Outside In (21 page)

Beep!
I lunge forward. The car in front of me has already driven onto the boat. My car is the second to last to fit. I glance in the rearview mirror. The flashers on top of the car pulling behind me stare accusingly. My heart and stomach switch positions. It’s probably a sheriff, or maybe it’s a visiting officer who’s working on the island for the Fourth of July weekend. It’s still only Tuesday, though. Any visiting police won’t be needed until at least Friday.

The crewmen release the lines. The cars on my left and right trap me. I slide down in my seat and watch the officer in my mirror. Seagulls escorting the ferry to the island circle above us. The rocking of the boat intensifies my captivity. Sickness swells inside me. I exit the car and pass the cruiser on the way to the back of the ferry.

The sun and an occasional spray of water ease my anxiety. A car door opens. Like a drum roll, my accelerated heartbeat mixes with the footsteps on the steel deck.

A voice says, “You’re a long way from home. What part of Missouri you from?”

I avoid eye contact. Just act natural. He’ll know only what you let him know. I release the words with a casual exhale. “St. Louis. Well, it used to be St. Louis. I’m living at the Bay now.”

“You must’ve driven all night to get here so early. That would explain your little siesta back on the dock. I know that drive all
too well. I was stationed in St. Louis at Fort Lindenwood when I was in the service.”

I don’t bother correcting his assumption about the drive and instead turn the conversation back on him, inquiring about the purpose of his visit to the island. He tells me he has to pick up a prisoner who was arrested for disorderly conduct on the island and has three outstanding warrants on the mainland. He says, “This jack-off will be celebrating Independence Day behind bars in the county jail.”

Even after talking with the sheriff for the entire ferry ride, an uneasy feeling remains as he follows me off the boat and into town. With each glance in the mirror, I swallow harder, pushing the lump in my throat back toward my stomach to reside with the rest of the tension from the trip.

Passing the Round House, Cinch and Griffin stand agape on the porch like suspended marionettes when they notice the car following me. Almost makes the scare worth it. I park in the back, finally in the clear.

Cinch meets me in the parking lot. “How’d everything go?”

I dig out the package from the trunk. “As well as can be expected.”

He rubs his hands together in greedy anticipation. “I was worried as it was, but I about shit my pants when I saw that sheriff following you.”

“How do you think I felt when he pulled behind me on the boat and came to chat when I got out for some air? The whole time I’m trying not to face him because I’m worried about having a coke ring around my nose.”

Cinch takes the package from me. “Were you partying on the drive back?”

“No, but we were up late, and I couldn’t sleep. Waited until the morning to blend into traffic. I feel pretty good overall, but I’ll probably hit the wall later.”

He says, “Good thing you and I have the night off.”

My legs are shaky on the stairs. I could actually use a drink and should probably eat, too, but somehow I don’t see the latter happening.

Cinch locks the door behind us and opens the package at the table. “Let’s have a look at the goods. We finally ran out Sunday night, so I’m jonesin’.”

“You should be happy with the score. Three ounces and fifty hits of X for the low, low, low price of three G’s. It’s all chunk, too. I watched him take it off the block. He had a glass pie pan with literally half a brick of coke and kept breaking off chunks until the scale read eighty-four grams.”

Cinch lays the largest chunk on the scale. His eyes bulge as “50.7” registers on the scale.

Tonight will be about indulgence. Plenty of time to worry about sales later. After what I’ve been through in the past day, I’m going to enjoy it. I have to. Why else would I put myself through all this hassle?

After our second bottle of wine at the winery, Cinch says, “Should we get another? We can’t end on an even number.”

The trip here was my idea. I needed something to allay the tension and ease me into the evening. At this point I’m not much more than a bag of blood. I surrender. “Okay, but then I need to go lie down for a few hours. If I cash in now, I’ll be able to rebound later.”

Cinch is not ready to let me off so easily. He says, “Why don’t we just pop a tab? That’ll give you a boost.”

I shake my head, which feels like a twenty-pound sandbag. “Dude, I learned my lesson last time. I’m drunk, tired, and haven’t eaten or slept in over a day. I need some down time. I don’t want another paranoid episode like before. I’ll be fine later.”

“Whooh.” I let out a deep breath and thrust forward in darkness. Completely covered in sweat, I remove the blanket draped over me and stand. A note stares back at me from the coffee table.
Meet us at the Skyway
. Still drunk, I fall back on the couch.

It’s only one a.m. Plenty of time to rally. I debate whether or not to drop a hit of ecstasy. Cinch probably has by now. I don’t want to be left out, but by the time I get going he’ll be coming down. Who am I trying to fool? Whenever there’s doubt, say “fuck it” and do it anyway. Rationalization is foreplay with one’s conscience.

Riding my bike in a straight line is difficult. Probably should’ve just gone to bed. But it’s too late to turn back now. I never did eat, so the ecstasy will hit quick and strong.

I stash my bike behind the Skyway and go up the back stairs, my legs burning from the ride.

Randy is inside. He says, “Shep, where you been? Your boyfriend and Astrid just left for Kelley’s.” A concerned look washes over him. Dizziness prohibits my response. He hands me a bottle of water. “Jesus, are you okay? You’re white as a sheet.”

I shuffle to the counter, trying to ignore the tiny flashes dancing around me. The water is gone in two drinks. I ask for a vodka and soda. He returns with a full twenty-ounce tumbler.

