by Kage Alan
Why did she seem so nervous, like I was a movie actor or someone important like that?
"My name's Angela, and I just wanted to say that I loved your show! I've been telling all my friends about it.” She motioned to the two girls on either side of her. Both were equally good-looking and worthy of any male's attention.
"My show?” Now I was really confused.
"The other night at the Ambassador, when you sang ‘Touch Me’ and ‘Boom Boom.’”
"Oh, that show.” This could only happen to me. Of all the beaches in the LA area, I had to run into someone who saw me give a performance I couldn't remember at a bar I couldn't recall on a night I had no recollection of. Just as long as she didn't bring up the other part of my show ... “Well, thank you.” I hoped she would go away now. While I enjoyed the attention of beautiful women, I didn't enjoy this kind of attention. “I can't imagine my singing was very good, but then, I was a bit intoxicated."
"The singing wasn't as bad as you think.” Angela sounded quite impressed. “You had a lot of energy on the stage, and the crowd really felt it. I know I did."
Okay, she'd made her point and could leave any time now.
"Especially when you showed that ass of yours! It was like ‘Oh. My, God!’ I just wanted to reach up and grab it!” The other two girls giggled. “I don't want to embarrass you..."
"Perish the thought.” Gee, it was already a bit late for that.
How in the hell was I ever going to grow as a person with reminders of just how immature I could be popping up and hindering me? I wondered what Jordan thought about all of this. He was staying rather quiet, but I couldn't find an excuse to turn around and gauge his expression and see if he was amused, indifferent or embarrassed, like I was. Why he would be embarrassed I had no idea, but he could at least fake it for my sake.
"I just wanted to tell you how much I liked what you did up there and how gorgeous an ass you have."
Before I had a chance to respond to her state-ment, another voice joined the conversation.
"I hear his ass is nothing compared to his front,” Jordan chimed in. God help him when the girls were gone because I was going to kill him!
"I'll bet. Well ... bye.” Angela looked me over once more before turning around and starting back the way they had come. I was still too shocked at what Jordan had said to return the farewell.
One of Angela's friends would sneak a glance back at me every once in a while. What they were expecting to see, and why people in this state constantly looked everyone else over I'll never know. I just hoped they didn't think I was going to give them a free peepshow because I was too damn busy planning a homicide!
"Nothing compared to my front?” I turned and glared at him. “Thanks for your input. I'm sure I couldn't have handled those women without you."
I shook my head, still finding it hard to believe he'd said that.
Jordan was once again very amused at my expense.
"Just where did you get an idea like that, anyway? No, wait! I don't want to know."
He stood up and walked a little ways out into the water, still grinning from ear to ear.
"And you can quit grinning!"
That only made him laugh.
"How would you like it if I dragged you out into the water and dunked it off?"
"Anytime you're feeling froggy...” He could hardly stop laughing long enough to talk. “...just jump.” He obviously didn't fear any reprisal from me whatsoever.
"Ribbit!” I yelled and, with a short running start, tackled him in the water. Both of us went down with a splash, but he was the only one surprised by my sudden move.
Well, maybe I was, too. I'd been looking at him for the past two days and wondering, in some human-contact kind of way, what it would be like to touch him. I never thought it would happen unless he tried another stunt like he did at the anniversary party, but here we were and here it was happening.
"You little son of a...” He recovered quickly—too quickly for my taste. I wasn't quite ready for round two yet.
"I've been called more names than I care to admit.” I tried to stand, but the undertow was making it damn difficult. “Many of them unre-peatable.” I almost had it. “But I've never been called ‘little.’”
I lost. He shouted a short war cry and pounced. My head went under, and I took in my first mouthful of ocean water. Whatever expectations I'd come up with about it, they were entirely blown. This wasn't the slightly chlorine-tasting clear water found in swimming pools across America. It was some of the nastiest, saltiest, most disgusting liquid I'd ever had the displeasure to have in my mouth. It even beat the liquid form of penicillin I was forced to take as a child when I came down with bronchitis every winter. I didn't think anything could beat that ... until now.
My head came up, and I spat out all the water I hadn't swallowed. I couldn't see, but I heard him laughing. Not a problem. I reached out in one swift motion and pulled his feet from under him.
Jordan went over backwards, and his audible laugh became a series of bubbles that floated up to the surface.
Even though I had a bit more time to right myself, playing in the ocean was something he'd grown up with and his response time was better than mine. We ended in a face-off, both of us laughing so hard we could barely manage to fight the constant pull from the ocean.
"Truce?” I asked.
"I don't know.” He wiped some water off his forehead before it could get into his eyes. “Were we having a moment?"
"If so, you must have had yours in private underwater,” I sniped.
"Well...” He raised an eyebrow. “At least now I know what you'd look like in a wet T-shirt contest."
"Yeah, that's been one of life's biggest unsolved mysteries until now.” I had an idea. “At least I'm not the one with the erection now."
A look of panic appeared on his face, and by the time he looked down to confirm what I'd told him, it was too late. I threw myself at him one last time and knocked him back into the water. Unfor-tunately, he wrapped his arms around my chest, and I was forced to pull him back up again if I wanted to breathe.
