by Rachel Kane
One sip, and my entire mouth puckered. “Oh man,” I said, my eyes squinting at the sourness.
Edgar’s eyes were watering, and Cal had a coughing fit. We all looked back over at the man at the counter, but he had gone back to smoking and reading his paper.
“Muito autêntico,” said Edgar.
“Does that mean cough syrup in Portuguese?” I asked, going for another sip. Once the shock of the sour was over, the sweetness began to come through. Behind it all, you could feel the burn of the alcohol waiting for you. It wasn’t bad. Not at all. But you wouldn’t want to drink a lot of it all at once.
Cal had resumed breathing, and was already halfway through his drink. “So tell us about the cliffs. Did you dive?”
“Nah, I need to explore a little more. Could be rocks down there.”
“You’re braver than I would be,” said Edgar. His eyes were still red from the drink. “The most daring thing we’ve done so far is having surreptitious sexual intercourse in this little abandoned courtyard we found.”
“Ugh, dude!” I said.
“Honestly when we first saw it, I thought it was a graveyard,” said Cal. “There were all these things that looked like white tombstones. We finally figured out that it was a statue garden nobody was using for statues anymore...they took the statues away, but left the little pillar things there.”
“We got it on amongst the ghosts and phantoms,” said Edgar, a touch of defiant pride in his voice.
It was difficult to listen to that, in light of what I’d just been through with Sergio. Really, really, don’t think about it, I told myself. So naturally I was thinking about it, the way it felt to have his lips on me, the way my skin tingled from his touch. I was really happy when Cal got up and came back with three more drinks.
“I read in a guidebook that if you ask for these in fancy restaurants,” said Cal, “they serve them in little cups made of chocolate.”
I finished half of my second one, in one throat-burning swallow. I gasped. It packed more of a punch than the fruity liqueur I’d been expecting. But maybe it would burn away all the memory.
“So how’s the roommate situation?” Edgar asked me.
I brushed the question away. “It’s fine. Everything is fine.”
I couldn’t be sure but I thought I saw Cal glance at Edgar meaningfully when I said that. Or maybe my eyes were just getting bleary from the sourness of this drink.
“It’s just--” began Edgar.
“Not now,” said Cal.
“He needs to know, Cal.”
“He doesn’t need to know from us,” Cal said to Edgar.
I finished my second round, and set the glass on the table harder than was really necessary. “Someone want to tell me what I need to know? Because I will tell you, this vacation has been stressful as fuck, and if there’s one more bit of drama--”
Cal held up his hands. “Maybe drama. Maybe. Not necessarily.”
“Sergio likes you,” said Edgar.
“Nobody said that!” said Cal.
“Whatever, Cal.” Edgar turned to face me. “If it makes Cal feel better, let me phrase it another way: There is the heavy implication that Sergio likes you.”
I touched my finger to the rim of the glass, where a drop of red liqueur caught the sun. “Welcome back to fifth grade,” I said. “Before we start passing notes in class, though, can I tell you how much I don’t want to hear any of this?”
Edgar ignored my interruption. “I was talking to Josh this morning--did you know he slept with Hunter, that rich old guy? Anyway, Hunter told Josh that Sergio was asking lots of pointed questions about you last night.”
Last night, we’d still been fighting. Hadn’t we? It was fuzzy. I watched Cal get up to order three more drinks. This didn’t seem wise. I hadn’t had any breakfast this morning, I’d been so eager to get to the cliffs, and there hadn’t really been much time after that to eat, what with the Sergio stuff.
Did he like me? It was the same question I’d asked myself at the cliffs. What happened in the woods should have answered the question, but all that had come on the heels of him talking about my horrible past, whatever craziness he believed about that.
Clearly, he and I needed to talk. Especially if he was asking people about me. Especially if he really, honestly thought I’d thrown myself at Harris. I had enough people from my past who spread lies about me, I didn’t need a new one.
I laughed at myself. We’d needed to talk after what happened in the woods, and what did I do? Run away. Maybe that’s how all our encounters would go. I spook easily.
