The Youth & Young Loves of Oliver Wade: Stories (22 page)

I laughed. “So you just had the wrong day to go?”

“Yeah. Wrong day. Don’t tell the Army.” Then he blurted, “Come
on, gramps, come on!,” and gestured to an old Camry trying to merge.

“Well I’m glad you’re here,” I said. “I wouldn’t want to be
doing this all by myself.”

“Yeah. So. Am I going the right way still? There’s a turn
soon I think, you’ll have to tell me.” He was glancing at the map in my lap.

A few blocks later he said, “What makes you say Austin is
good?”

“I guess because there’s more gay people around there, so
you’ll feel at home?”

“Ah. Shelley told you my life story, huh?”

“Not the
whole
story. Just the fun parts. You’re just coming out?”

He shook his head; he had cute ears, almost too big. “I came
out to a few of my Army buddies during my last assignment. I’ve been out.”

“Even with Don’t Ask Don’t Tell?”

“I told people I trust; it was an acceptable risk. And I
just told most of my family a while ago. I should’ve told Shelley sooner, but
whatever. So the only thing new for me is that they know.”

“So you’re not exactly an innocent gay virgin boy then?” I
laughed a little. You can get away with saying a lot of things if you laugh a
little.

He laughed too, maybe blushed, which made me blush. “No,” he
said, “uh, not exactly.”

The second apartment was in a squeezed brownstone, and
going up the narrow staircase I could smell Angel in front of me. He had one
constant scent, an almost unnoticeable spicy scent, manly and sharp, and it
never changed throughout the day, never got more or less noticeable, it was
just there. I didn’t know if it was his deodorant, his hair stuff, or just his
body, but once I noticed it
it
made me feel comfortable
and I wanted to be close to it. The kind of smell you want to lean against. I
remembered that thing about how a person can judge another person by pheromones
and I thought,
This is a smell that
smells new and like home at the same time.
And then I thought,
Jesus Ollie, calm yourself
.

The landlord, a fat man with a wheeze, brought up the rear
as we climbed the stairs.

Angel and I waited at the landing in front of the door for
the landlord to make his way up. Angel gave me a little smirk that I returned.
A key box, locked with one of those spinning barrels of numbers, hung from the
doorknob. The landlord arrived and applied the combination, took the key out of
the box, and used it to unlock the door. Then he stepped aside.

“After you,” he said to Angel. I was noticing that everyone
deferred to Angel.

“After you,” Angel said to me. My elbow grazed his warm abs
in the tight space as I went inside.

It was nice. Points for hardwood, points for newish kitchen,
points for in-unit laundry. The bedrooms were vastly different sizes, though,
which could make it difficult to decide how to split the rent. The place was
already partially furnished: a leather sofa sat in a beam of sunlight, and a
pub-style table fit nicely in the kitchen. Points if these items came with the
apartment, though I could do without the kitty-cat clock in the kitchen.

The landlord must’ve noticed me eyeing the furniture because
he was quick to point out that the current tenants were returning for the rest
of it next week.

“I kind of like this one,” Angel said, pushing out his
bottom lip to indicate being mildly impressed. He had his hands clasped behind
his back. The landlord showed him the bathroom while I checked out the view
from the windows.

When we were back in the car Angel said, “What are you
writing for this one?”

“
Nice floors, laundry;
Angel likes. Different bedrooms; narrow stairs; landlord has difficulty
ascending
.”

“
Ascending
. Nice.”
He crossed his arms over the steering wheel and leaned forward. I thought he
was watching for an opening in the traffic, but he pointed to the green sticker
on my windshield. “What’s this?”

“That would be my employee parking sticker.”

“You work at the Holyoke Mall?” He laughed. “What store? Hot
Topic?”

“No, not Hot Topic, Angel, for heaven’s sake. You know those
photography studios where people dress up in costumes and get their pictures
taken?”

He laughed. “You work at one of those?”

“I like photography.” I shrugged. “It’s the best I could do
for now.”

“It’s cool,” he said. “You ever do self-portraits?” He
leaned back and swung his hand through the small space between my head and the
ceiling—the space my mohawk would be occupying if I’d done it up today.
It made me duck.

