“Awesome,” she said. “Will he give me a Porsche?”
“I’m sure he could. I’ll call and ask him now.”
“Look at all those cars,” she said as we passed. “And look at that guy.”
The lot was flooded with light and the cars all shined like big pieces of expensive candy. It took me a second to notice the homeless man standing on the sidewalk staring at the sea of vehicles. He stood there motionless in a ragged overcoat. In the blur of passing, I thought I noticed his mouth hanging open in awe. I glanced in the rearview mirror, half expecting him to have disappeared, but he was still standing there, as motionless as a statue.
“That was weird,” she said.
“Totally,” I said.
When Lucy told me that Cherry’s was located in downtown Cedarville, I almost didn’t believe her. Downtown Cedarville was deserted at night. Every now and then a taxi or police car would creep down the street, but even that was rare. For the most part, downtown became a ghost town after nine p.m. Lucy had me stop the car at the mouth of an alley located between a jewelry store and a used bookshop.
“I think it’s down there,” she said.
The steam in the alley looked like a cumulus cloud hiding in a maze of buildings. From somewhere farther down the alley, a golden streetlight illuminated the steam cloud’s lethargic ascent to the sky. I pulled the car into a parking spot in front of the bank and then shut off the engine. Lucy checked her makeup in the visor mirror while I scrounged for a piece of gum in the glove compartment. I finally found one at the very bottom. God knows how long it had been there.
“Are you nervous?” Lucy asked.
“I forgot to brush my teeth,” I said, working on chewing the tough old piece of gum to a manageable wad. “But yeah, a little. What if they realize our IDs are fake and they call the cops?”
“They won’t do that.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes I do,” she said. “I know everything. And besides, we can’t bail now. We’ve come too far. So let’s go. Rite of passage. Just keep saying that in your head.”
We got out and walked into the alley. About fifty feet on we came to a black door with a neon cherry over it. A man in a green track jacket was leaning against the building and talking softly into his cell phone. He was dark and balding, maybe my dad’s age. Lucy opened the door to the bar, letting out a rush of hyper dance music. I followed her, but not before letting my gaze linger on the man for a second. He wasn’t all that attractive, but I couldn’t stop staring at him for some reason. I wanted to know who he was talking to, what he was talking about. It was like knowing these things might help me figure out how to be more myself. He noticed me looking and gave me a friendly smile and a wink. I gave a tight smile and a little wave and then hurried into the bar behind Lucy.
The place was a perfect square with a circular bar in the middle of the room and a bunch of small booths on the darker perimeter of the room. About a dozen men were sitting at the bar, all spotlit almost to the point of being washed out by the bright light coming from fixtures over their heads. The men there were nothing like I thought they’d be. There were no supermodels or Johnny Morgan look-alikes. They were all just regular guys in their thirties and forties. There was an Asian guy in an expensive-looking suit sitting at the bar and drinking a yellow liquid out of a martini glass, but everyone else was just wearing boring T-shirts and khakis that they’d probably purchased at some lame store at the Cedarville Mall that I refused to step foot in. The beautiful, well-dressed men that I thought would be here turned out to only exist in the gay bar of my imagination.
Almost everyone looked up at us as we walked in and I suddenly wanted to disappear. Lucy, however, didn’t seem to mind or notice. She just looked around, trying to figure out where we should sit. There was a plump redheaded woman tending bar. She was wearing thick green eye shadow and chewing gum.
“You two’d better show me your IDs before you even think about taking a seat,” she said.
We walked over to the bar and handed her our false documents. Her eyes bounced between our faces and Teddy’s and Esther’s photos. I looked down to avoid her glare. There were peanut shells strewn about the hardwood floor, and in the corner of my eye I spotted a shimmering green needle of glass from some probably long-ago broken bottle.
“Sit in the back,” the woman said when she laid the cards down on the bar. “No hard stuff. Just beer. And I can kick you out whenever I feel like it.”
