Gay Fiction, Volume 1

by Mel Bossa

  Mary Jane was clutching a cell phone. “I’m just calling my mother,” she insisted.

  Athena folded her arms across her chest. “Bullshit,” she said. Her voice was solid and sexy, resonating with a take-charge attitude. Even in the dim moonlight in the alley, I could see Athena Parker was handsome. With her slicked jet black crewcut, broad shoulders, and a black tank top revealing her solid biceps, I imagined she had a million women chasing after her.

  Maybe I should introduce her to Starsky. My boss would fall head over jazz shoes for this woman.

  Mary Jane reminded me of a delicate bird. She was a little creature with a broken wing that had slipped out of the nest and was now permanently lost, never to find home again.

  She turned away from us and screamed at the brick wall, “Leave me alone!” Her baby-doll voice bounced off the building. Her words and heartache fell at our feet, drifting into the scattered rain puddles.

  Athena stepped toward her band mate. That’s when I saw the prescription bottle of pills in her hand. She held them out and shook them like a baby’s rattle. “What is this, Mary Jane? What is this crap I found in your purse?”

  “You went through my purse?”

  “Lay off the pills!” Athena bellowed. Her voice caused me to wince.

  Mary Jane tried to snatch the pills away from Athena, but she was too slow and the drummer’s hands were too quick. “Don’t tell me what to do, Athena,” Mary Jane fumed, clearly not enjoying the impromptu game of keep-away in the alley. “Stay out of my business!”

  “This happens to be my business, too! I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am and I’m not about to let some fucking little pill popper ruin my chances.”

  Mary Jane broke out into tears. “Don’t talk to me like that!”

  Athena grabbed both of the blond girl’s shoulders. She shook her for a second. I took a step forward, concerned she’d break Mary Jane in two. The bass player flopped back and forth like a rag doll before surrendering to the grip Athena had on her. “Now, you listen to me, Mary Jane Lewis. You get yourself straightened out and you do it now. This band has enough problems with Brenda. We don’t need you doped out of your head also.”

  Mary Jane wiped her eyes. “Athena, I’m under a lot of pressure right now.”

  “And I’m not? And Diego isn’t? There’re other people in this band besides you and it means a lot to us, so don’t fuck it up.”

  Athena released her hold. Mary Jane made one more attempt to swipe the bottle from Athena. She lost the battle once again. “I hate you!” she shrieked before going back inside.

  Athena started to follow her, shouting, “Mary Jane, I am not finished talking to you!” Athena stopped and made eye contact with me. “You’re Justin, right?” she asked, her tone and mood shifting.

  I nodded, secretly hoping I hadn’t pissed her off for something and now she wanted to kick my ass.

  She reached out a hand. I shook it. “Athena Parker,” she said. “Drummer and former debutante.”

  “Justin Holt,” I replied. “Barista and son of a farmer.”

  She grinned. “Sorry you had to see that.”

  “I’m sorry you guys are going through some…stuff,” I replied.

  She put an arm around my shoulders like we were long-lost friends. “Diego said you two are heading over to the hotel,” she said.

  I nodded, again.

  “Do you think you could do me a favor?” she asked. “I’m kind of caught in a bad situation.”

  “Sure. What do you need me to do?”

  She took a breath and held my curious stare. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m dating Veronica Marie.”

  I tried to hide my shock, but it was futile. “The supermodel from Brazil?” I said, sounding like Darla’s twin.

  It was Athena’s turn to nod. “Of course nobody knows about us,” she explained.

  “Of course,” I replied.

  “She got back from Paris early. She wasn’t supposed to meet me in Chicago until tomorrow night,” Athena said. “Once you get to the hotel, I need you to go to room 512 and give someone a message for me.”

  “What sort of message?” I asked, intrigued.

  “Can you tell my girlfriend that Veronica Marie is back in town? Tell her she needs to lay low. Move to a different hotel.”

  “Your girlfriend? I thought Veronica Marie was your girl—” I stopped the second the situation became clear to me. “Ohhh,” I said, still channeling Darla. “You mean your other girlfriend.”

