St. Nacho's (5 page)

“What?” he asked. “I thought St. Nacho’s was treating you pretty well.” He stared me down.

“Yeah, well. I don’t usually stay in one place too long.” I know I mumbled.

“I wonder if you should rethink that.”

I smiled. “Probably.” The easiest thing to do when someone is lecturing is agree.

“Have you told Shawn?”

“I’ll mention it next time I see him,” I said, as though Jim hadn’t seen Shawn follow me to my room last night.

Jim’s eyebrows rose. “I kind of thought you guys got along.”

“Sure,” I said. “He’s a good kid.”

22 Z. A. Maxfield

Jim barked out a laugh. “He gets that a lot.” He picked up a bar towel and started wiping down surfaces, more I think to give himself something to do than because the counter was dirty. “Don’t be fooled. He looks like an angel, doesn’t he?”

“Hey,” said Oscar, coming out of the kitchen. “Cooper, are you going to come get started? The trash can is calling.” He crossed his arms.

“On it,” I said over my shoulder before I turned back to Jim. “Look, I want to say thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I know you’ve gone out of your way to help me.”

“I won’t consider you gone until I see you ride away on that bike of yours, Cooper. I still say you ought to rethink St. Nacho’s. It’s a good slowing down spot.”

“Who says I’m slowing down?” I replied with a smile that I didn’t really feel. I was slowing down. And yet I felt the compulsion to speed up again, and it was hitting me hard.

“Cooper,” Oscar said impatiently.

“Coming.” I went to the kitchen and began my day.

By the time I was playing my violin that evening, I wasn’t so sure about leaving. I originally thought Saturday would be crowded with weekenders, or that the dance crowd would push me along so they could get to the dancing faster. In fact, the opposite was true.

Alfred was there with friends, and he brought his cello, and we played impromptu duets.

The crowd requested classical pieces, and I laughed and played in a way that I hadn’t since high school. I was playing for the fun of it. My case filled with paper money and change, and someone even left Lindt truffles in a little bag for me. I suspected Alfred of that; he seemed like the kind to sneak a treat to a friend.

Shawn didn’t come in until almost time to push the tables back. He came with his pack, and I recall thinking they looked like a gang. They looked unhappy, and absurdly, the whole scene reminded me of West Side Story. There was a definite us and a definite them. I thought it had more to do with how Shawn and I had spent the night before than with anything I was doing right then.

Shawn came straight toward me when I finished the piece I was playing with Alfred.

Kevin went to the soundboard again and cued up a CD.

“‘La Habanera,’” he said. Just like that, with a challenge in his eyes.

Together, Shawn and Kevin began to dance. They tangoed through the first part of the music, a lovely, intensely exciting dance. Then they broke apart and Shawn began to sign, and holy shit, he was perfect. He signed the English translation of the song -- the rebellious bird, the gypsy child -- all the while doing a captivating side-by-side dance with Kevin and flirtatiously looking over his shoulder at me.

When he came to the part when Carmen sings, “If you don’t love me, I love you; if you don’t love me, watch out!” he continued to watch me as he danced and “sang,” and I couldn’t take my eyes away. He sang with his hands and it was the most vibrant, erotic thing. Those St. Nacho’s

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hands had been on me, and his body fused with mine. I knew right then I wasn’t leaving the next day.

I helped push the tables back and tried to melt into the crowd. Shawn sought me out.

“Let’s dance,” he said, tugging at my hand. I held my violin case, and I wanted to put it away.

“I have to go,” I said, holding it up so he could see.

“Okay.” He pulled me toward the stairway and went up the stairs with me. I intended to put my case inside my room and stay there, but he pulled me to him as soon as we entered. I pushed him away.

“Come and dance with me,” he said.

The lights were dim, and I wanted to make sure he could see me when we talked. I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” he asked. “Do you have another date?” The lack of inflection in his voice always surprised me, but I was growing to like it. I don’t know why; its very lack of musicality was a novelty in my world.

“Don’t you?” I asked, gesturing to the door, hoping he’d understand what I meant.

“Kevin? No, I don’t date Kevin. He tries to protect me from the big bad wolves. He thinks I’m nice too.” Shawn grinned then, looking anything but nice.

