When You Don't See Me (33 page)

Someone leaned on the railing next to me and said, “Want to dance?”

Without looking at him, I said, “That's okay. I'm fine.”

“Are you sure? I'm a great dancer.”

“Really. I don't think so,” I said, wanting to be left alone so I could watch my friends.

“Want to go back to my place? I'm easy, and I give great head.” That caught my attention. I turned to see Davii grinning broadly at my horrified expression. “Ha! Made you look.”

I grabbed the waist of his jeans, taking note of the fact that he was going commando, and said, “Come on. Let's go.”

“Whoa. Wait a minute,” he protested. “I was kidding.”

“You mean you don't want to dance?”

“Oh, okay,” he said.

“Try not to look so relieved,” I muttered.

We pushed our way to the center of the dance floor and started moving to a Garbage remix. Davii put an arm around my waist and pulled me against him, grinding his pelvis against my ass. A few people around us egged us on. I was in the mood to give a good show, and Davii seemed to be a willing partner. I turned and pulled his shirt over his head, stuffing it into my back pocket. Then I took off my own shirt and tucked it into the waist of his jeans. Davii laughed and ran a finger down my chest, making me quiver when he passed over my stomach. Then he pulled me closer.

“You're a brat,” he said, nuzzling his lips against my ear.

“I saw an opportunity and grabbed it,” I said.

“That's not opportunity you're grabbing,” he said.

“Sorry.”

“I'm not.”

He kissed my neck, my chin, and finally, my mouth. His kisses were delicious. I was glad I hadn't had any beer, or anything else that would've left my breath less than Colgate fresh. When he pressed his forehead against mine and smiled, I said, “It's not midnight yet.”

“Couldn't help myself. I've always wondered about you.”

“Wondered what?”

“Whether you look as good horizontal as you do vertical,” he teased.

“Who's the brat now?”

“I'll be serious for a minute,” he said as the people began counting down from ten. “I wondered if you'd like to have dinner sometime.”

“I've been known to eat,” I said.

Everyone started shouting and confetti rained down from the balconies around us. Davii kissed me again, then hugged me. “I've been known to be impatient,” he said. “How about breakfast, instead?”

“I'm not that kind of boy,” I said. When Davii smirked, I added, “Okay, I am. But I like you. We're friends. I'm not sure that I—”

“Hey, Nick. Hang on,” he interrupted. “I'm just talking about having a meal.”

“Oh, right,” I said, embarrassed.

“In the middle of dinner,” he continued, “if one of us suddenly feels like saying, ‘Know what? This feels like a date,' then we'll deal with that as it happens. No pressure. Sound good?”

“More than good,” I agreed.

“I know the big new year moment has passed, but—”

I kissed him again.

 

What obviously never crossed anyone's mind except mine, and possibly Roberto's, was that I hadn't left the island of Manhattan for the last year. Once I'd dropped out of Pratt, there was no reason to leave. My job as Isaiah's copilot had never required taking a bridge or tunnel. And I hadn't gotten as far as the Triborough Bridge before I backed out of my Thanksgiving trip to Wisconsin.

After saluting the new year at Blaine's party, a few of us gathered at the Renaissance Diner. I was still floating from Davii's kisses and thinking of Daniel's wisdom about possibilities. I finally forced myself to focus on Jeremy, who was making everyone laugh with stories about a group of his cousins that he called “the Guidos.”

Jeremy's grandmother was getting rid of her stuff and moving in with his parents, and most of his relatives were fighting over her antiques. Since Jeremy was her favorite grandchild, she was giving him whatever he wanted. The plan, as originally conceived by Jeremy, was to get two of his cousins to drive the furniture to Wisconsin in a truck belonging to his father's business. One after another, Jeremy began to lose faith that even one of his accident-prone and directionally challenged cousins could find his own ass, much less Wisconsin.

As I listened, it struck me that a change of scenery might help me make the decisions about my future that I'd been avoiding. I meant to speak privately to Jeremy while everyone was laughing. But one of those weird moments happened when it got quiet for no apparent reason just as I said, “I'll drive the truck to Wisconsin for you.”

Every head turned my way, and Uncle Blaine said, “What about your job?”

“My job and I are on a break.”

“Oh no, you didn't get fired again, did you?” Kendra blared.

“Again?” Uncle Blaine repeated in a surprised tone.

“Hey, thanks, Kendra,” I said.

“Did Bailey fire you, or was it Mr. Wamsley?” Morgan asked.

“Nobody fired me,” I said. “I'm still on the payroll.”

“Then how can you just take time off—”

“Excuse me,” Jeremy said. “I think he was talking to me, if the rest of you would like to piss off.” Adam laughed as my uncle glared at Jeremy. “Would you take somebody with you?” Jeremy asked, ignoring Blaine.

“I don't think so. There's no hurry, is there? Can I take my time driving?”

“Absolutely,” Jeremy said. “You'll be doing me a huge favor. I'll pay you, too, in addition to all the expenses.”

“You don't have to do that.”

“Of course I do. I was going to pay some idiot cousin. I'd much rather pay you. At least then I know my Edwardian mahogany bed, Chinese cabinet, and antique bedwarmer won't end up in Saskatchewan.”

“I slept with an antique bedwarmer once,” Brenda Li said in her raspy voice. When we all turned her way, she looked down at her omelet with a demure expression.

“God,” Morgan muttered. “Brenda, have you met Kendra? I think you may be long-lost twins.”

“There's a lot of that going around,” I said. I looked back at Jeremy. “How soon do I leave?”

