Screwed

by Van Barrett

  “Paulie! Paulie!”

  Here we go.

  “What's up?” I shouted back.

  He stomped over to my side. “Where the hell is Doogie's car? That Acura?”

  “Oh, right. About that. He swung by yesterday when I was finishing up that water pump. Said he'd talked to a few other shops around town and wanted to get a second opinion after all.”

  I shrugged, and went back to work on the caliper, hoping that'd be the end of it. But Carl stayed right by my side.

  “Paulie … you expect me to believe that shit?”

  I shot him a confused look. “What are you talking about, Carl?”

  “It's pretty obvious what happened here,” he said, folding his arms. “This whole time you've been trying to scare him off, while I'm actually trying to drum up some business. You really think I'm so dumb, I'm going to believe he showed up after hours to pick his car up—and you didn't have anything to do with it?”

  I shrugged, my eyes focused on the caliper. “I never tried to scare him off, Carl. I only tried to give him good advice, not rip him off, which pays off in the long run--”

  Carl cut me off. “There he goes again! Prince Parisi, lecturing me how to run my business!”

  “I don't know what to tell you, Carl.”

  “You don't have to tell me nothing anymore, Paulie, 'cause you're done.”

  The wrench slipped out of my hands and fell to the floor with a loud metallic clang.

  “What do you mean, 'done'?” I asked, shocked.

  “Really? I gotta spell it out for you? Done-zo! Finito! You're fired!”

  I felt a rush of blood fall from my face. “You—you can't do that.”

  “Why? 'Cause you're Prince Parisi, heir to the throne, right? Sorry, kid, but things didn't work out that way. And family only gets you so far. I gave you every opportunity to turn your goody-two-shoe act around over the years. But you haven't, and the rest of us here have all had to put up with your holier-than-thou bullshit. And now you're hurting my wallet. That's where the line in the sand has to get drawn, Paulie. When you start costing me money, that's when blood stops meaning a damned thing.”

  I shook my head. I couldn't believe it. He couldn't fire me!

  “But I bust my ass for this shop, Carl. Who the hell's gonna do all the work around here?”

  “We'll find a way.” Carl turned around and strutted off. “One way or another.”

  The scene had nabbed the attention of the other mechanics—Carl's buddies, all of them, not a single guy left from my Dad's days. Still, I thought at least one of them would speak up and have my back, since I save their asses left and right …

  … But they only watched silently, and once Carl left, the mechanics turned their backs on me and left, too.

  Wow. So that's it, huh. That's how it ends.

  I grabbed a towel and wiped my hands clean. Didn't feel right to abandon my caliper job unfinished, but what choice did I have?

  With a sinking in my stomach, I left Scud's.

  ***

  I spent the rest of the day hanging out by myself in South Beach—like I do a lot of times I'm feeling lost or confused. I can lay in the sand, under the hot Florida sun, for hours. Just pondering life as the waves hypnotically lap at the shore.

  It was kind of amazing how fast things had changed for me.

  A few days ago, I was a straight guy with a decent job, and my worst problem in life was that I might have erectile dysfunction, because I couldn't get it up with a girl.

  Now I was a confused guy—am I gay, or just bi? hell if I know—who didn't have a job. And thanks to my record, I know I'll have one hell of a time finding another job in a garage.

  A small cluster of clouds rolled by and blotted out the sun. I whipped out my phone and saw that I had new notifications on Tinder. I opened the app and took a look.

  It was a message from Leena.

  “Umm hey Paul. So I feel like I was a bitch 2 u and wanted to say sorry? And I wanted to see if u would be up for another date? U were really sweet and there's like 0 quality guys in this city lol.”

  I reached into my wallet. The trial pack of Viagra that Liam gave me was still tucked safely in there. I held those pills up and stared at them, wondering if I could go through with it, wondering how hard I'd have to hammer that square peg before it fit into the round hole.

  But … the more I thought about it … the more her message made me frown.

