my routine has changed since I met you, and he’s not happy about it.”
I feel my heart sink a little.
“He doesn’t want you to have a life?”
“Not really. He’s only concerned with my cello and my schoolwork. He’s like, you can have fun later. It’s weird, though, because he doesn’t even live with me and it’s like a shadow following me. He’s really strict, like his father was with him.”
We get ginger ales and
pommes frites
, and again, he orders in perfect French.
“We have to talk to this Cole character,” I tell him.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?”
“How much worse can it get?”
He looks at me and smiles, and for a second everything goes away, like the kiss on the roof. My face is probably the color of a ripe tomato. I feel like I am what love songs are made of.
On the way downtown, Oliver holds my hand on the subway. I secretly wish the Rachels could see me now. The train lights go off for a minute and Oliver kisses me again, and I hear myself moan with pleasure. I remember Rachel One bringing a porno DVD she had stolen from her brother into school and we watched some of it on her laptop. There was an Asian girl on top of a chubby whiteguy, and she was almost singing, obviously faking it. I feel like I could do that right now, and wonder if the Asian girl wasn’t. I look at Oliver after the lights go back on. He’s probably never seen a porno. Suddenly I want him to be mine to corrupt, forever.
We stake out Cole’s apartment again from across the street. A drag queen walks by looking like he/she just got into a fight. She asks us for a cigarette.
“Do we look like we smoke?” Oliver says.
She makes a sound with her lips and walks off in a huff.
“I think she likes you,” I tease.
“Yeah? I’ve always had a soft spot for transvestites.”
We share a Snapple and a chocolate bar. I almost feel like it’s another date, like we’re not waiting for my mother’s secret lover to exit his building.
“Can you imagine feeling like you’re the wrong gender?” I ask.
“I had this teacher in fifth grade, Mr. Jagel. One Halloween he came to school dressed as a girl. Everyone called him Fag-el after that. The thing is, I really liked him. He wasn’t gay, he was just open-minded. And a little silly.”
“My mom had so many gay friends. Everyone she worked with. The makeup people, the photographers, even her literary agent.”
“You mean her gay-gent?”
I laugh. Oliver’s eyes are pools of warmth, and his hair is so perfect I could cry.
“My father has a gay-gent too,” I add.
Oliver smiles. “I remember visiting my cousins who live in Utah. We went to this ski camp and there was this one kid who wore his scarf the French way, you know? And they kept calling him a fag and stuff, and I told them to stop, said that I was gay too just to teach them a lesson.”
“Good for you.”
“Besides, the scarf looked kind of cool.”
“Well, I’m glad we’re not ignorant country bumpkins.”
“What exactly is a bumpkin, anyway?”
He looks at me and we both break out into laughter. The moment is quickly squashed by the sound of the large door opening across the street and Cole emerging. I throw away our Snapple and the candy wrapper and we follow him west. He ducks into a coffee shop and we stand outside at a loss.
“Okay, Fifteen, we’ve got to do something.”
“When he comes out, ask him for directions.”
Oliver nods, as if that’s a good plan.
Cole comes back out wearing huge aviator glasses and carrying a large coffee.
“Excuse me,” Oliver says, “do you know where the A train is?”
He stops, gives us a funny look, and says, “You’re on the wrong side of town, I’m afraid.”
After an uncomfortable moment, I say, “It’s fine, Cole, we’ll figure it out.”
Oliver looks at me hard.
“What?” Cole says. “How do you know my name?”
“Listen,” Oliver says, “do you have a minute?”
Cole runs his free hand through his hair
I feel my heart sink a little.
“He doesn’t want you to have a life?”
“Not really. He’s only concerned with my cello and my schoolwork. He’s like, you can have fun later. It’s weird, though, because he doesn’t even live with me and it’s like a shadow following me. He’s really strict, like his father was with him.”
We get ginger ales and
pommes frites
, and again, he orders in perfect French.
“We have to talk to this Cole character,” I tell him.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?”
“How much worse can it get?”
He looks at me and smiles, and for a second everything goes away, like the kiss on the roof. My face is probably the color of a ripe tomato. I feel like I am what love songs are made of.
On the way downtown, Oliver holds my hand on the subway. I secretly wish the Rachels could see me now. The train lights go off for a minute and Oliver kisses me again, and I hear myself moan with pleasure. I remember Rachel One bringing a porno DVD she had stolen from her brother into school and we watched some of it on her laptop. There was an Asian girl on top of a chubby whiteguy, and she was almost singing, obviously faking it. I feel like I could do that right now, and wonder if the Asian girl wasn’t. I look at Oliver after the lights go back on. He’s probably never seen a porno. Suddenly I want him to be mine to corrupt, forever.
We stake out Cole’s apartment again from across the street. A drag queen walks by looking like he/she just got into a fight. She asks us for a cigarette.
“Do we look like we smoke?” Oliver says.
She makes a sound with her lips and walks off in a huff.
“I think she likes you,” I tease.
“Yeah? I’ve always had a soft spot for transvestites.”
We share a Snapple and a chocolate bar. I almost feel like it’s another date, like we’re not waiting for my mother’s secret lover to exit his building.
“Can you imagine feeling like you’re the wrong gender?” I ask.
“I had this teacher in fifth grade, Mr. Jagel. One Halloween he came to school dressed as a girl. Everyone called him Fag-el after that. The thing is, I really liked him. He wasn’t gay, he was just open-minded. And a little silly.”
“My mom had so many gay friends. Everyone she worked with. The makeup people, the photographers, even her literary agent.”
“You mean her gay-gent?”
I laugh. Oliver’s eyes are pools of warmth, and his hair is so perfect I could cry.
“My father has a gay-gent too,” I add.
Oliver smiles. “I remember visiting my cousins who live in Utah. We went to this ski camp and there was this one kid who wore his scarf the French way, you know? And they kept calling him a fag and stuff, and I told them to stop, said that I was gay too just to teach them a lesson.”
“Good for you.”
“Besides, the scarf looked kind of cool.”
“Well, I’m glad we’re not ignorant country bumpkins.”
“What exactly is a bumpkin, anyway?”
He looks at me and we both break out into laughter. The moment is quickly squashed by the sound of the large door opening across the street and Cole emerging. I throw away our Snapple and the candy wrapper and we follow him west. He ducks into a coffee shop and we stand outside at a loss.
“Okay, Fifteen, we’ve got to do something.”
“When he comes out, ask him for directions.”
Oliver nods, as if that’s a good plan.
Cole comes back out wearing huge aviator glasses and carrying a large coffee.
“Excuse me,” Oliver says, “do you know where the A train is?”
He stops, gives us a funny look, and says, “You’re on the wrong side of town, I’m afraid.”
After an uncomfortable moment, I say, “It’s fine, Cole, we’ll figure it out.”
Oliver looks at me hard.
“What?” Cole says. “How do you know my name?”
“Listen,” Oliver says, “do you have a minute?”
Cole runs his free hand through his hair
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