August stepped into the darkness and pulsing George Clinton, sure that Spider was bartending, or at least in charge of the music selection. He didn’t look at any of the faces at the bar; he saw Spider’s black ringlets bouncing over the pool table in the back and sat on a stool in the corner farthest from the pool table and waited, and watched, his heart speeding. No one was behind the bar at that moment and all of the patrons around it had drinks and cigarettes in front of them. Except for August. One of the regulars, a boisterous, chubby dude August recognized as the one who went by the name of Breeze hollered, “Customer!”
Spider leaned his pool cue against the wall. Megla leaned in to take her shot.
Spider arrived behind the bar, stopped in front of Breeze, who pointed a thumb in August’s direction. Spider took a step, paused then continued. He stood in front of August with as much nonchalance as he could muster.
August leaned in, “Hey.”
For a moment Spider’s face registered no reaction, no emotion, nothing but a blank stare. “Hey,” he said, finally. “What can I get you?”
Strangely, August hadn’t anticipated this question. He looked around at everyone sitting at the bar – all eyes seemingly on him – then back to Spider. “Um, I don’t know—Tom Collins?”
Spider said, “Seriously?”
“Or whatever. I just—”
“No, no,” Spider interrupted, “I can do that.”
He moved away and August exhaled. That hadn’t gone too bad, he didn’t think.
Spider hung around the far corner of the bar and said something to Megla. She handed her cue to big, tall Deb, who appeared from someplace hidden, and took Spider’s shot.
The side door opened and the garish outside light caused several discernable grumbles around August. A young man in a fringed black leather jacket August liked walked up to the bar on that side and waited with an empty plastic cup in his hand. Spider was nearer to him than he was to August; he made conversation as he poured August’s cocktail, interjecting lots of carefree laughter that seemed a little forced. August couldn’t hear what they were saying; he could only hear George Clinton:
Swing down, sweet chariot,
Stop and let me ride.
Swing down, sweet chariot,
Stop and let me ride.
Spider plopped the cocktail on the bar in front of August. “Three dollars.”
August said, “I’m sorry.”
Spider repeated himself, “Three dollars.”
August took his wallet out and handed Spider a ten. “I said I’m sorry.”
Spider took the bill, went to the register, returned with the change. “Did you just apologize to me?”
August said, “Yes! –Can we talk?”
Spider looked down the bar at the waiting customer. “I get off at nine.”
August sat in the same spot quietly for the next two hours as Ruckus raged around him. Spider’s usual gregarious nature seemed exaggerated, but August liked Spider’s personality; he was naturally shy and Spider had always been good about bringing him out of it.
August ordered more drinks as the night wore on – five total (the last one he didn’t finish) – each delivered by Spider with an odd softness, a weird sort of unspoken curiosity.
At nine, Megla snuck up behind Spider at the bar and tickled him; his machine-gun laugh blotted out the screams of James Brown in the speakers. Spider disappeared to the tiny office in the back to count his drawer. Megla changed the music to the Cure, eliciting cheers and boos from various drunks.
Spider reappeared behind the bar and made himself his “shift drink” in a large plastic cup. He looked over at August. “You need another?”
“No, I’m good. Thanks.”
“Still a lightweight, huh?”
“Yeah.” August smiled. The exchange seemed hopeful, or at least not too painful.
Spider flashed his teeth and dimples, grabbed his drink, “Meet me on the patio.”
They made their two separate paths to the side door, met there, August held it open for Spider.
“Ooh, a gentleman.”
August blushed and followed Spider to the back picnic table, the one he always took over. Half of the table was unoccupied. Spider climbed up and sat on the tabletop and pulled out a small wooden weed keeper with a compartment for a metal cylinder painted to look like a cigarette. August sat next to Spider and tried to come up with the words he wanted to say as Spider packed the one-hitter and lit it.
He held in the smoke and offered the contraption to August.
“No. Thanks. I’m okay.”
Spider blew out his smoke, laughing deviously, “It’s not loaded, I swear.”
August laughed nervously. “It’s not that. I just want to say what I have to say before I start.”
“That sounds serious,” Spider said in a mocking tone.
“It is,” August said. “Spider, I’m sorry.”
“I know. You said that inside.”
“What I did was wrong.”
“You disappeared.”
“I know, and it was wrong, Spider, really wrong. It was the wrong thing to do.”
“A simple ‘no’ would have been enough.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t have to quit school and disappear for like six months.”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do. It was just too much. After the angel dust and everything, I just freaked out. I couldn’t get my mind around all of it.
Spider started loading his pipe again. “I’ll say.”
