Gay Fiction, Volume 1

by Mel Bossa

  “Let’s pack in the morning,” Athena suggested, stumbling to her bedroom and closing the door.

  Diego asked me to join him for a shower and I happily obliged.

  “Do you really think I can do it?” he asked me as we stood face to face, mouth to mouth under a blast of warm water. “I don’t think I’m a very good singer.”

  “You’re amazing,” I told him. “Everyone will love you.”

  And some of them might even want to steal you away from me.

  “Hey,” he said, as if he could read my mind. “You know I wouldn’t be able to do any of this without you.”

  “We both know that’s not true. This is your dream, your passion. I say go for it, Diego. Make this happen for yourself. You never know. You might become a huge rock star.”

  “But that’s just it,” he said. I gestured from him to turn around so I could wash his back. “I don’t care about any of that. It’s all bullshit.”

  “Don’t rule anything out, though,” I said. “Everything happens for a reason. Maybe Halo leaving the band can turn into a good thing.”

  “I haven’t made up my mind,” he said, “but I’m considering it. I just don’t know if I can handle the attention, Justin. It’s a lot of pressure.”

  “This is an opportunity a lot of people would kill for,” I said.

  “All I need is my guitar,” he said, “and you. Nothing else in this world matters.”

  He turned back around and soap trickled down his body. I kissed him and then whispered, “I love you, Diego Delgado.”

  He pulled me toward him. “I love you, too.”

  I reached down and wrapped my hand around his hardening cock. He laughed a little and asked, “Are you doing that to convince me?”

  *

  As it turned out, Darla Madrid helped Diego make the biggest professional decision of his life. It was her presence that pushed him over to the edge, made him look up at Nina and me and the other two members of his band, and say, “I’ll do it.”

  The flight to New York was long and awkward. Nina and Diego avoided each other as much as possible. Mary Jane was making up for lost time with obnoxious chitchat and a constant barrage of questions that found nerves to get on I didn’t know I had. I contemplated slipping her one of Nina’s Valiums within the first hour of the flight. Athena was drafting a long love letter to Rebel Crawford, whom she was planning to reunite with in New York. Diego sat next to me working on the lyrics to a new song. I sat in silence, trying to rid myself of the terrible homesickness plaguing me.

  Once we landed, we were taken by limousine to a building of rehearsal studios not far from Times Square. I took in the incredible sights of the city through the car window. I seemed to be the only one impressed with New York. No one else seemed to care.

  The driver dropped us off in front of an old cream-colored building and shouted to us, “You’re on the fifth floor.” While Nina was making arrangements with the driver to take our luggage to the Hilton Garden Inn on Eighth Avenue and return for us in a few hours, Diego reached for my hand and squeezed it tightly.

  “Can you believe it?” I said, awed. “We’re in New York City.”

  He grinned at my childlike wonder and kissed my cheek.

  Nina stepped between us, separating our hands. “None of that here, please,” she insisted. “There might be press.”

  Inside, the building was suffocating and overheated. I started sweating, grateful I’d been sensible enough to leave my winter coat in the limo. A rickety elevator grudgingly took us to the fifth floor. The metal doors clanked and creaked open. We stepped out of it together.

  That’s when we saw Darla Madrid.

  I gasped at the sight of her. She was blocking our path, distorting our lines of vision with her black and white polka-dotted miniskirt and matching tube top. She was chewing on a mouthful of bubblegum that smelled like watermelon. Her dark hair was bigger than ever. She wore two silver hoop earrings that were the size of door knockers. Her lipstick was too bright and one of her false eyelashes looked crooked.

  “What took you guys so long?” she whined. “It’s disgusting in here. I’m melting.”

  Athena spoke first. “What’s she doing here?”

  Darla looked confused and alarmed. She even looked to me for an explanation. “You guys don’t know?” she asked, sounding genuinely hurt.

