Innuendo (24 page)

This morning I was out in front of the apartment building, just raking like I was supposed to. That's when I noticed that guy—he was sitting in a car and staring at me. He scared me right away because he was kind of creepy-looking. He was bald and wearing sunglasses and he didn't look very friendly. I just kept raking, but he didn't take his eyes off me. Finally I heard this car door shut, and I looked up and saw him coming over. I kind of wanted to run, and I was about to when he called out my name.

“Andy, you're Andy, aren't you?”

I didn't say anything. I mean, I was sure I never saw him before. I mean, I've done it three times exactly. Three times I took money—once this married guy paid me fifty bucks to let him suck me. Another time this guy, this businessman, was here for some kind of dentist convention, and he paid me seventy-five to go back to his hotel room. Then another time, this old guy, he was gay for sure, he paid me twenty-five bucks just to let him watch me jerk off. But what was I supposed to do? I was hungry. I needed the money But this guy, all I could think was, Who's that old troll?

And then he said, “You got to be Andy—you look just like your dad.”

I kind of freaked. I mean, I probably shoulda just taken off. Instead I just kind of tried to look, you know, tough.

And even though I thought my heart was going to pop out of my chest, I said, “Who the fuck are you?”

I mean, I thought he was a cop. Or a detective, someone they hired to come find me.

He said, “A very old friend of your dad, that's who, you little shit.”

I stared at him, and at first I didn't know what to say, then finally, “How did you find me?”

It turns out that Jordy Weaver is a bigger idiot than I ever thought. Last night he was all upset—all upset about me, probably—and that idiot called home. He probably was bawling to his parents that he wanted to come home or something. What a wuss. And then Mr. Weaver called my house and talked to my dad and apparently told him where Jordy was living. Dad then asked this guy to come up here and check on me. He went to Jordy's, and then that fucking turd sent him right over here, thank you very much, Mr. Jordy Fairy Weaver.

Yes, thought Rawlins. He should have already done it, but first thing tomorrow morning he'd find Jordy and get a formal statement from him.

So this guy asks if I'm alright, and I say yes. He said my dad is all worried about me. Well, that was a crock of shit, I knew that right away My mom maybe, but not Dad, not after he beat the crap out of me. You know, so I'm looking at this guy, thinking what is he really here for?

And so I say, “Dad said he never wanted to see me again, and I don't ever want to see him either.”

“You know what, Andy, maybe you'll understand some day.”

“Understand what?”

“Things, that's all.”

“Well, if she wants to know, you can tell my mom I'm fine. Now I gotta get back to work.”

And then this guy, he goes and pulls a hundred dollar bill from his wallet. Like no way. No way am I going to go to bed with him. Fuck! What a disgusting fig.

“I don't want your money,” I tell him.

“Please, your dad is a special friend of mine. We've known each other since we were kids. He just asked me to drive by where you were living, he didn't want me to stop, but then I saw you out here, and—”

“I've never seen you before. If you're my dad's friend, then why haven't I ever seen you? You've never been at our farm, have you? And I've never seen you in town. So who the fuck are you?”

This bald guy, he looks down at the ground, and then he says, “He's going to shoot me for doing this, but there's something you have to know.”

The way he said it really scared me, and I asked, “What's… what's that?”

“Do you promise you won't tell him I told you?”

“Sure,” I answered even though I knew I was lying.

“You swear?”

“Yeah, I swear. Now tell me! What is it?”

And then he tells me. He just blurts it out. It just takes one little sentence, that's all, and then everything's ruined.

“You're a fucking liar!” I yell at him.

“I'm sure it's kind of a shock, I—”

“You're wrong!”

“No, Andy, I'm not. I wouldn't lie about something like that.”

“No!”

I threw my rake at him and then ran inside. He tried to come after me, but I pulled the front door shut and locked it. He was banging on the door, yelling at me to let him in, but I didn't. I never wanted to see that jerk again. I mean, I couldn't believe it. There had to be a mistake. It had to be a lie. I started crying and I ran right to my apartment. I like threw myself on my bed. What was I supposed to do? Believe him? But…

I mean, I had to know. I had to know for sure. So what did I do? I called Dad. I called him on his cell phone. He was out on the tractor, tilling the south field, and he picked up right away.

“Is it true, Dad?” I yelled into the receiver.

“Andy? Andy, is that you?”

“This guy, he just came here, and he said… said something bad about you,” I began, breaking my promise. “Is it true? Do you know him and is he telling the truth?”

At first there was nothing, like I hit him in the stomach or something. And then he started screaming and yelling at the top of his lungs.

“Are you crazy? Of course it's not true! And… and if you ever say anything like that again, God damn it, I'll kill you with my very own hands!”

”Oh, my God… it is true, isn't it?”

“You little—”

And then I hung up. I just sort of dropped the phone. For the first time in my life everything made sense. I saw how all of us fit together, Mom and Dad, me, my sisters. Now I knew why he hit me so hard in the barn, why he went so crazy. Everything made sense, yet nothing did.

