by Mel Bossa
I draped my arms around Diego’s neck and glanced over his shoulder. On the tiled wall, our silhouettes were shadowed by the wavering candlelight.
I smiled at the image of us together, looming larger than life.
It was exactly how Diego made me feel.
*
We didn’t leave the apartment for the next three days. We subsisted on delivered food: Chinese, pizza, sandwiches from Leona’s. We ate. We made love. We showered. We talked about a future together. We were fueled by our newly discovered love.
I called in sick, to which a suspicious but pleased Starsky replied, “I hope you mean lovesick. As long as you promise to walk Hutch on your lunch breaks from now on, I gotcha covered.”
I read passages from Giovanni’s Room aloud.
Diego played his guitar, including a beautiful version of Bob Dylan’s “I Want You.”
On the second morning, he was inspired to write a new song he titled “Justin” that started with the line “You bought me a cup of coffee.”
We slept side by side, arms and limbs tangled together. We were determined to be as close to each other as possible. We dreamed of the places we would go together; how the world would be a better place to live in now.
We explored each other’s bodies with our hands, fingers, tongues, and mouths. We brought each other to the brink of unexplainable pleasure as we quickly discovered our hidden desires. And after each time we made love, I secretly knew in the back of my mind that no one would ever make me feel this way again.
*
Outside of the apartment, the sun was sliding down beneath the Chicago skyline on the third evening of our seclusion.
Diego sat shirtless in the corner of the one-room apartment, strumming his guitar. A half-smoked cigarette dangled from the edge of his mouth. I was lying stomach down on the futon, skimming through his favorite collection of Pablo Neruda’s poems.
The music stopped. Diego took a drag and exhaled a stream of smoke before he looked at me and said, “I know this sounds strange…but I miss my mom.”
I raised my eyes from the poetry and said, “You do?”
“Yeah,” Diego continued. “I feel bad for her, Justin.”
“I’m sure she thinks about you all the time,” I said.
“Maybe we could go see her.”
I sat up. “Of course we can. Whenever you want.”
“I want her to meet you,” he decided. “I want her to know you.”
“I’d like that, Diego.”
“Maybe…it’ll help her from being sad so much.”
“She still misses your father? After all these years? She never remarried?”
“You know,” Diego said, “I never really understood why…until now. Because of you.”
“What did I do?” I asked, grinning.
“The song I wrote about you…it came to me because…well, I was thinking…of what I would feel like…if you left me. If I never got to see you again, it would crush me,” he said. “Forever.”
“Do you think that’s how your mom feels?”
He nodded. “I never even met him. He died before I was born.”
“I think we should go see her, Diego.”
Diego lowered his eyes, back to the strings on his guitar. “I haven’t been a very good son to her. I think I left—and never went back—because I hated seeing her like that.”
“So fix it,” I said. “There’s still time.”
Diego dropped his cigarette into an almost-empty soda bottle. “You mean before the European tour?”
I felt the color dim in my cheeks. In the midst of our retreat from the world, I’d forgotten all about the impending tour.
Damn it.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have blown off the interview the other night,” I said. “I’m sure you’re in a lot of trouble. Especially with Nina.”
Diego shifted his focus back to the guitar. I watched as his hands as he strummed a few chords. “The guy canceled, actually,” he told me.
“He did?”
“Yeah. Athena left me a voice mail on my cell phone. I guess something came up at the last minute and he decided to reschedule.”
I wondered if that “something” was Darla Madrid.
“I think it was a lame idea anyway,” Diego told me. “I mean, why would anyone want to interview us? It’s not like we’re famous or anything. We don’t even have a record deal.”
“Yet,” I reminded him.
He smiled at me in response. He put his guitar aside and crawled to where I was on the futon. “Why do you look so sad, Justin?”
“Maybe we should talk about it,” I said. “The tour.”
“What’s there to talk about? We leave tomorrow. We’ll be gone for twelve days.”
“You’re leaving. Again.”
“Yeah, but this time…you’re going with me.”
I shook my head. “No can do,” I said.
“Bullshit. We’ll make it happen.”
“How? I have to work all week at Clouds. I have school. I’m interviewing next week for an internship at an advertising agency and I really want the position. Plus,” I said, “I don’t have a passport.”
“Fuck,” he sighed. “This sucks.”
“But you have to go, Diego. As much as I hate the thought of being away from you again, this is really important.”
“If I didn’t need the money—”
“I wish I could support us both, but being a barista isn’t exactly lucrative.”
He kissed my cheek. “Don’t worry. Someday, I’ll make enough to take care of us.”
“What will we do then?”
“Whatever you want.”
“Would we go to Los Angeles? Do you have an apartment there?”
“I rent a room from Athena. She owns a condo near the ocean. In Redondo Beach.”
“Must be nice.”
“Hey,” he said, “not all of us can be trust-fund kids. Her dad set her up for life.”
“Is her family that wealthy?”
“This band never would’ve happened without Athena,” he explained. “She takes care of us. All of us. She even paid for all of our equipment.”