I said, “Don’t grab at me like that or I might let you get
me.”

He laughed. “OK, where to now?” he said.

“Next up is Charlestown. Eleven o’clock.”

“Where’s Charlestown?”

“Um, way back the other way, I guess. Almost near the
airport.”

“Ugh, my favorite place. We’ve got plenty of time, though.
Off we go.”

He seemed to be getting into this a little now, and I was
relieved that I wasn’t actually dragging him around. Of course he had nowhere
to be, but I was glad he was having fun.

“How
old’s
your kid?” he asked while
he drove.

“You’re very curious about my child,” I laughed.

“Sorry.”

“I like it. She turns one at the end of this month.”

“Do you see her and stuff?”

“No. I mean I did, for the first few months. But Harriet’s
wife ended up getting a job in Seattle and they moved last December.”

“That’s a bummer. Do you miss her?”

“To be a parent is to miss your kid. That’s what my mother
says.” After a second I added, “Want to see a picture?”

“Sure.”

I pulled one out of my wallet and held it up. He looked over
quick a few times as he drove. “She’s cute,” he said.

“Yeah, I made a good one.”

“Her eyes look like yours.”

“Yeah?”

He looked at the photo again, as if to confirm. “Yup.”

The Charlestown apartment was a mistake—it had only
one bedroom. It was nice though, a ground-floor place with a patio and a deeded
parking space. It was near a tall stone tower that looked like a smaller
version of the Washington Monument. All were obvious reasons why Shelley probably
wanted to see it but certain details must’ve slipped past her.

“Did this always have just one bedroom?” I asked the
landlord, an elderly lesbian in a black Adidas tracksuit. “I mean, we’re sort
of looking for a place that has two.”

“Oh,” she said. “Two? No, no, it’s always had the one. I
just figured you boys were together?”

I laughed out loud but my heart
ka
-thumped
. I looked at Angel and his face was unreadable. He started
examining the crown molding around the ceiling very intently.

We got back in the car. I wrote, “
Only 1 bedroom, whoops!
”

“That was funny,” I said, clicking the mechanical pencil
repeatedly until the lead looked like a hypodermic needle, “what she thought.
That we were together.” I clicked and chuckled. “Wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he said, a little monotone, “that
was
funny.” He looked at the pencil. “You’re
losing your lead.”

“
Oop
.” I guided it back in with my
fingertip.

He watched me and then shook his head, as if clearing a
foggy idea out of his brain, and said, “Where to next?”

“Next is, uh,” I flipped some pages, “Jamaica Plain, way
back the other way again. I told you Shelley really spread these suckers out.
This one looks very promising, I was reading about it earlier.”

“Good. When do we need to be there?”

“Twelve-fifteen.”

We drove for a long time this time. For part of it we were
on I-93, an eight-lane highway from which all the skyline of Boston was
visible. Seeing all of it, all at once, screwed with the notions I had of
Boston being a manageable upgrade from quaint Amherst and quainter Lee. I think
I suddenly wondered what I was doing, and whether I was ready for this. I
looked at Angel. “This is busy, huh?” I said, and gazed again out the window,
which I’d rolled up against the wind. “I’m not used to it.”

“Busy
busy
,” he said. And he
added, “Don’t worry, you’ll be just fine.”

The traffic bunched up a few miles before our exit. You
never know how someone new is going to react to traffic, so I let some silence
build to give him space. Like Shelley had said, Angel had nowhere to be, and my
errand wasn’t his errand, but impatience doesn’t need a reason when you’re
staring at brake lights. He didn’t seem to mind the slow going, though. He sat
quietly with one hand on the wheel and the other in his lap, rubbing a
fingernail along the outer seam of his shorts.

“So what’s wrong with Brattleboro?” I said.

“What would be wrong with it?”

“You’re leaving. There must be something wrong with it.”

He shook his head. “There’s nothing wrong with it. I’m just
ready to get back in the Army.”

“So no boyfriend you’re running away from?”

“Nah. No. I haven’t dated anyone since I decided to
re-enlist.”

“When was that?”

“Six or seven months ago.”