I still can't believe it. In fact, I can't even write it down. I mean, if anyone ever found this diary and read it, then they'd know what my dad's been doing. And then… then Dad really would come after me and kill me. For sure.

God, I'm so afraid…

Afraid? Afraid of what?

On the one hand, thought Rawlins, nothing made sense. On the other, everything did. Now he knew why Andrew had been so desperate, why he had been so needy and clingy. Now he understood why Andrew had so wanted to fall into Rawlins's arms. His father had threatened his life, and Andrew had wanted love. He'd wanted comfort, he'd wanted solace. Desperately confused, Andrew had needed all of that. The only mistake he'd made, however, was that he'd tangled it all up with sex, which was so often the case with kids, gay or straight, male or female, for they too often lacked any other way to say: I need comfort. But then why should they? Hell, most adults didn't know how to say those three simple words either.

It was as horrible as it was pathetic. If only he'd known, Rawlins told himself. If only Andrew had come right out and said something. If only he'd told Rawlins what his father was involved in then maybe he could have helped.

So, mused Rawlins, holding the diary in his lap and now staring at the blank white wall across the room. Late morning of the day Andrew was murdered, a bald man had come to see him and dropped a major-league bomb. And then Andrew had called his father, and the father had in no uncertain ways threatened his very own son. So had either one of these men come to Andrew's apartment later in the day, blindfolded him, and cut his throat? Had the bald man returned, furious that he'd broken his promise and talked to his father? Or had Andrew's own father come up, knowing that there was but one way to keep silent the truth, whatever it was?

Oh, God, thought Rawlins. Could the world really be that horrible that a father would harm his son?

As he sat outside
the coffee shop, the night air chilly and damp, Jordy Weaver couldn't help but feel as if somebody's eyes were tracking his every move. He wanted to be out here, away from all of them, those gay people inside the cafe who were talking and gabbing and laughing as if they didn't have a care in the world, but who was that in the car across the street? Who was that guy and why did it seem he was just waiting? But waiting for what? Some hustler and a midnight blow job? A chance encounter with another desperate soul? Or could he, Jordy wondered as he sipped his coffee, be waiting especially for me?

The Octopus Cafe, just on the edge of downtown Minneapolis, had once been a car wash known by almost the same name. In fact, the very namesake creature still sat on a pole high above Jordy, only now its multiple arms didn't hold sponges and buckets but coffee cups, lots of them. It was a popular place among queer people, not too far from the gay bars, of which the Twin Cities had a particularly odd dearth, and only a few blocks from Loring Park, known for its after-hours cruising. Tonight, as the bars began to empty, the cafe was getting more and more packed with men waiting for this evening's sidewalk sale. After all, who wanted to be out this late and end up in bed with naught?

Look at them all, thought Jordy, peering in through the large glass garage door from which freshly scrubbed cars had once exited. Look at all those men sitting in there gabbing away about this and that, none of it important. Do I want to be like them, those scuzzy homos? Do I want to end up like that, smoking and drinking and doing drugs and fucking everything in sight… and getting killed? Right, now Jordy knew it for sure. If you were gay you either got AIDS or you got your throat slit. Oh, shit, why couldn't he just be normal? Maybe he could change, get rid of this thing inside him. He'd heard about such religious organizations that took you in and made you straight. Maybe he should give it a try.

In the distance he saw the sky pulse spasmodically with lightning, then soon thereafter heard the deep grumbling of thunder. Oh, God, he couldn't believe this. All he'd ever wanted was Andrew, but now he was gone forever. First Andrew had moved away from him, taking that job and getting his very own apartment, then he started seeing that cop, and now… now…

No, Andrew was never coming back. Never. He was dead, dead, dead. Jordy wondered if there was going to be a funeral back in their hometown or if his parents were going to keep the shame of their lives all secret and everything. If there was a funeral, Jordy wondered if he'd be invited, but then realized that, no, of course he wouldn't be. Andrew's parents probably wanted to see him in the grave too. They probably even blamed him, Jordy Weaver, for what happened to their son, and maybe, just maybe, they were right. At least it hadn't been him who had started it all. Nope, it had been Andrew He'd been the one to first bring up sex. The first one to pounce.

Tears filled his eyes yet again, and he bent over his coffee, which was getting colder by the second. He bowed his head and his long silky light brown hair fell forward, covering his face. Who would've ever imagined that something like this would happen to one of them? He remembered the first time they'd done it, Andrew and he. It had been something like two years ago when Andrew had come for a sleep-over. They'd just started goofing around—“I'm kind of horny, how about you?” Andrew had asked. One thing sort of led to another, and then they realized what they really had in common. They'd done it another six or seven times—in the attic above Jordy's parents’ garage, in the hayloft in Andrew's barn, once in a car—before they got caught and the shit really hit the fan. After that it had been Jordy's idea for the two of them to run away, to come all the way up here. Jordy had thought he was so cool, so smart, coming up with that plan, but it proved to be the stupidest thing. Shit, fuck, piss. This was all his fault. Andrew would never have gotten himself killed if they hadn't come up here to The Cities.

“You okay?” said a deep voice.