I couldn’t help but grin back. Nice boys didn’t fuck like he did.

“Dance with me,” he said. He removed a box from his jacket pocket; it had three-dozen condoms in it. From his other pocket he removed a large handful of flavored singles and a tube of lube. He tossed them down on the bed. After a minute he tossed off his jacket too.

Like he knew he’d end up there.

“Taking a lot for granted,” I said. I must have mumbled because he ignored me.

“Dance with me,” he repeated. He held out his hand, and I took it. We went down the stairs together. Already the bass was throbbing. The DJ began scratching out a rhythm. I looked for his gang, and they were there, some dancing, Kevin still sitting, talking to one of the girls. He looked our way and then away again quickly, but not before I caught the annoyance that crossed his face.

After that, every move was foreplay, pure and simple. Our bodies found each other in the crush and we used every possible brush and touch to arouse one another. I was breathless with it. He was sweating. We came together like mercury for several songs.

“Water?” he shouted over the crowd, and I nodded. He left me standing there on the dance floor, hard as stone, and I watched as he walked away. Everything about him attracted me. He had a smooth, easy grace, a dancer’s body, hands that spoke in eloquent flutterings, and a beautiful face. I was sure even the soles of his feet would make me hard.

The disco ball spun overhead, giving the room that giddy, timeless, strobe-lit club vibe.

Shawn returned, sliding easily into me, and handed me the water. He had one of his own, and I watched him drink it, my gaze taking in his full lips and the way his throat moved as 24 Z. A. Maxfield

the water slid down it. My own mouth dropped open as I caught my breath. A drop escaped his lips as he pulled the bottle away and started to trickle down his chin, and before I thought about it, before I could stop myself, my tongue was there, capturing it. He reached a large hand out to cup my butt and pulled me into his groin. There was not a doubt in my mind that if I stayed there with him, rocking like that, hard against him, I’d come. He must have seen it in my eyes.

“Come on.” He jerked me along toward the stairs. When we got there, Kevin was standing in the way, rippling with indignation. Shawn and Kevin had words, or signs, each agitated, and for once, Shawn wasn’t speaking so I couldn’t tell what was being said. Kevin finally ended the conversation by giving Shawn a hard shove on the chest with both hands. I stood next to Shawn with my arms crossed and put out a hand when Kevin pushed him. If Kevin did it again, he was going to have to get up off the ground afterward. He understood and stalked away. I couldn’t help but glare at Shawn a little, and he wasn’t any too happy either.

“Upstairs,” he shouted over the music. “We can talk.” Both of us knew that wasn’t why we had been going upstairs in the first place. My room was at least a little quieter than the bar, and I opened the window and turned on a switch in the bathroom to light the bedroom a little. I opened and began to drink my water. I could feel Shawn behind me, getting closer.

He radiated warmth and energy; I could feel it coming off of him in waves.

“Turn around,” he said. I complied, and he pulled me to him to begin another dance.

He was all physical, I realized. All motion, high octane, high energy. He liked to move and used his body for everything. Still swaying with me, he ran his hands through my hair, then over my face. I closed my eyes and just let him have me, let him play with my body in any way he wanted. He stroked, pushed, pulled, and spun me around in the small space. A hand on my ass held me firm for a while. I knew he wanted to kiss me, and I broke away, bringing the water bottle to my mouth, trying to make it look as natural and normal as I could. Trying to make it look like I wasn’t avoiding his kiss.

He got his own water and took off his shirt. “Hot,” he said, waving it to cool him in the small space.

“Oh, yeah,” I agreed. “Hot.” I smiled. He bussed me on the cheek for that, mostly because I turned at the last moment. I took off my own shirt. After that, it seemed like we just didn’t need our jeans, and soon enough I was rocking against that hard body of Shawn’s without any clothing on at all. He was magnificent and clothing just didn’t do him justice.

He moved like water, or something thick, like honey, and he was red hot against my cooling skin. I touched him everywhere, exploring, tasting, teasing, testing, until he caught my face and tried to kiss my mouth, to invade me there, and I turned my head away, had to, with force that became a struggle between us.

“I don’t kiss,” I said. I looked at his Adam’s apple, waiting.

“You don’t kiss,” he repeated.

