Where The Boys Are (35 page)

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Authors: William J. Mann

BOOK: Where The Boys Are
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Lloyd
“You want to go back in and dance a while?” Jeff asks.
I touch his face. God, it feels so good to be with him again. “Yeah, okay,” I say. “So long as we steer clear of Mae West and Sheena, the leopard queen.”
Jeff laughs. We walk back inside holding hands. I wonder how Jeff will feel if Anthony sees us. He sure doesn’t seem to be worrying about it.
But it isn’t Anthony we run into. It’s Henry, liplocked with Eva. I pull away automatically, but Henry’s on us in a second. “Come on!” he shouts. “Dance with us!”
“He’s
manic
,” I observe.
“He is
majorly
fucked up,” Jeff says.
I peer over at him. “Ecstasy?”
Jeff shakes his head slowly. “That doesn’t look like X to me.”
Eva’s approached us. I marvel at her cavalier ability to pretend there’s nothing wrong between us. This is a woman who has been methodically trashing Jeff’s E-mails to me for weeks. This is a woman who deliberately locked me in my room. This goes far beyond any adjustment disorder, any grief reaction. This woman is certifiably personality disordered. I just need to find out how
far
.
I watch as she embraces Jeff. “How
good
it is to see you, Jeff,” she coos. “It’s been so
long.
”
“Yes, it has, Eva,” Jeff says, trying to smile. “You certainly look festive.”
She giggles coquettishly as Shane suddenly wraps his arms around her and lifts her up two feet from the floor.
Glorrrrrrrious
. . .
Jeff leans into me as we watch them twirl off onto the dance floor. “You know, despite all she’s done, it’s hard to begrudge her.” He actually seems to be melting toward her. “She looks so happy.”
I laugh in disbelief. “Jeff, if she’s as unbalanced as I think she might be—”
Suddenly Brent is upon us, poking his face between us. “Take your shirts off!” he’s shouting. “Take your shirt off!”
“Keep your pants
on
,” Jeff cracks, clearly annoyed. “All in good time.”
“Take your shirt off!” Brent continues shouting, accosting any reveler who dares to keep his torso covered. Shane makes a big production of peeling down his leopard-print top. “Take your shirts off!” Brent is still shouting. He now looks at at Eva. “Take your shirt off!” Her eyes open wide.
“Oh . . . my ... God,” I manage to say, bracing myself.
I watch her. The boys on the dance floor are now cheering for her. “Whoop, whoop, whoop, whoop!”
“She’ll never do it,” I whisper to Jeff. “She’s very self-conscious of her breasts.”
But she seems spurred on by the chanting, by the sudden wave of adoration swirling around her, this sea of gay men surging in, cheering her on. All at once she throws back her head in utter rapture, seemingly lost in the sound of their voices. “Go, go, go, go!” the boys shout, as if they were at a football game. I grip Jeff’s arm as Eva begins unbuttoning her blouse.
“She’s going to do it,” Jeff says. “She’s actually . . . going . . . to do it....”
Making her glorrrrrrious!
Suddenly her velvet dress pops open, and two enormous breasts bounce forward for the whole world to see. A huge roar erupts. It’s as if Cher herself had just appeared on the dance floor.
“I can’t bear to look,” I say, putting my head down on Jeff’s shoulder.
Everyone else, however, can’t take their eyes off them. It’s like gaping at a car accident on the side of the highway. Eva keeps her eyes closed and her head back, smiling ludicrously, surrounded by a sea of adoring gay men, her gargantuan breasts with their pancake-sized nipples jostling in time to the music.
It is, I know, her dream come true.
Henry
“Yeahhhhhh!” I shout as Eva removes her blouse. I run up to her, hugging her close, lifting her up as Shane had, spinning her around.
“I’ve never had so much fun!” she calls down to me.
I settle her back on the floor awkwardly and almost topple into her. She braces me, her breasts bouncing, holding me up. My legs seem to want to give out. I laugh and kiss her again. Full tongue.
