One Man Guy (18 page)

“That’s what Eliza Doolittle is taught to say correctly when she’s finally transformed in
My Fair Lady
.”

“Whatever, man. Those look gorgeous. Try them with…” Ethan ran into the dressing room and pulled out a tight black V-neck T-shirt.

Alek changed shirts and walked out in the full ensemble. Ethan whistled in approval. “This is what you’re going to be wearing when you walk out of here. Go in there and show me the rest of it.”

Ethan’s enthusiasm drew everyone in. When Alek walked out a few moments later, this time wearing the Green Lantern T-shirt with low-riding gray boot-cut jeans, the other customers waiting in the dressing room line clapped. Ethan made him model the clothes up and down the aisle, much to the impromptu audience’s pleasure.

“You’ve got to get some kick-ass shoes for that getup,” a trim, well-dressed young man holding a briefcase suggested.

“Those two make an adorable couple,” a middle-aged woman in a beige straw hat whispered to her friend.

Back in the dressing room, Alek pulled the shirt off and was deciding what to try next when he heard Ethan from the other side of the curtain.

“I picked these up for you. I want to see if you look better in the black or silver frames. I think we’re ready to move into accessories.” Alek caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, shirtless, before Ethan barged in, holding two pairs of sunglasses and a few chains of wood beads.

“Oh, uh, I didn’t realize … Sorry, I assumed you were dressed,” Ethan sputtered when he saw Alek half-naked. But he didn’t make any movement to leave.

“I was just trying to figure out what to try next,” Alek responded, turning around so his back was to Ethan.

“How about this one?” Ethan held up an almost transparent white button-down covered with a floral Southwestern design over the shoulders and back.

“Great, you want to leave it?” Alek asked.

“I’d rather you turned around so I could see you put it on.”

Alek paused for a second before he slowly turned around. He could see Ethan look him up and down. Although he should’ve been uncomfortable, Alek secretly felt thrilled to be seminaked in front of Ethan. And having so many people close by made it even more exciting.

“I didn’t realize you had such sexy tris.” Ethan spoke slowly, taking his time with each word.

“Tris?”

“Triceps, duh.”

“I told you I played tennis for years.”

Ethan put a finger on Alek’s elbow and traced his triceps up to his shoulder. Alek felt every hair on his body go rigid in response. Ethan’s finger lingered on Alek’s shoulder for a while, and then slowly, it wound its way forward, tracing down his pecs.

“And I didn’t realize how well you tan. Do all Armenians tan this well?”

“Well, lots of Armenians are really pale, like my mom. That’s where my brother gets it from. But I look more like my dad. He’s so dark, he’s sometimes mistaken for Turkish.”

“Thank God for Dad’s dark Armenian genes.”

Ethan’s finger slid up under Alek’s chin, and then he pushed him against the dressing room wall. Ethan leaned his body against Alek’s and kissed him.

“Not here!” Alek protested weakly after a few seconds.

“I don’t care where we make out.” Ethan smiled slyly but pulled away. His body language, however, made it clear that he would’ve happily continued kissing. And maybe more. “But it’s cool. Let me see you in that button-down.”

Standing in the checkout line a few minutes later, Alek couldn’t believe that the two pairs of pants, three pairs of shorts, and four shirts he was holding, not to mention the blue pants and black V-neck outfit that Ethan chose for him, with the silver sunglasses and a string of wooden beads around his neck, totaled less than half the money his mother usually spent on his summer clothes.

“And how about this, to pull it all together?” Ethan asked, holding up a beat-up brown leather backpack.

Alek dropped his clothes on the floor and held the backpack in a loving embrace.

“Goodbye, JanSport,” he said, nuzzling the bag with his nose and inhaling its old leather smell.

“I’ll take that as a yes?” Ethan asked, picking up Alek’s clothes from the floor.

A few minutes later, they stood outside the Housing Works store, Alek proudly wearing his new clothes, the rest of them folded into the leather backpack strapped on his back.

“You remember the five bucks we didn’t spend last trip because you were being all salty?”

“I wasn’t salty, whatever that means! I thought you were being homophobic…”

“… when I was just being homosexual,” Ethan quipped. “You hungry?”

With all of the day’s activities, Alek didn’t realize he hadn’t eaten since the
soudé
incident.

“Starved!”

