Between Boyfriends (17 page)

“Lindsay! This is a work of art!” I cried. Lindsay’s outfit, however, was working a different kind of art. I had forgotten that his army fatigue skating costume would have made a four-star general’s head spin. Obviously Lindsay had put on a few pounds since his competitive skating days so the olive-green satin costume was skin tight, which was acceptable in the current surroundings, but his red, white, and blue epaulets were created with the Bedazzler and down both sides of his legs ran the bespeckled phrase I
UNCLE SAM. An incredibly fey costume, however, didn’t stop him from arriving with a good-looking man-in-drag on his arm.

“Steven, I think you know Donald.”

“
This
is Fuck Cou…”

“No, it’s Donald!” Lindsay loudly corrected me.

“Oh yes,” I stumbled. “I didn’t recognize you.”

Donald had made a very clever costume choice, coming as Olivia Newton-John as skanky Sandy from
Grease
. Black tube top, spandex pants, slutty heels, permed wig, and Pink Ladies satin jacket, his outfit was almost as gay as Lindsay’s. And I had to admit his Olivia could whoop my Samantha’s ass in the Miss Drag Queen contest. Which incidentally was set to begin at three a.m.

“Are you the guy who counts cock thrusts?” Brian asked.

“You’ve heard of me?” Donald asked proudly.

“I thought it was an urban myth. Wait until I tell Rodrigo.”

“Make sure to tell him I’m up to seven-fifty.”

“Really?” Brian and I said simultaneously.

“Owe me a Coke,” I said to Brian.

“I do need a drink,” Brian announced. “Can I get you guys anything?”

“I’ll come with you,” Lindsay said. “I want to see if the bartenders are as gay as Sebastian claims.”

“Linds, get me a Bud, please,” said Donald.

“Steve, Absolut and tonic?” Brian asked knowingly.

“Absolutely.”

“And later on you can tell me how you recognized Mr. Counter,” Brian teased.

Brian’s fake moustache tickled when he kissed me. Donald smirked at me playfully and I smiled back.

“I really am up to seven-fifty now,” Donald whispered. “I’d love to prove it to you some time.”

“That sounds great, but I’ve been dating that construction worker for a few months.”

“Good for you. But when you break up with him give me a call.” Olivia strutted off, then turned back. “See ya later, stud.”

Me break up with Brian? Was I subconsciously sending out signals? Had his lie affected me much more than I cared to admit? Or was I just the cliché New York gay who spends half his time searching for a boyfriend so he can experience the joys and pains of a monogamous relationship and the other half of his time searching for ways to get rid of the boyfriend so he can be free to start his search all over again with someone new? My head was spinning like the disco ball overhead. Where was Brian with my drink?

Two Absolut and tonics later and I felt a little better. I felt much, much better when Gus arrived with his latest boy toy, looking like the lead in an S/M leather video and true to his word with his beefy British butt exposed for all to see. I kept my Gus-crush in check and my hands to myself as Gus introduced the latest in his string of boy toys.

“Mates, this is Al. Alex Peter Keaton.”

“Are you kidding me?!” I screamed.

“That’s my real name,” the incredibly underage-looking Alex P. Keaton replied. “My parents named me after some famous Republican kid.”

“They named you after a character played by a Canadian actor in a mediocre American sitcom who happened to be a teenaged Republican?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Al replied. “But how should I know? The show was canceled before I learned how to talk.”

Touché. “Brian! Get me another drink!”

“Coming right up, old-timer.”

An hour later and everyone had arrived. Flynn made a perfect gay boy in blue and was doing an admirable job keeping up with Lindsay as they roller-skated around the disco floor. My heart leapt when I saw Lucas (who actually accepted my invitation and arrived in winged-back hair and plaid cuffed jeans as one of the Bay City Rollers) skate behind Flynn and grab his billy club. Very quickly the two were skating in the happy lane.

