by Trisky
I slide into my seat, taking a few quick pants of breath. Sprinting four blocks from the bus stop in humid 90 degree weather has left me feeling like a mangy dog in heat. I can feel the sweat starting to coat my back and form droplets on my forehead. "Thank you for the etiquette lesson, Miss Manners." I swallow a few breaths in between thoughts and finally take in the sight before me. I can feel my breath begin to stagger again at the revelation that is him. There's nothing particularly special about what he's wearing, it's just a plain black button down shirt that I probably couldn't afford with an entire paycheck but I know I've seen him wear it before. His hair is at its unruliest perfection and he's totally clean shaven. In fact, there's absolutely nothing remarkable about his appearance. He looks like he could be sitting around, doing just about anything. Yet I sit here, stupefied at the sight of him.
He could be anywhere. Doing anything. Doing anyone. But here's here, with me, looking for all the world to see as if this is something we do every night. That simple fact amazes me. It's no special occasion, it's no big deal.
"I would have picked you up," he offers casually, pushing a glass of water towards me.
"I would have done the same, after all I did do the asking, but somehow I can't picture you on a city bus." I gulp the water in three large swallows and I feel my stomach twist in resistance. Or maybe it's just nerves. I'm nervous. I didn't let that sink in until I sat down, but I feel like we're two perfect strangers meeting for the first time. I don't know the first thing to say or do.
"You mean you can't picture us sitting in the back of a bus, with the church rolling away from view, you in a wedding dress, and both of us thinking 'what the hell did we just get ourselves into'?"
I wait for the punchline. He just stifles a laugh. "What?" I ask quizzically.
"Nevermind..." he shakes his head back and forth, amused at my stupidity. "Why are you so late?"
I ignore him. It's best to do that with him sometimes. "Debbie had a goulash crisis at the diner."
"I don't want to know do I?" He guesses correctly.
"You really don't," I affirm with conviction. Who knew one pot of goulash and noodles could cause such a headache? I don't want to think about having to clean that up off the walls tomorrow.
"Justin... Justin?" I look up at him, startled out of my distraction at the sound of my name. "Need I remind you this was your idea. So... entertain me," he smirks.
My mind comes up blank, all I can think about is goulash. And noodles. And Deb's face when she dropped the pot when I told her I was going to be late for a date with Brian. All over my shoes and khakis. The outfit I actually spent an hour trying to pick out. That I put in a dry cleaning bag for fuck's sake and brought with me to work, to make sure that everything was perfect, my clothes, my timing, everything. Instead I'm stuck in the same crummy jeans I've been sweating my, admittedly nice, ass off in all day and a ridiculously sticky shirt that's clinging to me from the sweat I acquired booking down the street to try to salvage my timing. The same crummy jeans that I took my wallet out of and put into my new khaki's. The khaki's I had to take off and promptly forgot to retrieve the wallet from. And I'm on a date. A DATE with Brian fucking Kinney, who, even in his plain black button down shirt, still manages to twist my stomach into knots.
I'm supposed to entertain him!? As if my sudden onset of terrific horror isn't enough entertainment. Why did I want to do this again? "You want to hear a funny story?"
I think... I think I might cry.
"Does it involve wrestling midgets?" He gives me a perfectly blank look.
"Are you on something?"
"No I'm doing the date thing," he exaggerates his extra polite smile, leaning towards me over the table. "Sharing common interests and conversation. I read up on it. Don't you remember that het porno we watched one time with the midgets double teaming the woman in the mechanic's shop on the car lift? Wouldn't it have been so much better if they were wrestling? Don't you think?" He asks with such seriousness it's as if we're discussing famine, disease and war.
"It would have been better if there was no woman, at all. Or midgets for that matter. Actually it would have been better if you didn't subject me to that disgusting thing in the first place." I find myself gazing at him and feeling my nerves double.
"It was the first porno I ever stole from my pop. I wanted to share it with you. Bond with you, man to man." He's so condescendingly pleasant, I want to puke.
"You just wanted to shut me up when I was nagging you about telling me something about your father." I prop open the menu and attempt to ignore him.
"Well that too. So what's your funny story?"
"It's a real knee slapper. You're just... you're really gonna laugh at the absurdity of it all." I smile wide and hope my teeth distract him before I drop the bomb that he's about to pay for my little idea, yet again.
"I thought that was you!" I hear a loud voice come from the general direction of the back of my head, but I don't turn around because I don't recognize it until I see Brian staring at the body behind me. I see his hand first, it's pretty unmistakable. I could braid the hair on his fingers. "Funny we should run into each other don't you think?" He grabs my shoulder like he's tackling a linebacker. Everything about him is gruff.
