to get my diploma, walked offstage and right out of there to the choir room. I was a mess. I fell apart right there next to that piano, thinking about how when I was a kid, Benny would play the piano sometimes and we’d sing together. All I could think about was that when I open up to people, they end up rejecting me or they…”

  “Die?” Patrick said.

  “I know,” Josh said. “I know I’m an idiot.”

  “You’re not an idiot,” Patrick said. “You’ve been through something really hard, and it’s made you scared. I get it. Trust me.”

  That was what Patrick wanted from Josh, he realized. Trust me. He wanted Josh to trust him with his stories and his memories. He wanted Josh to trust him with his heart.

  “I keep thinking, what if I’m not what you want?” Josh said. “What if I fuck this up like I fucked things up with Ramon because I don’t know what I’m doing? I’m so afraid that I’m going to fuck this up. I’ve already fucked it up, and then I’ll lose you.”

  Patrick took Josh’s hands and held them in a firm grip. “You haven’t fucked it up,” he said. “This is what it’s like, Josh. When it’s real. It’s scary as hell.”

  Josh looked up at him. His eyes were bright and wet with tears.

  “You didn’t fuck it up with Ramon either,” Patrick said. “He was clearly into you but didn’t know how to handle it, and that’s not your fault. That’s his deal, and his journey, and whatever, but basically: His loss is my gain. You didn’t disappoint him, he just wasn’t ready for you yet. You think if he didn’t have feelings for you, he would have freaked out like that? He would’ve brushed it off, maybe made a joke out of you being drunk or something. People only freak out about stuff like that when it touches a nerve.”

  Josh’s eyes widened. Patrick could see him stringing the pieces together, making them tell a different story.

  “I’m so sorry about Benny. He sounds like he was an amazing person, and I wish I could have known him. He gave you so much. I can’t even imagine what it was like to lose him like that, especially at a time when your whole life was shifting and changing and you needed him the most.”

  Josh exhaled. His lashes made a fringe against his cheeks.

  “The thing is, from everything you’ve told me about Benny, I don’t think he’d want you to give up on real relationships just so you don’t have to risk being hurt. He wanted you to find your people, right? And you did, like he said you would,” Patrick said. “You found me.”

  Josh reached out and pressed his hand to Patrick’s cheek. Patrick felt tears prick at his eyes.

  “Kiss me,” Josh said suddenly, the words choked off, and he cupped Patrick’s face in his hands, pressing their lips together gently.

  He knew that Josh often distracted Patrick with sex whenever things got serious or emotional, defaulting to what was comfortable and easy for him. But this wasn’t that. This was different.

  He tangled his hands in Josh’s hair, tongue tracing the corner of his lips before dipping between. Patrick kissed him like he had an agenda, kissed him like it hurt.

  Josh skimmed one of his hands up Patrick’s hip, tracing the curve of bone visible above his boxers.

  “Can we try this again?” Patrick said. “What if…what if this was our prom night together? What if you’d brought me here after prom, and not Ramon…what would you say?”

  Josh looked up at Patrick.

  Trust me, Patrick thought.

  “This feels—” Josh started to say, then trailed off.

  “I know,” Patrick said. “Try it anyway.”

  Josh licked his lips.

  “I want you,” he murmured. “So much, Patrick, I— I watch you sometimes and all I want to do is push you into the nearest wal
l and kiss you until you can’t breathe anymore. I want to touch you everywhere. I want to make you beg.”

  Patrick couldn’t believe his voice held steady when he said, “Do it, then.”

  Josh’s fingers clasped Patrick’s hip, cutting him off mid-sentence with a sloppy kiss, wet and open-mouthed. Patrick’s head felt light, and his hands seemed bigger than normal, clumsy.

  Josh propped himself up over Patrick. His tongue danced over Patrick’s collarbone, his chest, and down to his belly button. Josh licked lower, tongue dipping under the waistband of his boxers, and Patrick’s breathing stuttered. Josh smelled amazing, this mixture of lotion and sweat and cigarettes, probably from standing outside the club, or maybe he’d actually smoked when he went outside, and why did Patrick find that so hot.

  Patrick’s shaking hands found Josh’s curly hair and threaded through the strands. Josh breathed him in before licking over the fly of his boxers, getting the fabric damp. Patrick’s breath hitched, an almost-gasp. He could feel himself hardening, and when Josh pulled down his boxers and licked across the head of his cock, Patrick swore loudly.

  “Oh, okay,” Josh said, unable to contain his amusement. “That’s how to get you to say those words.”

  “Shut up,” Patrick said, weak.

  He could let Josh do this. He could let Josh show him how much he wanted this, prove it to him again like he had so many times over. Josh was good at that. But he’d also just told Patrick something he may have never told anyone else. Patrick wanted him to know how much that meant to him.

  Patrick sat up, pushing Josh back and straddling him, kissing him until they were both breathless.

  “I would let you do anything to me,” he whispered between kisses.

  Josh groaned.

  * * *

  The next morning they slept in. Patrick woke up hazy, but he wasn’t sure if it was the lasting effects of the weed or the fact that Josh was lying beside him, one hand spread on Patrick’s chest, holding on.