Sunset Park (4 page)

I pulled away, but David was not deterred. He dropped his arms on the table and kept talking, willing to act as my proxy regardless of my acceptance of his affection.

“Do you understand how his job worked, Michael?” he asked with a look of tried patience.

Nunzio choked on his coffee. I didn’t blame him. I was waiting for a rowdy Rodriguez explosion, but Michael swallowed David’s condescending tone with obvious practice. He looked calmer. Maybe they were role-playing—doing the team leader/team member thing, so Michael would talk rationally like they were at work, instead of rampaging at me like a beast.

“I understood that he either went in or called the hiring hall every day to see if they needed him, and I know it wasn’t guaranteed work, but for months it sure seemed like he was doing well for himself. So, again Raymond, what the hell happened?”

Me screwing up had happened. Not applying for my government credentials had only been part of it—I could have worked for a while without it. But I’d been too impatient to wait for work when Rolly wasn’t the one dispatching jobs to the docks, and I’d started fumbling my shift when someone called me unexpectedly, because I’d already started getting high for the day. Rolly had handed me an easy way into a competitive job, and I’d returned on the investment with immature bullshit. I didn’t need anyone else to tell me that, but Michael would rant about my irresponsibility until Christmas just to beat it into my head and make sure I knew he was disappointed.

My refusal to fess up was more damning than coming up with a bogus excuse, but I wouldn’t give it all away. I’d screwed up, and it was done. No need to make myself look like a complete asshole in the process.

“They stopped calling me in,” I said. “So it’s time to find something else. End of story.”

The vein in Michael’s head looked dangerously close to exploding. Nunzio stood behind him, hands on Michael’s shoulders.

“We just started working on his résumé,” David said. More lies. “That’s why I came over.” Damn, he was on a roll. “He’ll find something.”

You had to love David’s yuppie optimism. He functioned on the belief that everything would work itself out in the end without factoring in the reality that it didn’t happen that way for everyone. If you’re white, chances are you’ll be all right, but if you’re like me… well, the deck wasn’t quite so stacked. Or it was stacked in the wrong direction.

“Where is he looking?” Michael seemed to accept that I wasn’t going to participate fully in this inquisition, and he directed his questions to David. “I haven’t seen him go to any interviews.”

“Because we’re working on his résumé today… like I already said.” All David needed was a
duh
to max the sass factor, but he just sat there looking prim and cute, daring anyone to argue. “He seems to think he has no transferrable skills, and I beg to differ. He was one of the best on the gang because he has good people skills—”

Michael raised an eyebrow.

“—
and
,” David went on, unperturbed, “he was handling sensitive material, operating heavy machinery, organizing shipments, working under time constraints, providing flexibility….”

“Wow, you’re good at bullshitting,” Nunzio said. “No wonder you got hired as grade-team leader.”

“Shut up, Nunzio,” I said.

He grinned at me again. I was starting to think he was picking on David just to see how frequently I would defend him. Either way, David’s transferrable skills fairy tale was simmering Michael down. He’d started nodding in agreement and was rubbing his chin, having fantasies about me getting some great job with those amazing credentials. I was sure that working at Subway or bagging groceries at Key Food was the only fairy tale in my future.

“He could apply for some entry-level office jobs,” Michael said. “Some kind of clerk position, maybe? Or data entry—didn’t you do that too?”

I shrugged. David nodded.

“I’ll take you shopping,” Nunzio said, “for interview gear.”

“And cut that fucking hair off.”

David glared at Michael. “How dare you! I love his hair.” He ran his fingers through the damp strands for emphasis.

I did nothing to stop him, and Michael gave me another of those suspicious stank-eyed glares. Nunzio just kept smiling his smarmy smile.

“Well, this has been a real special journey into the world of make-believe,” I drawled. “But what has that got to do with you kicking me out of my house? I can cover rent somewhere for a couple of months with the rest of Mom’s money, but I’m getting the feeling you assholes want to make this happen before school starts again in September, which means I’ll have no time to find a place I can afford so you can be gay, happy, and in love. Half of my friends live with their girlfriends and the other half still live with their parents.”