"Hey... uh..." I blank on his name, I know he introduced himself at the art show, but I was still coming down off of Brian showing up, so I wasn't paying much attention. I just remember the hair, everywhere. On his face, in a ponytail, on his fingers, sticking out of the top of his shirt. I guess he must be about 25, but who can tell under all that hair.
"Russell... Russell Young. It's okay if you don't remember me, you had so many people telling you how much they loved your work that night." He saves me the embarrassing task of asking him his name.
"I remember you. You work at Lucite Graphics right?" He nods his head in the affirmative. I look to Brian, to introduce him. He looks like he's watching some circus freak show attraction. Which I suppose Russell could qualify for, Ape Man, as he lives and breathes.
"Uh... Brian this is..."
"Russell... Russell Young. Of Lucite Graphics. I was paying attention." He leans back in his chair and peruses the menu with affected boredom.
I toss a "don't be a rude, obnoxious shit" stare at him. Better that than a dinner roll.
"I was hoping you would tell me you had some more shows coming up," Russell does a double take at Brian's blunt dismissal as he addresses me.
"Nothing planned right now, but thanks for asking." I'm overly polite to take up for Brian's insolence.
"Let me give you my card, so you can let me know if anything comes up." He fishes around in the pockets of his worn, linen pants before he finds the tattered wallet he's looking for. "I meant what I said, I'm going to keep my eye out on you. I think you can really go places Justin. And I want to make sure Lucite is the first to snatch you up when you become available."
"I'm sure you do," Brian decides to pipe in. "If you don't mind, we're kind of in the middle of something."
"Brian..." I hiss through clenched teeth.
"I don't mean to interrupt anything, I apologize. I just wanted to give your..." Russell falters, searching for an appropriate description and I find myself doing the same thing "...friend... my card. I didn't get a chance to do it at the show."
"Thanks," I steer his attention back to me and take his card. "I'll give you a call if something comes up."
"You can call me any time. I'm always finding interesting art in the strangest of places. You'd probably appreciate it. I'd love to show you some of it."
I get this odd twinge in my gut at the suggestion and one look at Brian's face lets me know I'm not the only one. Only I'm better at denying it.
"I'm hungry. Let's order." Brian signals for the waiter and with one wave, completely ignores Russell's entire existence.
"It was good running into you," I drop the hint, which thankfully Russell seems to pick up on.
He nods his head. "You too. Don't lose that card." He gives Brian one last incredulous stare and me one last smile before he wanders back to his table.
"Jesus Brian! Talk about being rude." I try to continue, but the waiter interrupts my hissyfit. I realize that my nerves have dissipated, replaced by complete annoyance. This wasn't exactly what I had planned when I asked for a date.
"I'll have the smoked salmon with steamed rice and a house salad. And a glass of Merlot."
The waiter turns to me and I realize I haven't even thought about what to eat much less decided, I've been so consumed with Brian. I'm not even sure I can chew at this rate. "I'll just have the chopped steak with onions," I see Brian grimace. "What? You're having fish and you're worried about a what few onions are gonna smell like? Please..." I continue with my order. "And the broiled potato. A house salad sounds good." They both wait, for what seems like an eternity, for my drink order and I can feel the pressure building in my chest as I try to decide whether I want to risk further humiliation. "And a... Coke."
If I don't cry at some point in the evening, it'll be an absolute miracle. What a disaster this is turning out to be.
We both hand him our menus and all I can do is stare in defeat. Brian was right, this was one of my worst ideas yet. I just... I don't know what I expected, but this wasn't it. Maybe my expectations are too high.
"Do you think he has to brush the knots out of his pubic hair?" he asks.
"Ugh... you're so gross."
"He'll probably want you to comb it out."
"You are on something aren't you?"
"No, I just know when someone is after a piece of ass. And yours happens to be particularly nice."
True... but still... "Just because someone is civil to you doesn't mean they want to fuck you. You think everything is about sex. It's not, you know. Maybe he's just a nice guy, who could be a really great connection for me."
"Maybe not and maybe he is, but he still wants to fuck you. Trust me." I ignore the instinct that tells me he's right, because I don't want him to be. The thought of fucking Russell is about as appealing to me as the thought of watching two midgets and a woman with flotation devices on her chest going at it on a car lift.
