Gay Fiction, Volume 1

by Mel Bossa

  Nick didn’t say much, aside from a grunt here or there. Once in a while, when Johan raised his voice a bit, Nick would sigh heavily or chew on his thumbnail.

  Trying to understand what they were saying helped me keep my mind off my episode and slowly, my breaths became deeper.

  Then Johan looked up to the rearview mirror. “Nicolai says we shouldn’t tell your aunt you were out with them tonight. What do you think, Derek? Do you think I should lie to your auntie? Do you think a young man should avoid responsibility or consequences for his actions? Do you think it’s how good men behave? Should we all connive and deceive the women who care about us?”

  I had the feeling he wasn’t really talking to me.

  “Should we? What do you think? What is the proper and honorable way to deal with this mess? You tell me.”

  Nick sank back into his seat. “Dad, why don’t you leave the poor kid alone?”

  The poor kid. Is that what I am to Nick?

  “I think we-we shuh-shu-should tell my-my aunt.” I said, trying to sound brave. “I want to.”

  Johan pulled up in their driveway. He sighed. “I think so too.” He turned to Nick. “See, the boy’s eleven years old and he has more guts than you do. Go inside. Mom wants to talk to you, and I suggest you don’t argue with her.”

  There was nothing I could do for him.

  I watched Nick climb out of the van and walk up the stairs. He pushed the front door open and then crept inside. Johan rubbed his face. “What am I going to do with that boy?” He came around and opened the door for me. “You want me to come with you, or can you handle this on your own?”

  “I’ll be okay by-by myself.”

  “All right. Listen to me. You’re a good boy, Derek. I know you don’t have it easy. I know you miss your dad.”

  I don’t miss Dad at all, but I let him say it anyway.

  “Derek, I’m counting on you to try and keep Boone straight. His mom and I feel like he’s trying to follow down his brother’s path, and that’s not a good thing. There’s not much we can do for Nicolai, he’s too headstrong, too angry, but Boone, Boone we can still work on. I want you to be the voice of reason. Okay? You understand?”

  The thought of trying to keep Boone from doing anything is kind of funny. But I nodded. “But Mr. Lund, Johan…Nick isn’t that-that bad, he was on-on-only—”

  “There are things you don’t know about my son. He’s trouble. It’s best if you stay away from him.” Johan pointed to my front door. “Now go inside, before you freeze to death.”

  Trouble. What kind of trouble is Nick?

  Inside, Aunt Frannie was still on the phone. When she saw me, she hung up without saying good-bye. “Honey? What are doing? Were you outside?” She came to me and put her hands on my face. They were very warm. “Baby, you’re frozen. Where were you? I thought you were in bed. Where did you go, Derek?”

  I opened my mouth to explain, but a big fat sob came out instead of words. I couldn’t control it. Snot and tears shot out of me and my shoulders heaved up and down. “He-he was trying to de-defend himself,” I stammered between sobs. “He was only trying to ma-make them take it buh-back. He isn’t dumb.”

  Aunt Frannie smelled like Chantilly, baby powder, and cigarettes. “There, there. Did you get in some sort of fight, is that what happened?”

  I pulled away a little, and wiped my nose with the back of my sleeve. “Uh-huh.”

  “And don’t tell me. Boone was with ya.”

  I shook my head. “No, he’s grounded. It was Nick. But-but he didn’t ask me to co-co-come. Just wanted toilet pa-paper.”

  Aunt Frannie chewed on her bottom lip for a second, and then she threw her head back and sighed. “Nicolai Lund. That boy is so dangerous. His looks alone could kill you.”

  I wasn’t sure what she meant, but she had this dreamy look in her eyes. Then they cleared up and she got serious again. “I’m gonna run you a hot bath. Throw your clothes in the hamper and wrap yourself in your dad’s flannel robe.” She went to the hall closet to fetch a towel. “Now, how should I punish you? What would your mom do?”

  I thought about it for a while.

  Mom wouldn’t do anything.

  Then I thought of Nick and Boone. “I should be grounded until-til Saturday. And no-no TV.”

