The words in front of René were a blurred mess. He slammed his textbook shut. Although exams were the last week of January, studying hadn’t been easy. If he didn’t get his act together, he might be looking at a B or worse.
Quarter to ten.
He was due at Olivia’s tonight. Billy had joined his buddies at the movies. Mom had driven him into the city around six-thirty for the seven o’clock show.
The insane guilt was light fingers crawling up René’s back. Billy trusted him. The guy had even confided about his disastrous meeting with Carla at The Waffle Wigwam and how he’d hurt her terribly. The gut-kicker was they’d make a cute couple.
René bowed his head.
A customer cleared her throat. She was the last person to check out a movie.
He got her rental ready. By five to ten, the older woman was gone. All he had left to do was ring off the till, make the float, and lock up. Everything took forever to do. Counting the money. Rolling the coins. Balancing the till reading. Finally, at twenty after ten he was off to Uncle Vernon’s.
During the drive, the dread coasting along René’s spine seemed to grow to the size of the Sleeping Giant. He swiped at his bangs, where speckles of sweat seeped from his forehead and hairline.
His first time getting laid. He should be elated at doing what his buddies got to enjoy. But he was going to stick his dick into the wrong person. His first time shouldn’t happen like this. It was supposed to be with... Keith? No, not Keith. Not anymore. And why not Keith? He’d dreamed about the moment ever since he’d begun jerking off.
It was Billy’s face that kept appearing.
From Uncle Vernon’s to Olivia’s crib, Billy’s dark eyes—forever shining with love in René’s direction, no matter if he was pissing the guy off—kept surfacing. Those eyes kept gazing at René so much, he swatted the air in an attempt to smack away the boy who loved him. The boy who expected René to solve this mess. The boy who hoped René would right his crumbling world.
He pulled up in Olivia’s driveway and switched off his truck. Perfect. Great. Was he supposed to say, Hi, Mrs. Hussen, I’m here to screw your daughter while you drink in the living room? This was insane.
He withdrew his wallet and rechecked the two rubbers he’d slid into the billfold before he’d left the house for work—condoms he’d bought after school at the pharmacy. His stomach constricted. His hands shook.
With a big gulp of air, he got out of the truck and locked the door.
The snow was crisp beneath his boots. His breath was visible on the air. A clear night he couldn’t see because of the city lights. Cold. The kind of breezeless icy night that penetrated his clothing and found his skin.
He blew on his hands and crept up the main entranceway. When he got inside, the shivering night dissipated. Warmth from the radiator in the foyer surrounded his goose-pimpled flesh. He grabbed the railing and ascended the steps one at a time, his boots making a clomp-clomp noise.
Billy always looked to him for protection, for caring, for understanding, for help, for guidance. As the one two grades ahead, René must keep telling himself Billy was his responsibility.
He reached the top of the stairs. The Hussens’ apartment was the door on the left, where voices from the TV seeped out. He held up his fist, knuckles a whisper from the cheap wood, and knocked.
The door opened. Olivia held a beer. “Renny. C’mon in.” She wiggled to the side, giving him room.
He slowly entered to the familiar fragrance of perfume. Mrs. Hussen, Olivia, and Faye—before she’d moved out and in with some biker she’d met at The Busy Bee—enjoyed drowning themselves in the stuff.
“You want a beer?”
“Sure.” He’d need a few to be able to do this, especially after discovering Danny’s stack of Big Juggs when René was ten. He hadn’t been able to figure out why girls couldn’t make him salivate. Staring at naked women in porn magazines had reaffirmed that something was very different about him. Something not good. A year later, it’d all gone to hell after spying Keith soaping up his bare flesh in the shower.
René cleared his throat. “Where’s your mom?”
The apartment wasn’t big. A kitchen with a small table. The living room right beside it. Two doors housed bedrooms. Another door off the kitchen was where the bathroom was. He’d been here many times to pick up Olivia for school when Danny had used to chauffeur him, so there shouldn’t be a reason for his twitching nervousness.