  Athena smiled again. I wanted to tell her she had beautiful teeth. “Exactly.” She laughed. “She’s already at the hotel waiting for me. I called but she never answers her phone. I still have to help load up the van. I’m worried that Veronica Marie will get there first, and I definitely don’t want those two running into each other. Besides, we have an interview with some guy.”

  “Geoffrey Cole,” I told her.

  She gave me a look and said, “Excuse me?”

  “Your interview is with Geoffrey Cole. He’s going out with my friend Darla tonight. That’s why she went backstage with that scary woman Nina. They have a plan to stall Geoffrey. That’s why I’m out here with Brenda—or Halo, or whatever her name is now. I’m also waiting for Diego. He said he needed to get his guitar and that he was coming right back, and all I want is—” I stopped. I was rambling like an idiot.

  “You’re adorable,” Athena said. “No wonder Diego is so in love with you.”

  “Really? He said that?” I asked.

  She nodded again and asked, “So…do you mind going over to the hotel and giving Rebel Crawford the message for me?”

  “No, I don’t mind.”

  “Thank you!” she said, relieved. “You’re saving my life.”

  “You’re welcome, I guess.”

  “Between me and you, I would’ve asked Diego to do this for me, but he gives me a lot of shit for having two girls.”

  “Does he?”

  “He’s ridiculously faithful,” she said. “So, I hope you’re ready for that sort of thing.”

  I smiled and nodded.

  Athena moved to the stage door. “Just tell Rebel to get another room and put it on my credit card,” she said. “I’ll find her later.”

  And with that, she was gone.

  The alley seemed to exhale again with relief and exhaustion, worn out by all that occurred there within the last half an hour.

  I, too, felt tired and overwhelmed.

  What a night, I thought. And it’s not even over yet.

  I longed to be deep beneath a blanket, curled up on my futon in my tiny apartment, tucked safely away. Already I wanted to slip out of this insane world I had stumbled into and return to the simplicity of my boring, everyday life.

  But I knew nothing would ever be the same. Now that Diego and I had found each other, there was no turning back.

  I glanced up to the sky and searched for a star.

  When I couldn’t find one, I settled for the moon.

  I closed my eyes.

  And I made a wish.

  Chapter Nine

  “How do we escape?” Diego asked me during the cab ride to the hotel. The three of us were crammed in the backseat. I was sitting between him and Halo with Diego’s guitar case pressed against my ribs. The air was hot and stuffy. I felt trapped. I thought about asking the driver if we could roll down a window or at least turn off the heat gusting out of the vents in the dashboard. But the old man was too busy listening to the eleven o’clock news on the radio.

  Is it that late already? The night is slipping by.

  “All I wanna do is be alone with you,” Diego whispered in my ear. He placed his hand in mine. I prayed my palm wasn’t sweaty.

  Despite the choking heat, the darkness inside the cab made holding hands with Diego seem romantic, even sentimental. But then I turned to my right. I took one glance at the drunken, passed-out mess sitting next to me, and the moment was ruined.

  We zipped by Navy Pier, coasted around
the edge of Lake Michigan, and soon arrived beneath the bright, twinkling lights of the entrance to a fancy hotel on Michigan Avenue, in the middle of the Magnificent Mile.

  Within a matter of seconds, Diego paid the cab driver, had a brief curbside conversation with a blond male bellhop, and managed to maneuver a semiconscious, puke-stained Halo Kat out of the backseat. By the time I crawled out of the cab, the bellhop and Halo were gone. Diego met me on the sidewalk, where he stood gripping his acoustic guitar case.

  “Where’s Halo?” I asked, momentarily blinded by the Las Vegas–like illumination pouring all over us from the hotel marquee above.

  “I paid the guy fifty bucks to take her upstairs and sober her up,” Diego explained.

  “Poor man,” I said.

  We were standing on the curb, face-to-face. Strangers moved past us in a constant flowing river of bodies, anxious to catch a train, or get home, or escape the brisk night air.

  “So…we’re alone for a few minutes,” Diego said. “Me and you.”

