The Boys of Banana Court: Box Set

by Alex Carreras

  Isaac looked around the small apartment as Mohammed brushed his teeth behind a half-closed door. The apartment was cozier than Isaac first realized, but the previous night when he’d entered, he had other things on his mind; throw pillows in muted colors and playful knick-knacks not even registering. Catching his attention, the glint of sunlight off a silver frame, Isaac walked to a picture that was of Mohammed and a pretty blonde, both smiling, Mohammed’s arm draped casually over her shoulder. They looked happy, and the seemingly candid shot made him smile.

  “Who’s this?” Isaac shouted over the sound of running water. “Can’t be your sister since she’s so light to your dark.”

  Faucets squeaked, and the water stopped. “Emma,” Mohammed said, stepping into the room. “She’s my girlfriend.”

  Chapter Two

  Isaac cautiously turned the handle to his front door. He knew that his parents were home because their vehicles were parked in the drive and the last thing he felt like doing was seeing them. He needed time to process the fact that the man he had just slept with had a girlfriend.

  After successfully opening the door and stepping into the foyer, his mother called from the kitchen, ruining any chances of some much-needed time alone.

  “Isaac, is that you?”

  “Who else would it be,” he mumbled under his breath, closing the door behind him.

  “What was that?” she tried again.

  “Yes,” he answered, trying his best to keep his tone from revealing his true feelings. That would be the last thing he’d want to do when it came to Sandra Brownstein, perfectionist extraordinaire and all-around high achiever. She even married another high achiever, Isaac’s father, Samuel Bronstein who she met and married after getting her bachelor’s and before going to graduate school, eventually graduating with honors. She was intelligent and articulate and always said what was on her mind.

  “Can you come in here for a moment? I’d like to be reminded of what my son looks like.” She could also be dramatic when it suited.

  Isaac dragged his feet, which were getting heavier by the second, down the hallway to the back of the house and into the kitchen. When he walked into the room, he was met by his mother’s steely stare, which always unnerved him no matter how hard he tried.

  “Hi, Mom.” Even to him, his greeting sounded forced. “Where’s Dad?”

  “He fancied pancakes.” She was seated at a rectangular table, which Isaac always remembered being there. The newspaper was scattered over it.

  He chose not to sit. “So, he went out to get a mix?”

  “No,” she answered, peering over tortoise-rimmed reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose. “He went to that breakfast place on Lemon to eat pancakes. I’m not in the mood to clean up after him today.”

  He nodded and hummed.

  “Have you had anything to eat? There’s cereal in the cupboard.” She looked in the direction of where the cereal had always been stored. “It’s over there in case you’ve forgotten.”

  “I was here yesterday, but you weren’t. We just passed.”

  “Who was here, then?”

  “No one.”

  “Then I have to take your word for it, don’t I?”

  “Was there something you wanted to speak to me about?” Isaac could not believe he was asking such a question, but he wanted to move the conversation along so he could get in the shower and wash off last night’s regret. He waited as Sandra’s gaze flitted lazily over the newspaper and then back to him. “Have you been out all night? You have dark circles under your eyes. You’re too young for dark circles.”

  “I stayed with the guys.” It wasn’t a lie, at least not to Isaac. He had seen the guys, had a drink with the guys, so in his mind, it translated to staying with the guys.

  “How are Mitch and Josh? Since they got their apartment, I don’t see them very often. You know they can still come around. They are always welcome here.”

  “Thanks,” Isaac said, softening to his mother. “They know that, but I’ll tell them anyway.”

  “Are they getting along okay? Hopefully, they’re not drinking too much, but I suspect that they are. I guess its normal behavior. They are of that age.”

  “I’m the same age.”

  “Is this you admitting that you’re drinking too much?”

  Isaac wished he were drinking right then. “No. Thought I would just mention it.”

  She smiled tightly. “I’m glad to hear it. You’re a smart boy, but even smart people make stupid decisions, especially when alcohol is involved.”

