Even that wasn’t enough incentive to rouse him.
After a while I felt like Sandra Bullock inWhile You Were Sleeping.Only Randy was even betterlooking than Peter Gallagher, and I wasn’t in love with him.
But it did break my heart to see him like this.
As I was leaving, I asked one more question. “Listen, Randy, you’re going to think this is crazy, and it probably is, but is it possible someone did this to you on purpose? The thing that has me wondering is, just before that car hit you, you were going to tell me about some trick. Who was that, Randy? What did you want me to know?”
I waited for a minute, but Randy wasn’t telling.
As I was leaving Randy’s room, Cody just happened to be walking by. Funny coincidence, huh?
“Hey,” he said. “You OK?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Wish I could say the same about Randy. Do you think . . .” I wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence.
Cody put a hand on my arm. “I think he’ll be fine. He seems like a strong guy. Hell, he seems like a friggin’ gladiator.”
I laughed. “He is pretty hunkalicious, isn’t he?”
“You sure you two aren’t . . .”
“No,” I assured him, “we’re just friends. I’m kind of involved with someone else these days.”
“Good!” Cody’s hand dropped off my arm. “Sorry, I just meant I was happy for you.”
“What about you?” I said. “You seeing someone?”
“Me?” Cody frowned and shook his head. “I have bad luck with men.”
I scrunched up my face. “You? A boy like you should be beating the guys off with sticks. And not just the ones who are into that kind of thing.”
I meant it, too. He was smart, he seemed sweet, and you could just tell he’d be a snack and a half in bed. Plus, did I mention he was adorable in that lives-in-a-library way?
“I’d tell you about it if I wasn’t afraid of boring you to death.”
“I’m tougher than I look,” I promised him. “Tell me everything.”
Cody looked at the big clock on the wall. “I could take a break. You brave enough to eat cafeteria food?”
“Told you I’m tough,” I answered.
Cody and I found a quiet table in the cafeteria. He sipped a coffee and tore into a tuna fish sandwich. I got a bottle of water and a croissant.
Cody was telling me about his man troubles. “Me, I’m kind of like that girl fromTwilight.Bookish, pale, a little too thin. But a guy like Randy is all cheekbones and muscles and perfect blond hair. Guys like that don’t notice guys like me.”
The fact that Cody didn’t know how hot he was only made him more attractive. “You’re, like, totally luscious,” I assured him.
“Oh please.” He stuck out his tongue. “I’m just a regular guy. The only thing that makes me even a little special is . . .” He stopped and clamped a hand over his mouth. “Strike that last part,” he said.
“What?” I asked. “Nothing. I’m embarrassed. Just forget I said anything.”
I swatted him on the head. “Come on, spill.”
“It’s embarrassing,” he moaned.
I lowered my head and gave him my most threatening glare.
“OK,” he said, “it’s just that, some guys, they like me because . . . look, I’m don’t want to sound like I’m bragging on myself. Can we just drop it?”
I pointed my croissant at him. “I have a baked good, Cody, and I’m not afraid to use it.”
“OK, it’s just that some guys like me because, at the gym and all, guys notice . . .” Cody blushed again.
“What? A third arm? Webbed feet? You’re really a girl?”
“No, no, no.” Cody took a deep breath. “I’m, well, let’s just say my ears aren’t the only part of me that’s big.”
“You mean you’re embarrassed because you’ve got a big dick?”
“Well, not ‘big’ so much as ‘huge.’ It’s kind of freakish.”
“Oh, please,” I said. “What’s ‘huge’?”
Cody put a finger down on the table and, about 10 inches away, laid down another.
“No,”I whispered.
“It’s true. It’s nice and all, but sometimes I think it’s the only thing guys like about me.”
I smacked him on the head again. “You idiot. I thought you were adorable way before I knew you had the Verrazano Bridge hiding in your shorts.”
“Really?”
“I promise,” I said. “Cross my heart, slap my thighs, stick a needle in my eyes.”
Cody laughed.