“Why don’t we sit in the living room?” Olivia grabbed a long-neck bottle from the fridge.
“Sure.” René headed for the pink sofa. He removed his jacket and set it on the armchair in need of reupholstering.
Olivia cuddled up beside him, endless legs to the side and delicate hand resting on the back of the couch. She’d already set his beer on the coffee table.
He reached for the bottle and took a big drink. The scent of summer flowers drifted under his nose. He gulped back more beer. His tongue welcomed the taste, and his teeter-tottering courage moved up another notch.
Olivia lit a cigarette. She rested her chin on his shoulder. “Renny?” Her whisper was in his ear.
“Yeah?” He remained sitting forward, beer clasped around his fingers.
“Did you ever... y’know... like me?”
“You’re my friend,” he quietly replied. He reached over and removed his cigarette pack and lighter from the breast pocket of his jacket. “Of course I like you.”
She cuffed his arm. “You know what I mean.”
“Livvey....” He turned to face her inquiring baby-blue eyes. “I think if anything was gonna happen between us, it would have happened a long time ago.” He lit the smoke.
“I guess I... should be flattered then. I’ve yet to see you with any girls.” She set her palm back on his shoulder.
Flattered? He turned his head, nodding. What else could he do or say?
“You want a line?”
A few dudes at school swore blow enhanced a guy’s sexual experience. They’d also cautioned not to do too much or become a total cokehead, because the drug then had the opposite effect on a guy’s dick.
Right about now, he needed all the help he could get. “Sure.”
“I’ll be right back.” She pecked his cheek and wiggled off to the bedroom.
René slammed back the rest of the beer. He’d have three... tops. He didn’t need booze killing a boner.
Olivia emerged from the bedroom with a small black case. “Hoyt always gives me enough for a few lines. He thinks I’m babysitting for my cousin.” She giggled.
“Where’s he? The Bee?”
“Where else?” Olivia retrieved a couple more beers from the fridge. She plopped on the couch.
“You don’t feel guilty... cheating on him? He’s your boyfriend.”
Olivia uncapped their beers. “He’s boss. A total hottie. But he’s not you.”
“Me? There’s nothing special about me. Honestly.” René swallowed a good three fingers from the second beer.
The game show host on TV kept blabbing. A contestant was spinning the wheel for a prize.
“Sweetie, you’re too modest. That’s what makes you so special.” She grabbed her almost-burnt-to-the-filter cigarette and puffed. “It’s why I always wanted you. Your friends...” She flicked her hand.
Funny. Billy couldn’t stand the boys either. René had another drink.
Olivia started chopping lines.
Tiny shivers bumped down his spine. He took a bigger swig of beer.
“It’s just that I assumed we would’ve fucked, y’know?” She kept chopping away. “I mean, you’re so nice to me.”
“Just ‘cause I’m nice to you doesn’t mean I wanna jump on you.”
She stopped and stared at him. Her eyes didn’t reflect an insult to his reply, but something he couldn’t figure out. “Y’see, that’s why you’re special. Any other guy would expect something. Namely your friends. I know what they want, and it’s tough cookies for them. They may call me the hussy, but I’m sure not hussying for those users.”
“Uh... users? And you don’t think Hoyt’s using you?”
She resumed cutting, shaking back her big, beautiful, golden curls. “At least he gives me this. I don’t think your friends would.”
“I see. You want someone who’ll give you drugs.”
She stopped again, holding the razor. Frustration lingered in her gaze. “You don’t get it, do you?”
“Get what?” He tipped the bottle and drank a few more gulps.
“How easy life is for you. Your parents give you whatever you want. You live in the coolest crib. You have dozens of friends. Since kindergarten, everyone’s dug you. Me?” She went back to cutting, squinting slightly as she studied the lines. “Nope. Not a chance. I knew what I was the first day I showed up.”
“I dig you, don’t I?”
She guffawed. “You dig everybody.”
“Not true. I don’t dig everybody.”