Cal handed me my drink. Sergio was right about one thing: Introspection wasn’t exactly my strong suit. I didn’t want to sit here thinking.
On the other hand, did I really want to have an awkward conversation about feelings with Sergio? Hell, I had no idea how I felt about him. I still kind of hated him. At the same time, I couldn’t deny that part of me wanted a repeat of what happened in the woods.
“I’d say he was lost in thought,” said Edgar to Cal, “but I’m not sure what that looks like in Marcus.”
“Marcus doesn’t need to hear about third-hand gossip,” said Cal.
“Josh is a trusted source,” said Edgar.
“Josh is hoping Hunter will buy him a car.”
“Doesn’t he deserve a new car, for putting up with Hunter’s advances?”
I swallowed my third drink far too fast. “Fascinating as always,” I said, slowly and carefully, “but none of it matters.”
“If a rich, famous artist were after me, I think it’d matter,” Edgar said.
I shook my head, and the town around us seemed to swirl a little. “This can’t be handled by more hearsay,” I said. “I’ll have to go right to the source.”
Cal gazed at me steadily. “Should we call you a cab?”
“What? I’m fine.”
They exchanged another look. “We’re calling you a cab.”
11
Sergio: Frozen
It was a little ironic, being on a sunny tropical island, wishing I had my sweaters and jacket. As I shivered inside the rented freezer, all I could think of was warm fleeces and flickering fireplaces.
At least I was getting work done. I had several rolls of butcher paper taped around the blocks, and had used markers to indicate where I’d do my initial cuts with the chainsaw. I was lucky that the grounds crew let me borrow one of their electric saws; the thought of this freezer filling up with exhaust from a gas one was a little scary. The place was claustrophobic enough as it was.
I was grateful for all of it, the cold, the claustrophobia, the noise of the saw. Anything that would get my mind off Marcus.
I had done a really, really stupid thing. I mean, it was one thing to discover I was attracted to Marcus. These things happen. Can’t get around basic biology. But to act on it? To skip past all the conversation and emotion and everything, and go down on him in public? What the fuck was I thinking?
I didn’t have to replay it all in my head. I didn’t need to beat myself up over it. It was stupid, but I wasn’t going to agonize over it. Nothing would come of it, except more embarrassed and awkward silences when I was up in the hotel room.
Of course, there was still the issue that although Marcus had gotten off, I had not. My body really wanted some justice there. It had been tough concealing my hard-on from the grounds crew. Had they noticed? I hoped not. The last thing I needed was gardeners and landscapers snickering that I’d walked in there with an erection.
The room echoed with the sound of the chainsaw. Enormous chunks of ice slid off my blocks, hitting the floor. Since I couldn’t do the delicate, precision work I had originally planned, I was going for something very simple; two men, locked in an embrace. More on the romantic side than the erotic, suggesting clothing here and there. The vibration of the saw in my hands, and the deafening noise that made it through my earplugs, helped keep my mind on business, so that the idea of two men entwined wouldn’t become a sou
rce of fantasy for me, as I imagined Marcus putting his sweat-slick arms around me. Nope, no time for that kind of image. Stick to the templates. Cut where the lines are. Make sure your center of gravity is in the right place. Make sure your feet are out of the way. Cut, cut, cut.
After a while, though, I had to take a break. My hands and face were going numb in here. The thin jacket I’d bought simply wasn’t enough for this cold.
I stepped outside the freezer, and blew on my hands. My joints were stiff from being in there too. I could take a walk. I’d made plenty of progress so far, enough to justify a good break. Walk, get some sun, get my blood flowing again.
I stepped out the first door I came to, and found myself at the pools. Sunlight baked the tiles, and was blinding against the water. It was scorching hot and perfect. I leaned against a nearby pillar and soaked up the sun, my thin jacket helping warm me up faster.
“Ah...ah...garçon,” said a voice behind me. I continued staring at the sky.
