Blueberry Pancakes: The Novel

by Anton Lee Richards

  “Patrick and I are through,” I announced to the room, expecting a waterfall of consolation.

  “Sorry to hear, man,” Robin said with a flat tone.

  “Yeah, sorry,” Silas added, not even looking away from the computer.

  Marlene stood and hugged me. I was expecting overwhelming support and sympathy, but their lukewarm reaction told me I needed to grow up. This drama wasn’t serving me well.

  “Don’t let a guy hinder your music,” Robin said. “I’d never let a woman do that.” Marlene glared at him. He comically tiptoed away towards his amp.

  “Which person is more of a sellout?” I asked. “Someone who writes a pop song that goes ‘ooh, baby, baby do me’ that’s sung by a big-breasted dancing nineteen-year-old or a profoundly intellectual indie singer who writes music about the perils of our society but then has to take a day job in a big fat, dirty corporation to pay the bills?”

  “Get a grip,” said Marlene. “It’s just one guy.”

  “But Patrick had a point,” I said.

  “No, he didn’t. He was an asshole,” she said, one finger in the air.

  “Where’s your breakup song?” Robin asked. He rubbed his fingers together as if to show the new breakup song would be a moneymaker.

  “No song yet.”

  Christopher was pretentious, and Patrick was pompous. I could write the same song to cover them both. The Factory worked on vocals while I sat on the chair with a pad of paper and a pen. I jotted down a few ideas.

  I wasn’t good enough for you

  You were perfect for me

  You didn’t accept all of who I am

  Every idea I came up with was garbage. How could he be perfect for me but not accept all of me? The faulty logic of these would-be lyrics mirrored the flawed logic in my approach to dating.

  I fell too fast and went along for the ride

  I don’t regret our rise and fall

  I’ll take our experience with me forever

  Blech! I had no usable lines, but at least I had a concept. I didn’t want to take pity on myself. I vowed to write the pop-iest pop song ever: the anti-Patrick, using the phrase head-trip as my guide and as a possible title. I stepped outside to freeze my ass off, and sang a few lines into my phone until I found one I liked, and christened it as the chorus. When I walked back into the studio, they watched my every move, as if expecting I would announce I penned a Grammy winner.

  “Whatcha writing?” Robin asked while looking over my shoulder.

  “Not sure yet.” I turned somewhat so he couldn’t see the paper.

  “We’re done with our tracks, so let’s see what you’ve got,” Silas said. I scrambled through my phone to play the chorus.

  “Okay, not bad, man,” said Robin. “Where’s the verse?”

  “It’s non-existent. I started it five minutes ago,” I said.

  “Let’s try it together,” she said. “These songs don’t have to all be about you.” She cleared her throat and sang:

  I was a jerk who thought I knew it all.

  Robin laughed and gave a half-hearted attempt.

  Just another ride on my journey towards love

  Silas continued:

  I thought you were sent from above

  “Never mind,” he said. “The rhyme’s too predictable.”

  Robin tried again, singing a melody:

  On my journey towards real love

  You were just another ride

  You were the one I searched for worldwide

  Marlene shook her head and sung similar lyrics, but with a different melody:

  On my journey toward real love

  You were just another ride

  But for a while, our worlds had to collide

  They continued to write the verse, but I had no other suggestions. It wrecked me for the night. “Gotta go. You can finish the verse, and I’ll look at it in the morning.” I picked up my things and walked out the door while keeping my head low.

  I headed off to Pancake Heaven. Char came up but read my demeanor and left me alone. She always knew something was up when I went there by myself. I ordered the Swedish pancakes the restaurant was famous for: thin, rubbery, and with a side of sour cream. Char even left me extra lingonberries without asking.

  I took out my notebook and began writing, a song that was even more anti-Patrick. I called it “Do U ♥ Me?” It was the tackiest thing I’d ever written. Marlene reminded me of this frequently when we laid down the track. The little heart symbol disgusted her the most. Silas would call it the most marketable thing I’d written. Each line was cheesier than the last (“You make my dreams come true”), but they filled me with joy when Marlene sang them as if they were cleansing Patrick out of my body.

