The Troll Whisperer (3 page)

Eventually, Oscar’s dryers buzzed. He put on
a T-shirt from the dryer before beginning to fill the basket,
making sure to take his time. If he left now, Noah might not be
there when he got back. Should he ask for his number now? Or would
that scare a barely out fundie too much? Fortunately, Noah swooped
in and saved him from having to decide. “Aren’t you going to fold
those?” he asked.

Oscar looked down at his basket. “Oh, I’ll
fold them when I get upstairs.” Which was a lie. He didn’t fold his
clothes, generally.

“You really ought to fold them right away,”
Noah said. “Here, bring them over to the counter.”

Oscar did as Noah asked. Noah plucked out a
T-shirt and gave Oscar a little grin as he lay it smoothly on the
table. He pinched two places on the shirt and crossed his arms over
each other. When he uncrossed his arms, the shirt twisted in a blur
of motion, and then suddenly it lay folded neatly on the table. The
whole thing had taken about five seconds.

“Whoa,” Oscar said. “How did you do
that?”

“It’s simple.” He took out another T-shirt
and handed it to Oscar. “Just lay it out as I did before.” Oscar
did. “Now pinch the corner of the right collar with your right
hand. Imagine a straight line down, then cross to the other side.
Pinch it there with your left.” He could have just pointed to the
points, but he put his hands on Oscar’s instead, guiding them where
he wanted them. The touch gave him a chubby. Maybe Noah wasn’t
completely new to this whole gay thing. Good. It would make things
easier.

“Cross your right hand over your left,” Noah
continued, guiding his movements. “Now uncross your arms.”

Oscar did. The shirt flipped, and he
grinned.

“Lay the shirt on the table, fold it in half,
and you’re done.” Noah reached across Oscar to the laundry basket
and pulled out another shirt. He handed it to Oscar. “Why don’t you
try?”

Oscar accepted the shirt and lay it out on
the table. He didn’t get it quite right now that Noah wasn’t
guiding his hands, but with a little practice, he got it down. In
the meantime, Noah folded his jeans, shorts, and even his
underwear.

“I have a job cleaning houses,” Noah
mentioned casually. “I also do some light chores, like laundry. I
could do yours for $10 a week, if you wanted. Strictly under the
table, of course.”

“Yeah, sure,” Oscar said. “Sounds good.”

“Great.” Noah flashed his smile again. “You
can bring them down to my apartment every Saturday. Just leave me
the soap and your laundry card. You can pick them up in the
afternoon.”

So now Oscar basically had a weekly
invitation to Noah’s apartment. He tried to play it cool, but on
the inside, he was cheering. He’d just scored a ticket to Bone
Town. “Cool,” Oscar said. “What’s your apartment number?”

“Two-twelve, in building two. It’s down by
the pool.” He nodded toward the other dryers. “Do you want to bring
another load over?”

They finished the second load and piled it in
the basket; when the clothes were nice and folded, a lot more could
fit in it. Oscar took it upstairs. He put the clothes carefully in
the drawers of his bureau. Since most of his clothes wound up on
the floor, the drawers were mostly empty. He went down to get the
next couple loads, which Noah already had halfway done. It took
several trips, but they got it done pretty quickly.

Noah helped put the last of the laundry in
the basket. Noah gave the clothes a pat with one hand, which
happened to land on a pair of Oscar’s underwear. “There you
go.”

Did he expect Oscar to pay him now? “I don’t
have any cash.”

“The first fold is free,” Noah said.
“Besides, I had help.”

Oscar pulled out his phone. “Why don’t we
swap numbers so I can see when you’re around?”

“I don’t have my phone on me.”

“No prob, I’ll just text you.”

After Noah gave him his number, Oscar had to
think of what to text him. He could stick with a “yo,” but that
seemed like a missed opportunity. He’d think of something later.
“All right, got it.”

“Good.” Noah put his textbook and folded
clothes in his own basket. “See you next Saturday.”