  Aunt Frannie popped her head out of the bathroom. “Sounds fair to me.”

  *

  I am dazed, for lack of a better word.

  Last night, over dinner (the first Nathan and I have had together since he came back from England, and that was eight days ago), Nathan raised his glass, proposing a toast. “To the man who brings color to my life.”

  That was sweet.

  Of course, I instantly became suspicious.

  He set his glass down, peering into my eyes. “Do you like the wine?”

  It was spectacular. As always.

  He drew in a long breath. “So,” he said, staring down at his hands. “I’ve been thinking.”

  My neck tensed up. Nathan is at his best when he is doing, not thinking. Every time he thinks too much, we end up doing something drastic.

  Like moving into a place we couldn’t afford if he ever lost his job.

  “Listen, Der. You know I’m not a sentimentalist.”

  Well. That’s an understatement.

  “But I think me and you, we have something solid.”

  I poked at my shrimp, feeling my heartbeat pick up the pace.

  “Hey, look at me,” he insisted softly. “No?”

  I nodded.

  Yes. Solid. Absolutely.

  Like cement.

  I chewed on my lip.

  I decided to try a bite and see if I could swallow it.

  “Derek. After two years, you’re still an enigma to me.” He sighed. “You know, I used to think that would bother me one day, but I realize, it only makes me crazier about you. Makes me want you even more.”

  The shrimp was definitely too spicy for my taste. Nathan swears by this fresh pepper puree. He dumps it into everything.

  “Der? Hello? You listening to any of this?”

  I glanced up. His ebony eyes flickered with a deadly anger for a moment. At least, I think they did.

  Maybe it was the candlelight.

  “Yes,” I promptly returned. “Go on.”

  “What are you thinking about right now?”

  Whenever people ask me that question, my mind goes blank. Imagine a vacant parking lot. Like that. Lots of expensive spaces filled with nothing.

  “Der?”

  I stuffed some rice into mouth, hoping to buy some time.

  “Derek O’Reilly. This is Nathan Ross putting in a request for a full sentence, please. I want nouns, verbs, and if you can manage an adjective or two, I’d be eternally grateful.”

  I smiled.

  He poured himself another glass. “Do you know what that smile does to me?” He took a sip, and I waited, watching the wax drip along the candle. “It kindles me,” he said. “Ignites my very soul.”

  Nathan is a closer.

  Life is a good deal to him.

  “These last two years have been the best years of my life. I can’t imagine a future without you.”

  The wax had clumped; it was going to tip the stick.

  “I know you need your space. I respect that. I can appreciate it. And that’s why I think we’re perfect for each other. Der—” He paused, then rose. “I guess what I’m trying to say is—” He pulled a box out of his pocket. “Derek, baby.”

  Please.

  A heart attack.

  An aneurysm.

  A flash of lightning through the bay window.

  My heart had begun pounding, and its demented rhythm only reminded me that I was alive. That meant having to hear and answer the coming question.

  “Let’s do it, Der. Let’s take this up a notch. You and me. What do you say? Will you marry me?”

  I’ve long ago come to terms with my homosexuality. I live it in a fairly healthy way. I’ve wor
ked through many issues through the years, and I pride myself on the progress I have made.

  I am not a fag. I’m gay.

  But marrying another man? Marrying. As in “husband and husband.”

  A nervous chuckle unfortunately escaped my treacherous lips.

  Nathan’s handsome features sagged. “Did you just laugh?” He shrank back.

  I sprung out of my chair. “No, Na-Nate, I-I just—”

  “You’re stuttering.”

  I raised a brow, trying to paint on the cutest possible expression on my face. “No, I didn’t.”

  “Yeah. You did. Just now.”

  “Okay, so?”

  “You only do it when you’re trying to hold something back.” He sucked in a short but determined breath, then swiftly rubbed his angular chin. “All right. Let’s try this again, okay?”

  Twice? I mean, twice?

  “Derek. Marry me.”

  My knees locked.

  He popped that box open and there it was. A silver band.

  Nice too.