  Especially the part about zero quality guys in Miami. Here I was before, thinking how hard it was to meet women … but I never even considered how hard it'd be to meet guys. Now that I'd apparently done something to piss off Liam, I had to wonder: how the hell was I going to meet a dude?

  I didn't want to waste my time, or Leena's time, for that matter. So I gave her my answer: thanks, but no thanks. And as soon as I hit send, those clouds rolled past, and the sun came out again, shining bright and oh so warm and pleasant on my skin.

  ***

  Later that afternoon.

  I was still on the beach, sneaking sips from a bottle of cheap beer and people-watching, when my phone buzzed with a text message. It was a number I didn't recognize.

  “Hi,” was all it said.

  Leena? I wondered. She mad I turned her down or something?

  I replied: “Hey. Who's this?”

  The response was quick. “Liam.”

  Seeing his name made my heart race—both in a good and a bad way. What did he want?

  “Oh. Hey. What's up?” I replied.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “About what?”

  “It's something serious. I have to tell you in person. Can we meet? Away from the shop, if possible?”

  This dude was a cheater, wasn't he? Cheating was the only thing that would explain all his odd behavior. Zero quality guys in Miami, after all. Did I really expect to find a good one in my first ever guy-fling?

  I answered: “I'm not at the shop today. I'm on the beach.”

  “Oh, fun. Day off, I take it?”

  Pft. Yeah, tons of fun.

  I replied simply: “Yup.” I didn't see the point in telling him I'd gotten fired. It'd only make me look that much more pathetic when he came out all this way just to cut me loose for the second time in two days.

  “Should I meet you there, then?” he asked.

  “If you want. I'm on the beach behind the hotel at 7th and Ocean.”

  “Got it. See you in a bit.”

  I tucked my phone away, polished off the rest of my Bud Light, and shut my eyes.

  I already lost my job today—might as well have this thing, whatever it was, go south on me, too. Sometimes a clean slate was nice, right?

  I let myself drift off to sleep while I soaked up the rest of the day's rays, before the sun disappeared below the buildings behind me.

  Chapter 15

  Intern

  Liam

  Traffic in Miami is bad, but it's especially bad at rush hour. I sat in that stupid Legend and crawled through bumper-to-bumper traffic. By the time I made it to the causeway that connected to South Beach, the sun was looming just over the horizon. I hoped Paul would still be there on the beach… but I wouldn't have blamed him if he gave up and left.

  “Almost there,” I texted him. But he didn't reply.

  Finally, I made it—just before sunset. I parked the car as close to 7th and Ocean as I could and ran for the beach, kicking up sand that got caught in my shoes.

  I walked along the shore looking for Paul. I texted him to let him know I was here, but still, he didn't reply.

  I walked north … doubled back south … then turned around again and went even further north. Still, I couldn't find him.

  I started to think that Paul had moved on. I'd had my chance to come clean yesterday, but I didn't have the balls. He was brave enough to ask me to hang out, but I blew him off instead.

  The sun had set, and in the eerie blue twilight, it was getting harder and harder to see. And that's when
I decided to give up. I'd made my mess—no need to drag Paul further into it.

  I cut across the beach and headed back for the street.

  And that's when I saw it.

  A man lying on his back in the sand, in a familiar garb. A mechanic's jumpsuit in slate. But the front was unzipped, and his bronzed arms and rippling torso were left exposed.

  I stepped nearer, cautiously, just in case it might be some other jacked mechanic. I stepped closer and closer until I was standing next to him and yes, oh my God, it was really him. He'd fallen asleep on the beach.

  “Pst,” I whispered. “Paul.”

  He didn't stir. I dropped down to my knees in the sand next to him and let out a heavy breath.

  “Hey, Paul.” I poked a finger into his round and meaty shoulder. “Wake up, dude.”

  With a sharp inhale, Paul's eyes opened and he came back to life. He looked at me with his sleep-puffed eyes and smiled.

  “Liam! Hey.”

  “Hey Paul.”