“O-kay.” Lucy drew out the syllables as if she was confused by the response. “Two beers then. Teddy, go grab us a table.”
I took a seat at a circular table in the rear corner of the bar. The table wobbled horribly when I rested my elbows on it, and the banged-up tin ashtray in the center looked like it’d seen an entire cancer case worth of cigarettes. There was a jukebox a few feet to my left, where a man in cowboy boots and a cowboy hat stood flipping through the selections at a slow, almost disabled pace. Right next to him was a hallway leading back to the restrooms. A few of the men around the bar were looking back over their shoulders at me. I was scared to return their glances, so I looked up at the rafters as if I were an architect planning on rebuilding this place the next day by memory.
“That was cool of her to let us stay,” I said when Lucy sat down.
“Are you kidding? She was totally hostile. She probably just wants the tips.” She took a swig of Corona and looked around the bar. “Not a huge selection of men, but better than nothing. It must feel nice to know there are at least”—she took a quick count—“eleven other gay men in Cedarville, right?”
“The Asian guy looks like he’s here on a business trip.”
“Fine. Ten. Well, eleven still. That’s including you.”
We went quiet for a bit. I wondered what was supposed to happen next. Would someone talk to me? Should I approach one of them? I thought of Alex with his shaggy hair and dirty boots, his overall aura of danger. There was no one like that here.
“When did you know you were a lesbian?”
“I don’t know. For forever. I remember I wanted to marry my friend Teresa when I was seven. I wanted to have a wedding and everything, but Teresa’s mom said no way. It was only going to be a pretend wedding in my backyard with a few stuffed animals making up the wedding party. I don’t see what the big deal was, even now. But we did it anyway, in secret. We had a pretend wedding in my garage. Tina the Blue Rabbit was my maid of honor.”
“What happened to her?”
“Tina the Blue Rabbit? She’s back in California. She is now my mother’s dog’s chew toy. She’s seen better days.”
I laughed. “No. To Teresa.”
“Oh God, I don’t know. I haven’t thought about her in years. She moved just after that. I probably wouldn’t even recognize her if I passed her on the street. It was so long ago.”
A twangy country ballad came on the jukebox and shocked the bar out of its dance music daze, some sad-voiced woman singing against a backdrop of steel guitar and trotting upright bass. The guy in the boots and hat swayed across the bar, lipsynching the lyrics into the neck of his Bud Light. He went up to the Asian businessman and pulled him by the arm. The businessman looked down at his lap and tried to wave him away, but the cowboy wasn’t giving up. The bartender let out a high-pitched whistle and the businessman let the cowboy pull him from his stool. They danced slowly into the middle of the bar and then anchored themselves there.
“This is hysterical,” Lucy said.
It only took a few seconds for the businessman’s awkwardness to subside, for his body to relax and succumb to the cowboy’s lead, and suddenly they seemed like the most natural pair in the world. The bartender reached under the bar and flipped a switch, and a disco ball that had been hibernating in the darkness up near the ceiling came to life and sent a thousand little points of light gliding around the room. A guy in stonewashed jeans and a flannel shirt sang along drunkenly from his barstool.
Lucy said, ?
??If you would’ve told that guy this morning that by the end of the day he’d be dancing with a cowboy in a gay bar in Iowa, he probably would’ve looked at you like you lost your mind.”
We watched them dance until the song ended and something else came on, some synthesizer-heavy dance number from the eighties. The cowboy left the businessman to his loneliness and his yellow martini. There was scattered applause. I clapped along, weirdly honored that I was there to witness it. The cowboy gave his reluctant dance partner a slap on the back and then took his place a few stools down.
“Are you having fun?” Lucy asked.
“Yeah. I’m having a real good time.”
The door to the bar swung open and like everyone else I looked up. An athletic guy in a long-sleeved black shirt and an olive green baseball cap walked in. All the other patrons went back to their drinks after a momentary glance, but I kept watching. There was something about the way the guy sauntered slowly over to the bar that made me think I knew him from somewhere. He leaned into the light to order a drink and everything clicked into place.