  Part Five

  Peach & Almond Pancakes

  Chapter Fourteen

  THE JERK

  Marlene suggested breakfast for dinner the next night to take my mind off Patrick. She was right, and I didn’t care if it meant Pancake Heaven two nights in a row. Afterward, we were determined to blow off some steam at the bar.

  “Hello, girls,” Char squealed, giving us a big hug. “Marlene, girl, you always have the strangest outfits.”

  I nodded in agreement. Marlene wore a shiny black pantsuit with a lemon-yellow feather boa and heels that made her at least a half foot taller.

  “How are you holding up?” Marlene asked Char, moving her eyes back and forth between Char and me as to give her a hint. Marlene didn’t want Char to say the wrong thing.

  Char gave me a sympathetic look. “Another breakup? You’ll find the right man for you, don’t worry. Right after I find the right man for me, of course.” She winked. We sat down but didn’t look at the menus. Char slammed her left hand on the table. “Look at this finger.” She frowned. “Look at it. It’s naked. I don’t need a man as much as this finger needs a ring.”

  “We’re all ring-less here,” Marlene said. “At least the sex is still good, for me at least.”

  “Amen to that sister,” said Char. “Try the new peach and almond pancakes.”

  “I’ll have those,” I said. “With extra almond mascarpone on the side. Add two poached eggs, and an order of the candied applewood smoked bacon. Also, the fruit and yogurt parfait with granola and multi-grain toast with the… do you have raspberry jam?

  “Seriously?” Char asked, with one raised eyebrow.

  “Yeah. I’m entitled to a breakup binge. I’ve been dumped.”

  “Hardly,” Marlene said. “You were barely dating for what, like three weeks? He walked out at the right moment, saving you years of potential grief.”

  Char put her sympathetic hand on my shoulder. “Sweetie, we have a whole lotta jam choices, including raspberry. I’ll put your order in.” She turned and rushed toward the kitchen.

  “Back to business,” I said. “If neither Patrick, Christopher, or Jesse are the one for me, then I’ll just marry you and sleep around with guys indiscriminately.”

  Marlene shook her head no. “Straight guys run from women married to gay guys. I don’t want to end up like my old friend Helen. Married five years and still a virgin.” She was referring to a couple we knew from college.

  “One day her husband will find Jesus, at least enough to produce a son with Helen to carry on the family name.” I clapped my hands once and then stopped myself. Jesse would not like this joke.

  “It’s not funny,” Marlene said. She paused before erupting in laughter a second later.

  “Think I’ll meet somebody tonight?” I asked. Char brought the jams and the toast and then slinked away.

  “No, you won’t,” she said, finger in my face. “Tonight’s all about fun and hooking up, if applicable. Nobody you meet there will be your knight in shining fucking armor.” She stuck her finger in the raspberry jam and then licked it.

  I gave her a dirty look and changed the subject. “How’s life back with Robin?”

  “We’ve been fucking everywhere—the laundry room in my building, the
stairwell in his. Everywhere. I can’t get enough of his cock in me.”

  “So it’s like a real relationship? Like, all monogamous and stuff?”

  “Yeah.” She paused. “I think so. Fuck.” Her face turned red.

  “You can’t have only one person in the relationship be monogamous,” I said.

  “I need a drink.”

  We went to The Blade after dinner. It was a low-key dive bar on the north side of Andersonville. No pretension there. It was a bunch of regular guys looking to get crazy drunk and potentially hook up. I loved the comfort level, and Marlene relished being the only girl in the room.

  The bar comprised one counter with long sexy curves that stretched the length with little space to walk around. Energized drunks occupied stool after stool; except for the ones near the entrance. Some people told me they wouldn’t sit there because of the loudspeakers, but they rumored it that by sitting there, you become the first person seen when another patron walked in looking for booty. Somehow that gave you a disadvantage in hooking up.

