5

Andrew celebrated his first month in New York with a jumbo cupcake, after Samil arrived at lunch to remind him that it was Friday.

The portly young man stunk of Aramis, and his ears were spotless—ears were something Andrew sought on men since he loved having his ears touched and kissed when making out.

Aftershocks of what brought him to this city blunted his sexual desires, and he hadn’t fully mourned that loss, thanks to meeting Sam. The cute chub didn’t arouse him, but his energetic familiarity brought back familiar needs, whims Andrew thought slaughtered in the back seat of his car.

Eight boisterous rounds of Super Mario 3 had made them hungry enough to risk the corner pizza shop.

In the hall, Andrew secured the padlock on the outer doorknob and gave it a tug.

“Did you get that lock from my brother’s?” asked Sam.

“The combination was on the package,” Andrew said over his shoulder. “Did you need it back?”

“No,” Sam’s head swung. “Just wondering why you’d need it when you already got two locks on the inside,”

“You said yourself,” Andrew led him down the stairs. “This place gets wild.”

Today’s pizza looked edible. The owner, a lean man with dark eyes, olive skin, and too much underarm hair to be wearing that sleeveless shirt, worked behind the counter. His pierced ears were greasy, and they needed a shave just like his face.

After they ate, Samil fished some keys out of his pants pocket.

“I got to get my brother’s ride,” he announced, tossing their trash into the bin. “My mom doesn’t want it ending up in an impound yard.”

The pleasant fusion of cola syrup and tomato paste gave way to stale, sun-stroked asphalt. They drifted through hairsprays, colognes, and the occasional reeking trashcan until they arrived outside the familiar trappings of Konrad’s building.

Wood planks covered one of the front doors, and the police left a uniformed officer on the stoop. To Andrew’s astonishment, Sam casually waved to the stout man and said, ‘hello again’ as they entered the building.

Andrew followed him past the elevator and down the stairwell. Through a heavy door came the sublevel parking garage, where dampness abounded with the chirping of a cricket.

Sam jogged to a red BMW convertible with a white faux leather top. Smiling brightly, he opened the passenger door for Andrew. The cabin smelled like a new car, and the black interior felt soft under his fingers. Sam jabbed the key into the ignition and, after starting it, revved the engine.

Vibrations hummed beneath Andrew’s ass.

“Isn’t this grand-theft auto?”

“Until momma takes it back,” said Sam, nodding. “Where’s the switch to put the top down?”

Andrew pointed to the turn handle. “It’s a roll down,”

“That sounds like work. We can wait till we get to Brighton.” Sam’s frivolity faded when he found the transmission lever. “Get the fuck out!”

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t drive a stick shift,”

“Duh, all Beamers are sticks,”

“This is balls,” Sam complained, then narrowed his eyes. “Can you drive a stick?”

“Hell, yes. German cars are the easiest because—” Andrew glared at him. “I ain’t driving this. It’s a stolen vehicle,”

“This car is in my mom’s name,” Sam said. “I swear to God,”

“You’re always swearing to something,” said Andrew, scratching into his golden hair. “Just to your neighborhood, Sam. Then we hand it over to your mom,”

“Of course,” he agreed, getting out on his side.

Andrew climbed over the gear shift.

After some back and forth about ground rules, they traded the dark garage for the bright day. Sam directed him to Second Avenue, where he made a left onto East Houston Street before driving south on Broadway.

He turned onto Battery Place, where Sam ordered him to slow down so he could ogle the men in their three-piece suits. The sun blinded him as they emerged from the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel, and before long, heat rose in waves along the hood.

Green signs with block text and numbers that weeks ago shouted at him to return home now promised more of the unknown.

Samil guided him to ‘the Belt,’ avoiding Gravesend, but gridlock ensnared them on Ocean Parkway. Sitting in this city’s shore traffic reminded Andrew too much of home, and his mood dropped until Sam guided him to an exit.

Down the lower deck split, he weaved through traffic on Avenue X before entering Coney Island Avenue. A right on Brighton Beach Avenue put him under the shade of some trellis tracks. Numbered streets boasted the neighborhood’s name: Brighton 3, Brighton 4, Brighton 5, while Russian names on awnings lined both sides of the divided road.

Unlike those in Manhattan, pedestrians here were in no rush to get anywhere.

Samil twisted around, his hairless belly peeking out the bottom of his shirt. It took several tries for him to roll the top down, but when finished, he set himself to rights and turned up the radio.

Before long, they were coasting parallel to the boardwalk.

Sea breezes cooled Andrew’s scalp as they turned onto Brighton-5, a one-way street made alarmingly narrow by vehicles parked against both curbs. Towering H-shaped tenements curtained the road, and ramblers traversed the sidewalks, ignoring the red beamer cruising through with its top gone and music loud.

“Well, hello,” said Sam, spotting something ahead. “Slow down here,”

A broad-shouldered man in dark blue jeans and a baseball jersey left the wall when Andrew slowed to a stop at the red light. Tossing his cigarette aside, he came alongside the beamer, his thin lips spreading to reveal some silver-plated teeth.