  As if Paul remembered how I'd left him yesterday, his smile faded—and was replaced by a stoic facade that betrayed no weakness. “So why'd you come out here, anyway?”

  Now's the hard part.

  “I don't even know where to begin,” I said with a sigh, and lowered my ass into the sand to sit next to him.

  “The beginning is usually where most people start,” Paul said, ending with a tired yawn, his thick arms stretching out towards the sky. “But I can probably save you some time and guess what the problem is: you lied when you said you were single. You've actually got a boyfriend, and you've been cheating on him with me.”

  “What?” I laughed, tickled by his flare-up of jealousy. “No.”

  Paul looked relieved. “Really?”

  “Yeah, really.”

  But don't get too excited, because that might be the one thing I've told you that wasn't a lie.

  “Oh. So what is it, then?” Paul asked.

  While I mustered the courage to come clean, I studied Paul with a long stare. He leaned back on his elbows, and his washboard abs tightened as he stretched out in the sand. I think Paul liked to pretend he didn't know how hot he was, but it was obvious by how he posed himself—deep down, he knew exactly how hot he was. He was a beach babe that no doubt could have girls or guys eating out of his palm any time he wanted.

  And damn, that stud looked so good in his work uniform. Especially when it was already half-way off.

  …

  Wait a minute.

  He's on the beach. In his work uniform.

  My eyes suddenly narrowed at him. “Hold up. You're still in your shop clothes. Didn't you say you had the day off?”

  Paul's eyes lowered, and he let out a quiet chuckle. “Yeah.”

  “You wore your jumpsuit to the beach on a day off, then?”

  He sighed. “No. I started the day at work.”

  Worried, I shot my hand out and rested it on his thigh. “Shit, Paul, did something happen at work? Is it because of me? Did you get in trouble?”

  Paul rolled his eyes. “I thought we were talking about your shit.”

  But my hand went straight to my heart, which pounded with nervous, sickening thumps. “Ugh, I feel sick, Paul—you have to tell me! Did something happen to your job?”

  “Jeez,” he muttered, blowing a gust of air through his teeth. “Yeah, alright, if you have to know. Carl was pissed when he saw your car wasn't in the lot today. He figured I had something to do with it, and he gave me the ax.”

  “Holy shit,” I panted. “But you guys are family!”

  I just got this guy fired from his job.

  Paul scoffed. “Yeah, well, he says that the family bond ends when I start costing him money.”

  “Paul, I'm so, so sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

  “I'm still pretty numb to it. You know?” He shrugged. “I don't think the reality's hit me. I'm not even panicking yet—and I probably should be, since I don't think anyone else will hire me.” He shrugged again. “Oh well.”

  I wanted to curl up next to him, wrap my arms around him and tell him over and over that everything would be fine. We'd lay in the sand, still baking from the heat of the afternoon sun, and hold each other. And we'd let the calming breath of the ocean's waves suck his worries right out to sea.

  But things were already so fucked up, I wasn't even sure that was true. And I still had to tell him worse shit that might ruin his day even more.

  Paul wiped his hands through the air. “Anyway. Enough about me. You came all the way out here to tell me something. And I figure it must be something pretty serious.”

  “Right,” I said with a gulp. “Yeah.”

  “So?”

  Fuck it. Just dive in head-first.

  “Yesterday, before I left, I told you we shouldn't hang out—because we're different people.”

  “Right. And I still don't know what that means.”

  “It means, uh, I'm not who you think I am. I mean, I'm not who I told you I was.”

  Paul glared at me. “What?”

  “I'm not … for example … a doctor.”

  Paul's body stiffened with suspicion.

  “For example?” he repeated mockingly. “If you're not a doctor, then what the hell are you?”

  My heart raced, and I nervously played with my hands.

  “An intern,” I admitted finally.

  “Intern,” he said, choking on the word. “A fucking intern? For what?”

  Full of shame, I mumbled, “Miami 8 News.”

  Paul slapped his forehead. “The fuck?”

  His hand remained stapled to his forehead while he processed that information and all of its implications.

