Unworthy Of Love (BXB)

30. The Date

It takes me another week to find out where he lives and when he comes home. After juggling my shifts a bit, asking Bart to substitute for me on Friday, and lying to my boss about finally scoring a date, I get a night off. In a way, I do have a date. It's just that my date doesn't know about it yet.

I manage to grab a few hours of sleep before the alarm clock rings at one AM.

It feels strange to leave home in the middle of the night.

I park by the sidewalk on a small street far removed from the busy areas of the city, turn the engine off and sit still for a few minutes, listening to the silence interrupted by a whooshing sound of cars passing by. The rare pedestrians do not even notice me in the shadows of the driver's seat. After a while, I put my earphones on and find some night radio station on my phone. The music fills my ears and I lean back in my seat, keeping my eyes on the sidewalk.

The sky is beginning to brighten when a person in black jeans and denim jacket walks past my car. I pull the earphones out and squint at the retreating back. The guy's black ponytail jumps from side to side with the rhythm of his footsteps. A cloth bag is hanging from his shoulder, a tip of a black feather boa sticking out of it like a cat's tail.

I turn the key in the ignition.

I catch up with him two blocks later. The street is empty, the second-hand shops and the warehouses still closed, their security gates covered with graffiti. I roll my window down, my car crawling with the speed of the walking man.

"Hey," I say.

He glances at me without slowing down. I have anticipated this moment, but it still hits me quite hard, to see him again. His face looks leaner, what baby fat he still had at sixteen now completely gone. The cheekbones are more prominent, and the nose seems more pointed. The smokey eye makeup is still the same, though, as well as the foundation that gives his skin an unnaturally smooth look.

"What's with the scarf, dude?" he says, still walking.

Even though wrapping a scarf around my mouth and nose was intended to achieve just such an effect, it still stings me, that he doesn't recognize me. Sure, my face is in the shadows, and my voice has changed in three years. Still. Not a glimpse of recognition in his gaze, only wariness and a bit of curiosity.

"Caught a cold," I say.

"In summer?"

"The air conditioner in my office is killing me."

He hums. "You don't look like someone working in an office."

"Neither do you," I say.

He chuckles but keeps walking.

"All right," I say. "The truth is, I didn't want to be recognized by anyone when talking to... well... to someone like you."

"There's no one around, dude."

"Better safe than sorry. Could you please stop, before I drive into a fire hydrant or something?"

He stops and turns to me, pushing his hands deeper into his pockets. I step on the brakes and the car comes to a halt. He tilts his head, watching me through the open window.

"Come here," I say. "It's Arturo, isn't it?"

"I know you," he says. "You came over last week and when Garry called for me, you drove away. Chickened out?"

"Yeah," I say. "My first time, you know. But now I've made up my mind."

"Took you a week."

"Better late than never." The rough wool of the scarf gets into my mouth with every word and I can't wait to take the damn thing off.

"Well, I've checked out for today," he says. "But I think Garry and a couple of guys are still there."

"I want you," I say. "Not the other guys."

"You'll have to go through Garry."

"He doesn't need to know."

He shrugs. "I won't take the risk of him finding out."

"I'll pay you twice the price."

"Dude, your insistence is creeping me out." He takes a step back. "I'm not looking for trouble. I'm just going home."

"No trouble." I raise my hands, showing him my empty palms. "Come on, I just really feel like it right now, and it took me some time to gather the courage. A blowjob, you name the price, and Garry doesn't need to know."

He stares at me thoughtfully.

"Show me you face," he says at last.

"You don't need my face. We won't be kissing or anything. Come on, it's not worth all the talking."

He rolls his eyes and looks right and left at the empty street.

"All right," he says. "Five minutes, and money upfront."

"Deal," I say, and he steps forward and opens the car door, and then he's inside, the closest I've seen it in three years. He slams the door shut, puts his bag on the floor by his feet and turns to me.

"What kind of cologne you're wearing?" he says, frowning. "Smells familiar."

"It does," I say. "Doesn't it?"

His frown deepens. "Have we met before?"

"Yes, we have," I say, and press the button locking the doors.

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