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Authors: Justin Luke Zirilli

Gianni (5 page)

BOOK: Gianni
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This dancing, singing Jersey boy act is sweet and all, but it’s too good to be true. He’s an actor. He’s putting on a performance. The thought that this date might be some weird improv experiment to impress me is more comforting than offensive. I’d rather find out he’s a low-class twink working at a convenience store, living on his own in some ramshackle apartment near a car park, lying to impress a date who is clearly out of his league. I’d rather believe that than his bullshit coming out party. I’d rather he still be in the closet, petrified of telling the truth, one slip-up away from being out on his ass like I was.

I watch Danny as he tells the story. His hair, once so spiky, is now plastered down over his eyes.

“You look good with your hair down,” I interrupt him. “You should consider not spiking it. Makes you look younger.”

He wipes the hair out of his bright eyes, sending a hard, sharp shiver down my spine. “Yeah? So now I look twelve instead of sixteen?”

“Don’t compliment yourself so highly,” I say, smiling.

“Hey. Are you hungry? Is there anywhere good to eat down here?”

Another delay tactic. Shit! My theory about him is becoming more and more likely. I roll my eyes… but I’m starving, too. And there just so happens to be this cute Italian hole-in-the-wall bistro two blocks away.

The skies open up and it begins to pour, a sign from the heavens if there ever was one. It couldn’t be any clearer if God’s booming voice shouted down from the sky: “Eat, stupid!” We run, screaming, through the door to the restaurant, startling the gray-haired Italian woman at the host’s podium.

There’s a thirty-minute wait, but the meatballs here are the shit. We sit and talk more. I ask him what he likes so much about acting. “I don’t know…” he says, taking time to really give it some thought. Or at least
acting
like he is. “When I’m on stage, it’s like I forget who I am. Like I become the character. I get to have a whole different set of concerns for a couple hours. It’s like a vacation from me.”

“I know what you mean,” I almost tell him. I feel the same way when I’m fucking on camera, or focusing intently on getting a client to blow his load. I’m an actor, too, I want to say — and a writer, too, I guess, because I’ve got no script to follow. I make shit up as I go along. None of it is really me. But this is only the thousandth time I’ve had to stop myself from giving him any information about my work, and luckily he doesn’t take the opportunity to turn the question back around on me and ask why I do what I do. Maybe because that would require knowing what it is that I do.

I can’t remember the last time I had to talk to the same person for so long without at least getting naked between topics of conversation. My industry friends almost exclusively discuss who we have fucked, want to fuck, and are going to fuck, but beyond his tepid backstage hookup story, sex hasn’t come up with Danny at all. I still don’t know what he’s packing. To partially fill the elephant-sized hole in our chat regarding my career, I tell him I’ve done some modeling here and there, spare jobs whenever I get the chance. He wants to know more, so I say catalogue and stock imagery so as not to arouse his suspicions. Staying mum on the type of modeling one does is pretty much the same as screaming “I DO GAY PORN!” from the top of Rockefeller Center, but the kid’s naive and never once raises an eyebrow. I almost wish he’d just put the pieces together already, but the last thing I need is for him to walk out when I’m this close to those meatballs.

Thirty minutes zip by astoundingly quickly. They seat us at a small table by the only window in the restaurant. Shadows of the rain drip across Danny’s face. We get appetizers, wine, dinner, dessert, and espresso. The works. The espresso is dark and grainy. My face crinkles up and I choke on it. Danny laughs and comes over to my side of the table, shows me the “proper” way to take a shot of espresso. I don’t tell him that I was sipping actual Italian espresso two months ago in Rome. He crinkles his face, too, and now it’s my turn to laugh at him. He admits that it’s a bad shot through his bitter, laughing face and we have the waiter bring us another round for free.

It’s actually Danny who reminds me that we were in the process of heading to “one of my places.” When he asks if I’m ready to go, my response is: “Go where?” I had forgotten completely. Shit, that’s not right. I tell him I was kidding and we’re off. I drop a Benjamin on the table, refusing to let him pay for anything. You know, in case he’s a convenience store clerk after all.

Twenty blocks and five cigarettes later, we finally get to the impressive, shiny façade of Rich’s apartment building. Our clothes are soaked and we shiver. We’re fat with food and drunk on wine. We smoke more and make small talk about television, music, the sorry state of gay clubs in the boroughs of New York, and how bad our fake IDs look, all thankfully under the protection of a metallic awning. Then conversation dries up and we are left standing, silently, listening to the rain and watching it fall on everything around us.

