10

June drifted by quicker than it should have.

Throughout July, he played at The Peninsula four nights a week and spent his evenings at the place in Brighton Beach. Andrew’s desire to be in that apartment defied logic since every man living there lacked a moral compass.

Niko remained tolerable with his acceptance of Andrew’s detachment.

Their relationship consisted of strolling the boardwalk every Sunday, and while Niko rambled about music, sports, and video games, Andrew said little or nothing. Yesterday, they walked along the beach, and after Andrew sat down and removed his shoes, Niko knelt before him and rubbed his feet.

It was a gesture so sickeningly romantic that Andrew considered dropping his well-built wall. After sunset, however, he didn’t regret his decision to remain guarded.

They’d returned to the place and found Radek and Samil cuddling on the couch, watching television. Before he could say hello, Niko had whisked him down the hall and through the bedroom door.

Though too dark to see, Andrew had recalled the room’s layout from earlier visits: a day bed by the window, a queen mattress on the floor, and a king-size bed against the wall. Strong hands swathed his hips and guided him to the biggest bed, where Niko’s lanky body fell over him like a muscular blanket.

Bubble-gum-flavored lips had grazed Andrew’s neck, and when they found his nipples, pleasure came without bad memories for the first time in weeks. Lost in the man’s touch, Andrew had stretched out, ready for anything, until the back of his hand grazed the smooth mound of a bald head.

“Nikola, stop,” he’d whispered.

The man sighed in frustration. “What is it now?”

“Sash is here,” he’d said, this time loudly.

Niko’s lips then pressed to his, silencing his complaints.

Andrew twisted free and pushed him away.

“We can’t do this with him here,”

“No. He sleeps,” said Niko. “Sash, are you awake?”

Sash’s deep tenor had grumbled. “No,”

“See, he sleeps.” Niko moved in again, but Andrew had averted his head.

“Get off me, now.” Andrew had brought up a knee and pushed at him. “Get off me.”

Then, Tadeusz’s voice pleaded in his native Polish.

“Will you just fuck him so we can get some sleep?”

Cyril’s snicker then rang out in the dark, and that’s when Andrew fled the apartment. Four days passed before he showed his face there again, and he couldn’t say why he returned.

♪

The orchestra’s seasonal farewell party had gone long into the night, and Andrew bailed early since Samil was a no-show. During his shift, one of the servers, an older Chinese woman with a dark complexion and a motherly disposition, gave him the number of a restaurant manager seeking someone to wait tables during lunch.

Andrew’s interview at the renowned Russian Tea Room turned into an orientation when he gave the hiring manager his address; living in Manhattan equaled ultimate availability. Tuesday through Sunday, he clocked in at the Italianate brownstone on 57th.

Clad in a double-breasted black coat with gold buttons, he became part of its allure, like the velvety wall covers, gold ceilings, and ornate sconces. He spent his days gliding through bronze samovars, serving hot tea and fresh pastries to well-tippers who talked more than they ate.

Samil rarely connected with him anymore, spending all his free time with Radek. Hoping to see him today, Andrew showed up unannounced, knowing Niko wouldn’t be there since acquiring some driving job—a highly suspect windfall since the man possessed no driver’s license.

Andrew found the front door unlocked, meaning the bedrooms were occupied. He grabbed a cola from the fridge and then explored the couch cushions for the television remote.

“We don’t got cable no more.”

Obsession-scented Tadeusz stood there in a white undershirt and expensive dress pants. His designer-label socks peeked out when he sat and slipped on his fancy shoes. Cigarette dangling from his lips, he stared down at him.

“What you doing here, Andrej?”

“Waiting for Niko,”

Smoke curled from his serpentine lips.

“Did you forget Nikola no come back until seven?” Tadeusz then spoke Slovak. “What are you doing right now, Andrej?”

“Nothing that I know of,”

“I have something you can do,”

“What sort of something?”

“Don’t get hopes up, twink bitch.” The corners of his mouth curved. “You not my type.”

Andrew made a foul face. “I wasn’t even thinking about that,”

“I have shopping,” he said. “I need help.”

Sleek and sophisticated, the Polish brunette was the sort of queer Andrew aspired to be, with the elegance of a symphony instructor and the wardrobe to match.

“No worry,” he added. “I have you back before Nikola come home.”

Andrew examined his shoddy appearance in the hall mirror on their way out.

“You look fine,” Tadeusz assured, as if reading his mind.