  Nina put an arm around Darla’s bare shoulders like they were long lost friends. “Mary Jane. Diego. Athena,” she said as if she was their teacher and this was roll call. “I’d like for you to meet Darla Madrid—the new lead singer of the Jetsetters.”

  “Oh, hell no,” Mary Jane said from behind me, proving once and for all she was sober and awake. And sassier than I ever imagined.

  “What’s going on here?” Diego asked Nina. “We never even discussed this.”

  “What’s there to discuss?” she shot back. “Darla’s a big fan. She knows all of the words to most of the songs—except for the new ones. But she’s a quick study and she’s happy to be here.”

  “Thrilled,” she deadpanned, chomping on her gum.

  Athena and I both looked at Diego, pleading with him.

  “It’s now or never,” she said to him. “This is do or die, my friend.”

  He let out a deep sigh. He stood in front of us as if he were assuming the role of a tour guide and was about to lead us on a journey through this steam box of an antique building.

  “Nina,” he began, “there’s been a slight change of plans.”

  She raised an eyebrow and dark clouds filled her already stormy eyes. “Go on.”

  “Athena and Mary Jane have asked me to be the lead singer of the band.”

  Darla exploded. “What?”

  “It’s true,” Athena confirmed.

  “We’d much rather have Diego be in charge than this fake bitch,” Mary Jane added, endearing herself to me more and more by the second.

  Thank God the pills are gone.

  Darla turned on Nina. “You brought me here for nothing?”

  Nina ignored her like she wasn’t even there. “And?” she asked Diego. “What have you decided?”

  He took a breath before he answered. “I’ll do it.”

  Nina said to Darla, “You can go now. You’ve served your purpose here. You’re dismissed.” She gave her a gentle shove in the direction of the elevator. Mary Jane politely pushed the call button on Darla’s behalf.

  Darla looked dazed as she stepped inside the elevator, almost catatonic. “Where am I going?” she asked.

  “Bye, Darla,” Mary Jane said. “We’ll see you later…at the Grammys!”

  Darla managed a faint smile of hope. She looked insane. “You will?”

  Mary Jane nodded. “We sure will, bitch…enjoy the back row!”

  The elevator doors closed.

  I never saw Darla Madrid again.

  *

  I was sitting in the green room on a plush leather couch, prepared to watch the Jetsetters make their national television debut. I was munching on a bowl of pretzels. My eyes were glued to a television monitor hanging from the ceiling.

  Athena, who had on more makeup than I’d ever seen her wear, took her place behind the drums. A pigtailed Mary Jane strapped on her pink bass guitar. Diego was front and center, dressed in black and standing behind the microphone with a pick aimed at a string on his electric guitar.

  They were ready.

  The door opened. I was surprised to see Nina walk in. My eyes immediately went to her hands. She was holding a few pieces of paper and a white envelope.

  “Shouldn’t you be in the studio with the band?” I said. “They’re about to perform.”

  “I’m not worried about them,” she said. “I wanted to take this opportunity to have a little chat with you.”

  She gestured to a metal table with four black plastic chairs around it. I took my cue, left my comfortable spot on the couch, and sat where she indicated I should.

  “What’s this about, Nina?�
� I asked.

  “Protection,” she replied.

  “From?” I prompted.

  “From the public,” she continued, still cryptic.

  She sat down across from me and slid the papers and the envelope in my direction. “I want you to sign this,” she said.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s an agreement of sorts.”

  “What am I agreeing to?” I asked.

  “To walk away. To never see Diego again. In exchange, there’s a check in the envelope made out to you for one hundred thousand dollars. To help you with…getting over him.”

  I glared at her. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

  “Diego’s sexuality is not something the public needs to know about.”

  “Says who? You or Diego?”

  “Actually,” she said, “this is the record label’s decision. They feel it’s for the best.”

  I stood up. “Well, they can go fuck themselves and so can you.”