  “Until the interview?” I asked.

  “Until the interview,” he answered. “Then, after…”

  “Don’t worry,” I assured him. “I’m not going anywhere, Diego.”

  “I hope not, Justin,” he said. “It’s taken me over twenty-five years to find you.”

  “I’ve been warned about going out with older guys.” I said.

  He grinned. “How much older?”

  “You’ve only got three years on me. I turned twenty-two in September.”

  “I’m robbing the cradle,” Diego said. A chilly wind swept down the sidewalk and slid through the space between our bodies. Strands of his blue and magenta-streaked bangs fell into his face. I fought the urge to reach out and push them away from his warm, dark eyes.

  “I’m more than happy to be stolen,” I replied.

  I don’t know if it was on pure impulse, but Diego stepped forward, held my face in his hands, and kissed me softly. As he pulled away, I dared him, “Do it again.”

  We kissed a second time with more intensity. One of the marquee lights above us crackled, flashed, and died.

  “I knew it,” he said, glancing up at the blackened bulb with a smile. “We’re electric.”

  “Or maybe just incredibly insane,” I offered.

  His smile dimmed. “If that’s hesitation in your voice, I don’t wanna hear it.”

  “Maybe just a little bit of reality is sinking in,” I said.

  “I’ve always preferred magic,” he told me.

  “I’m not sure…” I began, but words failed me. I took a breath, started again. “I’m not sure…if I fit into your life.”

  In response, Diego pulled me toward him, wrapped a strong arm around me, and said, “I saved room for you.”

  “Maybe so,” I said, into his neck. “But I never want to be in the way.”

  “Hey,” he said. “Why so serious tonight?”

  “I’ve had five weeks to think too much.”

  “Me too,” he reminded me. “There’s a lot of exciting things happening for me—for the band. But none of it matters to me…without you.”

  “Do you always say such nice things?”

  “No,” he said. “Sometimes I can be a jerk.”

  “Is that a warning?”

  “I’m not perfect, Justin.”

  “Neither am I,” I said.

  He looked deep into my eyes. I caught a glimpse of the sparkling hotel lights reflected in his beautiful gaze. “But we’re perfect for each other.”

  I took a breath and swallowed the rising wave of emotion flooding my throat.

  “How long do we have?” I asked.

  He looked confused. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m assuming you’re not staying in Chicago for long.”

  “A few days maybe. We’re waiting to hear about a European tour. And a possible record deal. We released a single independently. Nina says it’s getting a lot of airplay and buzz.”

  I sighed. “Then we should make the most of every second we got.”

  “What do you wanna do?”

  It was then I remembered the promise I’d made to Athena. I needed to pass on the message to her girlfriend. I needed to go to room 512 and have a quick conversation with someone named Rebel Crawford.

  “Meet me in the hotel bar in fifteen minutes,” I said, assuming they had one.

  Diego gave me a strange look, followed by a delicious grin. “Okay,” he said. “Why so mysterious?”

  “I have to do a fast favor for a friend and then I’ll join you,” I explained.

  He seemed satisfied with that. “Should I order you a drink?”

  Yes, please. Or maybe seven.

  I nodded. “Absolutely.”

  “You can tell a lot about a guy from the drink he orders. What’s your poison?”

  “Amaretto sour,” I said.

  “Hmm,” Diego said. “A little sophisticated. A little sweet. But full of surprise.”

  “What do you drink?”

  “After a few shots of tequila?” he said. “Just about anything.”

  *

  Loud music was seeping out of room 512, floating beneath the door, and spilling into the hallway. I knocked a third time, harder. Finally, the desperate sound of Juliana Hatfield’s voice dimmed and the volume hushed, then muted completely.

  The door clicked open. I stood looking down into the cherub face of a petite punk girl in fishnets, combat boots, a pleated plaid skirt, and a tight black T-shirt with the words 45 Grave stenciled across her buxom chest. Her eyes were heavily outlined in black. Her lipstick was too dark for her pale complexion. Both of her eyebrows were pierced and a tiny diamond stud sparkled on the side of her nose. Her jet-black hair was styled in exact replication of Bettie Page’s famous do.