"He's interested in my work, not in me." I want to believe that. I need to believe that. He showed a lot of interest in my portrait series. He's living proof that a graduate of PIFA can actually do something they enjoy with their degree. He's where I want to be. "Aren't you the big advocate of networking?"
"Network all you want, but don't mix business with pleasure. It'll only cause you more problems then you need."
"You should know," I say to no one... to him... quietly. "Besides, I don't care what he wants from me. It doesn't mean he's gonna get it. What are you jealous?" That thought didn't occur to me until right this very second.
He pointedly ignores me. "Are you sure about that? People have a funny way of leading you astray without you even realizing it apparently. That is how it happened, right? You just accidentally woke up in the wrong bed a few times."
I recoil slightly. I'm not used to my indiscretions being thrown in my face without warning like that. I guess I never really thought... well I guess I just never really thought. Period. I play with my fork, stabbing the napkin with its prongs. Tears. Any minute now. "Maybe this wasn't such a great idea."
"Gee, what made you think that?"
"Obviously you're not really ready to forgive me and you don't really want to be here. So why don't we just eat and call it a night. We don't have to talk, you can go home with the waiter. Russell can go home and jack off thinking about me. And I'll go home alone. Everyone will be happy." I say it with so much bitterness it doesn't even sound like me, and I wonder briefly, how the hell I wound up here.
"Break out the violins... on second thought maybe not... Stop with the fucking pity party. I'm exactly where I want to be. Are you? Is this making you happy?"
I want to scream yes, but everything in me resists with a resounding no. Is he ever wrong? Ever? About anything? "No, it's not. I'm a nervous fucking wreck. You think every guy who looks at me cross eyed is some guy I'm about to cheat with, even though the thought of him naked repulses me and you're going out of your way to make this the most obnoxious date in the history of the world. And I got goulash all over my brand new khaki's!"
Listen, I'm not exactly known for being subtle.
"Wouldn't you rather be eating Chinese out of the box, at home, with your shoes off? Instead of all this pretentious shit? See where trying so fucking hard gets you?"
"You're right okay! You're absolutely fucking right. It gets me nowhere. Are *you* happy now? Because that's not the fucking point! Ethan is not the fucking point! Russell is not the fucking point!"
"What is the 'fucking point'?" he mocks me, but at least he's paying attention.
"The *FUCKING POINT*," I emphasize, "is that I want you to try, and that's all I've ever FUCKING wanted from you! I don't care if we fail miserably at it, I just want us to try. And you act like it's totally irrational for me to want that. And if you did FUCKING try, do you honestly believe I'd want *anyone* else? It's you, okay? That's it, that's all I want, that's all I've ever wanted. Who the fuck knows what you want..." And so it goes.
I suck in a breath and give the patrons of the table next to us a death stare. Can't people mind their own business? I don't dare look him in the eyes because I don't want to know what's there. If I'm going to be kicked in the gut, I don't want to watch. I'd rather live in ignorant bliss and just feel one swift kick.
"You know what I want?" I sneak a sideways glance at his eyes, filled with magnetic fire and wait to hear his answer. He's brimming with impatience at his inability to articulate whatever feelings I've roused in him. "I want..." He can't say it. Brian Kinney, at a loss for words. I never thought I'd live to see the day. "I want Chinese food! Out of the box! In my fucking socks."
"Why didn't you just say so?" I tease him. "There's a great place a couple of blocks from my apartment."
"*You* wanted a date!"
"A date is whatever you make of it. Or didn't you read up on that part? They make a good salmon stir fry, there's enough for two. Their portions are huge, you won't have to eat the whole thing." I tempt him with the offer. "Let's get out of here."
"We already ordered."
"So we'll cancel the order. Tell them something came up."
We both look down. Well... that part's true.
"I'm not gonna last that long."
"Where's the Jeep?"
"Down the block."
"So, we'll walk fast."
That seems to satisfy him. He stands with no compunction, fully displayed for all the world to see. And see they do. Of course, they shouldn't be looking to begin with, nasty little perverts. I'm slightly more discrete when I stand up from the table, walking with my hands crossed in front of me. I watch him explain to the waiter and slip him a twenty.
He practically shoves me out the door, not that I put up much resistance. We march hurriedly down the block.
"Distract me, tell me that funny story." We're practically running.
"It involves the goulash," I threaten.
He gives me a baffled once over and I just shrug my shoulders. "Fuck it. Let's just get the car."
What can I say? If a bird in hand is worth two in the bush, sometimes a pot of goulash falling out of the hand is worth less than salmon stir fry for two out of the box.