I gulp the drink. “I guess the ride took a lot out of me.”

“That’s why I don’t exercise,” he says. “Too consuming. Cinch told me to tell you to call if you got here and wanted to go to the after hours at Bean’s. You don’t want to repeat what happened last time.”

“You know about that, too? Man, it’s impossible for people to keep stuff to themselves on this island.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve been there before.”

His comment takes me by surprise. I try to slow my roll and reconsider his words. “Do you still partake?”

His brow rises, lifting the corners of his mouth as well. “Occasionally. Why, you got some?”

I pat the side of my pocket. “Always.”

“Let me help the bartenders close and then we can party. Don’t worry about Cinch and those guys. I can give you a ride to Bean’s if you still want to go.”

“I bet you can,” I say, trying to think things through clearly, but I’m rolling too hard. If things get weird, I’ll tell him I need to go meet those guys.

I wait on the back steps. Sounds from the people at the pool echo in the empty night. Looking at the condos reminds me of Meadow. I’ll probably never see her again. She’s a cool girl, but then again so is Dawn. So is Astrid, for that matter. What the hell am I looking for?

Randy gives me the all-clear sign. “You need another drink?”

I look down at my empty cup. “I guess so. I’ll get it, though. You’ve been working all day.”

“No, you got other things to tend to. Just throw it down on the end of the bar.”

The whole action takes only seconds. Repetition over the past months has standardized the process. I hand him a rolled-up bill. “Did you used to party a lot?”

“Yeah, I was your age in the late 80s, living in Fort Lauderdale.” He snorts a line. “Back then, there were two things you were guaranteed to find around gay men: good music and drugs. But things had to be kept underground. Drugs were more acceptable than outward homosexuality then. You had to be a closeted gay, whereas now you need to be a closeted drugee.”

“What’s your deal with all that?” I ask him. “I know a lot of it is purely to fuck with people, but give me a straight answer.”

“A straight answer about being gay? That’s a good one. I’m
just open. I’ve had experiences both ways—some good, some bad. All experiences serve to pleasure. A person can have a completely satisfying sexual experience all alone. What’s that, monosexual? From there one adds elements according to one’s attraction toward certain attributes or features. Tall, short, blonde, brunette, thin, fat, black, white, male, female.” He inhales another line. “All those things will vary from time to time. Sexuality is not a matter of orientation. More like an appetite. A person might be a beef eater and eat steak every night of the week, but occasionally he’s going to crave a piece of fish or some pasta. The main thing is that a person has to be open and honest with himself, which most people aren’t.”

“I don’t know. It just never sounded that enticing to have a cock shoved in me.”

“Not for me, either. Maybe a finger occasionally, but I’m more the giver than the receiver. You’ve never been with a man?”

I do another line, searching for the courage to share what only one other person knows. “When I was twelve.” I pinch my nostrils and sniff, releasing my nose to allow air to whistle through and pull back lingering fragments. “One of my friends and I, you know, would touch each other and stuff, and get each other off. But nothing since then.”

“What makes you think you’re really that different now? Back then you trusted him and enjoyed the feeling you got from it, so you did it. That’s what kills me. Most guys have had the same experience, then they run from it their entire lives rather than accepting and understanding it. Sexuality fluctuates. Emotion is what complicates it all. For example, if two people are attracted to one another and they become emotionally involved, let’s say married or even living together, the question surfaces, ‘Do they have responsibility to each other to resist temptation with others?’ If attraction is like an appetite, is a person supposed to resist spontaneous cravings? If he doesn’t, should he tell the
other person? If one indulges and the other doesn’t, how will each react? It gets really messy.”

“Don’t look to me for any answers. That’s the part that fucks me up every time. I deal with it by keeping my obligations to a minimum. If at some point I want to commit to another person, I will, but until then, I’ll do what I want.”

Randy pours more vodka in my cup. “One thing for sure, there ain’t a woman around that can suck a dick like a man. It’s all suction and tongue.”

His proximate stance rifles a shiver of discomfort through me—not because I want to leave, but because I’m aroused.

Randy says, “Women try to use their teeth like they’re teasing you, like the danger of it all adds to the excitement. When they ask me about giving head, I always tell them—”

I turn toward him, fully erect. Our lips meet. The stubble on his chin scratches my face. His lips are strong and his tongue wraps around mine convincingly. He reaches down and slides his hand down my shorts. I want to pull away but can’t. It all feels too good.

I break our joined lips but still remain close enough for him to keep holding me. “What if those guys come looking for me?”

“We can stop if you want. Or we can go out to my office.”

I surrender to the moment. “Okay, let’s go.”

I button my pants, chug the rest of my drink, and follow him out to the modular home that serves as the office. Maybe I should just hop on my bike and ride away. I don’t know if it’s the drugs, the alcohol, or his convincing speech, but I can’t stop. Unlike my other stories, however, I already know this is one that can’t be shared with anyone.

The office is divided into four rooms: two bedrooms, one serving as Randy’s office and the other as a storage room; a large living room, which is equipped with two recliners and an L-shaped leather couch; and a bathroom. A big-screen TV stands
in one corner facing the couch, and there’s a desk in the opposite corner. Fortunately Randy doesn’t turn on the lights. As long as I can’t see what I’m doing, I can create whatever picture I want.