“Wow. Why?”

“Why’d I re-enlist?”

“Why did you stop dating?”

“I don’t know, just didn’t want to make leaving hard. I need
a new beginning, I don’t want to have anyone dragging along behind me when I’m
trying to start a new life. Clean slate and stuff.”

I turned a little in the seat. “That assumes anyone you date
would turn into an
insta
-boyfriend.”

“Well no,” he said. “But that’s what you hope for, right?
Otherwise what’s the point?”

“I don’t know. A nice time?”

“Well, it was a decision I made and it’s been for the best.”

“No hookups even?” I said incredulously, with a smirk that
made my own heart skip.

“I mean,” he said, “maybe one or two.”

“I thought maybe that guy who called you earlier was your
boyfriend.”

“Daniel? God no.” He laughed. “Daniel is fifty-something and
three hundred pounds. And it ain’t muscle.”

I laughed. “I used to lift, too.”

He looked at me, at my arms. “What made you stop?”

“I stopped making time for it, I guess.”

He was quiet for a minute. “You should start again.”

“Think so?”

“Sure, I bet you’d look good buff.”

I didn’t know if it was a compliment or if it kind of broke
my heart.

The neighborhood we were in when it was time to start
watching for house numbers was less dense, and quieter, than the highway had
teased. We found the building but couldn’t find a place to park, and we were
running late, so Angel told me he’d drop me off and circle the block while I
checked out the apartment. I jumped out at a corner, found the right building,
a three-decker, and buzzed. This was the apartment that had been my favorite
when I was perusing the printouts that morning, and I’d assumed it would be the
one I would settle on. But, guided by the landlord, I walked the rooms feeling
hardly any interest in the place. I missed having Angel with me. It was silly,
but this wasn’t fun without him, and I was eager to get it over with so we
could tour another one together.
Oh man,
Ollie
, I thought.

The landlord asked for the second or third time if I had any
questions, and coming out of a daze I realized I had quickly come to rely on
Angel to ask about price and utilities and stuff. After confirming these
details I told the landlord I’d be in touch, and then walked out.

For a minute I stood on the sidewalk, then I spotted my Jeep
coming toward me. I waved. Angel pulled over. I got in. The Jeep smelled like
him now, that spicy, manly smell. Already it felt natural for him to be driving
my car. I hadn’t thought twice about leaving him alone with it.

“Any good?” he said.

“Better in the pictures.” I jotted some notes, then flipped
through the remaining printouts. “Next one’s in Cambridge, but not until 2:15.”
It was 12:38 now. “This must be our lunch break.”

“Good,” he said, “I’m starving.”

We chose to eat at Denny’s because chains are comforting
for out-of-towners and because we were both in the mood for breakfast even
though it was well after noon. Denny’s, that place buried in every American’s
consciousness even though you hardly ever see them around. When we passed one
on our way to the apartment in Cambridge we couldn’t not stop.

The host seated us at a booth and Angel, after sliding in
across the red vinyl, surprised me by looking short at the table. Maybe when he
was standing his width created the illusion that he was taller than he really
was, but at the booth I could only see him from his pectorals up. It struck me
as super endearing and I tried not to smile too obviously.

For a minute we looked at the menus. I was nervous again, as
though now that we were face to face rather than side by side we were meeting
all over again, and I had to seem cool. I wondered what it would be cool to
order.

“I think I’m gonna go for it,” he said finally, clapping his
menu shut.

“What are you getting?”

“This,” he said, pointing on my menu, “the Lumberjack Slam.”

I looked at the picture at the end of his finger (there was
a little bit of dirt under his nail, which seemed manly). The Lumberjack Slam
consisted of pretty much everything an American human could eat for breakfast:
pancakes, eggs, ham, bacon, sausage, French toast, hashbrowns, iced coffee. It
was a heart attack waiting to happen and of course I had to join him at it.

“I’ll have the same,” I told the waitress.

We waited for our food. Conversation jumped from topic to
topic, sometimes silly, sometimes serious, never staying on one topic for more
than a minute. It was like how we talked in the car, where everything seemed
punctuated by traffic lights and stop signs.