“That’s what the remaining five bucks go to. Food. Even in New York City, you can find good cheap food.”

Ethan turned and Alek followed.
What must it be like,
Alek wondered,
to actually know your way around this city?

“We’re going to grab a bite, and then we’re going to hit the High Line.”

“What’s the High Line?”

“You’ll have to see it to believe” was all Ethan would say.

Alek and Ethan passed countless restaurants, stands, and food carts as they traveled through the city. “Can’t we just grab something at one of these?” Alek asked.

“No,” Ethan responded quickly. “This place is a little bit out of our way, but if you want the best, you have to be willing to travel for it. Especially if you want the best on a budget.”

They passed a basketball court, and Ethan look a sharp left. “We’re in the West Village. It used to be the bohemian/gay neighborhood, but then gentrification happened, and now only rich people live here. And NYU students. Here we are.”

Ethan stopped in front of a small, white-and-brown-striped awning attached to a sign that read
MAMOUN’S FALAFEL
.

“Falafel!” Alek exclaimed.

“Don’t tell me falafel is Armenian, too?”

“It’s not—it’s Middle Eastern. But my mom grew up next door to an Egyptian family, and their moms traded recipes all the time. Falafel is to me what hot dogs were to most kids.”

Ethan stepped up to place their order, but Alek interceded. “I got this,” he said. “We’ll take two falafel sandwiches, and give me the real pitas—not that thick stuff
these Americans
like.” The guy behind the counter nodded at Alek approvingly. He grabbed some thin pitas from beneath the counter, opened them up, then used a pair of tongs to pick up some falafel balls from the fry basket.

“How long has that falafel been sitting there?” Alek asked the guy, who looked down sheepishly instead of answering. “That’s what I thought,” Alek continued. “You mind whipping us up a new batch, please?” The guy scooped some mashed chickpeas into balls and dropped them into the boiling oil.

“You really know your way around a falafel stand,” Ethan commented, impressed.

“You have no idea how proud my parents would be of me right now,” Alek replied. When the falafel was ready, Alek pointed to the toppings. “You can go light on the salad, and then give us some of those cucumbers in brine and—”

“Some
soudé
fruits!” Ethan exclaimed with joy.

“And some pickled eggplant would be great. And we’ll take the tahini and the hot sauce, please.
Sahtein
,” Alek said as the man handed him the falafel sandwiches.

“What does
sahtein
mean?” Ethan asked.

“It’s like
bon appétit
in Arabic,” Alek responded.

“Will those be together?” the man asked, ringing them up.

“Yes, please,” Alek jumped in before Ethan had a chance to respond. He handed the cashier a ten-dollar bill from the envelope and slipped another dollar into the tip jar.

“Alek, you don’t have to pay for me.”

“I know I don’t. But this is a date, right?”

“Preach.”

“Assuming that means ‘yes,’ it would be my pleasure.”

“Check me out. My boyfriend bought me a falafel sandwich,” Ethan boasted to the Goth girls behind them.

“You two are so cute. And you’re so lucky. Gay is so ‘in’ right now. I’m totally thinking about going lesbo,” the taller one responded.

Alek would’ve laughed or at least acknowledged the girl’s comment, but he was still absorbing Ethan’s use of the word
boyfriend
. They ate while they walked, Ethan practically dragging Alek along.

“My mom says it’s not healthy to walk and eat,” Alek protested.

“Your mom doesn’t have to get to the High Line before it closes.”

They walked up and then over, and Ethan guided Alek up a circular outdoor staircase. A walking garden, running parallel to the river and suspended in the middle of the city, welcomed them.

“This is so cool!” Alek cried.

“I know, right?” Ethan nodded. “This used to be a train track that would deliver milk, meat, produce, and raw and manufactured goods into the city. Then it was closed down for, like, forever, and people wanted to tear it down, but someone had the idea to turn it into a park. Come on!”

“It’s like the opposite of Central Park,” Alek observed as they strolled.

“How do you mean?”

“Well, in Central Park, you forget you’re in a city. Here, the city and nature meld into this incredible hybrid thing. The High Line couldn’t exist anywhere else.”