August watched in silence as Spider lit the one-hitter. Spider held the pipe toward him again. August said, “No, I still have more to say.”
Spider shrugged and put the pipe away.
August said, “I’ve been working at Ruby’s.”
“I heard.”
“Really?”
Spider looked but didn’t respond.
“And you didn’t come looking for me?”
“Looking for you?”
“For some explanation or something?”
“You made it pretty clear that you didn’t want to be around me, August, why would I come looking for you?”
“No, that’s not what I meant. That’s not what I’m trying to say.” He took a deep breath and exhaled. “Damn, this is hard, Spider.”
Spider wiped his bangs to the side and looked August in the eyes sincerely, “I know.”
August looked around then leaned toward Spider and lowered his voice. “I think I love you.”
Spider laughed loud. “What?!”
August recoiled and looked down at his hands.
Spider didn’t bother to lower his voice. “Now?”
August looked up, “What?”
“Now you love me?”
“Yes,” August answered, a little louder, a little more committed.
“Six months later?”
“No.”
“After six months of thinking about it?”
“No, Spider. I always did. I realize now that I always did. I just didn’t know how to—I didn’t know what to—I didn’t know what it meant.”
Spider made a face. “What?”
“I didn’t know what it meant when you said you loved me out of the blue like that, on that particular morning after the angel dust and my blackout and everything.”
Deb appeared at the patio door twenty feet away. She and Spider mimed a conversation over the chatter of the patio, laughing between themselves. She went back inside.
Spider turned to August and dropped the smile, “What does it mean now, August?”
August thought back quickly on how he had proposed to answer this question when he asked it of himself in his spiral notebook. “I guess it means I love you.”
Spider said, “Yeah?”
“I guess it means I’m scared to death. I guess it means I want to figure it out. With you. It means I want to be with you—or I want to be your friend again, or whatever you’re willing to let me be with you.” After a moment of silence, August added something he hadn’t written in his journal: “It means whatever you want it to mean.”
Spider laughed and August wished he hadn’t said the last part.
Spider said, “Come over to my place.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now. Right now.”
“Just the two of us?”
Spider stood up. “If that’s okay with you.”
“Of course it is,” August said, climbing after Spider, “I just didn’t know if you had plans with Deb or something.”
Spider said, “She’s not my fuckin’ wife.” With that, he walked across the patio, into the bar and through it to the front door without even acknowledging Deb at the pool table or Megla behind the bar or anyone. August trailed close behind him, bearing the brunt of Deb’s disgruntled expression.
They got on Spider’s scooter and rode off, up the side street and onto Montrose Boulevard before Deb was aware of the disappearance. Spider swerved drunkenly through the traffic but with a sense of control, laughing wickedly, saying things August couldn’t hear.
August held on tight as the scooter turned right on Alabama, left on this side street, right on that one, trying to imagine what their last ride together must have been like, high on angel dust.
Suddenly they were at Spider’s apartment. It was the first time August had been there since the morning he’d run away, six months earlier. Everything was exactly the same, but he saw it all with different eyes now, the black light poster of Hendrix, the other, regular posters of James Brown, Sly & the Family Stone, P-Funk, etc. August stood in the middle of the main room while Spider picked up piles of clothes and other things on the bed, chairs and floor. He made a new pile on a trunk in the corner.
“What are you doing?” Spider asked.
“I don’t know. Waiting.”
“Do you want an engraved invitation or something?”
August chuckled. “What?”
“Sit down or something, August. Take off your clothes.”
“Take off my clothes?”
“Yes. –What’s the matter, you scared?!” Spider sat on the bed and started taking off his shoes and socks.
August sat in the armchair across from the bed. “No. Not scared. I’m a little nervous, maybe.”
Spider said, “Yeah, well, we gotta figure this thing out.”
“What thing?”
“We have to figure out if we’re sexually compatible.”
August leaned over his knees and slowly untied his shoes. “Is that what this is about?”
Spider threw his socks at August one at a time, laughing. “Yes. If you’re not good in bed, it’ll never work.”
August pulled the sock that landed on his head off and dropped it to the floor, smiling timidly. “We’re just moving right along, huh?”
Spider said, “What did you think we were coming here to do?”
“I don’t know.”
Spider took off his t-shirt and rubbed his furry belly.
August watched for a moment then brought his eyes up to meet Spider’s. “I thought we might talk about things, figure everything out.”
Spider plopped back on the bed, his arms over his head, talking to the ceiling. “What’s there to talk about, August? Nothing. We know everything there is to know about each other. You love me; I love you. Now we just have to put our money where our mouths are.”