“I’ll help you find a place,” Nunzio repeated. “And I’ll cosign for you.”

“And, um….” David picked up a napkin and fiddled with it.

I nudged him. “Um, what?”

He folded the napkin, smoothing the corners. “I was going to say that my lease is up, so….” He cleared his throat and said in a rush, “If you want to be roommates, that would be okay with me. I’ve been struggling to pay the rent for my overpriced apartment ever since my ex moved out. I mean, I can’t move in here because it’s so far, but we could, um, find a new apartment. In Brooklyn maybe. Or whatever, it’s just an idea.”

David trailed off with a blend of too-fast words. Nunzio’s face reddened as he shook with silent laughter. Michael did me the favor of punching him in the arm.

“You’ll kill each other,” Michael noted. “You’re OCD, and my brother is a slob.”

“That’s why it’s perfect,” I said, warming up to the idea. “He’ll be my slave.”

David threw the napkin at my face. “Shut up before I retract the offer.”

I smirked and shoved the remaining half bagel into my mouth. Nunzio was becoming oxygen deprived from his incessant guffaws, and Michael was waiting for us to proclaim we were looking into openings at City Hall for our marriage, but I couldn’t be too troubled over their assumptions. I’d expected the morning to be far worse, but David had single-handedly prevented the conversation from becoming a full-on fiasco complete with rage blackouts and either me or Michael swearing to God or our mother.

We left the kitchen while Michael and Nunzio were immersed in real-estate talk, and I tugged David up the stairs by the hand. He chattered nonstop about jobs, résumés, and apartments—already leaping three miles forward into what we could do to design a space before we’d even found one. It was too much too soon, considering I’d just agreed to all of it, so I shut him up with an impromptu hug.

David smiled against the side of my neck. “You’re welcome.”

I disentangled myself and flopped backward on the bed. “You sure about this, man?”

“Positive.” David climbed right on top, straddling me. He knew I’d never throw him off, even if I’d threatened to do so a hundred times in the past. Maybe he knew how much I liked it. “It will be great. Trust me. And I may have suggested the idea, but we’re helping each other. I need you just as much as you need me. I’m drowning in student loans and bills. I can’t afford to keep pretending I can live in Manhattan, and I don’t want to live with a stranger.”

“What if you get sick of me? Michael had a point. I am a slob.”

“Shut up.”

David dipped his head down and kissed my forehead. I had no idea how such a brief, light touch could charge my libido, but once again, it did. My dick twitched, and my hand drew up to the small of his back. I was sure he could feel my heart thump with an erratic rhythm while I wondered how it would feel to push my swelling dick into his ass. I swallowed hard, and David leaned back to give me a funny look.

This was going to be interesting.

Raymond

WHEN I
was a kid, I wanted to be a professional handball player. Big dreams about playing for Team USA in the Olympics and donning some badass jersey—Rodriguez 420. I’d be so fly that handball would become this celebrated national pastime, people would talk about me on ESPN, and I’d get endorsements and a ton of ass. Then I’d told Michael, and he ruined it all. Of course. He was all, like, “Raymond, there’s no such thing as handball in the Olympics the way you’re thinking about it,” and I was, like, “You’re a moron, because the Internet says there is,” and then he made me read up on it.

Apparently the national handball team was nothing like the handball I’d always played in the park by my house. No concrete court, no blue Spalding ball, no singles. Instead of popping a rubber ball against a wall in the hopes that their opponents wouldn’t be able to hit it, professional handball required groups of people to run around an indoor court while trying to get a ball into the opposing team’s goal. Wack as fuck.

And the uniforms were corny—tiny shorts and lame T-shirts. Another irritating difference was that teams were segregated by gender. Why the hell should that matter? Some of the best players in King’s Park were women, and I’d wanted my home girl Tonya to be on my fantasy team beside me.

I’d denounced the whole idea and fallen into a pit of despair, drowning my sorrows in PlayStation and refusing to speak to Michael. He’d tried to console me by pointing out a
real
handball league, but I’d told him to drop dead. His realistic crap had crushed my dreams.

I felt like that now. Michael, Nunzio, and David were crushing my fantasy by forcing me to go on job interviews for positions I wasn’t qualified to fill.