“No, it couldn’t,” Ethan agreed. “I just love the way the city looks from this second-floor perspective.” He pointed west. “That’s where the Ramblers, the city’s gay soccer team, play every Monday night. And down there is the Hotel Chelsea, which used to be
the
place to be. And look, this is one of my favorite parts,” he said when they reached 26th Street. They sat suspended over the street, watching it stretch into what looked like infinity. “You never get to see a street or avenue from this angle. Isn’t it amazing?” Ethan asked.

Alek nodded yes, watching the street stretch into the horizon.

They passed couples holding hands and more food carts. When they reached a Mexican paleta stand, Ethan proudly produced his own wallet. “If you can buy me falafel, then I can buy you dessert,” he said, and purchased one strawberry and one mango chili frozen fruit bar. “You wanna go splitsies?” Ethan asked.

“On a popsicle?” Alek exclaimed.

“Scared of catching my germs?”

They continued walking as they ate their dessert, admiring the floating park’s architecture and how it seamlessly melded into the foliage and greenery. “Come on, come on,” Ethan hurried Alek along. “We don’t have much time left.”

“Time left for what?”

“Just hurry up!” Ethan said, practically dragging him down another circular staircase. Alek followed Ethan across a highway onto a small grass-lined pier.

“We’re all the way west in Manhattan.” Ethan pointed to the road that ran parallel to the water. “This is the West Side Highway.”

“I keep on forgetting that Manhattan is an island,” Alek admitted.

He looked up and saw the sun setting behind the Jersey skyline. Alek had grown up in New Jersey and knew that it had the reputation of being the nation’s armpit. And usually Alek felt like the reputation was well-earned. But now, a few stray rays of sun shot up, piercing the darkening sky with shafts of purple, red, and orange. The reflection shimmered on the water delicately, as though any disturbance would cause the image to disappear. Even New Jersey, Alek thought, looked beautiful through the lens of New York. Alek and Ethan stood, admiring.

“You called me your boyfriend back there at the falafel place,” Alek said softly, still looking straight ahead.

“At Mamoun’s?”

“Yeah. You told those girls that your boyfriend bought you some food.”

“So?”

Alek paused, wondering if he could build up his courage to ask the terrifying question.

“Why me, Ethan? You’re so—well—you could have anyone in the school that you wanted. Why did you choose me?”

“I have a soft place in my heart for the Armenian people. The whole genocide thing…” The breeze was gently billowing wisps of Ethan’s hair. Alek thought he could be content to spend the rest of his life like this, with the sun and the water and the wind and Ethan. But that didn’t mean he was going to let him evade the question.

“I’m being serious, Ethan,” Alek insisted softly. He put his hand on Ethan’s, interlocking their fingers on the rail.

Ethan took a long, considered pause before he started speaking. “I think, when you’re our age, it’s really easy to do the easy thing. I mean, what adults don’t understand, or maybe they’ve just forgotten, is that most of the time we mess up, we know we’re doing something stupid, but we choose to do it anyway because it’s easier. But you’re different. You’re not scared to do the right thing, even when it’s harder. Like telling Mr. Weedin when he had copied that problem wrong. Or calling me out when you thought I was being homophobic. And I respect that, Alek. You’ve got character. That’s something I want in a guy I’m going to be with. It means he’s going to treat me well, and that he deserves to be treated well himself.”

Alek leaned his head on Ethan’s shoulder and continued watching the last few remnants of the sun disappear.

“One more thing,” Ethan said after a long pause. “And this was true before today, but now it’s indi-freakin’-sputable.” He put his arm around Alek’s shoulder and whispered into his ear. “You’re sexy, boyfriend.”

16

Alek had laid out his clothes the night before
,
making a covenant with himself to wear them. Even so, he had to make himself ignore the comforting invisibility of the old mall fare in his closet. When he walked on the High Line yesterday, his new clothes made perfect sense. But as he lay on his bed in New Jersey, they felt as out of place as fireworks at a funeral.

Alek didn’t know if it was a good sign that Ms. Imbrie, his English teacher, didn’t recognize him when he walked in that morning, wearing tight jeans and a short-sleeved red plaid button-down shirt and sporting his new tousled hair. And although he certainly wasn’t dressed like a D.O., he felt much more comfortable at their table wearing his new threads. Josh, with the bleached spiky hair, even said, “Um, dude, I’m straight and I’d totally do you.” To which Ethan quickly responded, “Josh, you’re straight?” and the table howled.