“You go around feeling sorry for anyone who isn’t in your league. I know why Chunky’s your main man. I know why you’re looking out for Billy. And I know why you let me hang. You feel sorry for us because we’re... we never fit. Ever. Bunch of square pegs trying to fit into round holes.”
“Sorry?” René sputtered. He belonged in Loserville with Chunk, Olivia, and Billy. “Uh, try no. Maybe I dig you guys. You ever think of that?”
They were his truest friends. They’d never laugh if they found out his secret. Billy hadn’t. Chunk, he might be shocked, might even recoil, but he’d accept it. Olivia, there was the chance of her grossing out, but she’d stick around once she calmed down.
“If I didn’t have wheels, cash, an ace crib, and a shitload of friends, you’d still chill. I know this for a fact.” He lit another cigarette.
Peeking up at him, her gaze was warm while she continued to hold the razor blade. “That’s ‘cause you’re cool. People either have it or they don’t. You have it. Sheldon, Vince... those losers try too hard.”
“Y’know, everyone tries. They do. You don’t think Sheldon and Vince think the same thoughts you have?”
She came close to rolling her eyes. “They haven’t had a moment of insecurity in their lives.” She spread her long fingers in a voila manner. “All done and ready to snort. Y’see? I don’t share my stash. Ever. You’re my only exception.”
“Walk me through. I’ve never done this shit before.” He set the beer on the coffee table. His beating heart revved faster than his truck ripping through a hairpin turn.
“I didn’t think so. Not that I see you as straight edge. I know you enjoy your ganja.” She used her chin to motion at the two lines. “Those are yours. Simply close your one nostril and inhale.” She held out the cut straw.
René regripped his bottle and drew in a slight breath. He took the straw from her and set his beer on the coffee table.
“It’ll make you feel awesome. I mean flyin’. You got my personal guarantee.”
He could use some awesomeness right about now. He closed his one nostril and snorted the blow up the other one. There was zilch to really feel. No pain. Nothing weird. He laid the straw on the other line and snorted. Again, no pain. Simply nothing.
He handed Olivia the straw.
While she snorted her two lines, a tingling sensation erupted in René’s nose. He pinched the tip that was slowly going numb.
She sat up, having snorted her lines.
He reached for his beer. Sipping was a little difficult because his lips were growing a bit numb, too. If this was what cocaine did to a person, he’d pass. He might as well hit the dentist chair for some Novocain for all blow did for him.
Olivia flopped back on the couch. She peeked through a thick fringe of mascara-coated lashes. “I wanna fuck you to Ninny,” she said sultrily, referring to Nine Inch Nails, her nickname for Trent Reznor’s band.
René parted his lips. A rush of euphoria raced through his veins. Prickles juddered up and down his spine, almost tickling him. His skin was also tingling. Laughter grew deep in his gut and raced up through his windpipe. He bent over. Howling chuckles he’d never produced before, flew from his mouth. His brain seemed to have grown bigger, expanding beyond the room.
He turned to Oliva’s glassy, pinpointed eyes. The answer he’d searched for was slapping his face, and he couldn’t stop the laughter. He could fuck girls. He didn’t have to be an outcast hiding in rockers’ clothes anymore. The euphoria was staggering.
“Put on Closer,” she cooed.
“Sure.” Even speaking was a bit strange, his words an echo in his ears.
When he stood, he almost hit the ceiling from the amount of confidence swelling his chest. He wasn’t loner René anymore, surrounded by dozens. Truly, he was the Ren-Man. Not even drumming, that always took him far from cold reality, produced the electrical sensations sweeping through his body.
He almost floated to Oliva’s room to grab her CD. His feet barely touched the floor. Everything was brighter, more colorful. He spun on his heel and bumped his hips. No music necessary. The song was inside him, beating in rhythm with his fluttering heart.
Olivia grabbed him around the waist. He was in her arms and she was staring up at him, licking her pink lips. She stood on her toes and slid her mouth over his. He kissed her back. There wasn’t anything strange or revolting about laying one on her. No, it wasn’t natural either. But it was doable. He could play a nice tongue duel with her.