They did not get me at all. The three of them were ambitious go-getters—they had all decided on their careers by the time they were twenty-one, and had charged full steam ahead to achieve their goals. I, on the other hand, had only recently decided to get off my ass. They didn’t realize how discouraging it was to be shot down at even one interview, because they’d never been shot down at all.

It killed my confidence and my motivation. It was safer to stay firmly planted in a fantasy, no matter how unrealistic. Like the handball thing. I would have this shiny, awesome future to look forward to and feel good about it until someone smacked me in the face with the dick called reality.

Talking about office jobs in Manhattan was super. Coming up with acceptable pay scales—even better. Until I actually applied for jobs we’d discussed and had to sit through an interview while some middle-aged dude with a pasty face and a rumpled suit told me why I wasn’t good enough. That was what had happened the previous day, anyway. David had talked me into applying for a job as a clerk in a law office, and the office manager had made it quite clear that I was only qualified for sorting their stock room. I couldn’t even blame the dude. He was probably right.

“Next stop—Atlantic Avenue, Barclays Center.”

I stood up from my sprawl on the gray bench seat of the 4 train and turned to face the doors. As the train rushed through the dark tunnel, I got a clear view of my reflection. It was like looking at a younger version of Michael, even though I swore up and down that I took after my dad while Michael’s features came from our mother. Either way, I hadn’t been this clean-cut since our father’s funeral.

Shrugging in the slim-cut blazer Nunzio had forced me to buy, I reached up to undo the top few buttons of my shirt. All in all, the getup wasn’t that bad. Nunzio knew how to dress up without looking like a total stiff, but I wasn’t used to throwing on much more than a pair of jeans or basketball shorts. I wasn’t used to the subway anymore either. So far the best part of the ride was the girl checking me out across the train car, not to mention avoiding the steep fees for Manhattan parking.

The train rocked to a stop, and I glanced over my shoulder. The girl smiled just as the doors chimed and opened. I reluctantly stepped out.

I needed to get back in the game, stat. Crystal had gone monogamous with her cop guy over a month ago, and I hadn’t been with anyone since. I blamed laziness when Nunzio or my friend Chris asked why I wasn’t even attempting to date, but the truth was I’d been fond of hanging out with Crystal. She wasn’t as easy to replace as people assumed. Finding someone to fuck was easy. Finding someone I could also get along with was a whole other ballgame.

After jogging up the stairs to catch the R train, it took me ten minutes to reach Sunset Park and another few to find the bakery on 36th Street where Nunzio and David were waiting. I wasn’t too fond of wearing interview clothes for our apartment hunting expedition, but I was pumped about them willingly spending time together.

While trudging up the hill from the subway, I took in what I could see of the neighborhood. I’d only been to Sunset Park a few times in the past, but it did not appear to have changed much in terms of real estate. There were still, like, five or six bodegas in a two-block radius, the Mexican bakery with the bomb-ass hot pink cookies and lavish quinceañera
cakes, the Dominican restaurant with the heaping six-dollar plates, and of course Green-Wood Cemetery stretching along Fifth Avenue. The only real sign of the gentrification Michael had been grumbling about since he’d begun teaching in the neighborhood was the presence of several yuppies and hipsters along the sloping hills that led to Brooklyn’s Chinatown. And most of them appeared to be congregating at Nunzio and David’s favorite bakery.

“Oh my God, you look so good,” David blurted as soon as I walked through the glass door.

“It’s just a jacket.” I turned to the massive black chalkboard stretched across the wall. There must have been eighty options of gourmet sandwiches, coffee, smoothies, and an entire case of pastries. “What’s good here?”

“You do look awesome, Ray. I’m not gonna lie.”

“See? Nunzio agrees.”

I made eye contact with the blank-looking chick behind the counter. She shrugged.

“You don’t just have some Boar’s Head turkey or something?” I asked.

Nunzio snorted and shouldered me out of the way. “Give him the special on a panzeratto.”

“What’s a panzeratto?”

David reached up to adjust my collar, scowling at the unfastened buttons. “It’s kind of like an Italian pita bread.”