“And if a guy can’t see beyond that to notice what a really great guy you are, you’re better off without him.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that.” Cody looked genuinely touched.
Then, because I was, at heart, a brat, I had to spoil the moment. “Of course, in their defense, it may be hard to see much beyond that. It must, I don’t know, block the view. Being so big and all.”
It was Cody’s turn to smack me.
“And I thought you were a nice guy,” he teased back. “But I see you’re just rude, like that other friend of yours.”
“What other friend? Mrs. Cherry?”
“Oh, that’s right. You don’t know. Another guy came by to visit Randy while you were in with him.”
“I didn’t see anyone.”
“No, when I told him that Randy already had a visitor, he turned around and left.”
I thought it might be one of our mutual friends. “Did you catch his name?”
“He didn’t throw it. Just heard you were in there and hightailed it away. Didn’t say ‘good-bye,’ or ‘thank you’ or anything. Like I said, rude.”
“What did he look like?”
“Gosh, I hardly noticed. He seemed all right, average height and build. Middle-aged. The only thing that caught my attention was his eye patch.”
“Eye patch?”
“Yeah, on his . . . um . . . right eye.”
Something about this bothered me. “What else?”
“I don’t know—medium height. Brown hair. You know, now that I think about it, I was so caught off guard by his eye patch that I didn’t notice much else. Weird.”
The eye patch. It was making me think of something, but what?
Focus, Kevin, focus.
Where had I seen someone wearing an eye patch?
The guy who drove the car that hit Randy.There was something about his eye . . . I knew it wasn’t sunglasses or, sorry, Freddy, a Terminator-like bionic enhancement, but I couldn’t figure out what the black hole on his face was.
It was an eye patch.
Randy was run over by a pirate!
No, that didn’t sound right.
But what were the odds that Randy would be hit by someone wearing an eye patch and then a similar cyclops shows up at his bedside?
The eye patch. Not really a disguise, but enough of a prop to distract you. It worked with Cody and me.
“Listen,” I said, “this guy with the eye patch? I think he might have been up to no good.”
“What do you mean?” Cody asked.
“I’ll tell you in a minute. But first I have to call my semi-boyfriend.”
Cody went back to his desk while I called Tony from the cafeteria. I told him about the strange appearance of Patchy at the hospital.
First, because he considers me to have somewhat of an overactive imagination, Tony told me to calm down. In his best policeman manner, he got me to admit that I hadn’t really seen an eye patch on the driver. It could have been a shadow. He asked if this wasn’t a case of my mind filling in the blanks. I admitted I couldn’t be sure.
But he also said he’d relay my message to the officers who had taken my report on the accident. In the meantime, he suggested I have Cody call hospital security to be on the lookout for anyone fitting Patchy’s description. Then he asked, “This Cody guy—the nurse—is he handsome?”
“Why, are you looking for a date?”
“No, I’m j
ust wondering what you’re doing with him on his coffee break. Does he provide this level of service to everyone who comes to visit?” “He kind of looks like you. Only younger, hotter, and more muscular. And better hung.” Does it count as kidding if one of those things was true?
“Ha-fucking-ha,” Tony answered, ’cause he was classy like that. “Just tell him to keep his stethoscope in his pants, OK?”
“Yes, sir,” I answered. I enjoyed Tony’s jealousy too much to remind him that he was the one who wanted an open relationship.
“OK,” he said. “Be good.” I went back to the intensive care unit and relayed Tony’s message about alerting security. Cody said he would. He looked nervous. “You really think someone hit Randy on purpose?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But watch out for him. And for yourself, too.”
“I will,” Cody assured me. “Thanks for the pep talk. You didn’t have to say all those nice things.”
“Listen,” I said, “you need to get a mirror and realize that you have a lot more to offer than”—I nodded toward his crotch—“Old Faithful between your legs. Trust me, you’re delicious.”
This time, Cody’s blush threatened to go nuclear. But if his dick really was as big as he said, he’d need a healthy blood flow, wouldn’t he?