  I wondered if Rebel Crawford was a singer. If she wasn’t, she should’ve been—she had the look.

  “Didn’t you hear me?” she asked. “I said ‘come in’ like fifty times already.”

  “I hope this is the right room,” I said, even though it so clearly was. “Are you Rebel Crawford?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Yeah, who are you?”

  “I’m Justin Holt—”

  She made a weird gesture with her hand, circular and fast—a visual cue to hurry up, to get to the point. “And?” she prompted me.

  “Athena sent me with a message for you.”

  At the mention of Athena’s name, her expression softened, “What did she say? Is she here?”

  “She wanted me to tell you Veronica Marie is back early. You need to get another room. She said to put it on her credit card.”

  She looked like she wanted to punch me in the face. “Are you fucking serious?”

  “She said she’d find you later,” I reassured her.

  Rebel grabbed the sleeve of my black hooded sweatshirt and pulled me into the room. For being so little, she was surprisingly strong. “I don’t believe this shit.” The door to the hotel room closed behind me with a loud metal click. I swallowed, feeling nervous and more than a little trapped. The room was huge. It wasn’t a penthouse suite, but close to it.

  How in the hell is Athena affording this place?

  “Sorry,” was all I could think of to say to Rebel.

  “I hate that woman!” she said. She moved around the room like a whirlwind, grabbing clothes, shoes, CDs, magazines. She reached for a zebra-striped train case on the bureau. She placed it in the middle of the enormous bed, near the messy pile she’d created of her belongings, and flipped it open. It was overflowing with makeup, bottles of nail polish, and huge metal cans of hair spray. “No, no—I don’t hate her,” she said. “It’s not her fault she’s beautiful and perfect and has Athena wrapped around her anorexic finger.”

  “I don’t think she’s very pretty,” I offered. “She’s just…tall.”

  “Thanks a lot,” Rebel tossed at me with a catlike sneer. “I can’t help it if I’m short.”

  “No. I meant—”
>
  “Whatever you do, never agree to an open relationship,” Rebel told me.

  “Okay,” I said with a nod and a stupid grin.

  “Seriously, it’ll just fuck with your head. You’ll end up crazy and pissed off. Just like me.”

  “Thanks for the advice,” I said.

  “Wait. Who are you exactly?” she asked, squinting again.

  “I’m Justin. I’m…with Diego.”

  She smiled at me for the first time, since we’d met. “Ohhhhhh,” she said. “You’re the one he’s all obsessed with.”

  I nodded. “I think so.”

  “He hasn’t stopped talking about you for weeks,” she explained. “What the hell did you do to the poor guy?”

  “Nothing,” I said, with a shrug,

  “Damn it! Tonight’s our five-month anniversary,” she said, still adding items to the growing heap on the bed. “I guess this means I won’t be going to Europe with them. Fuck, I need to pack. Will you help me?”

  “Uh…sure.”

  Rebel and I froze then. We heard a woman’s angry voice in the hallway, just outside of the room. “This place is a fucking dump! Five-star, my ass!”

  Rebel’s eyes grew wide. I felt my heart begin to pound. “Oh shit! It’s Veronica Marie!” she said. Rebel looked at me, pleading with me to come up with a solution—and fast. “What do I do?”

  “Hide,” I answered.

  “Where?”

  “In the bathroom.”

  We quickly gathered all of Rebel’s belongings, scooping them up in our arms, clutching them with our hands: her train case, Sex Pistols purse, tangerine-colored suitcase, and clothes.

  I followed her into the bathroom, dropping a high-heeled shoe along the way. Rebel jumped into the shower, clinging to her things. I retrieved the shoe, tossed it into the tub with her, and pulled the palm tree shower curtain closed.

  “Don’t breathe,” I said.

  “Get rid of her,” she insisted.

  I made it out of the palatial marble bathroom just as an electronic key slid into the lock with a click. The door swung open, revealing a group of people. I stood at the foot of the king-sized bed with what I’m certain was a dumbfounded expression on my face.