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I had to look into his eyes. To make him see I was serious. “I don’t kiss.” We stared at each other for a long time. Finally, he nodded and caught me to him again.

“Like Pretty Woman,” he said against my ear, then pulled back to look at me.

“What?” I asked him.

“The girl in that movie, the hooker. She didn’t kiss,” he said in that curiously flat voice of his. I never realized how much I depended on the inflection of someone’s voice to get my bearings. With Shawn, I didn’t have that to guide me so I was perpetually off course.

“Ah, I guess.” I shrugged. “I didn’t see the movie.” He grinned. He kept dancing with me but didn’t press the kissing issue. If there was something right then I could describe later, something that struck me as being rare or new or vaguely disturbing, it was how completely at home I felt in Shawn’s arms. How my body went to his, effortlessly, unconsciously, for pleasure in touch. How I savored every particular brush and rub and pull and play of our bodies against one another until he pulled me down with him on the bed and at last worked his way into me. By this time, we were both desperate; I pushed back off the headboard with both hands as he lifted my hips and dug into me, pounding me until I gasped in shock. He hooked one strong hand around my hips and used his free hand on my cock, and the next thing I knew, I was coming like a teenager, ribboning onto his chest, my chest, getting sticky, sweaty, and glued together as he sagged onto me after his own release. He crushed me to him, but didn’t kiss me. When he moved to get rid of the condom, he went to the bathroom. He returned with a wet towel, dabbing us off and cooling our skin. It felt nice; I couldn’t remember anyone ever doing that before.

I caught his hand as it swept by a nipple and gave it a squeeze. He smiled his angelic smile in return. He tossed the wet towel over onto the bathroom floor and curled up with me to sleep.

I didn’t say anything. He was behind me, and he’d only feel the vibration, not hear the words. I didn’t mind that so much anyway, because I had no idea what to say. His hand started at my hip and caressed me, sliding over my belly and settling across my chest, where it tightened, pulling me to him to hold me fast. I lifted a hand and interlocked my fingers with his. This was the single most intimate thing I’d done in five years.

It wasn’t long after that we fell asleep, despite the music filling the room from downstairs. He and I woke up at different times through the night, always finding each other, straining together, and bringing each other off. I got to know the feel of him, the weight of him, the strength and taste and smell. He held me tightly in his arms, and when he needed to, he just got up and dressed. By then I belonged to him; I was property, and somehow he knew it. He only looked back once for reassurance that we both understood that before he left.

26 Z. A. Maxfield

Chapter Five

When I came down at eight a.m. to start my day, Oscar and Tomas were already fighting in the kitchen. Jim just looked at me and smiled.

“I guess you’ll be staying awhile,” he said, giving me the once over. Alfred came up from behind him and rested a head on his shoulder.

“Yeah,” I said.

“I thought you might reconsider,” said Alfred.

“What’s going on?” I asked, to change the subject.

“It’s Sunday,” said Jim, as if I’d asked what day it was. I was confused, until I saw Shawn dragging out a big sign that read, NACHO’S FAMOUS SUNDAY BRUNCH.

The sign had small laminated newspaper articles on it from as far away as the San Francisco Chronicle and the Sacramento Bee touting the “Best casual brunch on the West Coast,” and “A terrific brunch for not a lot of bucks.” Sunday mornings were different at Nacho’s because they served the brunch buffet-style, and this morning it was my job to see to the steam tables and make sure they were refreshed as needed. Both Jim and Alfred, who worked efficiently and cooperatively, joined Oscar and Tomas in the frantic kitchen. Eventually each of us got breakfast, taking turns while the others worked. It seemed that everyone in St. Nacho’s, gay and straight, found their way to Nacho’s for brunch on Sunday, and often they came with crowds of their out-of-town friends.

For a while, almost an hour and a half, I played the violin for the lively crowd, which was tanking up on cheap champagne and chasing it with fiery salsa. I probably got about a hundred dollars in tips during that hour and a half, almost as much as I had made the whole week.

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By five in the afternoon, we had the aftermath of the brunch cleaned up and put away.

Then everyone effectively had a night off because the club was closed on Sundays. I found myself a nice spot on the seawall, and I relaxed with a cigarette.