  She grabbed the sleeve of my black hoodie and stopped me. “This is a one-time offer,” she explained. “The money goes away after tonight. And so do you. Whether you sign the piece of paper or not. The free ride stops here, Justin.”

  I struggled to not hit her. I wanted to throttle her. I wanted to call her every filthy name I could think of—and all of them were racing through my head.

  Instead, I reached across her for the envelope on the table. I pulled the check out of it. I caught a glance of my name and a bunch of zeros. I ripped the check to shreds and the pieces floated down into Nina’s lap.

  “You have my answer,” I said. “Have I made myself clear?”

  I turned away from her. On the monitor screen, Diego looked directly into the camera and said, “This one goes out to my favorite barista. The true love of my life.”

  The Jetsetters launched into their high energy cover of the Yardbirds’ classic hit “For Your Love.” Ironically, it was one of the first songs I’d ever heard them play only two months ago in that little club in Chicago, when they were still Broken Corners. When Halo was still Brenda Stone. Before Diego and I had fallen in love.

  Before everything changed.

  *

  Nina was winning the battle she’d waged against me. She’d declared war on me almost from the beginning, from the first moment she’d spotted me in Diego’s arms in the alley behind the 8-Track. She clearly saw me as some sort of threat. My very existence jeopardized the windfall she’d collect from the inevitable success of the band.

  It was obvious that Nina wanted to keep Diego’s private life a secret from the unknowing public eye. In order to do so, she wanted to permanently remove me from his world.

  The concept seemed absurd to me. It would be impossible to hide the truth. It was misleading. It was dishonest. It was deceitful. Would fans not buy their music just because Diego was gay?

  Who in the hell cares who Diego’s in love with? He’s a musician. Our relationship has no effect on his ability to play the guitar and write a brilliant song.

  Yet Nina’s words had gotten to me. They’d crawled beneath my skin and were coating my brain with doubt and fear. I would never admit it to her, but somehow Nina had manipulated me into second-guessing my role in Diego’s life.

  I convinced myself that Nina was right: that Diego would be better off without me.

  I loved him more than anything or anyone in the world. Just the sight of him, the sound of his voice, the smell of his skin, his touch—everything about him had come to define the meaning of love to me.

  I didn’t doubt our love, I doubted myself. I would never truly fit into Diego’s rock ’n’ roll world. He was sexy and cool and wild. I was a boring guy who wanted a simple life. The two worlds would never mesh. Our future was doomed. I needed to get out before it was too late.

  I didn’t want to become Diego’s biggest regret. I didn’t want to hold him back from fame and success.

  I knew I had no other choice. Just like Halo, I had to walk away.

  *

  I watched Diego sleep for at least an hour before I slipped out of bed.

  He stirred. He reached for me. His arm brushed across the empty space I’d left beside him.

  “I’m going to get some ice,” I said quietly, with the ice bucket tucked under my arm like a prop.

  I was dressed. Ready to go. I’d even taken my suitcase downstairs an hour ago while Diego was in the shower. The man at the front desk promised he’d keep it safe for me.

  Diego fell back into a deep sleep. I knew he wouldn’t hear me, but I said the words anyway. Maybe I secretly hoped he’d wake up and convince me to change my mind. Beg me to stay.

  “I love you,” I said from the door of our hotel room.

  Only silence responded to me.

  The music world had exploded within seconds after the Jetsetters appeared on the late-night talk show. Their television debut was a smashing success. Everyone wanted to know who they were, where they’d come from, how they could get a piece of them. Nina’s phone hadn’t stopped ringing. I imagined she was still on her cell in her hotel room, scheming and planning and negotiating. Diego was now a famous rock star, whether he wanted to be or not.

  I didn’t leave because I was homesick and I wanted to go back to Chicago. I walked out of the hotel room that night because of what Nina had said to me. I left because I knew I had to give Diego his freedom. I didn’t want to become his burden, his dark secret.

  I waited until I was in the elevator before I started to cry.