A female voice said, “It isn’t garçon, Harold, that’s French. Here, it has an m at the end. Garçom.”
“Are you certain? The guidebook said--”
“Harold, the guidebook is in your pocket.”
I glanced over and saw an older couple that looked somehow familiar. The husband was wearing a cabana shirt and khaki shorts, beneath which were two extremely pale legs. They worked a thin book out of his pocket and flipped pages. “Aha,” said the old man. “Garçom.”
I was prepared to turn back to my basking, when I realized they had been trying to address me. I turned back to them and raised an eyebrow.
Slowly, the man began to recite something to me. “Desculpe-me. Eu gostaria de um mai tai. Por favor.”
“I’m sorry?” I said.
More loudly and slowly, the old man said, “Desculpe-me. Eu gostaria de--”
I shook my head. “I’m not sure what you’re asking.”
He scowled and turned to his wife. “Could the guidebook have it wrong?”
She took the book from him. “Let me try.” In a high, loud voice that echoed off the tiles, she said, “Desculpe-me.”
“Are you...is that Portuguese? I don’t speak that, I’m sorry.”
“Oh, honey, maybe the book was wrong after all,” she said, handing it back to her husband.
“Well, there must be some way to get through to him,” said the man. He got within inches of me, and with extraordinary slowness and volume asked, “Excuse. Me. Do. You. Speak. English?”
“Yes,” I said, just as slowly. I glanced over his shoulder, wondering if there might be a nurse or something who was supposed to be looking after these people.
“Thank goodness!” said the woman.
Now the man rubbed his hands together. “Excellent, excellent. Don’t know why we followed that guidebook. I told Debbie that this had been a Dutch colony for centuries--”
“That doesn’t mean they would speak English, Harold!”
“And I said to her, there’s no use taking a guidebook if you aren’t sure which language they’ll speak! It’s all a racket, these books and pamphlets. Do you know, I spent twenty-five dollars on a little machine at the flea market that was supposed to translate English to Spanish--”
“Dear, he doesn’t want to hear about the little machine.”
“--only to have Debbie tell me that Spanish isn’t what they speak here at all!”
“That’s...yes, I can see where that would cause concern,” I said, wishing I were safely back in the freezer with my chainsaw.
“Now, let’s get down to business. I hear the bar makes a mean mai tai,” he said.
“I’m sure they do.”
A pause. The man smiled blandly up at me, but as the silence stretched on, his face tightened with concern and he glanced at his wife.
“I would really like one,” he said.
“A mai tai?” I asked.
“That’s the stuff.”
“Wonderful choice, I’m sure,” I said.
“Now look here, young man. I’m not sure what you’re all about.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t--”
“Full-service hotel indeed! I told you, Debbie, our Nathaniel is getting ripped off! I’ve had faster service at roadside lodges than at this place!”
Nathaniel? Realization slowly dawned on me. “You’re talking about Nat? Owen’s Nat?”
“If you know who I’m talking about, then you know that they’re footing the bill for this shindig! Now hop to with the mai tai, before I speak to your manager!”
“Oh my god Dad!” said a voice from behind me. I turned, and was grateful to see Nat rushing for us. “Please tell me he isn’t bothering you, Sergio.”
“I was just ordering a drink from this young man--” said Nat’s dad.
“He’s not a waiter!”
“Then why is he wearing that jacket?”
“Dad, this is one of my guests. He’s Sergio Taylor, the sculptor!”
The old man peered at me. “Taylor? His last name is Taylor? He doesn’t look like a Taylor. He looks like one of these boys who carried my luggage--”
“Dad, can you please stop talking now?” Nat grabbed my arm and guided me away. “I apologize so much, my parents are just, they’re just--”
“Who’s going to bring me that mai tai?” his dad called behind us.
Nat and I walked back inside.
“Wow,” I said.
“I am so sorry.”
“I mean--”
“I know. The front desk already called me about him once today.”