"Wow.” My voice had grown soft. “You're gullible, too."
"Wow is right,” came the reply, just as softly.
If he didn't unwrap himself from my body, one of us would be having a claustrophobic bathing suit in a moment. I don't think that would have bothered him in the least. In fact, he seemed perfectly comfortable with the way our bodies were inter-twined.
I don't know if I was comfortable with it or not. Maybe this is what he meant by having a moment, but it was one I couldn't share in his way. In my eyes, Jordan had years of interpreting this kind of closeness in a language I couldn't speak.
Instead of following whatever natural impulses he was feeling, he let me decide the outcome. It meant a great deal to me that he respected me enough to not do something rash and risk the friendship we were building. Whatever he was hoping for, I doubted I could give it to him.
No, I knew I wouldn't give it to him because that wasn't who I was.
He must have seen the confusion on my face and read my resolution because he suddenly released his grip and fell back into the water. I extended my hand, helped him up and together we started back for the car.
* * * *
Neither of us spoke as we dried off, but I think that was because we were busy talking to ourselves. His conversation was one I would rather have been privy to than the one trying to make itself heard in my head. It really sucked that the one person I could identify with and relate to was someone I was...
What? I think that was the part of the conver-sation I didn't want to explore, and shut the voice out before it could speak any further. Doing that was practically second nature to me now.
It was during the ride home that things really began to become uncomfortable. No matter how I sat or which side of my rear end I favored, it felt like there was sandpaper down there, and it was driving me nuts. To make matters worse, the more I wiggled,
however nonchalantly, the more the irritation spread. Before long, it was in the absolute worst area, and that really made me uncom-fortable. What the hell was it? A fish? Seaweed? Considering what the water tasted like, there was no telling what the hell was breeding in that water.
"Are you okay?” Jordan glanced over at me.
"I'm fine,” I lied.
"You're fine?"
I nodded, but he wasn't satisfied.
"You're practically breakdancing in your swimsuit."
"Breakdancing? That is so early eighties!” I couldn't believe he'd used that reference. “Something feels a bit uncomfortable down there, and I don't know what it is."
"Why didn't you just say something? It's sand.” Jordan rolled his eyes. “I guess maybe I should have mentioned it. Anytime you mess around in the ocean like we were, you're going to get some sand in your suit. Since we didn't shower at the beach, you probably wouldn't have noticed you had any down there. Just hop in the tub when we get back to the house."
"Believe me, I'm going to. And, for clarification purposes, we weren't ‘messing around.’ We were...” Playing with each other? That didn't sound right. Wrestling? Having a good time? It was all too damn suggestive! “We were in the ocean, that's all, and now I have sand up the crack of my ass and it's extremely uncomfortable.” At least it was sand and not something living. I was grateful for that. “I just hope I don't need help getting it all out."
"Don't tease."
"I mean medical help, you jackass!” It was my turn to roll the eyes. “I like a good adventure as much as the next person, but that's a little too Indiana Jones for me."
"Exactly how much of an adventure do you really like?” The hint of mischief had reappeared in his voice, and I immediately found myself interested.
"As long we can remain fully clothed in this adventure, run it by me. Otherwise, save yourself some bruises on the arm."
"I was thinking that, since you and I were talking about gay culture earlier, you might want to go out dancing tonight at a gay club.” He almost left it at that but decided to add something else, apparently just in case I misinterpreted him. “If nothing else, you would have the experience at your disposal for your writing.” Ah, he was appealing to my sense of the future. “You don't even have to dance if you don't want to."
"Uh...” It was a really wild prospect, and one that was extremely tempting just for the sake of doing it. On the other hand, doing it for that reason alone wasn't reason enough for the sake of practicality. I was trying to grow up and reach out for the person I wanted to be, only I really didn't know who I wanted to be—not anymore, if ever.
That could be part of the problem of why I'd stayed so “in touch with my inner child” and never entirely grown up. Despite not knowing who I did want to be, I knew exactly who I didn't. I didn't want to be a Kay-Mart manager. I had too much ambition and raw energy to settle for a life like that.
But I'd write about it. I wanted to write.
"Okay,” I heard myself say.
"You'll go?” Jordan seemed as surprised to hear it as I was to have said it.
"Yeah.” I flashed him a warning glance. “But I'm not going to promise I won't dance. I like dancing, so if you're embarrassed by it, then you don't have to hang around with me."
"You might want me to stick close.” He seemed a bit more serious than earlier. “You've never been to one of these before, and it can be a little overwhelming, especially in your case. There may be people who come up to you or stare at you or are a little more forward than you're used to. It may get uncomfortable."
"More forward than you?” Was that possible? “I find that a bit difficult to believe. Besides, I can handle myself. I've got a strong sense of wit, a sharp tongue and three years of martial arts training behind me."
"Riiight. Let me know when you get over your-self.” It was obvious he didn't believe me. “If anybody does get too close to you, just call them Mary. It should make them back off."
"I told you, I can handle myself."
"Oh, I don't doubt that. With that attitude of yours, I figure you've been handling yourself for years, since you won't let anyone get close enough to do it for you."