He was about to say something when a beep sounded from behind his desk. “I have to distribute meds now. But I’ll keep an eye on Randy for you.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you later.”
“No,” he said, still blushing, “thankyou.”
10
Honey, Can I Put on Your Clothes? I took a cab to my apartment in Chelsea. Once inside, I stripped off my clothes, set my iPhone’s alarm to go off in two hours, and lay down on my bed. It was going to be a long night. A little disco nap would do me good. I thought I had too much on my mind to fall asleep, but the shocks of the past two days must have hit me harder than I realized. Within five minutes, I was out like a light.
I woke up to my iPhone’s alarm playing an Ari Gold song. Not only is he a terrific singer, but he’s crazy hot. My only regret was that he wasn’t there to wake me in person. I decided to go back to sleep and dream of Ari when his sexy voice was interrupted by a ring tone. I picked up the phone to see who was calling.
“Hi, Freddy.” “Darling,” Freddy answered, “get out of bed and get dressed. I’ll be there in an hour to pick you up.”
“I’m not in bed,” I said, getting out of bed.
“Of course you were. You’re like an old man—you always nap before we go out.”
“I hate you,” I reminded him.
“Yes, yes. Have you opened Rueben’s care package yet?”
I had totally forgotten. “No, how is it?”
“It’s totally, totally hot,” Freddy said. “Very butch. I look like a million bucks. We really get to keep this stuff?”
“It’s a gift. As long as we wear it tonight, it’s ours.”
“Fagtastic,” Freddy gushed. “This outfit probably costs more than my rent.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“You’ll have to see for yourself. Now, go open your little gifty and get yourself ready.”
“Yes, Mom,” I said, hanging up.
Rueben’s package had arrived two days ago, dropped off by a private messenger. It was in a rectangular box about two by four feet long. On the top was scrawled “Do Not Open Until the Night of the Event,” an instruction already hammered into me by Rueben the day before the box was delivered.
“Now, this party is very important to Ansell. He has everything planned to the smallest detail. You must promise me you’ll wear exactly what we send,” Rueben said.
“I promise.”
“All of New York’s fashion elite will be there, Kevito.”
“I get it.”
Rueben was a former rentboy made good. About six months ago, he hooked up with Ansell Darling, one of New York’s brightest up-and-coming young designers. It was love at first trick, and Rueben now lived in Ansell’s fabulous SoHo loft. He was even pictured in a catty item on page six of theNewYork Postthat asked “Is Darling’s Darling Charging by the Hour?”
I hoped Ansell was good for Rueben. Rueben was a fantastically beautiful Puerto Rican guy of about my age. Skin the color of caramel and green eyes to die for. But he was also a bit of a party boy, and the last time Freddy and I saw him at a club—about a month before he started dating Ansell—Freddy took one look at the dark circles under Rueben’s eyes and a telltale bruise on his arm and said “heroin.”
I didn’t know how Rueben was doing now, other than being anxious about the party.
“You, Freddy, a couple of my other best-looking friends, and all of Ansell’s models are going to be wearing the actual designs from his latest collection. It’s a whole back-to-the-seventies theme. It will be like a runway show, but you’ll be interacting with the guests. Isn’t it genius? It was Ansell’s idea, but he’s counting on me to help him pull it off. I really need this to work.”
He sounded desperate. “Is everything all right between you and Ansell?”
“Let’s just say,mi hermano, it’s pretty crucial I come through for him on this.”
I decided to let it drop. “Cross my heart, I’ll follow your instructions to the letter.”
“Oh, did I mention there were instructions? They’re right on top of the box.”
“I was kidding. Instructions? I know how to get dressed, Rueben. I may be blond, but I’m notthat blond.”
“Oh, it’s a whole look you’ll be putting together. I picked it out for you myself. I know you’re going to love it. You’ll be the hottest thing there.Muy caliente, bambino.You’re not shy, are you?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s just . . . oh, there’s Ansell now. I have to go. See you at the party!”