I pulled off the offending jacket and draped it over my arm. I was starting to get hot, now that I was out of the freezer. “Good luck with him,” I said.
“I hope it didn’t ruin your day.”
“What? That? That’s like the most minor thing to occur all day.”
“Oh no! Is the sculpture doing all right? Did you find some tools?”
“Sure, it’s fine,” I said.
“You look really anxious. Are you sure everything’s okay?”
The last thing I needed was for people to worry about me. “Absolutely fine,” I said.
“Any more trouble with Marcus?”
I don’t know whether I blushed or looked away or what, but instantly Nat’s face changed. “Oh,” he said. “I see.”
“You don’t see anything.”
He laughed and patted me on the arm. “I see everything, my friend. What happened?”
“No, no, now is not the time for chummy exchanges about escapades.”
“But there were escapades?”
“There were not!”
“There were!”
“Oh god, Nat, shouldn’t you go look after your dad or Owen or something?”
He gave me a wry and unwelcome smile. “Sure, I’ll go away. But I can see it on your face, dude: Something has changed.”
I couldn’t work anymore right now. I had to get away. Beautiful resort, lots of things to see and do, surely I could find some way to escape the stress I was under. I’d thought I could escape it with work, but I wasn’t ready to get back into that freezer yet. Besides, I was sweaty and gross from the work, and the time I’d already been out in the sun hadn’t helped. I would go for a swim. So I was up in the room, my new swimsuit lying on the dresser, as I disrobed.
I caught a glimpse of my naked self in the mirror, and paused to look. The way the afternoon sun slanted in through the window, I seemed to glow. My muscles were outlined in shadow, making them seem far more defined. I looked...good.
So why was I having such a hard time? Why did I feel so lonely and insecure? I was single, I was on an island packed with cute guys, and I looked like this. Yet I had thrown myself at the one guy on the island certain not to like me.
At the thought of Marcus, my cock twitched. I could see it in my reflection.
Why did he have to be so hot? I could just be mad at him. I could hate him. But I couldn’t hate him and be attracted to him at the same time.
I don’t know what was going on inside me, but every time we were in the same room, I was so tense. And it had just exploded this morning.
Maybe I didn’t actually like him. Maybe it was just raw animal need, the force of loneliness. That would be convenient. At least then I could still hate him.
My hand had somehow made it down to my cock, and had begun slowly stroking the shaft. Maybe before I went for a swim, I’d allow myself to get off. Just to release the tension. I had the room to myself, there was nowhere I had to be...I could just take a few minutes. My other hand came up and squeezed my left nipple, feeling it grow firm beneath my fingertips.
I thought about what it would feel like, if Marcus put his lips against my chest. Then I shook my head. This wasn’t about Marcus. This was just to blow off some steam.
But as I stroked myself into hardness, I couldn’t get him out of my mind. That thick cock. The way his ass had clenched under my hands. The power of him.
Once--and only once--I could allow myself to fantasize about him, couldn’t I? It didn’t have to mean anything. I watched myself in the mirror, as my cock grew, shuddering at the feeling of my hand. I wasn’t sure how long it had been. A while. I had to go slow, otherwise it would all be over too quickly.
Just as I closed my eyes, I heard a click at the door. I spun around. “Oh shit!” I said. The doorknob turned, and I grabbed my swimsuit to hold in front of me right as the door opened.
Marcus walked in, looking a bit worse for wear. When he saw me, he nodded, as though he’d been certain he would find me here. But there was a bit of a wobble in his step.
“I want to talk to you,” he said. Then he paused and looked down. The swimsuit was doing a poor job as an apron; my cock jutted out, announcing its readiness to the world.
I said, “Um...”
“Did I come at a bad time?” he asked.
“No, I’m just...”
“I mean, I see what you’re just.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes. Yes, I was doing exactly what it looks like I was doing.” I stepped into the swimsuit and pulled it on. My hard cock pressed against the thin fabric. I wanted to crawl under the bed and die. Instead I took a seat on the bed, crossing my legs to reduce the appearance of things.