“So, can I come in?” Danny asks.

I stand there, stunned. What the fuck is going on here? Was I about to say goodnight? I look at him and my entire body trembles. I regain my composure and speak up.

“You better. I didn’t waste all that time with you just to have you head back to Jersey before you’ve even seen the place.”

Danny’s smile fades. He’s hurt? Upset? My stomach flips. I feel like I just stabbed myself in the gut. Because I misstepped? I actually intended the comment as a joke. We’ve gotten so comfortable with each other over the past few hours, it slipped out without a single cruel intention attached. I thought he could take it.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“It’s okay. Lead the way,” he returns, deflated.

And so I lead him into the grand lobby of Rich’s building, guilt weighing me down. The doorman nods at me and casts a brief accusatory glance at Danny. We are silent for the duration of the elevator ride and the long walk down the hall to Rich’s door.

There’s only warm and infrequent lighting in Rich’s apartment. The loft space is as raw as you can get. Exposed brick. Bare walls. Scuffed wooden floors. It is the only apartment in the building that looks this way. He’s spent millions of dollars just to get this faux-classic appearance. He’s weird like that.

I adjust the switch from the doorway and the lighting dims even moreso. The shades are down, it’s better that way. Now the rain has taken a turn for the worse, attacking the windows like it’s trying with all its might to get in.

“You can hang out here.” I point to the king bed.

Danny takes off his jacket and lets it drop to the floor. “That’s where you want me?”

“Yeah. I’ll be right back.”

I head into Rich’s bathroom, leaving Danny to poke around on his own. My feet are heavy with each step. I actually feel lightheaded. Why? I’ve done this dance many a time before. The One Night Stand Shuffle. The Grindr Waltz. Freshen up. Clean out. Spray myself with something that smells nice. Remove his clothes if he hasn’t gotten the clue by the time I’m back. I’ve done it all in this apartment countless times and tonight will be the same. Just follow the footprints on the floor, roll into the crease in the bed left from the last guy. How many faces have I driven down into those expensive pillows? How many guys have bent me over the balcony that overlooks the entirety of uptown?

So many. This is no different.

But, for some reason, it feels like it is.

In the bathroom I strip off my shirt. My nipple piercings glisten in the light, forming an almost perfect triangle with my belly button stud. Such accouterment is practically a necessity in porn — a way to individualize yourself since all those perfect tanned and hairless bodies tend to look the same. But no one else has my “Time Bomb” tattoo — at least, not until some worshipping fan decides to get one as an homage.

Unzipping my fly, I pull down my pants and leave them in a pile to the side of the sink. All that’s left is the jockstrap I kept from today’s shoot.

I click the light off and take one last look at myself in the darkness. Am I about to do this? Yes.

Why is that suddenly such a big deal? Get your shit together, Gianni! I leave the room before the impulse to lock the door and curl up in a ball on the floor can win out.

Danny is shirtless, sitting Indian-style on the bed, facing a window and staring quietly out at the gloom. He’s raised the shades to take in the view.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Keeping myself entertained. My phone died. What were you doing in there?”

“Just freshening up. Do you need to?”

“No, I’m good.”

I sit next to him and rub my hand on his smooth, exposed back. “You did just eat a lot of Italian food.”

“So now you’ve made two major assumptions about me today — that I’m both a virgin and a bottom. Which kind of contradict each other, don’t you think?”

I shrug. “Sometimes even a virgin knows what he likes.”

“Strike two, Gianni. Wanna take one more swing?”

“I’m good,” I say. “Anything exciting happening outside?”

“Just a lot of people running from the rain and cursing out the cabs that pass them by.”

“It’s so shitty out.”

“I love the rain. It shows you who people really are.”

I laugh and sidle closer to Danny. “That’s an awfully philosophical statement, Plato. Did it show you who I am?”

“A little,” he says. “Though you do your best to keep it hidden.”

“Hmm. Wanna go deeper?”

“No pun intended, right?” He rubs my back and slips a finger under the back of my jockstrap. “I mean, look at those people over there, chasing each other down for cabs. Not realizing that their big, helpful umbrella is drenching everyone around them. And that guy over there on the corner, helping the woman jump over the puddle. It’s so interesting.”