I opened Rueben’s box, excited to see what was in there. As promised, right on top, were instructions, handwritten in Rueben’s casual scrawl. The more I read, the worse it got.
He had to be kidding me. I tore away the paper in which my outfit was wrapped and discovered he wasn’t.
Inside was the clothing and glass vial he described to me.
Oh my God.
I couldn’t wear this.
I couldn’t.
But I had to.
I’d promised.
And Rueben sounded really urgent that I show up exactly as he described.
Like his life depended on it.
“Love the coat,” Freddy said, when I answered the door.
He was admiring the floor-length, gold-lamé down jacket that Rueben had sent along with the rest of my clothing. I had to agree with him. It was a couture dream come true. A little retro but with futuristic detailing. The down was soft but the coat wasn’t puffy. It felt as light as a feather and molded to my body as if custom made. It had to cost about two thousand dollars, and I was grateful to have received it.
Something I couldn’t say for the rest of my outfit.
Freddy, meanwhile, really did look hot. His outfit seemed to take its inspiration from the costume worn by the construction worker from the Village People. Black, square-toed boots, tight jeans that were frayed in all the right places, a shirt with epaulets that looked like denim but, I could see, was really a midweight silk that draped perfectly over his prominent chest, and a matching faux-denim jacket that was actually blue-dyed leather. It sounds like a mess, but it was actually pretty cool. The mix of fabrics, cotton, silk, and leather, was very sexy and surprising. All the pieces made you take a second look at them.
“Wow,” I said, “you look amazing.” I grabbed him by the arm. “Let’s go.”
Freddy pushed me back. “Wait a minute,” he said. “Let me see the rest of your ensemble, darling.”
“It’s nothing,” I said, pulling his arm again. “Come on, I don’t want to be late.”
Freddy didn’t budge. “What are you, retarded? Let me see.”
“You’ll see at the party.�
� I tugged at him. “We have to leave. We might have trouble getting a cab.”
Unfortunately, Freddy had about fifty pounds of muscle on me. “I am not moving,” he announced regally, “until you open up that coat and let me see what Ansell made for you.”
“OK,” I said, “but you have to swear you’re not going to tease me.”
“Tease you, why would I tease you? You’re wearing something by one of the hottest designers in the . . . Oh. My. God.”
Freddy’s jaw dropped as I opened my coat.
“Don’t you say a word,” I cautioned him.
Freddy used the palm of his hand to push his mouth closed.
“You swore you wouldn’t tease me.”
“Did not.”
Damn. He was right.
“Well, you shouldn’t tease, anyway. It’s mean.”
“You’re, you’re . . .” Freddy searched for the right word. “You’regolden.”
“Kind of.”
“And naked.”
“Notnaked.Exactly.”
“And you’re so . . . bulgy.”
It was true. If my clothing were any skimpier, I’d be arrested for indecent exposure. My entire outfit consisted of a pair of gold-lamé shorts. Short shorts. Low cut, high on the legs, and with a built-in pouch that lifted me in the front. I felt like my balls were wearing a push-up bra. The effect was more provocative than if I were nude.
The only other thing I wore were a pair of Ked sneakers, spray-painted gold to match.
Oh, I almost left out the contents of the vial Rueben sent me—gold body glitter, which he instructed me to apply liberally all over.
I looked like something that gets handed out at a kinky awards show.
My front door was still open—I prayed none of my neighbors would walk by and see me like this.
“Ugh,” I said. “I can’t go. I look like a freak.”
“A freak? You look incredible! How come I didn’t get an out-fit like that?”
“I told you not to tease me.”
“I’m not teasing.” He pulled me toward him. “You have no idea how sexy you look in that, do you?” He ran his hand over the back of my shorts. “These are amazing. So smooth. The way they fit you. You look like an angel . . . a really raunchy angel.” His voice was getting huskier and his crotch pressed a little more insistently. “Damn, boy.”
Second You Sin - Sherman, Scott Page 7