As for Sebastian, well, he was skating in the center of the floor surrounded by some Bee Gees, a Diana Ross, and an ugly Sledge sister. As he did a scratch spin that would have made Lindsay jealous he showed us all that he wore no shame and no underwear under his loincloth. Who could blame him for advertising, though? He had to make up for lost time now that his asshole was no longer poisonous.

But when I rolled past the bar I was the one who got stung, as I saw Grace Jones fondling my boyfriend’s tool belt. Screeching to a stop inches from Brian’s skates I saw that Grace was downing my drink. Just who the hell was this harlot who obviously wanted to make Brian her very own Dolph Lundgren?

“Steven, this is Rodrigo.”

In my mind I stumbled back through time and saw the face of the guy who pulled Brian back onto the dance floor the first night we bumped into each other at Marys. It was the same face except now his hair was all slicked back and he wore heavy makeup. But the eyes were the same. They were the eyes of a friend determined to become a lover. Maybe the Absolut had given me extrasensory perception, but I knew in that instant that Rodrigo was in love with Brian. And there was no way in this hellish disco inferno that I was going to lose my man to a woman who couldn’t even keep her career.

“Rodrigo!” I said extra cheerfully. “How nice to finally meet you.”

“You too. And I’m sorry, I think I stole your drink.”

“No problem. It’s not like you stole my man!”

I laughed so hard the other two were forced to join in. Despite his laughter Rodrigo’s eyes didn’t change; they still glared at me as if he were Debbie Reynolds and I was Liz Taylor and Eddie Fisher was a fresh wound that time and Carrie Fisher’s
Star Wars
paycheck hadn’t yet healed. I knew I was in trouble when my mind raced back to pop culture of the ’50s, but I couldn’t help myself. The nagging doubts in my own head were hard enough to squelch, and this devil dressed up like Ms. Jones could not be ignored.

“I think it’s time for us to put on our show, Brian.”

“You sure you want to do it in public?”

“What are you going to do, Brian?” Rodrigo asked. “Get another blow job on the bar?”

Brian went red. “That was one time during spring break in college!”

“Sorry, Rod, but all Brian’s sex acts are now invitation only. And I’m the only one invited.” Score one for Liz. “C’mon Brian, it’s showtime!”

In honor of Gus’s birthday we had wanted to do something really fun and really gay. After much debate we decided that we would simply bring our impersonation of the Village People to the next level and perform one of their most popular tunes, one that has been sung at bar mitzvahs and bathhouses across the country since the ’70s. DJ Pasquale started the karaoke version of “Macho Man” and Flynn, Lindsay, Sebastian, Brian, and I got up on the stage to perform for Gus and the rest of the roller boogieing crowd.

As the beat began to pump louder and the lights ricocheted off the dance floor, I finally got to feel what it was like to be a real disco diva. I felt empowered as I looked out at the sweaty half-naked crowd and saw them cheering for me and my friends. I looked over at Flynn, then at the rest of the boys, and we were no longer our boring selves, we were macho Mary men and we had an anthem to sing.

By the end of the song every person in the bar was singing along. Standing up on that stage, a few things penetrated my drunken mind. We had made our friend Gus happy on his pivotal birthday, we’d given our friends a memory that would make them smile for years to come, and as silly as it sounds we declared in song that just because we were men who liked to do girlie things like get manicures, apply self-tanners, and give blow jobs, we were still men, macho, Mary, or otherwise, and no matter what anyone ever tried to do or say, that fact would never change.

Another fact that would never change is that men give mixed signals. One minute Gus was groping Sebastian’s loins under cloth and the next he was getting his unclothed ass gripped by Alex P. Over the requisite end-of-the-party tune, “Last Dance,” I swore I heard Gus proclaim that later on that night he would give himself a birthday present and bottom for the very first time. Elsewhere, Lucas finally proclaimed his homosexuality differently, with a mouthwatering kiss on Flynn’s lips. Before Flynn could even think about pulling away, Lucas had wrapped him in a tight hug and lip-smacked him. Lucas stunned himself, but Flynn was more stunned when Lucas pulled back and said feebly that he had to leave. Before I could get to Flynn to counteract Lucas’s callous action, Flynn too had fled the party. That left me and Brian. And Rodrigo.