August pulled off his shoes and socks. “That’s a funny thing to say.”
Spider leaned up on his elbows. “Is it?” He got up and went to the cd player, dropped in a Grace Jones cd, she started out singing in French.
“What’s taking you so long?” Spider walked over to August and pulled his shirt off of him.
August reached up and touched Spider’s stomach.
Spider said, “I’m getting fat.”
August laughed, “No, you’re not!”
Spider ran a hand through August’s hair then another, then held August’s face in his hands; August sat stiff, waiting. Spider bent down and kissed August’s lips lightly.
“Have you ever kissed a boy before?”
August shook his head, not wanting to talk about Xavier, not wanting to talk at all.
“Do you want to kiss me?”
August nodded.
Spider lifted August to a standing position. They stood looking at each other a moment as Grace sang:
When he takes me in his arms
And whispers love to me,
Everything’s lovely.
It’s him for me and me for him
All our lives;
And it’s so real, what I feel,
This is why…
August felt his face and chest blushing; Spider reached up and touched him at the heart place with the tip of his finger.
August said, “I’m sorry,” not sure if he was apologizing for the blushing or just for everything.
Spider said, “Shh,” and moved toward him, kissed his chest, kissed the blush, the nipples, the neck.
August wrapped his arms around Spider and pulled him close, pulled his face close, his mouth, kissed him, opened up and felt Spider’s hot tongue and the bitter sting of alcohol in his mouth.
Spider walked them backward to the bed, fell on it, pulling August on top of him. They laughed and dove in, shifted away from the discomfort, the misunderstandings, the fear, the confusion; they went to the good times, the joy that had existed between them, the connection, the unrequited love, now requite, fresh and full, like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon, just as beautiful, mysterious, delicate and awe inspiring as that.
They made love all night long, slept entangled awhile, woke up in the early morning light and made love some more. They showered together and made love there, then went to a Mexican restaurant and felt everyone staring at them, eyeing their happiness with suspicion and disapproval. They didn’t care.
Suddenly August remembered that he had to be at Ruby’s for work.
“Quit your job,” Spider suggested.
“I can’t quit my job!”
“Sure you can! Why not? I’ll get you a job at Ruckus.”
“They don’t have barbacks at Ruckus.”
“I’ll get you a bartending job, August.”
“That would be great, Spider, but I can’t quit tonight, without giving them notice. Jerry Jeff Walker is playing tonight.”
“Who?”
“He’s big. Which means a lot of money.”
“You’re choosing money over me?”
“I’ve gotta pay rent. –Are you gonna pay my rent?”
Spider rolled his eyes. “Oh, all right, let’s go. But I want to see you when you get off. I want to get off when you get off!”
August laughed. “Me, too. But it’ll be late.”
“I’ll be up…if you know what I mean!”
They climbed onto the scooter. August said, “Meet me at my apartment at three. I’ll leave the key under the mat.”
August and Spider were inseparable for the next couple of months. Spider did in fact get August a job at Ruckus, he trained him and let him take over the shifts he was leaving behind when he moved to New York City at the beginning of August to go to the New School. He invited August to follow him there, but recommended August wait until he had settled in, found an apartment, got a job. August agreed that it would be a good idea for him to work as a bartender for a while in Houston, get some experience, turn twenty-one, necessary things before he moved to New York.
August worked at Ruckus around his barbacking shifts at Ruby’s. He saved up his money, shipped some of the things he wanted – the paintings of his sister by his mother in particular – ahead of him, and was finally able to fly to New York on October 1st.
Things were immediately different between August and Spider. August couldn’t put a finger on it, but he knew it had something to do with the fact that they rarely saw each other, what with Spider’s daytime weekday school schedule, his nighttime work schedule, and both of their weekend work schedules.
At least August thought Spider was working. When Thanksgiving came around, Spider told August he had to go back to Houston to spend time with his family because they paid his bills. August wasn’t invited to go with him because Spider’s family didn’t know he was gay; August didn’t want to go back to Houston and stay with his family because his ex-friend Paul was now living there. So he stayed in New York City alone and picked up extra shifts at Giggle’s, the restaurant near Times Square where he worked as a bartender.
Christmas came, and with little warning, Spider again said he had to go back to Houston to spend time with his family. August spoke to his sister on the phone, but was still too angry with his mother to go home for Christmas. Spider promised that they would spend New Year’s Eve together.