  “I had one beer last night. Two at the most.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “New club. Saw a few people.” He was always purposely vague with the details of his life where his parents were concerned.

  “Did you have a good time?”

  “Good enough.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder and toward the door. “I have to work at eleven so…”

  “Is that what you’re going to be doing this winter break?”

  “It’s what I’ve been doing since junior year of high school.”

  She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Exactly my point. Why don’t you do something else this year?”

  No doubt she had a list of suggestions.

  “Like what?”

  “Have you started applying to other colleges? See if your credits can transfer?”

  “I don’t intend to transfer next year. I’m staying here.”

  She dropped her gaze and began leafing through the papers, selecting none. “You actually want to stay at community college?”

  “I like it. Plus, I have a scholarship.”

  Sandra sighed. “We can afford your education. We’ve been planning since your birth.”

  “Why waste money? I thought that would appeal to your sensible side.”

  “Sensible? What’s sensible is someone who is as intelligent as you going to a real school—Brown, UVA, George Washington, anywhere but where you are going.”

  “Just because you went to Brown doesn’t mean I want to.”

  She sighed again and looked up. “Then choose one of the others I mentioned or one that I didn’t, but I would like to be in on the process. Your father would, too. He, of course, is pulling for Penn State, but I said you wouldn’t go there.” Isaac wanted to say he would gladly go to his father’s alma mater, but he suspected she was setting a trap. He had grown wise to his mother’s tactics to manipulate over the years.

  “Mom, can we have this conversation at another time when I don’t have to be somewhere, or when Dad is around? Because I don’t feel like having this conversation all over again.”

  “He’ll go along with whatever you want.”

  “Except what I really want, which is staying put until I know what I want to do and where I want to do it.”

  “Choosing the right school will help you with all that.”

  “So you keep saying.”

  “Yes. You’re right,” Sandra said. “I do. But you don’t listen.”

  “You are wrong. I do listen, but ultimately this is my decision because it’s my life. Do you understand how that works?” He stabbed his chest with his index finger, a visual to help demonstrate the point. “My life.”

  “Don’t use that tone please,” Sandra warned. “I really don’t appreciate it.”

  “And I don’t appreciate the Spanish Inquisition.”

  “We’re not Spanish. This is simply a mother who is watching out for the welfare of her son. I’m sorry if you are taking offense and blowing it way out of proportion.”

  “Can I go now?”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Was I keeping you against your will?” Sandra shrugged only her left shoulder, appearing blasé. “Go fold T-shirts and clean out fitting rooms. Why should I care what you do with your life? I’m only your mother.” Marrying into Judaism and being raised Catholic, Sandra knew how to use guilt like a sword with the sharpest blade, slashing whoever stood in her way. She lifte
d the newspaper from the table, covering her face completely and blocking Isaac from her view, a passive-aggressive act as effective as a concrete wall.

  He stood there, staring at a black and white picture of cars that had crashed and were now reduced to a heap of mangled steel. His heart raced with anger, and his hands clenched to his side.

  “If you can squeeze it in,” Sandra said, “try to get a nap in before work, just a few recuperative minutes. You could use them.”

  * * * *

  All Isaac wanted to do was crawl into bed, pull the covers over his head, and stay there for the entire winter break. He didn’t want to discuss colleges, his future, how dark the circles under his eyes were, and above all, he didn’t want to discuss bisexual men who had pretty, blonde girlfriends who looked extremely sweet and downright likable. He certainly didn’t want to discuss any of that, especially the last part. That bitch!

  He stared at his bed and considered stealing a few quick minutes but turned right instead, to head to the bathroom and the shower. After a long warm shower, he’d feel more like himself again and less like the dirty louse who slept with someone’s boyfriend.