  “I mean—I'll be honest—I didn't really buy the doctor thing at first,” he said.

  “I didn't think you did.”

  “The fucking lab coat. The 25 year old car. The shitty apartment in Glenwood Heights. The Viagra.” Paul spoke aloud, scoffing to himself now that all my oddities could be clearly seen in the bright, shining light of the truth. “The fact that you look like you're my age. How old are you, anyway?”

  I frowned. “I'm 24.”

  “Figures,” he scoffed. “And let's not forget about that super unprofessional check-up you gave me.”

  “Hey, I know I'm not innocent here, but you invited yourself in and practically threw yourself on me, Paul.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I know. I'm just saying. It's like I knew you were lying.”

  “So why didn't you say something?” I asked.

  “I guess because I liked you. I didn't want to believe you were lying.”

  I frowned. “I just want you to know, Paul, that whatever happened between us was not part of my story. In fact, it's made things a lot more fucked up for us both, I can promise you that.”

  His eyes locked on mine. “Wait—you said, your story? What story?”

  A heat rushed into my cheeks. “Oh. Um. Yeah …”

  “Story?” he repeated, growing increasingly worried.

  I put my hand on his shoulder. “Paul, stay calm, let me explain.”

  He stayed silent, but his wavering eyes burned into mine as he waited for my explanation.

  “So, um, a few weeks ago, Scud's did work on a Jaguar. That car belonged to the wife of our station owner. And he felt ripped off, said you guys overcharged for a bunch of stuff that didn't need to be done, and you guys wouldn't make it right. So, the station sent me--”

  Paul didn't need to hear the rest. He hopped straight to his feet and began to pace back and forth in the sand in front of me, squeezing his head between his hands like a vise.

  “Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit,” he mumbled to himself.

  “Paul,” I beckoned him, trying to sound calm.

  “I told Carl something like this would happen. I didn't think it'd be like—like this—but I knew we'd get caught eventually.”

  “Paul.”

  “I remember that Jag. I did the work, so I should know, an
d hell no it didn't need a whole new rack and pinion. But Carl sees a Jaguar and an older lady who obviously has some money, and all he can see is dollar signs. You just can't rip people off like he does! It's insane! This shit always comes back to bite you in the ass.”

  “Paul. Please, please relax.”

  I patted the sand next to me. Paul needed a second to think my request over, which hurt, but I couldn't blame him. Finally, reluctantly, he came and sat next to me—leaving a lot more space between us than there was before.

  “So you were sent to Scud's to do some kind of investigative report then,” he asked, though it was more of a statement.

  “Yup.”

  “Which is why you refused to take a hint every time I told you to take the car elsewhere?”

  “Yup.”

  Paul blew out a cynical laugh. “Your story kinda sucks then, doesn't it?”

  “Uh, yeah, actually. Thanks to you being so bad at screwing customers over.”

  “Pff. So sorry I didn't rip you off right from the start.” He paused. “So what the hell was up with the terrible doctor disguise?”

  “To make you guys think I had money.”

  “God, that's so lame.” Paul rolled his eyes. “But I guess it worked. There are cameras on that Legend, I take it?”

  I nodded.

  “Where?”

  “I don't know exactly. I was told there were seven total, in the cabin, under the hood, and along the undercarriage.”

  Paul slapped his forehead again. “Oh, that's great. So you've probably got great footage of us. From yesterday.”

  I hung my head. “Yeah.”

  “Why didn't you stop me?”

  “I tried!”

  “Not very hard.”

  “I'm sorry, Paul.”

  “So what's the deal? I mean, why are you even telling me this?”

  “I don't know.” I sighed. “I hoped you might know what to do. I don't know where the cameras are, I don't have a report, and once I take that car back to the station, they're going to see that footage. And I know I'll be fired for it.”

  Paul blew out a breath of hot air. “I don't have a clue what you should do, dude. Honestly, it sounds like we're both fucked. Welcome to the unemployed club, I guess.” He paused. “Although technically, since you're just an intern, I guess you never were employed.”