“Wow,” I said. “She must really believe in you guys.”
“I think she wants the success more than me,” he said. “I just love to play guitar. I’m in it for the music. For the rock ’n’ roll. But Brenda is in it for the attention. And Athena…I think she wants to be known as the world’s greatest drummer. And Mary Jane…I’m not sure why she’s in this. Maybe she didn’t wanna teach first graders anymore.”
I placed a palm against his face. “I’m in this, too,” I promised.
He locked eyes with me. “No matter what?”
“No matter if you have to go to Europe for twelve days. No matter if I have to move to Los Angeles to be with you. No matter if I have to figure out a way to get used to all of this.”
Diego slid his hand into mine. Our fingers meshed together. A perfect fit.
“That means a lot to hear you say that, Justin.”
“I’m not giving up on you,” I said.
“Don’t,” he replied. “Once we make it big, we can go and live wherever you want.”
“Even if I want to stay in Chicago?”
“Hey,” he said, “this is my hometown.”
“It’s the best city in the world,” I said.
“You think so?”
“Yeah,” I said, “because this is where you found me.”
*
I woke up from a dream that left me feeling panicked. My heart was racing. I felt a thin layer of sweat across my forehead. My lips were dry and cracked. I thought about getting up and grabbing a bottle of water out of the fridge, but the futon was too comfortable to leave.
I didn’t know what time it was, but it was dark outside. I searched the room for the familiar red glow of my digital alarm clock. The numbers read 2:55.
The steam radiator in the far corner of my studio apartment hissed and gurgl
ed. The temperature outside must have dropped. December was right around the corner. Winter was looming over us, just like the European tour; the uncertainty of my and Diego’s future.
Do we even have one?
God, I hope so.
I took a deep breath and slid closer to Diego’s naked body.
His voice sliced through the darkness. “You can’t sleep either?”
“Did I wake you?”
“I’ve been thinking…”
“About what?” I prompted.
He let out a sigh of frustration. “How much I hate the thought of leaving you for twelve days.”
I reached for him, his skin. “That’s sweet.”
“So…maybe I won’t go.”
I pulled my hand away from him. I sat up, propping myself up on my elbows. “No…Diego…you can’t do that.”
“Why not?” he asked.
“I won’t let you.” It was the best answer I could come up with at almost three in the morning.
“It’s my decision, Justin. They can find another guitarist for the tour.”
“But why? No…you can’t do this because of me. I won’t let you screw everything up.”
“I don’t wanna leave you.”
“I know that.”
A wave of emotion cracked his words. “I’m scared.”
“What? Why?”
Is he crying? Oh my God, Justin, you made him cry. What an asshole you are.
I lay back down, draped an arm across his stomach.
“I’m scared I’ll go away. And I’ll come back. And when I do, you won’t want me anymore.”
“Diego, how can you say that?”
“I’m not an idiot, Justin. You’re a really hot guy.”
He’s insane. Or blind. Or desperate. Or…really, really sweet.
“No, I’m not.”
“What if you meet someone else? Someone who comes into the coffee shop. Or at school. Someone who isn’t in a band. A guy who can be here with you all the time. Give you what you deserve.”
I tightened my hold on him. “I don’t want anybody else but you,” I said.
I felt his body tense. “It’s not fair,” he said. “The timing of it all. I want to go on the tour. I want to keep making music. I want to become a better guitar player. But I also want this. I wanna spend every second of every day with you. I wanna wake up next to you every morning. I wanna write songs about you. Make love to you. Kiss you all the time. Hear stories about your goat farm in Georgia. I want you to read poetry to me and more books about boys falling in love in Paris. I want us to watch Like Water for Chocolate, and go on weekend getaways, and get into arguments at the grocery store.”
“You want us to fall in love,” I said.
Diego looked me in the eyes. In his, I saw a mixture of sadness and hope. His expression made me ache inside. “I think we already have,” he said.
I kissed him gently. “I think you’re right.”
“Then how, Justin? How do we make this work?”
“You can have it all, Diego. The band. Stardom. Me.”
“You’re willing to put up with it? With me being away sometimes?” he asked. “Rehearsals and songwriting? Late nights in the studio? Dumbass interviews and publicity? Brenda and Athena and Mary Jane—”
“Yes. And even Nina, too,” I said with a smile.
“But is it fair of me to ask you to do this? I mean, you’ve got a cool life. You like your job and school and your apartment. Then I come along and—”
“Diego, we both know this isn’t the ideal situation. You don’t have a conventional job. There’s no nine-to-five and death by cubicle in your future. That’s not who you are. You’re a musician—and a damn good one, too. It’s your passion. I would never ask you to walk away from it or give it up. I want to be with you. And if that means I have to get used to this crazy rock ’n’ roll lifestyle, then I will.”
He slid his arms around me and pulled me closer to him. I placed my cheek against his bare chest. I could hear the faint thump of his heartbeat. “I don’t know what I did right to find you in this world,” he said. “I feel like the luckiest man alive.”