“Henry,” she says in my ear, “do you ever escort for
women
?”
I can’t answer. My tongue feels stuck, trapped against the roof of my mouth.
The music is slowing down. I can’t hear what Eva is saying to me anymore. Man, I’ve been jumping around this place like a fucking
nut
. Suddenly I’m so
tired
, as if lifting Eva has used up the last of my strength. I try to dance, but now I can hardly hear the music at all.
Maybe I can just rest somewhere . . . oh, yeah, just take a little nap. Me and Brent. I look for him but can’t find him. I can’t see much of anything.
“Brent?” I call. “Brent?”
Jeff
“Oh, Christ,” I say to Lloyd. “Look at Brent.” He’s staggering, holding on to the wall for support. Just like in New Orleans. And so many other times.
“He’s going to be sick,” Lloyd says, turning away in disgust. “Tell me what appeal these club drugs have, Jeff. Just tell me one good thing about them.”
“Lloyd, let’s not start. We’re having much too good a time.”
And we are, despite Brent and Henry and Eva. But then someone else arrives. . . .
Anthony.
“Jeff.” He pushes his way over to us when he spots us. “Hello, Lloyd.”
“Hey, Anthony,” Lloyd replies.
Anthony doesn’t look at him. He keeps his eyes glued on me. “You guys having
fun
?” he asks. There’s an edge to his voice. An ironic edge. Is Anthony learning . . .
sarcasm
?
“Yeah,” I say, smiling awkwardly, “we’re—”
Anthony cuts me off. “Eliot and Oscar want to know if we’re having dinner with them.”
We. Notice how he just used the presumptive “we.” Just as Eva always does.
Okay, so it’s a quandary. Since yesterday Lloyd and I have been reconnecting so well. Part of me just can’t bear to ditch him now. But we also agreed we owed something to these two people we’d drawn into our lives. I can’t just turn my back on Anthony.
I’m saved from choosing between them, however, at least for the moment, by the arrival of the fourth member of our little quartet. Eva hurries up to us, frantically trying to button her blouse..
She’s clearly overwrought. “I hope you don’t think I was being too outrageous, Lloyd,” she’s saying.
I can see his exasperation. “Eva, you need to stop looking to me for approval. You can do what you want.”
“Well, Jeff?” Anthony’s asking, looming in at me, clearly getting impatient. “You coming to dinner with us or
not?
”
“Oh, Lloyd,” Eva says, the joy on her face suddenly replaced with despair. “Please don’t be cross with me anymore! I can’t take it!”
Anthony draws himself up tall and moves in close to me. “Jeff, just tell me
yes or no!
”
“
Oh, my God!
”
It’s Shane.
He’s screaming.
We all spin around.
“
Somebody help!
” Shane’s hands fly up, knocking the wig off his head. “Please!
Help him!
”
Brent is on the floor, his body spasming, his arms thrashing wildly.
Henry
It’s like I’m watching it all on TV, but kind of in a half-awake state, not really caring. I see Jeff and Lloyd and Anthony all suddenly pounce upon Brent, but I can’t hear what they’re saying, or really understand why they’re jumping on him. It all just seems so irrelevant, really. All I want to do is go stretch out on the beach and look up at the stars.
Jeff
We manage to get Brent out onto Commercial Street. The spasms have stopped, but he’s passed out. Anthony and Lloyd are supporting him under his shoulders.
“It’s G,” I say.
“We’ve got to call an ambulance,” Eva says.
“Yes!” I shout. “Go back in the bar and call 911!”
She does as she’s told, picking up her long Mae West skirts and running inside. I turn my attention back to the cause of the commotion. “You stupid idiot!” I yell at Brent. “
You stupid fucking idiot!
”
“Jeff, take it easy,” Lloyd scolds me.
We ease him down so he can sit against a telephone pole. The crowd on the street is staring at us. “Huddle around him,” Lloyd instructs. “Don’t let people see him.”