  “We’re ready for this, Der. I know it. I feel it.”

  Forever. Monogamy. Forever.

  “Look into my eyes.” His eyes were like two puddles of shiny petroleum. “Marry me, Derek. We’ll have the biggest, most lavish wedding you could ever dream of. The whole deal, Der. Think Hotel Saint James. Think top hats and champagne fountain. Think fois gras and jazz.”

  My heart fluttered a little. Who can resist fois gras? Except me, of course, as I’m a vegetarian, but what’s that to Nathan?

  He pulled me close, binding me to his chest. “So?”

  The last two years have been the most symmetrical years of my life. Dark and light, bad and good have shared an equal part of my existence.

  That’s something, isn’t it?

  I lifted my eyes to his and smiled. “All right.”

  He spun me around, dipped me, and then kissed my mouth with a ferocious passion I haven’t gotten from him in too long. “Oh baby, we have got so much planning to do. We’re going to have an engagement party, of course—”

  “Of course.”

  His gaze wandered, as if he was imagining a ballroom filled with power and crystal. “We’ll make it chic, but intimate. Only our closest friends and family.”

  He means, his closest friends, as I have none.

  “We could do a Bal Masqué.”

  Now, how gay is that?

  Suddenly, he turned to me and frowned. “What do you think your parents will say?”

  I thought about it for a moment.

  Visualized myself sitting in their kitchen.

  Nathan brought my fingers to his lips. “Whatever they say, you know you have my support and understanding.”

  How is it possible for a man to constantly say the right things? Isn’t that God’s job?

  “Derek. I want you to be happy. I want the best for you. And I know I’m the man who can make that happen for you.”

  A closer should know when the deal has been sealed.

  No sense in overselling.

  He slid back into his seat and picked up his fork. “Okay, babe. Let’s finish dinner and go for a walk on the mountain, yes?”

  *

  We had a meeting this afternoon. A surprise meeting.

  The kind that comes with a tap on the shoulder and a somber face.

  We were told there’s going to be a merger. One branch will be dissolved. Another will merge with ours.

  “This is going to be transitional phase for us,” said Goldman (that’s my director). “I’m going to need your patience and cooperation. As we go along, you will be informed of the changes and your input will be considered. However—” His voice thickened with impending doom. “Some positions may be jeopardized.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?” asked Jake, livening up in his chair. Jake is the Q.A.S.T. (Quality Assurance System Testing) analyst. Big title, bigger ego. “You saying my job is on the line?”

  His job. Everything is me me me with this guy.

  “Jake.” Goldman rose and poured himself another cup of coffee from the portable machine.

  Why does it always look like he’s been sleeping in his Moores suit?

  “I don’t have any more information, I wish I could ease your mind, but right now, things are being looked into and we still haven’t figured out—”

  “Well. That’s just great. That’s fucking great.”

  Isabelle, our new translator, let out an explosive sigh. “Can we hear what the man has to say, please?”

  Jake shot her a mean look, then folded his arms over himself.

  Goldman shuffled some papers. “Okay, listen, guys. I know I have the best team here. I’m gonna do everything I can. But I’m gonna need your help. For the next few weeks, I need everybody here to be on their toes. This is crucial, you understand?”

  I glanced around.

  Everyone’s eyes were glued to the table. I could almost hear them subtracting their monthly expenses out of their unemployment check.

  I wasn’t feeling those fears. Why would I? I’ve got a boyfriend, fiancé, who makes enough money to support a small school. I’m taken care of. No worries.

  “I’m gonna turn you loose, I know you all have a full schedule today.” Goldman plucked the conference door opened. “But if there is anything you need to discuss with me, you’re all welcome to.”

  I picked up my empty paper cup.

  “Derek,” said Goldman, patting shoulders and shaking hands, “I’d like to talk you.”

  My breath burned my chest. Goldman has never even looked my way.

  He shut the door. “Sit down, please.” His smile was genuine enough.

  Okay. He wasn’t going to fire me.

  “More coffee?”

  I shook my head. “Thank you.”