Why not up this to one better? It was Billy he held in his arms. Billy’s tongue he was fiercely tasting. Billy’s sighs in his ears. Billy he was going to mount.
The soaring-to-the-clouds elation had dulled to a steel anvil invading René’s head. His blood was barely a slither through his veins. He was somewhere in a black bottom of dirt and grime, and still sliding deeper.
René sat up.
Olivia slept beside him.
He glanced at his naked body and her naked body. Gut burning, he slipped off the bed and reached for his clothes on the floor.
His head continued to throb. Tongue sticky. Mouth dry. The black hole was still present. He was in a song of melancholy, enveloped in angst and doom.
If this was coming down from cocaine, pass, major pass.
His guilt was an amplified voice bitch-slapping him.
He stumbled and tugged on his underwear. Everything was a huge effort. Cement had claimed his legs. Even slipping on his jeans required a pep-talking of you can do this.
Do it. He’d done it all right. His first time. While high, it’d been great. Fucking awesome. But with the sun peering in through the slit in the curtain, life was a balled-up pair of dirty pants and smelly socks in the corner.
After what seemed like ten years, he finished dressing.
Aww crap, he’d forgotten to call Mom to tell her he was crashing at Chunk’s. Hopefully, she hadn’t phoned his friends in a panic. Knowing his main man, Chunk would’ve covered his lying, guilty ass.
René forced his legs to walk from the bedroom. He retrieved his keys and wallet off the kitchen table. Mrs. Hussen wasn’t around to scream at him for screwing her daughter, thank fuck. He urged his drowning legs to the sofa to don his jacket. While lacing up his boots, his fingers kept fumbling and twisting.
He sighed. This was too much. He required more sleep, anything to shake the black pit where he’d been dropped. Not even his worst hangover had dragged him down into this kind of smothering gray.
He lurched his way out of the apartment and to the truck. Getting into a freezing cold vehicle couldn’t dispel the thick fog swirling around him to give him a jolt into reality.
Never again. Coke was bulllshit. If being the Ren-Man meant experiencing this kind of horrendous nightmare each time he came down, he’d suffer through boring, responsible René for the rest of his years.
He huffed a breath and laid his face on the icy steering wheel.
I’m not straight. Not straight at all. I’ll never be straight. I’ll always be... this.
He curled his fingers into fists and squeezed his eyes shut.
* * * *
At the breakfast table, Billy tackled his homework. The clock beside the buffet kept ticking away, the little hand at twelve and the big hand at three.
The back door opened and closed. That must be René. He was due at the video store for two.
A few seconds later, the door leading into the breakfast nook opened. René entered. His bleary stare settled on Billy and then shifted to the kitchen island.
“Your mom said you stayed at Chunk’s. Was there a party?” Billy couldn’t recall any bash happening.
“No... no... no party.” René scratched his nose. His eyes were bloodshot, and clothes rumpled, as if he’d slept in them last night. Weird. He was a clean guy who took major care of himself.
“I’m beat. I need to cop some z’s before work.” With his slow gait, René acted as if two dumbbells were tied around his boots.
Déjà vu smacked the back of Billy’s head. He’d seen this too many times from Hoyt, Olivia, Mom, Caveman, and his cousins after they’d been out drinking and snorting blow. He shoved aside his homework and stood.
René held a bottle of orange juice he’d retrieved from the fridge. He gulped back half the plastic container’s contents in one shot.
Billy folded his arms. Yep, somebody had more than a hangover. “You’re lucky your mom and dad aren’t here.”
“Yeah, well, they’re not.” René circled around Billy and did the dragging dumbbells walk to the main hall.
Billy stormed after him. He followed René up to his bedroom and kicked the door shut behind him. “You can’t fool me. I know what you did last night. I know exactly what you did.”
René, who’d reached his bed, had his hand on the mattress. He craned his neck in Billy’s direction, fear bursting from his pupils, as if a windigo bore down on him, ready to tear the flesh and muscles from René’s bones and cannibalize him.