August had to work the early shift on December 31st, but planned on being home in plenty of time to start the celebration. But at the last minute, his boss told him he had to stay late because the second-shift bartender had called in sick. August called Spider to tell him that they would still be able to spend the bulk of the evening together, but would probably have to forego their dinner plans. Spider seemed okay with the news, but then in the middle of the holiday craziness at Giggle’s, someone handed August the phone; it was Spider, he had taken two hits of acid and was freaking out. August tried to calm him down, said he would be home as soon as possible, but then Spider started talking about suicide. August left work, not caring if he got fired.
At their apartment, Spider was tripping hard, huddled in the corner behind the tv set with vh-1 turned up loud, muttering, “I can’t find the knob, I can’t find the knob.”
August turned off the tv, talked Spider out of the corner, sat with him on the couch, asked if there was anything he needed.
Spider looked at him with frightened raccoon eyes. “Are you serious?”
“Yes, of course I’m serious.”
Spider opened his balled up right hand. Inside his fist was a small piece of paper, waded up, the ink on it running from Spider’s perspiration. He gave it to August. “Call.”
The paper had “dick” written on it and a phone number.
“Who is Dick?” August asked.
“He can help me.”
August went for the phone. “Is he a doctor?”
Spider sat limp like a jellyfish on the couch, his head leaned back on the painting of June, staring up at it. He laughed. “He’s my friend. He’s got stuff. To help me come down.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“Junk.”
August remained patient and calm as he started dialing the phone. “What kind of junk?”
Spider’s head swung up and his eyes were evil, like they had seen something torturous. “Junk, August! Heroin.”
August said, “Heroin? Are you sure that’s a good idea. I’ve heard that stuff is very addictive.”
“It is, August. I know it is. I’m a junkie, all right? Is that what you want to hear me say?”
August put the phone down. “No.”
“I’m kicking it. I’ve cut way back since you got here.”
“You’ve been doing it for a while?”
“I need a little to bring me down. It’ll help, August. I swear.”
“Spider…”
“I know what’s right for me, August. I feel like I’m losing my mind.”
“Spider, no.”
Spider jumped up suddenly. “What?”
“What’s going on?”
“I’m tripping, August!”
“Are you on heroin?”
“No, asshole! That’s why I need Dick. –Call Dick!”
“Wait a minute.”
Spider picked up the phone and threw it at August. “Call Dick!”
“Spider! Be careful!”
Spider started rooting around the apartment, pushing books off of the shelves, upsetting knickknacks around the apartment.
“Spider! What are you doing?”
“I’ve got some here somewhere. I know I do.”
“Heroin? –I don’t approve of this, Spider.”
Spider laughed evilly. “You don’t approve?!”
“Not in our apartment.”
“Our apartment?”
“Yes. I pay half the rent.”
“Who’s name is on the lease?”
“That doesn’t matter,” August said, “I pay half of the rent.”
Spider knocked the tv over; the screen flashed and then there was a pinpoint of white light in the very center for a long time.
“Spider! Be careful. I’m serious.”
Spider went close to August, pushed his face into August’s. “Where is it, August?”
August’s voice was trembling. “What?”
Spider shoved him. “You know what I’m talking about.”
“No, I don’t.”
“I had a stash here somewhere, for emergencies. And you took it.”
“No I didn’t.”
“I know you did, you lying asshole!”
“I don’t do heroin!”
Spider stepped into the small bedroom, just big enough for a bed over a desk and armoire. He came back out pulling covers and sheets off of the bed, then the mattress. August stood in the living room corner closest to the kitchen watching, terrified. He didn’t recognize Spider; he feared what might happen, what was already happening.
Spider stayed out of sight for a moment as he dug through their desk drawers and the armoire. Random things flew out of the bedroom into the living room. A book hit the window overlooking Ninth Avenue.
August felt tears on his cheeks. He wiped them away as he tried to figure out what he should be doing in this situation, but he couldn’t think.
A desk drawer flew into the room and made a cracking noise as it hit the floor.
“Okay, Spider, ” August said, “that’s enough! This is crazy.”
Spider stuck his head around the corner laughing, then stopped. “Fuck you, August.”
“You’re tearing everything up. You need to sit down and calm down.”
Spider said condescendingly, “You need to sit down and calm down.”
“Spider—”
Spider tromped over the items caught in the bedroom doorway and spilling into the living room. “What?”
“You’re scaring me.”
Spider tripped and came up laughing, something in his hand; he threw it at a wall; it landed with a thud and fell next to the couch.
August said, “You’re gonna break something.”