  “All right.” He gave my face a quick sweep of the eye and leaned in. His face is lined with orange wrinkles. One of his hobbies is falling asleep in a tanning booth on Friday afternoons. “I want you to know that your job is safe. I’ve made sure of it.”

  I bit down on my lip, but then, made myself stop. I have to try to be more assertive in my body language. Or so Nathan says.

  “I know we haven’t had a chance to talk one-on-one, you and I, but I’ve been following your progress, and I have to say, I’m very pleased with your performance.” He took a noisy sip of his coffee. “I’d like to ask a favor of you.”

  The image of him whipping out his Viagra-friendly cock caused my anus to constrict.

  “I’d like you to keep things under control, you know, make sure everyone stays calm, make sure no one starts feeding the rumor mill. You know how these things get blown out of proportion. You seem like a levelheaded guy. Think you can do that?”

  On a average day, my spoken word count is between four and six. Aside from a nod and smile, my colleagues seldom even acknowledge my existence.

  Unless the paper tray is empty.

  “I think you’re a leader, the quiet type, but nonetheless a leader.”

  The only thing I lead is a boring life.

  “Well.” Goldman got to his feet. “I’m glad we talked.”

  I nodded. “Yes sir.”

  Chapter Three

  Dear Bump,

  Dad sent us a check.

  It must have been a lot of money because Aunt Frannie tucked it away in her shirt and had a big glass of Dad’s whiskey. “Oh boy,” she gasped, “we’re gonna be having a nice Christmas.”

  She promised we’d get a VCR and a new snow suit for me.

  Also, I think I’m turning into a pervert.

  My penis hurts.

  I’ve been rubbing it after lunch, and at night before I go to bed. And I’ve ruined it because it keeps leaking. Except, when it squirts, it feels so good that I can’t stop doing it some more. I can’t sleep if I don’t make it squirt.

  It all started when I slept over at Boone’s. That was two days ago. After we got our first snow. It was the day after his birthd
ay. November thirteenth.

  He turned twelve, so it’s his lucky year.

  “If you sleep over there,” warned Aunt Frannie, “you better be a good boy.”

  Of course I was gonna be a good boy.

  Why wouldn’t I be a good boy?

  When I rang the Lunds’ doorbell, my stomach twisted all up. My mouth tasted like metal. I clutched my bag and waited for someone to let me in. They hardly ever hear their doorbell, on account of all the noise the Lunds make.

  Eventually, Lene stuck her face in the window and came to the door. “Hello, Derek.”

  “Hello, Le-Lene.”

  “Boone says you’re sleeping over.” She looked me over. Her eyes are like a bedtime sky. She wore a yellow sweater and Sylvester the cat slippers. “What you got in the bag?”

  “My stuff.”

  “My bedroom is next to the living room. But I never sleep. You can come up and visit our baby later.”

  She turned on her heels and I let myself in.

  Inside, it smelled like lemon and beets.

  I set my bag down by the couch and walked to the kitchen. I stepped over the threshold. Mrs. Lund had her back to me, stirring something in a big ceramic pot. “Hi, Derek,” she greeted me without turning around, “Boone is downstairs. You know he’s still punished, but I expect you guys will be quiet, right?”

  “Yes-yes ma’am.”

  She spun around and wiped her hands on her pale blue apron. She had lipstick on her shiny mouth and her hair was tied back in a long blond ponytail. “Okay then, off you go.” She licked the spoon and smiled. “Supper is in ten minutes.”

  Supper? I had already eaten. I hadn’t planned on eating with the Lunds, on account of me wanting to vomit whenever I do. “Um, Mrs. Lund, I already had a sa-sa-sandwich with my-my aunt—”

  “A sandwich? Please, that’s not supper. You’ll eat with us. You’ll like it. It’s my specialty.”

  Mrs. Lund has the same exact eyes as Nick. They find a spot inside yours and make a nest. I couldn’t argue with her, so I nodded and left her smiling.

  I went downstairs to find Boone.

  He was in the playroom, watching Top Gun.

  Again.