“So where to now?” Rodrigo asked.

“I don’t know,” Brian said. “What do you feel like doing?”

“Not sure, but it’s not every night I get dressed up like a woman.”

Brian smirked. “Oh, really?”

“Well, except for that one time. Remember?” Rodrigo said, touching Brian’s now-bare chest. “You said I looked like a slutty version of Jenny McCarthy.”

“My exact words,” Brian said, grabbing Rodrigo’s bare shoulder, “were that you look like a sluttier Jenna Jameson.”

“That’s right! You remember everything about us, don’t you?” And he touched his chest again. “I’m so glad we’ve stayed friends after all these years.”

I was actually standing next to my boyfriend watching him flirt with another guy. And I was allowing it to happen.
Waiter! Where the fuck are my balls?

“I hate to interrupt this absolutely charming trip down memory lane, but it’s late and I’m horny. What are you going to do about it, Brian?”

I pulled the sex card. I wasn’t proud of it, but in desperate times pride has no place. Rodrigo might be a good flirt, but Brian and I both knew I was a good fuck. It was time we let Rodrigo in on the secret.

“Well, Rod, I have to listen to my own rod and it’s pointing east.”

It took me a moment to realize that I was standing on Brian’s right, which meant that from his point of view I was eastward. Liz: Two. Debbie: Zero.

“See ya ’round, Rod.”

We left Grace standing forlornly amid a cloud of machine-made fog. From out of the smoke appeared an old man who looked like a holdover from the original days of disco wearing red satin shorts, yellow satin jacket, headband, and sunglasses. He skated by Rodrigo and stopped to give him two complimentary toots on his disco whistle. Repulsed, Rodrigo cringed and skated off into the fake cloud to search for a Brian substitute. I clutched the hand of the real thing knowing that while Rodrigo would spend the next hour trying to catch a little night fever, tomorrow morning I would wake up with a splitting love hangover.

Two weeks later and my hangover was still the sweetest. Brian and I were moving along at a nice pace, sleeping over at each other’s apartments a couple nights during the week, having affectionate and superhot sex, and making sure we made time in our schedules for date nights—nights spent doing something silly just to get to know each other better. One night we played Trivial Pursuit and surprisingly I did much better in Science & Technology than I did in Arts & Entertainment. And Brian’s knowledge of all things historical was astounding. I was very much looking forward to bubble bath night for reasons that should be self-explanatory. All bubbles aside, these nights were important because they were our private time. For a new relationship this was the perfect defense against outside forces such as Rodrigo, who had emerged from the fog and was still trying to maintain best-friend status. Of course I never expected him to disappear completely, but I was hoping that he would get the hint that Brian was pursuing other interests. But best friends can be like bad songs that get stuck in your head. Turned out the real test to our relationship was soon to come, as it was time for me and Brian to spend our first real holiday together—Thanksgiving.

“So how would you like to spend a good old-fashioned Italian Thanksgiving with me and my family?” I asked.

“That would be really nice,” Brian said. “Except…”

“Except what? You don’t like turkey?”

“No, silly. I would love to spend Thanksgiving with you, but Rodrigo and I always spend it together. His family’s in Argentina and my mother is not thankful and/or giving so years ago we wound up spending the day together. I’d hate to give him the boot on such short notice.”

I heard the words form in my head, and couldn’t stop them from pouring out of my mouth. “Rodrigo can come too.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. My mother loves a crowded table.”

“You’re sure it won’t be an inconvenience? Because we’re kind of used to having Chinese on turkey day.”

“No boyfriend of mine is having mu shu pork on Thanksgiving. Tell Rodrigo to prepare himself for his first Thanksgiving in Jersey.”

“Thank you,” Brian said. “I wasn’t sure if you really liked him.”

Damn, my man was perceptive. “Not like Rodrigo?!” I said, using my higher-pitched shocked voice. “Why, that’s as crazy as you not liking Flynn! You do like Flynn, don’t you?”