“We should go,” said Andrew, heart racing.

“No, it’s cool,” Sam said, then called to the man. “Radeki,”

Andrew’s nerves crackled as this Radeki approached the car.

“What the F,” his thick accent sounded Russian. “Where’s Konni?”

Sam cocked his head. “He’s in jail.”

“Who’dat?” the man asked, eyeing Andrew.

“A friend,” said Sam.

“A friend?” the man parroted.

“A friend from work, a Slovak.” Sam sat with his knees in the seat. “What’s got you waiting for the bus?”

“I’m on probation. Must watch my step.” His Eastern European drawl made the word ‘must’ sound like mast. “Your friend, the Slovak, what’s he doing today?”

“Hanging out with me.” Sam moved forward, blocking the man’s view of Andrew.

“Where’s Danu?” the man asked.

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Sam said of his ex-boyfriend. “Ever since Danny started at CUNY, I ain’t seen much of him. I heard he had a date last night,”

“You and Danu, ah,” the man smiled, the caps on his teeth gleaming. “What is the word, broked-up?”

“Maybe,” said Sam.

“Maybe?” the man grinned. “What is maybe? Yes, or no?”

“I suppose today, it’s yes.” Sam turned to Andrew. “This scrub’s name is Radek Prokup,”

“I’m not scrub,” he defended in broken English.

“Radek,” Sam added, “This is Saint Mark.”

Radek grinned. “Nice to meet you, Mark.”

Andrew smirked at Samil’s misdirection, his anxiety ebbing while watching Samil flirt. The young man’s hefty frame turned catlike with prolonged stretches and a finger that occasionally tapped Radek’s large nose.

“What you two doing right now?” Radek’s deep brown eyes inventoried Sam. “Niko is free in an hour, and I wait for the bus to bring him home. We can go get him, yes?”

Andrew asked, “What do we look like, a taksówka?”

“Get out, right?” Sam laughed. “You see yellow and black checkers painted on this bitch?”

“Come on,” Radek pleaded, smiling and pulling cash from his pocket. “I pay you,”

Sam turned to him. “What do you think?”

“Whatever,” Andrew said. “But he’s driving. I got no idea where we’re going,”

“Yes, I drive.” Radek jogged to the driver’s side.

Andrew quickly crawled over the gearshift to the back, a hasty retreat that garnished Sam’s notice.

“You good?” he asked with concern.

“Does it matter if I’m not?” Andrew wanted to be part of this little adventure, but the terror of being in another back seat dulled his enthusiasm.

“What’s wrong?” he pressed.

“Nothing,” Andrew lied. “It’s cool.”

Radek got into the driver’s seat. “How old is Mark?”

“Almost twenty,” Andrew said in Polish.

“Don’t waste your Polish on him.” Sam then warmly regarded Radek. “He’s a shithead Ukrainian.” Then he said, “Speak English to him like he’s a child. It’ll be easier,”

“Shut up, you,” Radek smiled, grabbing Sam’s thick thigh.

The young man giggled and flashed his tongue, Gene Simmons style.

“Where’re we going?” Andrew asked.

“Riker’s,” said Radek.

“I don’t know if we can get there in an hour, though,” Sam added, “but we’ll be there before the transit bus,”

“What’s Riker’s?” Andrew pressed.

Sam didn’t turn around. “It’s an island in Queens,”

Radek pivoted his head sharply to Sam.

A little adventure was one thing, but this situation suddenly felt out of Andrew’s control. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that Sam was a friend, not some bastard with bad intentions.

Radek tied his black shoulder-length locks with a rubber band and buckled his seat belt. “Sam-Sam, you and Mark must put on restraints,”

“Nothing restrains me,” Sam sassed.

“I mean this,” Radek pouted. “It’s law,”

“You ass cares about the law?” Sam laughed.

Andrew narrowed his eyes. “Passengers in the back don’t need to buckle up in the state of New York,”

“Oh?” Radek found him in the rearview.

Sam shook his head while securing his belt. “Your ass caring about laws is the funniest shit I heard in all of today, Radeki,”

“I’m law-abiding man,” Radek proclaimed.

Andrew spoke to the back of his head.

“I notice you didn’t say law-abiding citizen.”

Sam laughed hard as Radek pulled away from the curb.

♪

Back on the beltway, they sped through traffic to the Cross Island Parkway, where Sam continued flirting openly with Radek.

Andrew envied the young man’s confidence.

His matka had figured out how he felt about boys early and advised him to hide such feelings. Straight boys ruled high schools, making the world dangerous for gay boys. His matka was rarely wrong, as evidenced when the word ‘faggot’ became an unpleasant fact of school life.

Stress left Andrew as the beamer sped down the open highway while Radek and Samil’s lively banter overtook the menace of being in another backseat. He preferred it for the moment, since sitting alone gave him the space to observe without interacting.

Sluggish after this long day, Andrew closed his eyes and drifted asleep.