“Oh my fucking God.”
It was Pablo. I hadn’t seen him since that night in his truck outside my house. I hadn’t really even thought of him. He took a stool at the bar and said something to the bartender, but she didn’t move. She just went on staring intently at the television above the bar. The nightly news was showing footage from Jenny Moore’s ninth birthday party for the ten thousandth time. Finally the bartender reached absently into the cooler for a Rolling Rock and slid it over to him. She kept her eyes on the television for another few moments and then turned and said something to him. Then they both looked back up at the screen. The bartender shook her head sadly.
“Who’s that?” Lucy asked.
“That’s Pablo.”
“That’s Pablo? Your ex-not-boyfriend?”
“Yeah.” I couldn’t stop staring at him. I was having problems breathing and speaking at the same time. It was like all the air had been sucked out of the room. “That Pablo.”
Even though he was wearing a hat, I could tell his hair was longer than it’d ever been. Thick black waves crept out from under the edges of his cap, the beginnings of bigger curls that would come if he kept letting it grow. He took a big drink of his beer and looked around the room. He had his lips arranged in the slightest beginnings of a smile, like he was ready to spring a full one for anyone who might suddenly appear in front him. He adjusted the brim of his cap, pulled it down a little lower, and took another drink of his beer.
“Look at him,” I said. “He’s so nervous.”
“Where’s his so-called girlfriend?” Lucy asked.
“Probably at the mall drinking the blood of an incoming freshman.”
“Are you gonna say something?” she asked.
“Should I?” I asked.
“He sounded like he has some issues.”
“It’d be awkward not to,” I reasoned.
“I think any way you play this, awkward is pretty much unavoidable at this point.”
I thought back to a night two springs ago. He’d picked me up and we cruised around town. He was in a weirdly good mood that night. He let me pick out what music we listened to. He kept cracking lame jokes, and even though most of them weren’t funny, I laughed anyway. He drove me to the deserted Cedarville High parking lot and attempted to teach me how to drive stick. The lesson ended with us parked in the back row with our shirts off and us taking turns kissing over each other’s stomachs, the smell of the day’s rain filling the car.
“I’m going to say hi.”
“Do you want me to go with you?” she asked.
“It’ll be fine,” I said. “We’re at a bar. It’s cool. I’ll be right back.”
I grabbed my beer and went over. He did a double take as I approached. His eyes grew wide and he opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. He grabbed his beer and took a swig. He gave a quick glance to the left and then the right, and finding nothing to rest his eyes on, his shocked gaze settled on me.
I motioned to the empty stool beside him. “Can I sit?”
“Sit, don’t sit. Do whatever you want.”
I climbed up on the seat. On the television a hot blond guy was surfing on a tidal wave of orange soda. We sat there drinking our beers in silence until the commercial break ended and the news came back on. It was the weatherman’s turn.
“Rain on Thursday,” Pablo said. He was trying to act all nonchalant, but I could tell he was nervous, terrified even. “Sucks. I was gonna hit the links.”
“Hit the links?”
“Go golfing.”
“You golf?” I asked.
“Yup,” he said, not taking his eyes off the screen. “Been goin’ with Bert and the guys out at the country club. Good thing to learn before you get into the business world. Some of the biggest deals are made during a game of golf.”
I thought back to all the times I’d hung out with him and Bert and the rest of the popular jocks. They would all go out of their way to ignore me. I’d be driving home afterward, feeling empty and on the verge of tears, and I’d get a text from Pablo asking me if I wanted to come over and fool around. I’d turn around in the nearest driveway, hating myself the entire time.
I rolled my eyes. “Golf is frickin’ boring.”
He gave me a sideways glance. “I don’t remember asking you.”
“Well, it is.”
“If Johnny freakin’ Morgan played golf, you’d be all about it.”