  A lonely jukebox sat against the far wall. If nobody put money in it, no music would play. Silence wasn’t the problem; bad music choices were. One time, a depressed guy came in and spent thirty bucks to repeat the same Patsy Cline ballad over and over. Everybody had to suffer with him the rest of the night.

  There were some advantages though. While every bar in Boystown played the same remixes of the same songs in the Top 40, here they played older songs that brought you back to another time in your life, or another time in someone else’s life - one advantage of hanging out with an older crowd. I liked grooving to a song that came out before I was born. It inspired me to imagine what the song meant to the guy who selected it. Did it remind him of his first breakup? Losing his virginity? The one that got away?

  The bathrooms were in the back next to the patio exit. I tried to stay away from both if I could help it. I assumed someone had puked in the first bathroom. The second bathroom was closer to the patio where you could smell various things beings smoked.

  “It looks like the place where lost gay souls go to die,” Marlene said as we walked in.

  “Pretty desolate tonight,” I said. A few people sat at the bar, drowning their regrets. A few others sang to them as they sat there half-awake.

  I sat down at the bar while Marlene ordered a drink and walked to the jukebox. A man sat alone in the corner, sniffing his fingertips.

  “Whatcha want tonight, Duncan?” asked the bartender, leaning forward and smiling. His name was Esteban, and I had met him many times.

  “What happened here?” I asked.

  “It’s Sunday, and it’s still early. It’ll get better later.”

  Esteban was the bartender everybody wanted to get with. The only thing I knew about him was that he was a hot Latino and he knew it. And he was taken. He leaned in with his chiseled face to give his customers bartender love. He looked you in the eye, remembered your name, and made you feel like you were the only customer he ever had. Sometimes I tipped him more than the cost of the drink itself.

  Marlene chose “It’s Raining Men” from the jukebox to help dilute the dreariness in the air before walking back to me. After thirty minutes, two men sat next to us as the crowd grew.

  Marlene playfully rubbed Esteban’s meaty forearm. “How long have you toiled away in this joint?”

  “About two years.” He poured some cheap tequila into a double-shot glass, chugged it, and looked back at us as if were no big deal.

  Jesse and I met around that same time. Why did he have to be the landmark that everything revolved around?

  Marlene pointed at me. “Duncan here lives in Andersonville. He’s single, ya know.” She winked at Esteban.

  “Give it a rest,” I said, nudging her in the side.

  “If I got a job here, would you pay me under the table?” Marlene asked Esteban.

  “Why would you need another job?” I asked.

  “Lessons are running thin,” she said.

  “We’ve paid under the table before. And this place could use a diva bartender.” He winked back at her.

  “I’d tip you well,” said the man sitting to Marlene’s right. We all laughed. “The name’s Ralph,” he said, holding his hand out to me. “I’ve seen you here before.” He explained that he was seventy-two years young, and in his day was the gayest thing on the planet. We couldn’t have already met. “You’ve seen me here too, but don’t remember me because you were too busy trolling for young guys to pay attention to an old fart like me.” He and Esteban chuckled.

  I didn’t recognize him, but my mind slipped off, wondering whether Jesse was out hunting for guys right now.

  “You looking to get lucky tonight?” Ralph asked.

  “No, just looking to hang out and listen to some good music,” I said. Marlene chose an ‘80s-hair-band song that I didn’t recognize. The guitar solo sounded like something Robin would play.

  “A gay man who likes rock?” Ralph asked. “How unconventional. What about Liza and Barbara?”

  Marlene sang a Barbara song into her beer, gaining the admiration of the few people around us. She bowed and smiled as a few people applauded. She nudged me, and I turned to my right. Then she poked me again and glanced toward the front door. A cute ginger guy walked in. He locked eyes with me, and he stepped closer. He walked with a self-assured gait that would turn Marlene on, but which repelled me. Yet, I couldn’t keep my eyes off him as he strutted toward me. He leaned in and gawked at Marlene and me.

  “Look at you,” he said. “My, my. You’re going home with me tonight.” He toyed with the collar of my shirt, the one that Marlene scoffed at me for wearing.