On the Q train bound for Manhattan, the fashionable man turned chatty. “Sorry if I come off rude, Andrej. I don’t know you.”

“It’s fine,” he said. “Where are we going?”

“There’s a shop I’ve been watching,” said Tadeusz.

“That’s open on a Monday?” he asked.

“This isn’t restaurant closing on slow day,” Tadeusz said in English, then checked his wristwatch. “They do close soon, but we’ll be good.”

New passengers crowded into the car at every stop, and like Andrew, the chic Pole clammed up around people he didn’t know.

At the last station before the bridge, a man with a boyish face entered the car. His hair was snowy white, and his red shirt faded like his blue jeans. His brown shoes came with thick anti-slip bottoms, tell-tale signs that he worked in a kitchen.

The man’s brown eyes seized with familiarity at Tadeusz.

“I’m looking for Radeki,” he blurted in Russian, his voice abnormally deep.

Tadeusz replied in Russian, “Do you see him with me now?”

“No,” he said.

Tadeusz brought out his phone.

“Then I don’t know where he is any more than you do,”

The boyish man lit a cigarette.

“You can’t smoke in here,” Tadeusz said, finger raised.

“No cops,” the boyish man said dismissively in English.

“If I can’t smoke in here, you can’t smoke here,” Tadeusz lowered his phone and hardened his voice. “Now, put it out before I put it out on your face,”

“Fine, fine,” the boyish man said, dropping the stick and stepping on it. Exhaling clove-scented smoke, he deserted them for another part of the subway car.

“Fucking Georgian pig,” Tadeusz spat before adding in Polish, “When I did my first stretch in this part of the world, he was in too. Always hanging around, fishing for information he could sell,”

“How old is he?” asked Andrew.

“Don’t know,” he answered in English, but in Polish, he said, “Sash and I did time with him in Canada about ten years ago.”

“Sash was in jail?” Andrew tutted. “Why am I not surprised,”

Tadeusz stared at him. “Do not judge, Andrej, lest ye be judged.”

Out of the train station, the summer heat took pity on them.

Andrew followed him to a posh men’s clothier on Canal Street.

The salesman inside smirked as they entered, his ghostly white teeth standing out against a dark tan and black widow’s peak. With his honey-colored suit, matching black tie, and pocket kerchief, he reminded Andrew of that Greek man who lived down the street from him as a child.

Tadeusz roamed the racks and rounders while Andrew reclined on one of the shop’s cushioned seats. Fastidious as ever, the Pole picked out eight suits before disappearing into the fitting rooms.

The salesman watched Andrew over his little round glasses before suddenly vanishing. Left alone for several moments, Andrew almost nodded off to the shop’s modern music before realizing there’d been none playing when they first entered.

He rose from the chair and investigated the cordoned dressing area. Heavy breathing lured him down the claustrophobic hall with its shuttered doors on both sides. It came from the last ribbed panel door, where gentle grunts followed the slapping of flesh.

Violence flashed before Andrew’s eyes. Unable to clear it, he returned to the clothing racks. He moved to the front door with thoughts of fleeing, yet his legs wouldn’t move another inch.

Several moments later, the salesman returned, jovial.

“Will you be shopping with us today?” he asked, smiling.

Tadeusz appeared before Andrew could answer, strutting in front of the mirror in a powder blue suit. The Pole wanted his opinion, and though still shaken, Andrew told him that its color brought out the darkness of his hair. More suits followed, and his answers remained honest; examining those suits was the only thing stopping him from thinking about that night.

“Are you ready, Andrej?” Despite his extensive runway show, Tadeusz stood at the sales station with one dress shirt.

The salesman rang him up, and when Tadeusz asked for a shirt box, the fool went to fetch it.

Tadeusz turned to him. “Where is third one, the blue?”

“Right there,” he pointed.

“Go get it,” Tadeusz urged quietly.

Andrew pulled it from the rounder, and Tadeusz put it on the return rack near the fitting room area with the others he’d tried on and didn’t buy.

The salesman reemerged with the dress shirt, boxed up and ready, but when Tadeusz tried to pay, the slide-reader denied his card.

“Try again,” the Pole pouted, “It worked at lunch today.”

The salesman shook his head. “I’ve tried twice.”

“I understand,” Tadeusz smiled. “I be back in morning with cash,”

“I won’t be here,” the salesman sulked. “I work Wednesdays, Fridays, and Sundays.”