 

It was just after six on a Tuesday morning when I pulled the Caprellian Brothers Architectural Salvage truck into a loading zone and ignored the guard who started waving at me. I wasn't even at the Lincoln Tunnel, and my palms were sweating and my heart felt like it was exploding. All I could see were white spots, as if I'd been in a room where somebody was shooting pictures with a flash.

 

“He's having a panic attack,” Ethan said, sitting next to me on the bed.

“Deep breaths,” Gavin ordered. “Focus on your breathing.”

“Don't tell Uncle Blaine,” I gasped. “He's got enough—”

“Just breathe.”

 

The guard tapped on my window and boomed, “You okay, son?”

My vision cleared and I nodded at him. Before he could tell me to move the truck, my cell phone rang. I rolled down the window.

“Getting directions,” I lied. “Give me just a minute.” He nodded and walked away as I answered the phone.

“Yo,” Roberto said. “You left the iron on.”

I smiled. I didn't have an iron, but I did have a best friend. “I remembered to stop the newspaper delivery, right?”

“Yeah, but you didn't put the cat out or arrange for the neighbors to water your plants.”

“Why the hell are you calling me?”

“I'm feeling very codependent, Nickito. Can you come back and hold me?”

“You sick fuck. I can't talk to you and deal with traffic.”

“Don't forget the way home.”

“Which home?” I asked. “Eau Claire or Harlem?”

“Either.”

“Not likely,” I said. “Go to work so you can pay my bills.”

“Translated, that means Kendra's bills. Drive safe,
hermano.”

He hung up. I dropped the phone on the seat, took a deep breath, and maneuvered my way into the lane for the Lincoln Tunnel. When I exited the tunnel on the Jersey side, I was grateful that traffic kept me from doing more than glancing in the rearview mirror at the Manhattan skyline. It was better to keep moving forward without looking back.

I put in the earbuds of the iPod that Daniel and Uncle Blaine had given me the night before. They'd made me promise to wait until I was on the road before I started critiquing their song selections. As soon as I heard the beginning of the Pet Shop Boys' “It's a Sin,” I accelerated. It was going to be a good trip.

 

Blaine and Adam, of a single mind in the control freak department, had planned my itinerary to the smallest detail. I agreed to their scheduled stops in exchange for Uncle Blaine's promise that he wouldn't tell anyone in Wisconsin that I was coming. Even though I could have made a quicker trip of it, I'd given my word to stop for the night just across the Ohio state line.

I checked into a motel room and lay down for a few minutes, trying not to see the road every time I closed my eyes. Even though I'd planned to spend my drive time weighing my options for my future, I'd passed the hours reliving my three-plus years in Manhattan. I made a game of picking a person and remembering key moments in our friendship.

It was inevitable that as I started getting tired, my defenses went down and I thought about Fred. I'd been trying not to because of Davii. Fred had lusted after Davii for so long, and I didn't want my anger at him to be part of my interest in Davii.

I wasn't even sure that I was still mad at Fred. Sometimes I wondered if I was being too unforgiving. Like Uncle Blaine pointed out, Fred was selling something, and it wasn't necessarily meant to be the truth.

I missed him. We'd shared a lot of good times. Even though we were different, he'd been the gay friend my age that I was closest to. I wondered if he missed me. Or all of us, really. I wasn't the only one who'd broken off contact with him. Roberto definitely never talked to him. Which reminded me of why I was still mad at Fred. Whatever else he was selling, he shouldn't have sold out Roberto's right to privacy.

I tried to wash Fred down the drain with my road dirt when I showered. There was a café next to the motel, so I grabbed the novel I'd been reading, a Christmas present from Daniel, then bundled up and walked to the café. It was clean and warm. At my request, the host put me in a quiet booth away from everyone else.

Breakfast was always a safe bet, and after I ordered, I started reading. I was vaguely aware of noisy teenagers coming in and sitting at a nearby table. I gave them a quick glance to determine that it was a group of girls before I went back to reading.

After a while, one of the girls called, “Hey. Excuse me.”

I looked over to see if she was talking to me, and found all four of them staring at me.

“Hi,” I said.

“You look like that guy. The guy in that band? That sings the song about the friend and the girl?”

I had no idea who she was talking about, so I said nothing. Another of the girls said, “Are you him?”

“Nope,” I said.

“See, I told you,” a third girl said. “Why would anybody famous be in a place like this?”

“He could be going to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame,” the first girl said.

I smiled and said, “You caught me. I'm being inducted.”

The fourth girl, who'd been rolling her eyes through most of the exchange, said, “You're a little early.”

“Sound check,” I said.

“It's two months from now. In March.”

I was given the snubbing a liar like me deserved, which was all I'd wanted in the first place. When I went back to my room later, I called my uncle to assure him that I was alive, the truck was intact, and I was going to bed.

 

Adam had recently converted a barn on his property into offices and moved his business out of his house. That meant that I wouldn't be in the way of anyone who worked for Adam's AdVentures, and I'd have all the privacy I needed. After I helped a couple of his employees unload Jeremy's antiques into a storage room, I was a free man. My stay on the farm was open-ended. Adam had reminded me of where the car and truck keys were kept and told me to use whatever I needed.

I spent my first afternoon and night in Eau Claire on Jeremy's computer. I'd forgotten how easy it was to spend hours looking up obscure information. I opened a free mail account and e-mailed people whose addresses I knew: Uncle Blaine, Jisella, and Adalla. I typed in baristabrew-dot-com, then quickly hit the red
X
before I could get myself worked up over Fred again.