Spider stood up. “Shut up.” He ran to the wall where the knickknack had landed and punched the wall with his fist; he punched a big hole in the sheetrock, surprising himself. August sank into the corner, holding his knees close, crying. Spider stuck his mouth against the black hole and said, “Hellooo!”
August ignored Spider, his face buried in his knees. Suddenly, Spider was standing over him. August saw his bare feet on the floor in front of him. He looked up at Spider, wiping the tears. “You’re scaring me.”
“Good! Where is it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Spider punched the wall behind August. It was an exterior wall, exposed brick. It took a moment for him to feel the pain of the punch; he collapsed onto the floor holding himself.
August crawled over to him. “Are you okay? Spider? We should get you some help. We should go to the emergency room. They can help.”
Spider shook his head ferociously. “They’ll arrest me.”
“No they won’t.”
“I’ll end up in aa.”
“Do you have a heroin problem, Spider?”
Spider pulled away from August and stood up. His right hand was shiny and red, dripping blood.
“Spider, you’re bleeding!”
Spider ignored August. He walked to the front of the room, lifted the tv set and threw it a few feet closer to August.
August screamed. “Spider, stop it! Sit down.”
Spider kicked the tv. “Fucking vh-1. I fuckin’ hate fucking vh-1.”
August pushed himself up against the wall. “Spider! Stop kicking the tv! Sit down and relax or I’ll leave.”
Spider stopped kicking. “If you even try to leave, I’ll kill you.”
August was taken aback. “What?”
“I’ll kill you, August. I will!”
August grabbed his leather jacket and went to the front door, which was in the kitchen. Spider followed behind him ranting. He went to a drawer and pulled out the first weapon he could find: a butter knife. August ran out of the apartment and down the three flights of stairs. Spider stayed in the apartment, slammed the door several times.
When August got to the street, he heard Spider yelling upstairs from an open window, “I’ll fuckin’ kill you, August!”
August stopped with the other people standing on the sidewalk looking up, but he didn’t look up. He just stood frozen. It was starting to snow.
A book flew out of the window and hit the street; a sheet fluttered out, latched onto the top of a passing taxi and was swept away. Some people laughed, another near August said, “They need to call the cops.”
August started walking. He walked all the way to Times Square, back toward Giggle’s, the only other place he knew to go in the city. He practiced an apology to his boss, practiced a call to 911. As he got closer, the sidewalks and streets became more and more congested; uniformed police officers directed people away from the center of Times Square, To the left, to the left!
Suddenly, people were screaming, laughing, counting down, “Ten, nine, eight—”
August kept walking, kept trying to get into the crowd, like a sperm pushing to get to the egg.
“Seven, six, five—”
Tears were flowing down his cheeks but the snow camouflaged them.
“Four, three, two—one!!!”
There was nothing but noise, a solid blur. August kept pushing in and kept getting flushed back out. A strange, middle-aged woman grabbed him and kissed him on the mouth. “Happy New Year!” she said. He looked at her frightened; her eyes were crossed with drugs and alcohol.
He walked away, across 46th Street to Eighth Avenue. The crowd was thinner; he felt momentarily relieved, but his face and hair were wet and the wind whipping around the corners of the buildings chilled him to the bone. He stood in a nook, a back entrance into an office building, a small space as wide as the door and two feet deep at the most. He stood there shivering, waiting for the snow to stop, for the crowds to clear, for clarity to come, or for someone to arrive and save him.
There is no one, he said to himself over and over.
The evening’s scene played through his head a million times. He wondered if he had enough money in the bank to get back home, back to Houston; he wondered if he could get his half of the rent back from the superintendent, if he could put a stop payment on the check. He was thinking too far ahead, trying to figure too much out. There was nothing he could do on this late night in the snow in his work clothes, no place he knew to go.
Up the avenue, he saw the marquee of a movie theater, glowing blue in the dismal night. He could go in there, he decided, to warm up and dry off. It didn’t matter what movie was showing. He considered this for a long time, not because he needed to consider it for so long, but rather because his thoughts were so muddled he wasn’t capable of making a decision.
Finally, August pushed himself out of the nook, up the street toward the flashing lights. He was right upon it before he noticed the posters out front, glistening men holding one another, naked except for gold-trimmed red stars over their privates. He considered for a moment if should he go into such a place, then a drunk passerby fell into him and almost knocked him off his feet.
He pulled the blacked-out glass door open and stepped into the Adonis. The black woman behind the ticket booth in the middle of the lobby had a pleasant smile. She was reading a paperback book, but put it down for him. She beckoned August over with her smile and her hand. August told himself everything was going to be all right as he walked toward her, taking his wallet out of his back pocket.