"You're really starting to annoy me again.” I flashed him a sour look. “Just because I said I'd go to a gay bar with you tonight doesn't mean we're bosom buddies. You don't get to talk about my sex life."
"I'm sorry.” He sounded sincere. Again, I was suspicious, and my suspicions were confirmed a moment later. “To be honest, I didn't think you had one.” It was the same damn thing I would have said if the situation were reversed.
Actually, I probably deserved that. I had never apologized to him about the other day, and now didn't seem like a good time. Despite this, I didn't feel bad about it. The opportunity would present itself, and Jordan and I were on even ground for the moment. I just hoped to God Jenny and Kenny didn't think the reason I was going out to the bar tonight was because I was gay. And if they had any suspicions or questions, I'd rather they asked me instead of Grandma. I could just imagine what would happen if she ever got word of this.
Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.
* * * *
The first thing I did after we walked in the door was jump into the shower. I'd never paid so much attention to my rear end in my entire life! It was still pretty raw, but I put some aloe lotion for sunburns down there to soothe it, which created yet another strange sensation. Two in one day. I was on a roll.
I didn't have my entire wardrobe at my disposal, but even if I had, I didn't know if I owned anything appropriate for a gay bar. Maybe that was actually a good thing. Jordan suggested something simple, like shorts and a T-shirt, and luckily that's what I had with me.
He tried several times to lend me a pair of his shorts, but that was just so he could say I'd been in his pants. I might be a little slow, but I wasn't entirely stupid. Besides, it was something I would have pulled.
Jordan was still in the shower, and I was attempting to get some of my clothes together to do a load of wash, when Lenny came into the bedroom with me.
"My mom says you're going out dancing tonight with Jordan."
"That's right.” I smiled at him and continued putting my clothes together.
"Do you like dancing?” For a nine-year-old boy, he was extremely direct in asking questions and intent on getting an answer, very much like his mother, I suspected.
"Yes.” I put down what was in my hand and gave him my full attention. “I like dancing very much. Do you?"
"No.” He eyed me curiously. “Are you going to bring home a boyfriend?"
"Not unless hell freezes over or somebody drugs me.” Where was he getting these questions from? Was this stuff talked about in the schools here? “Why would you think I'd bring somebody home after dancing?"
"I heard Aunt Diane on the phone tonight and she said you're a closet case."
"I don't know what makes your aunt Diane tick, but I hope it's a time bomb.” I'd better watch what I was saying. Kids had the most unpleasant habit of repeating everything they heard, and it was almost always to the wrong people. Case in point. “I was just joking about that. I'm sure your aunt Diane only made a passing comment and she didn't mean to sound like such a bi—” Oh, that would have been lovely to explain. First I want the woman to blow up and then I call her a bitch. Why not just tell him what I was really thinking? “...insensitive person."
"Do you like men? Aunt Diane said she thinks you do, but you just don't know it.” He paused. “It's that or you're a cong ... cong...” It was obvious he was trying very hard to come up with the word.
"Congenial? As in friendly? Social?"
He shook his head.
"Congested?” What was it? What had the witch said about me?
"Congenital idiot!” he announced triumphantly.
"Well, isn't that special?” Diane thought I was either gay or an idiot. At least she was willing to give me the benefit of the doubt, which is more than I can sa
y for any number of other people throughout the years. “Do you believe everything you hear?” The absurdity of that question hit me. “Look who I'm asking. A nine-year-old boy. You'd believe me if I told you the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles were out in your living room.” I couldn't believe this. “I'm starting to feel a bit stressed.” I buried my head in my hands.
"Want me to make you a martini?"
"Excuse me?” I looked at him. “Make me a what?"
"Whenever my mom or dad feels stressed, I make them a martini or sometimes a mint julep.” He could tell by the look on my face that I found it difficult to believe a word he said. “Don't you believe me?” I shook my head. “You put a few ice cubes into a mixer, then three things of gin and one tiny thing of vermouth. Stir until the cubes start to melt and then pour into a cold glass. Just before I give it to them, I add a piece of lemon or an olive, unless I'm making a gibson, then I add one of those small onions.” My mouth must have been wide open. “Do you want me to tell you how to make a mint julep?"
"No, I'm ... sure you know what you're doing.” Hell, I didn't even know how to make one. “In fact, it scares me no end that you know what you're doing. I thought you were fibbing at first, telling me a little white lie."
"There's no such thing as a little white lie!” he chastised me. “Besides, I don't have to lie like grownups do."
"You're a child. Children specialize in lying.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “I know this, see, because I was one once.” I didn't have a brother to blame things on like he did, though. “Later on in life, some of us get in touch with our inner child and start lying all over again. Fortunately, like yourself, I don't lie, either."
"Aunt Diane said you're still lying—to yourself. She said you're dying to become a sex donkey."
"Excuse me?” Did Jenny know what influence her friend was having on these children? Oh, hell, they already knew how to make two different kinds of martinis, so how much worse could it be? “Please, don't use words like that. It's really not good for someone your age to say them."
"Sorry.” He frowned and tried to rearrange words in his head. “She says you're dying to..."