Oh yeah. Oscar planned on seeing him. All of
him. Preferably on his knees. Or hell, with his cock level to
Oscar’s face. He wasn’t lying about loving dick in his face— it was
the best. Something about Noah made his mouth water more than
usual. Maybe it was the Pine-Sol thing. Very exotic.

He went back to his apartment, which now
smelled a little better. He felt so inspired that he even took down
a few more bags of garbage. When he entered the apartment again, it
seemed… better. Except for the black spots on the carpet. And
whatever that goo was on the wall. And the kitchen mold. And the
cockroaches who, now deprived of their garbage homes, had scuttled
under the refrigerator.

Okay, so it wasn’t exactly the Ritz, but he
could clean up. No problem.

He sat down on his beanbag chair and took out
his phone, hesitating as his fingers hovered over Noah’s number. He
did so much time pretending to be other people that when it came
time to say something for himself, he had nothing.

Sup, it’s Oscar
, was what he went
with. It wasn’t exactly Tolkien, but it’d do. He almost pressed
send, but he paused and added a smiley. Noah liked smileys.

He’d hoped he’d get a response right away,
but Noah left him hanging. Oscar shrugged it off. Didn’t matter if
he responded or not— he’d see him next week. Meanwhile, Oscar had
the rest of the day to fill before he met up with Jeremy. He
decided to hit the gym, maybe get a burger afterward.

Several weight circuits and one extra greasy
double cheeseburger later, there was still no response from Noah.
He met up with Jeremy; the bar was in walking distance, which was
one of the reasons it was “their bar.” He checked his phone so many
times that Jeremy eventually got annoyed and asked him to stop
chasing cock on Grindr. Oscar had to put his phone away after that.
He drank a little more than he should have, but managed to stop
himself from going overboard. He stumbled home, his balance not
improving from all the phone checking he was doing. Still
nothing.

When he got upstairs, he stripped down to his
shorts— fuck, it should be illegal for the weather to be this hot.
He usually just threw his clothes on the floor, but paused this
time. After retrieving his phone from his pocket, he put the
clothes in the empty laundry basket. He made his little blanket
nest, which smelled much nicer than usual, and then grabbed his
laptop. Because he was a little drunk (no, really) and for no other
reason (no,
really
), he viewed Noah’s video again. Something
very close to shame came over him when he thought about his
trolling. But he didn’t feel shame. Not ever. He decided he was
done with that the moment he left home six years ago. Regret.
That’s what he felt now. That was allowed.

He watched Noah’s video a couple of times;
his eyelids began to droop. Time to call it a night. After shutting
the laptop and putting it aside, he took one last look at his
phone. Still no Noah. This was definitely not bothering him, he
told himself firmly. Still, he put the phone by his pillow when he
laid his head down. He was just about to drift off to sleep when
the phone buzzed.

Hi, Oscar. It was nice to meet you. I look
forward to getting to know you better. :)

A very goofy grin came over his face. Should
he text back? No. Oscar was cool. Having sex with Noah was
definitely something he wanted to do, but it wasn’t like he was
desperate for it. He could get sex any time he wanted to.

But because he was drunk, and because he was
tired, and because he was lonely (which was something he could only
admit to himself when he was drunk and tired), he did text
back.

yeah, m2. Hope u sleep well.

What a dumb thing to say. But Noah texted
back immediately.

You too. Good night.

Oscar put down his phone and drifted off to
sleep at last. He slept really well, too. That was a rarity.

CHAPTER TWO

Oscar’s alarm woke him up the next morning at
six a.m. He had a raging headache and a mouth so dry and nasty that
he felt like he’d licked his bedroom floor. He hauled himself out
of bed, had a breakfast of coffee and cereal, and then headed
out.

He took the 209 to Point Loma— a gorgeous
peninsula on San Diego’s west coast. People came from all over to
marvel at the beauty of the sparkling ocean, the bleached beaches
of Sunset Cliff, the dignified Old Point Loma Lighthouse, the
swaying palm trees: the full paradise experience. If you looked at
Point Loma on a map, it looked like a limp dick.