  *

  I woke Starsky up when I called her from a pay phone at JFK airport.

  “Hello?” she said. The sound of her voice made me ache. I wiped my eyes.

  “I’m so sorry for calling you so late,” I said.

  “Justin?” she said. “Is that you? Where are you? Hutch and I miss you. It’s not the same without you.”

  “I miss you guys, too.”

  “I have so much to tell you,” she said.

  “Me too.”

  “Sheila broke up with me. I’m single again,” she said. “But I think I like it this time.”

  “That’s great,” I said. “More time for you.”

  “Hey,” she said, “that internship lady from your school keeps calling the shop looking for you. She said you got the position you wanted at the advertising agency.”

  I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer of gratitude. “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah. She said you start in January,” Starsky explained. “So I guess I’m losing you forever, then.”

  “No,” I said, my voice quivering. “Actually, I’m coming back to Chicago.”

  “You are?” I could hear the happiness in Starsky’s voice. It made me smile. It made me feel like everything was going to be okay.

  “Yes,” I told her. “I’m coming home.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Diego made every possible attempt to contact me. Letters. Postcards. E-mails. Voice-mail messages begging me to call him back. I could hear the horrible ache in his words, breaking my heart each time I heard his voice. Soon, I forced myself to stop reading his letters. I deleted the messages he left without listening to them. I changed my phone number and e-mail address. I became unreachable. Invisible.

  Then he stopped trying.

  I retreated to the solace of my apartment for a few days, allowing the reality to sink in. Diego and I were over. Never again would we be together. Wasn’t that what I wanted?

  Then why do I feel so incredibly sad?

  Within months, the Jetsetters became rock royalty. They released three back-to-back hit singles, propelling them into stardom. Their debut album sold in the millions. Their world tour filled arenas. Their trend-setting music videos brought them artistic acclaim. More awards were bestowed on them than I could count.

  For a while, I followed the band’s every move, nearly obsessing over their interviews and television appearances. But when I started to see the deep sorrow in Diego’s eyes, the damage I�
�d caused became all too real. I’d shattered his heart into a million pieces. He was a broken man. It was evident in every word he spoke and sang. He’d given up on everything. I blamed myself for the constant state of misery he appeared to be living in.

  The guilt became nearly impossible for me to deal with. I agonized over my decision for months, wondering what would’ve happened if I’d stayed.

  If I would’ve been brave enough to love Diego. Like I’d promised him I always would.

  To move on with my life, I tried my best to forget. I wanted to purge every memory of Diego from my mind. To do so, I kept myself busy as much as possible. School. Work. Television. Success.

  I settled into my self-imposed lonely existence, knowing damn well with each day that passed that I’d made the worst decision of my life.

  *

  A year later, Geoffrey Cole landed his own national radio show. His first guest was Rebel Crawford. She had a huge hit single with a slowed-down cover version of the Missing Persons ’80s new-wave classic “Walking in L.A.”

  I hadn’t heard from Diego. Or Athena. Or Mary Jane.

  Not that I was really expecting to.

  I tuned in and listened to Geoffrey’s show, out of curiosity.

  Geoffrey spoke first. “Rebel Crawford, you came out of nowhere. How did you get started?”

  She let out a long, melodramatic sigh. “The hard way, Geoffrey. In coffee shops. In Santa Monica,” she said. “You know, I used to date Athena Parker.”

  “Who?” he asked.

  She giggled and said, “Exactly. She’s the drummer for the Jetsetters. But all the world cares about is Diego Delgado. He’s everywhere.”

  “Athena Parker,” he repeated. “Didn’t she date Veronica Marie for a while also, before that big Internet scandal?”

  “I have no idea how that happened,” Rebel said, feigning innocence. “What a shame for poor Veronica Marie. Anyway, back to me. So I dated her for a while. I got into the scene and I loved it. I knew I had to be big.”

  “Let’s talk about your CD.”