“What’s name, so I give it to other person when I come back? I want you to get commission.” His poor English dripped with sugar, and the bespectacled fool sucked it up as if starving.

Outside, Andrew followed Tadeusz to the bodega across the street. They went straight to the back, where the drinks were sold.

“Stand in front of me,” he said in Slovak, producing a ball of bound cash.

He pulled at the rubber band and unfolded a twenty-dollar bill tucked within a bundle of hundreds. Opening the glass case door, he grabbed an orange soda.

“You want coke?” he asked.

Andrew shook his head. “I’ll take a tea.”

“You take a tea?” he mocked. “You get a tea, Andrej. I no wait on you.”

Andrew grinned and pulled a Snapple from the case.

Out of the store, they entered an alley between the laundry mat and a shoe store. Covered in damaged brick, the narrow passage smelt of mildew, but the aroma of dryer sheets prevailed in the courtyard.

Tadeusz opened a dumpster and surveyed its innards. Handing his soda to Andrew, he gingerly dipped a hand inside and plucked out two discarded suit bags.

“What are you doing, Tadeshi?”

“Shopping,” he said, smoothing wrinkles from the plastic.

He took his soda back and led Andrew through several concrete yards until the back door of the men’s clothing store appeared across the street.

Andrew tapped the taller man’s shoulder.

“What are we waiting for?”

“We wait for,” Tadeusz said, pulling a slip of paper from his pocket and reading the name James, “to go home,”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“There is fool now,” Tadeusz said when the salesman emerged. “When he drives off, you come to the door.”

“I don’t understand?”

“You born here and speak the English, yes?” Tadeusz said, sauntering toward the shop’s front. “Don’t act like you not understand, Andrej,”

The salesman locked up before walking out to the street. Confident he was gone, Andrew approached the back door, and as he again entertained running away, it swung open to reveal Tadeusz with keys in hand.

“You stay out here, Andrej.”

Andrew surveyed the area, knowing he would be seen if anyone emerged from the many back doors around him. Then, as thoughts of leaving gained momentum, Tadeusz reappeared with a bundle of suits on their hangers.

“Lucky for me, return rack not in front of camera,” he laughed, shoving one of the covers from the dry-cleaner’s trash at Andrew. “Slip over top,”

“Is this why you brought me here?” he demanded, pulling the plastic down over the hangers hooked on Tadeusz’s fingers. “To steal clothes?”

“No, Andrej.” The Pole frowned. “You’re here to help me carry the clothes.”

Anxiety soured his stomach on the ride back to Brighton.

Unable to speak his mind on the street, courage found him in the elevator. “Hey.” Andrew pushed his share of the clothes at Tadeusz. “Don’t include me in your crap anymore.”

“I didn’t know it would be a problem,” he began.

“I’m not a thief,” Andrew snapped.

Tadeusz rolled his eyes. “Excuse me, Prince Andrej,”

“No.” Andrew’s head swung. “Don’t make this about me being a snob,”

“You’re such a little bitch,” Tadeusz smiled.

“No.” Andrew faced him. “I’m someone that’s never going to jail.”

The doors opened, and Andrew stepped out first.

“You should go home until Nikola comes to get you,” said Tadeusz.

“It’s almost seven.” He followed him to the front door and waited for him to unlock it. “I can wait.”

Inside the apartment, Andrew sat at the kitchen table in silence.

After stowing his stolen goods, Tadeusz joined him with a lit cigarette.

“You hate me now?” he asked.

Andrew set his elbows on the table. “I didn’t say I hated you.”

“I’m starting to like you, Andrej,” Tadeusz spoke Polish.

“I’ll sleep better tonight, knowing you might like me,”

Tadeusz laughed as the front door opened, and footsteps shuffled through the shared wall. Radek and Samil appeared around the corner, and the haughty Pole rose from the table and returned to his room.

“What’s her problem?” Sam asked, sitting in his vacated seat.

Andrew sighed, “Long day shopping,”

“I’ll be back,” said Radek, walking to the bedroom.

Sam rolled his eyes. “He’s going to go kiss his ass,”

“What did you do to him now?” asked Andrew.

“We visited my brother, Miro, today,” Sam said, his eyes smiling. “Teddy was supposed to go with us but was a no-show, so we went without him.”

Andrew knew there was history between Radeki and Tadeusz, recalling Cyril and Niko’s idiot French on his first night here.