“It’s just rain,” I say, grinding my ass on his finger.

“You know, if it weren’t for this rain, I wouldn’t be here now,” Danny says, turning away from the storm and locking eyes with me.

“Huh?”

“I was going to ditch you back at the bar. When you went into the bathroom. Before you came up to me, these guys at the bar pulled up your RentBoy profile. They were making fun of the headline. Something about making ‘all your fantasies’ come true? ‘If your fantasy is to get crabs,’ one of them said.” Danny shrugs. “But then they still tried to hook up with you in the bathroom. So maybe that is their fantasy.”

I stop grinding on his finger; my breath catches in my throat.

“I knew you were in porn. That’s what made me message you. I’ve probably watched your video more than anything else on my hard drive. But the fact that you’re an escort too — I guess I hadn’t thought about it. I thought that might be a little much for me.”

Defensive statements swim in my head. Outright lies, too. I could tell him he’s wrong. I do porn, but don’t escort. Those guys are stupid. That profile’s fake. Somebody’s using my pics — ‘cause hey, it’s happened. But what’s the point? I’m silent.

“I actually stood up to walk out. But then I saw the rain. I figured I’d still give you a chance, yanno? And then you ended up being such a cocky piece of shit.”

Now I’m so shocked by his honesty and matter-of-factness that I couldn’t come up with anything to say even if I wanted to.

“But then we walked. We got wet. I saw you underneath your bullshit cocky exterior. I didn’t see Gianni the porn star-slash-escort anymore. I saw the boy who changed his name to Gianni. And I like him a lot better than the guy I wanted to hook up with tonight.”

“Why…?” is all I can say. I’m not even sure which part I’m asking “why?” about. Just “why?” to the whole fucking thing… this whole fucking night.

Danny stops to think, leaving a moment for me to take in the patter of the raindrops outside. The soundtrack of the night. “Because he’s a real person. You haven’t been doing this very long, have you?”

“About a year,” I mumble, getting up and walking away from the bed. It seems like I’ve been at it so much longer — longer, even, than the eighteen years that came before. “So yeah, I do porn. I escort. I fuck or get fucked for money. A lot. I like my job and I’m good at it and I don’t need to be judged by some virgin with a mustache from New Jersey. So if you’re gonna leave, go ahead. You remember where the door is, I’m sure.”

“Are you listening to what I’m saying, or are you jumping to conclusions and judging me as someone who doesn’t do porn?”

I have no answer. I am standing in the middle of my porn agent’s apartment in a jockstrap, feeling the draft of central air conditioning on my bare ass. I am fully exposed and speechless. The gig is up. I have no lies to tell, no truths I can hide.

“So what the fuck are you saying? You knew why I wanted you to come up here. You knew I was lying to you all along.”

“Not lying,” Danny says, standing and walking to me. I, in turn, back up. “Guilty of omission, maybe, but I didn’t call you out, did I? You haven’t denied it.”

I am trapped, backed against one of my agent’s artfully blank walls. Danny is two inches from my face. “Who are you really, Gianni?”

“I, uh…”

And then he kisses me.

I hear the ocean again. It comes flowing through his mouth and into me. It’s filling me up, and it’s warm. I close my eyes and everything goes white. I open them and it’s even whiter than when they were closed. Suddenly I’m laying on the bed, looking up into Danny’s eyes.

He’s smiling at me and he kisses me deeper and deeper. It feels like he’s diving into me and flying around. I kiss him back hungrily. It’s not easy to kiss this hard while smiling, but I do. I just want to draw him deeper and deeper inside me. He reaches down between my legs and touches me. My whole body vibrates like I’m lying on a revving boat motor.

I’m rolling over onto my stomach and looking over my shoulder at him. He’s up on his knees, looking at me like no one’s ever looked at me. And there’s this white light all around his muscular body. It’s like he’s standing in front of the sun. He looks at me one last time as he enters me.

My smile stretches so far across my face that I’m laughing. There’s something so light and free inside me. And he’s so warm. My body connects with his as he goes further in. He’s pulling out of me and going back in, but I only feel the warmth going deeper and deeper, filling me like the ocean that came out of his mouth.

BOOK: Gianni
10.91Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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