Anthony kneels down beside Brent. He taps his cheek. “Brent,” he says, distraught. “You gotta talk to us.
Please
, you gotta talk to us.”
“He can’t hear you, Anthony,” I tell him.
Shane’s looming over us, a crazy-looking man in a leopard-print dress. “Of course he can’t hear you!” He looks at me frantically. “I saw him drinking. He’s been drinking all weekend. Not to mention everything else he’s been doing. You mix G with alcohol . . .”
All at once Anthony looks up, tears running down his cheeks. “Is he going to
die
, Jeff?
Please
don’t let him die!”
“
Henry
, I mutter suddenly, looking around, the realization hitting me that Brent wasn’t partying alone. ”
Where’s Henry
?”
Just then Brent suddenly retches, vomiting a thick orange ooze all over Anthony’s bare chest and arms. Lloyd tries to support him, but he just keeps vomiting.
“Good,” Shane’s saying. “The vomiting is a good sign.”
I dash back into the bar. Eva meets me in the doorway and tells me an ambulance is on its way. The managers have clearly figured out what’s going on and are both concerned and really pissed off. “Keep your drugs out of here,” one guy says to me.
“Believe me, I’m with you on that,” I tell him. I spot Henry leaning inside against the wall. “I’ve just got to go in to bring him out.”
Lloyd
“Oh, God.” I’m holding Brent. He’s stopped vomiting, but now I don’t think he’s breathing, either. That’s what happens in GHB overdoses. The breathing slows down and sometimes stops. I slap his face. “Brent! Brent!”
I utter a silent prayer as I put my head close to his mouth. I count one breath, then nothing. Eight, nine seconds pass. Finally, another.
“What’s wrong?” Anthony is sobbing hysterically. Brent’s puke drips off him in globs, but he seems oblivious to it. “Is he
dying
, Lloyd?
Please don’t let him die!
”
I know enough about comas from my days at the hospital to recognize that Brent is slipping into one. If he were in an ER right now, the doctors would be beating on his sternum.
“He’s not going to die,” some guy is telling Anthony. “He just needs to sleep it off.”
I stare up at the fool and look around. “
Where’s the fucking ambulance
?” I shout.
Jeff
Inside the bar, Henry’s barely responding to me—just smiling absurdly.
“Henry!” I shout at him. “
Henry!
Tell me what you and Brent did! Did you do G?”
Henry nods. I notice he’s languidly chewing gum.
“Give that to me before you fucking choke,” I bark, reaching into Henry’s mouth and extracting the gum. “You can lose your gag reflex.”
“Hey,” he protests mildly. “My gum . . .”
“Just shut up, Henry.”
He suddenly frowns. “You forgot my birthday, you asshole,” he says, alert all of a sudden and snarly as hell.
I just glare at him. “Then consider this my way of making it up to you, buddy.” I put my arm around him and help him walk out onto the street.
“What’s the big deal?” he’s asking. “So I did a little G.”
“Apparently, Brent did more than a little,” I tell him.
It takes a few seconds for my words to penetrate Henry’s skull. Suddenly he stops walking. “Brent?” he asks. “Where is Brent?”
“Out in the street, waiting for an ambulance,” I tell him.
Henry breaks free of me and starts to run but loses his balance. He nearly falls. I come up behind him and steady him.
In the distance, we can now hear the ambulance beeping at pedestrians to get out of its way as it attempts to pass down Commercial Street.
“Hang on, Brent,” Lloyd is urging.
Henry stands over Brent in a state of confusion. All at once he drops to his knees and grabs Brent’s shoulders.
“Brent!” he screams. “You’ve got to be all right! You’ve got to be all right!”
I put my arms around him. “Come on, Henry,” I say gently. “Let’s go.”
“Best friend!” Henry’s shouting, resisting my attempts to move him. “You’ve got to be all right!
Best friend!
”

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