Samil grabbed a ginger ale from the fridge.

“I got roped into a three-way with them once,” he whispered.

“I know,” Andrew droned.

“Did he tell you about it?” His lip curled. “What’d that bitch say?”

“He didn’t say anything.” Andrew studied the green can, Sam’s thick fingers masking its cartoonish white fairy. “I saw you go into the room with them my first night here,”

“Get out,” Sam said, apologetic. “Tadeshi makes me self-conscious.”

The stylish Pole emerged in one of his new suits, a sleek metal gray with a narrow pink tie. “Goodbye, Andrej,” he said, walking to the door.

“Bye, Tadeshi,” Sam called, and when the door slammed shut without a word in return, he snickered. “Bitchy bitchski,”

Andrew grinned. “I got to pee.”

“Thanks for sharing,” Sam said, raising the can.

Andrew ventured over the narrow rug, recalling how Niko had led him down the hall that night. The bathroom wasn’t much bigger than the shared hovel at Saint Mark’s, but its scale-covered shower door and cracked pink tiles felt safer.

Dirty laundry filled the basket inside the tub, and clean clothes dangled on a hastily strung clothesline across the open window. White boxer briefs hung alongside some socks, the word ‘DEISEL’ stitched in black along the waistband. Black seams outlined the jock pocket, and the fabric felt soft on the back of his hand.

Andrew gathered it in his fingers and brought his nose to it. The detergent scent wasn’t flowery but spiced with the same aroma Sash carried the first night they met.

Laughter peeled out from the hall, making Andrew recoil. Cracking the door an inch revealed Samil’s discarded pants by the first bedroom door.

Whispers found his ears as he slipped past. Radek’s naked body flashed into view, his mouth clamped over Sam’s, his bony hip sinking into his pliable flesh. Andrew stumbled down the hall, sickened by his growing arousal.

The front door opened before he got hold of the knob.

Niko’s arms surrounded him, falling away when his dark eyes noticed Andrew’s erection. Then, that dumb smirk transformed into something dangerous.

“You were waiting for me, eh?”

Andrew pushed against him. “I need to go.”

“You need to come,” laughed Niko softly.

A gentle hand found around the nape of his neck and guided him down the hall. Hips pressed into his lower back before he fell onto the day bed, its brass frame creaking under their weight.

The hem of his shirt entered his mouth, and he bit down on it as Niko’s heavy body blanketed him. Persistent lips found Andrew’s nipple, and hands slipped between his skin and the mattress, groping his buttocks. Niko’s tongue left a trail of spit down his ribcage, and Andrew relished the wetness until he opened his eyes, and the plastered ceiling above morphed into the top of his car.

“Please stop,” he whispered.

Eager hands yanked down his waistband.

Andrew tried to crawl out from under, but Niko held on tight.

“Let me go,” he cried, kicking free and falling to the floor.

Niko stared down at him, face ashen and confused.

Andrew gained his footing, fixing his clothes as he raced down the hall. His footfalls echoed over the painted concrete and chipped steel in the stairwell. He pushed through the heavy doors and into the lobby, colliding with another body.

Sash stood there with his arms raised and his blue eye glazed with concern. Andrew caught his frightened reflection in the man’s blackened orb and then noticed an elderly couple standing by the mailboxes, watching him.

Dazed, he didn’t remember the train ride to Manhattan.

Andrew trod over the hotel’s checkered floor.

“You got phone messages,” the hefty clerk yelled from behind the plexiglass, holding up three neon post-it notes. “You ain’t got a message service here, okay?”

Andrew marched to his cordoned booth and snatched the neon-colored square from his grasp. He darted up the stairs, undoing the combination lock outside and then securing the interior padlocks after shutting his door.

“It’s over, it’s over, it’s over,” Andrew chanted, sinking to the floor with his head in his hands. “He can’t hurt you. He can’t hurt you anymore. He can’t hurt you because you—”

Clarity struck like a hammer.

Andrew reached up and felt the lowest hanging padlock, number five, three more than last month. He brought his hand down, and in it was a revolver, its barrel sheathed by a condom slick with his blood.

Turning your ass out will be easy… Anger consumed him. He pointed the sheathed gun at the back of the bastard’s head. Then, as if someone switched on a light, his room materialized. He stared past his hand, now shaped into a finger pistol.

The violin case’s edge peeked out from under the bed. Its strings called out in his mother’s voice, begging him to come home.