  “Funny,” I said. “I don’t do that.”

  Marlene slapped her hands against her cheeks. “Need I remind you about Christopher?” Why did she need to bring that up?

  “So, I heard a rumor that you find me attractive, huh?” I had known this guy for all of thirty seconds.

  “I suppose so.”

  “Why don’t we go somewhere where I can stick my dick in you?” He shoved his face into mine. Marlene laughed hysterically, and Esteban didn’t even blink an eye.

  “Whoa.” I tried not to laugh. “Just here with my friend. We’re musicians. I write the songs, and she sings them—”

  “Don’t want your life story,” he said. “Don’t care what movies you like, about your tastes in music or what you do for a living. In fact, I’ve already forgotten your name.” He licked his hand and rubbed it against the side of his head to flatten his hair.

  “I didn’t give you my name. It’s Duncan.”

  “Don’t care. Just want to stick my dick in you.” He leaned in even further with his leg brushing up against mine.

  “Does that line usually work for you?”

  “In the places where I hang out, yes. It always works.” Marlene crossed her arms and gave Esteban a grin.

  “It’s not gonna work on me. Not because you’re crass either. I’m a top.”

  “Pfft. One of those obvious bottoms who pretend they’re tops.” He rubbed my shoulders.

  “Sorry, I’m not a bottom. I’ve tried it. I don’t like it.” Marlene couldn’t control her laughter.

  “You’re a natural bottom. I can tell.” His eyes moved towards my butt on the stool.

  “It would be like a giraffe having sex with an elephant,” I said. “It goes against nature, almost anti-biblical.” Marlene and I giggled.

  The jerk walked away from me and up to another guy about five seats away. I overheard him saying, “So, I heard a rumor that you find me attractive.”

  Marlene and I laughed before two hot guys walked in, one white, one Hispanic. I mouthed the word yummy to her. Ralph nodded in agreement over her shoulder.

  “If that cute one speaks to me in Spanish I will literally melt,” I said.

  “Looks like they’re all interested in speaking to you, Duncan,” said Ralph. He nudged me and winked.

  “I’m going hom
e with one of them,” I blurted. “Don’t care which one.” I was sick of being cautious. Two years of monogamy with Jesse had resulted in heartache. Besides, I wanted to make Marlene proud.

  “You slut,” Ralph said, giving Marlene a high-five.

  “You’re allowed to get laid,” Marlene said. “Just don’t fall in love.”

  “I’d pick the short one if I were you,” Ralph added. “He looks like he can bend in half like an Olympic gymnast.” He waved them over and pointed to me.

  Suddenly, my relaxing night out became a meat market where I was hung up like a slaughtered cow. I turned to Marlene who looked me over. She licked her fingers and fixed my hair like the jerk did to his own earlier. She grabbed my shoulders and tried to turn my stool toward them, but I resisted. When they were near, Marlene leaned against the counter between the boys and me. Then she ordered another drink from Esteban. She had this ability to start up a chat with anybody, anywhere.

  “This is Duncan,” she announced to the two, ignoring me like I was in the Miss. Andersonville Beauty Contest. “He drinks vodka Red Bulls.” When I heard my name, I turned around and faked confidence by holding my head up high and puffing out my chest. My clownish smile amused them. They introduced themselves to me as Tomás and Kenny. Tomás had a smaller frame that won my attention, but the white guy Kenny seemed to take more interest in me, looking me up and down. I hated these meat markets. No, wait. I loved them.

  They picked out music on the jukebox and walked towards us. Marlene bought a drink for Ralph and then pushed me toward the boys. I ranted about my job and Marlene elbowed me in the side.

  “What do you do?” I asked them.

  “Hairdresser,” said Tomás, making a vogue sign on his impressive locks. “We work together at the same salon.”

  Tomás sang along when the Tejano song he picked out started playing, revealing silver caps covering most of his upper teeth. He sat on the stool next to me, nudging the others over. “Don’t like your job, eh?”