“How’s that beer?” I asked. I tried to give it sort of an edge, but there was nothing I could do to turn a line like that into a comeback. It just ended up sounding lame. Pablo didn’t reply. He just kept on watching the TV.
“Where’s Judy?” I asked
He turned to me. “Why? You got something to say to her?”
“I’m not gonna tell your stupid girlfriend I saw you here or anything.”
“Don’t talk about my girlfriend,” he said. He took a drink of his beer and leaned toward me. “Do you want an apology? Is that what you want?”
“I don’t want anything from you.”
“Well, why did you come over here if you don’t want anything from me?” he asked. “What do you need me to do?”
“I don’t need you to do anything,” I said. “I saw you over here and thought I’d come talk to you since a couple of weeks ago you came over in the middle of the night and basically asked me to get back together with you. I’m just trying to be nice.”
“Well, don’t do me any favors.”
“Fine,” I said. “I guess I’ll leave you alone.”
“You know, man,” he said. “This is really giving me a headache.”
I should’ve walked away then, but I didn’t. We watched the weather and sports on mute. The bartender brought us two more beers without us having to ask, and when Pablo put down just enough money to cover his, I did the same. I glanced over at Lucy. She gave me an inquisitive look as if to ask how things were going. I smiled weakly and gave her a little nod to let her know that I was okay. Side by side, Pablo and I sipped our beers in silence. The local news ended and some national news program came on. The screen alternated between various images of the war in the Middle East. There were tanks rolling across the desert and a marketplace where bodies were strewn around a charred sedan. A woman cried into a camera and then the picture went to a group of government officials giving an update from a clean blue room.
“I’m gonna go,” I said.
“You said you were gonna go, like, ten minutes ago,” he said.
I didn’t know what to say. I just stood up and walked away. I was almost to the door when I turned and went back over to him.
“You’re a coward,” I said. “Remember that.”
“Oh, and you’re so honest about what you are,” he said.
“At least I’m honest with myself,” I said. “Which is more than you can say.”
He gave me a look like he was about to say
something else, but I walked away before he could.
Lucy ran out after me.
“Screw him,” she said as she held me at the end of the alley. “You’re too good for him.”
We stopped by a liquor store and tried to buy a bottle of whiskey with our fake IDs, but got turned down. We bought some root beer instead and drove to the Lot, the empty parking lot of an abandoned hardware superstore on the edge of town. It was a popular nighttime hangout for Cedarville’s more nocturnal crowd. Homeless people, restless thugs, and trailer park drunks all stumbled through the paved expanse at some point in the evening. Meanwhile my suburban peers marinated in the safety of their darkened cars, the orange glow of their lighters like signs of life viewed from across the galaxy. We were all watching each other in the dark, feeling one another’s energy and canceling each other out with our own brands of lostness. Pablo and I had gone there to mess around a few times before, but I’d always been terrified, afraid we’d inadvertently stepped into an urban legend where I’d get home and find a hook hanging from my car door.
Lucy put on some French hip-hop and shook her shoulders back and forth along to the music. “French hip-hop makes everything better. I mean, how can you be sad or angry when some French dude with a Casio is rapping about loving your body down?”
“Pablo and I used to come here,” I said. I was slouched in the seat, a stream of smoke from my cigarette snaking out my cracked window.
“It’s hard to believe they haven’t busted this place yet,” Lucy said. “It seems like the perfect subject for a local new exposé. Maybe we should call the channel nine tip line. Do they pay for tips?”
“You’re out of your mind.”
“I’m just joking.”
“I’m not in the mood for jokes.”
“Oh, dude,” she said. She took my hand. “I’m sorry. What can I do?”
“Nothing. That’s just it. There’s nothing anyone can do.”
“Don’t cry over him.”
“I’m not crying.”
“You look like you’re going to.”
“I don’t understand him,” I said. “Simple as that. I just don’t understand.”