Smack in the middle of all that loveliness
was the Point Loma Wastewater Treatment Plant— all of San Diego’s
shit came through there. That always tickled him. It might even
have been what lured him there— the plant was unseemly and an
uncomfortable subject of conversation, just like he was. And why
not go mucking around in the sewers? It beat sitting in an office
and slowing dying of paper cuts, and it sure as hell beat
“bettering” himself in college.

He pulled up to the plant and made his way
inside to the locker room. Jeremy was already there, which was
surprising. Oscar was sure he would be late. It wouldn’t be the
first time. When he saw Oscar, Jeremy managed a woozy smile. “Hey,
bro.”

“You look like shit,” Oscar observed.

Jeremy laughed. “Yeah, well, what else is
new?”

Actually, when he wasn’t hungover, Jeremy was
pretty cute, in a gangly sort of way. He had shaggy brown hair and
long, lean limbs. His eyes were the brown of a nearly healed
bruise. His smile had an inherent goofiness that he could never
quite get rid of, in spite of all the things he’d been through.

They changed into their uniforms— black
pants, a shirt, and a bright-orange hazard vest. They’d wait until
they got to their destination to accessorize their ensemble with a
lighted helmet, waist high rubber waders, and thick black gloves.
They would be inspecting sewers today— it was one part of the
wastewater management process that Oscar didn’t have proficiency
in; his boss, Bob, decided he ought to learn it.

They headed out to a street in Old Town to
resume where they had left off last Thursday. They would be
inspecting the sewers, looking for cracks and repairing what they
could. They got some annoyed looks from commuters who were forced
to waste several precious seconds of their day moving around the
orange cones they’d set up. No one appreciated what Oscar did, but
without the wastewater department, all of these assholes would have
to make their important phone calls and drive little Timmy to
school while ankle deep in raw sewage. What Oscar did was goddamn
noble, but try explaining that to potential dates. Good thing Oscar
never went on any.

They opened the manhole cover. Even though
they were out early, the day had already started to heat up, which
made their gross job even grosser. Oscar and Jeremy climbed down.
Their boots hit the ground with a splash. The smell was even worse
than usual. Jeremy and Oscar switched on their lights and stared
grimly at the task ahead of them.

“Do you remember when Mrs. Aldridge told us
in the eighth grade that we needed algebra to make anything of
ourselves?” Jeremy asked. “On days like this, I sure do feel like
solving for
x
.”

“Mrs. Aldridge was a fat, old grump who
wasted her life trying to teach little shits like us,” Oscar said.
“I wouldn’t say solving for
x
helped her much, either.”

Jeremy laughed at that. “We should get
moving.”

The wall was too low for them to stand up
completely; they had to crouch. The ceiling and the walls were
shimmering with cockroaches. These weren’t shy, polite cockroaches
like the ones who visited Oscar’s apartment for tea and crumpets.
No, these suckers were bold, and why shouldn’t they be? Oscar was
the pest here, interfering with their perfectly nice sewer home.
Nevertheless, he had a job to do, so he brushed them off to see if
there were any repairs that needed seeing to. Jeremy followed
behind him, doing the same.

A few rats scurried toward him; he paused to
let them pass. He liked rats. They were cute and highly
intelligent. Most people were too prejudiced to realize the first,
and too ignorant to know the second. A constant stream of water ran
over their boots, filled with the sludge that was flushed down
toilets and washed down drains. It all flowed back to Oscar’s
plant, where he would scrape the worst off the top, take the rest
of it in, treat it right until it was suitable again, and release
it back into the world, where it would sink into the ground, or
join a river, or evaporate and wash back into the gutters as rain,
and of course, most importantly, make life in the city livable. All
water was wastewater. That’s what people didn’t get. And it all
came back to him, one way or another.

They finally reached the next manhole, which
had been opened for them.

“How is it down there?” Bob called down to
them.