  Chapter Three

  Mohammed Connelly idled outside his girlfriend’s house, waiting for a response from an earlier text he had sent her stating that he had arrived. He was answered by Emma opening the front door and half walking, half skipping down the sidewalk to his car, her parents standing at the threshold waving and smiling. Mohammed returned the wave as Emma got into the car, gave him a quick kiss on his cheek, and then buckled up. When she looked like this—cheeks flushed to a peachy pink and her crystal blue eyes starry—Mohammed almost believed that he truly loved her and nothing could ever stand in the way of that love—almost. That day, he didn’t allow his gaze to linger on hers because he feared that one day she would see through him and recognize the liar that he was.

  “Hey, babe.” He was always casual with her after a night of cheating. He’d even begun to recognize his own patterns. “You look pretty today.”

  Her laugh added another chink to his heart. Emma smoothed her hands over her skirt, the same color of her cheeks. “Mom bought this for me yesterday.”

  He took a quick assessment, running down important dates in Emma’s life and coming up with nothing noteworthy. “What’s the occasion?”

  “None.” He could have sworn she shimmied in her seat. “She said it was just because. Nothing more. Just because.”

  “Your parents love you.”

  Emma’s smile waned as she shot a look at Mohammed. “Yours love you too. They just show it differently.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not upset that your mom bought you a dress and mine didn’t.”

  Her burst of laughter lifted his spirits. “I think you’d look better in separates, anyway, yellow ones. Goes with your swarthy complexion.”

  Looking coy, he said, “I’ll take your fashion advice into consideration the next time I’m at the mall.”

  “Which we’re going to right now.”

  “I thought we were meeting Pete and Andrea for lunch.”

  “Change of plans. Pete’s not feeling well and asked for a rain check.”

  “Did he hit the bar too hard last night?”

  “I suspected as much, but Andrea swears he has the twenty-four-hour flu.”

  “Yeah,” Mohammed scoffed. “Brought on by Sam Adams followed by a Jack Daniel’s chaser.”

  Emma smacked his arm playfully. “It’s not nice to talk about people. It’s rude.”

  “But it’s fun.”

  She gave him that look that said she didn’t approve but wouldn’t stop him if he continued.

  “You’re such a WASP,” he said jokingly. “And I love it.”

  She redirected her attention to the view through the windshield.

  This area of Sarasota was where doctors, lawyers, and well-to-do retirees lived. The streets were shaded by mature oaks and magnolias, and sidewalks laid long ago. It smelled of old money—a smell Mohammed rather enjoyed. He respected the speed limit, which allowed him to take it all in with a leisurely glance. He wanted to live there one day or in a neighborhood much like it. It signified success and security. And it assured a happy life.

  * * * *

  “That was fast.” Isaac watched Josh walking toward the cash register where he was standing and supposedly working, except that his mind kept wandering to the night before instead of tracking hourly sales like his boss wanted him to do. But he didn’t care how many pima cotton tees he had sold in the last hour or about the new, slim-cut faded jeans that every gay boy in town kept calling to ask for and put on hold. He had more important things on his mind. Mohammed.

  “I was driving by when I got your text.” Josh’s eyes roamed the sales floor. “Where are those jeans everyone’s been talking about?”

  “I didn’t ask you here so you could do some shopping.” Sometimes Josh could be so one-dimensional. “My life is unraveling.”

  “What are you talking about?” Josh stroked a long-sleeved shirt in lilac. “Last night you left with the cutest guy in the club. What could be so bad?”

  “He’s cute alright.”

  “See?”

  “And he’s straight?”

  “W–w–what?” Josh stuttered, now paying attention, his eyes the size of quarters.

  “Yep,” Isaac said in a whisper. “You heard me. He’s straight.”

  “But didn’t you have sex?”

  Isaac nodded. “A few times.”

  “Then he’s not straight.”

  “I saw a picture of his very pretty girlfriend.”

  “That’s his beard.” Josh rolled his eyes. “The dude’s in the closet because straight guys don’t suck cock.”

  “Or he could be bisexual.”

  “How selfish.” Josh made a tsking sound that sounded like disapproval. “Bisexuals are so greedy. It’s just wrong. No one should be allowed to have all that choice.”