“Are you kidding?” I said. “You could have your choice of men.”
“I’ve had a few before.”
“Then that’s a few more than me.”
“But none of them were you. I think I knew…that you’d come along soon. I had hope.”
“I’ve been living on hope since I left Georgia,” I said. “I stayed busy on purpose. Work. School. They kept me preoccupied. That way I never had time to think about love.”
“It’s funny when you think about it,” he said. “We owe all of this to a cup of coffee.”
“Speaking of which, I love the song you wrote about me.”
“Maybe it’ll be a big hit one day.”
I kissed the space above his heart. “Maybe.”
*
We were woken the next morning by an angry knock at the door. I sat up, reached for a T-shirt and shorts, and slid them on.
Diego stirred. “Is someone here?”
“Yes,” I said, “and I have no idea who it is.”
I started to get up. He pulled me back down to the futon. “Don’t answer it. They’ll go away.”
“It might be important,” I said.
He pulled the sheet away from his body, revealing a raging hard-on. “More important than this?” he asked with a sexy grin.
“There’s nothing more important in the world than that,” I agreed. I reached my hand out, wrapped it around his cock, and started to stroke him.
The knock came again, louder and more intense.
“Damn it,” he groaned.
I released my hold on him and stood up. “Put something on,” I said. “I’m not sharing your beautiful body with anyone.”
I waited until he had his black T-shirt and his boxers on before I moved across the claustrophobic apartment and went to the front door.
I caught a quick glimpse of myself in a round mirror on the wall.
My hair was a mess of tangles and cowlicks. My neck was spotted with a fresh batch of hickeys.
What in the hell has Diego done to me?
I pulled open the door and immediately my world shifted. I felt bliss evaporate from life.
Nina stood in the doorway in a trench coat, navy blue skirt suit, and black heels. Her frosted blond hair was damp, as if she’d walked to my apartment in the rain.
“Is he here?” she asked.
I stared at her, confused.
Behind me, Diego said, “Nina, what do you want?”
“It’s taken me three days to find you,” she said with an angry hand on her hip. “I had to pay a woman named Starsky fifty bucks to tell me where you were.” She turned to me with a snarl. “Are you the reason why Diego disappeared?”
Diego stepped between us. “Leave him out of this.”
“Get your shit,” she said to him. “There’s a cab waiting downstairs.”
“I don’t wanna leave,” he protested.
She took an aggressive step into the apartment. Her perfume invaded the air in the room. “You don’t have a choice. We have a plane to catch.”
“Already?”
“Europe isn’t going to wait for you, Diego. Now get your shit and let’s go.”
Diego moved away from the door and to his pile of clothes. He dressed quickly and then packed up his guitar. “How important is this tour, Nina?” he asked.
“Very,” she spat.
“Playing more dives in the middle of nowhere?”
“I have two contracts for you in my purse.”
Diego gave her a look, confused.
“One’s for the tour,” she said. “The other is a record deal.”
Diego was lacing up his combat boots. “Are you fucking serious?”
“You’re recording your next single in Amsterdam. If Brenda can stay sober long enough to sing it.”
“The deal? Is it a good one?”
/> She folded her arms across her chest and rocked back and forth in her heels. “It’s fair,” she said. “Hurry. We don’t have much time.”
Diego moved as if he were about to leave but suddenly stopped. He reached for my hand and held it. Tight.
“Wait,” he said to Nina. “How much time do we have?”
She sighed, irritated. “The flight leaves in five hours.”
“Then I’ll meet you at the airport.”
“Are you out of your mind?” She turned to me, probably as a last resort. “Will you please talk some sense into him?”
“I need to go somewhere first,” he said. “With Justin.”
“Diego, you’ll be back in less than two weeks. It can wait,” she said.
“No,” he insisted. “It can’t. It’s important to me.”
Nina’s cold gray eyes darted back and forth between us. “What’s going on here?” she asked.
We stared at her with blank expressions on our faces.
“This isn’t some one-night stand between you two, is it?” she said. “You two are serious about each other. I can tell by the ridiculous looks on your faces.”
I felt Diego’s arm slide around me. “Justin and I are committed to each other,” he said. “We’re in a relationship.”
Nina leaned in close. I could smell maple syrup on her breath. “If anyone finds out about this, it could ruin your career, Diego. Before it even starts,” she cautioned.
Diego didn’t let go of me. “I’ll take my chances.”
“You’re as bad as my daughter,” she said. “Both of you are so stubborn. You think you know what’s best.”
“Brenda has good instincts,” he said.
“Wait,” I heard myself say aloud. “Brenda—I mean Halo—she’s your daughter?”
“Why else do you think I took this shitty job?” Nina answered. “Which reminds me, it’s official…we’re all supposed to call her Halo now. She wants to file for a legal name change.”
“Did she decide to go with Halo Kat?” I asked.
“No,” Nina replied. “It’s worse than that. Her name is Halo Jet. We’ve changed the name of the band, too. Broken Corners is dead and gone.”