  “What am I going to do about it?” The store phone started to ring, but Isaac ignored it as he waited for Josh’s answer.

  “Do you have to do something?” Josh shrugged. “I mean you don’t really have to see him again.”

  That was not what he was expecting to hear … or wanted to hear. “I guess not, but there was this connection between us. I’ve never had sex like that in my life. He did everything right. It was as if he was reading my mind and then fulfilling everything I wanted him to do to me.” Just talking about it started to make Josh’s cheeks flush and his underwear grow tight. “I don’t know how to explain it, except he drove me wild.”

  “Damn, dude, that’s unfortunate.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because you have it bad. I can tell.”

  “I know. He’s perfect in every way.”

  “Except that he’s a closet case and a cheat.”

  “I was trying to forget about those things.”

  “That’s why I’m here, to remind you.”

  Isaac was beginning to regret texting Josh. At first, he had considered Mitch but remembered that he was at work too. He gazed around the store that was beginning to fill with customers who were giving him looks as if to say, “Would you help me please?” He groaned and pointed to a wall full of built-in shelves. “Those jeans are over there. I hid two in your size on the bottom shelf. Don’t tell anyone I did that for you, or I’ll have all the guys begging me to do it for them. I have to take care of some of these people.”

  Josh darted toward the shelf in question as Isaac helped a couple who spoke little English and sported fresh sunburns. After selecting two outfits for each, so they could be the envy of their small German towns, he rang them out and found Josh standing in front of the three-way mirror admiring his jean-clad ass. Isaac had to admit the pants did work wonders for the butt.

  “What do you think?” Isaac asked, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at Josh, posing and posturing.

  “I think I’m hot. I’ll take
both pair.”

  “That’s nice to know, but I was referring to Mohammed.”

  Josh turned to face Isaac. “The way I see it is, there is nothing you can do. He’s not being true to himself or to his girlfriend. Do you really want to walk down that messed up path? I know I wouldn’t, because it leads to confusion and, I venture to guess, heartache. So, save yourself some, chalk it up to a night of great sex with a hot guy, and move on. You’ll be glad you did.”

  Isaac knew that his friend was right, but why was he struggling so much? If the shoe was on the other foot and Josh was asking the same questions, wouldn’t he be giving the same advice?

  Isaac sighed, feeling more defeated than relieved. “I guess you’re right.”

  “I know I’m right.” Josh tapped his finger on Isaac’s chest, somewhere in the vicinity of his heart. “And deep down in there, you know I’m right, too.”

  Isaac uncrossed his arms and placed his hands in his pocket. He nodded. “Will it be cash or credit?”

  Josh gave him a sympathetic smile. “Cash. It’s in my pants pocket in the dressing room.”

  “I’ll meet you at the register.”

  “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. But you deserve better.”

  “Thanks,” he replied. “I know I do. And thanks for your honesty.”

  “Sure thing, bro.”

  Isaac waited, watching customers shopping as Josh changed. They were all couples, smiling and laughing and some even holding hands. When is it my turn? he thought as he watched a woman who much resembled Mohammed’s girlfriend select a graphic tee off the rack and then another.

  She turned to him and asked the cost.

  “Twenty,” he said. “Two for thirty. We’re having a sale.”

  Her smile broadened, making her that much prettier. “Perfect,” she said, draping them over her arm with more care than necessary. “They’ll look great on my boyfriend.”

  Isaac walked toward her. “You can leave them with me. They’ll be waiting at the register when you are ready.” Taking the T-shirts, he returned her smile, but then his blood turned cold when he realized it was Mohammed’s girlfriend. He was aware that he almost dropped the shirts when he caught the sole of his left shoe against the laminate wood floor causing him to stumble, the squeak catching the attention of a few nearby customers. Isaac mumbled an apology before turning to scamper away, but Mohammed’s sexy lilt stopped his legs from working.