“What’s that?” Martin asked, looking at my wrist.
“This bracelet? Do you think that’s what the waitress was talking about? It’s a man’s bracelet,” I said defensively.
“It’s gold. You’re not a gold person. Silver or platinum. I shouldn’t have to explain these things to you.”
“It isn’t mine. The clasp broke, and I had it fixed for my roommate.”
“Julio?”
“Roberto.”
“What happened to Julio?”
“There was never a Julio. His name is Roberto.”
“I remember when I was the new boy in town,” Martin said, staring into the distance as if watching a newsreel of the olden days. “I crashed anywhere I could and had a constantly changing cast of roommates. And jobs. I was always broke.”
“Me, too,” I said, thinking that was as good a segue as any.
He focused on my face and said, “Maybe you should let your roommates pay for their own jewelry repairs.”
“It wasn’t much,” I said, on the defensive again. “Besides, Roberto buys all the groceries, especially since I lost—”
“Maybe Julio was one of my roommates,” Martin cut in, his eyes glazed over again. “He was allergic to MSG and swelled up like a puffer fish whenever we got Chinese takeout. Wait. That was Wing Lee.”
“Someone named Wing Lee was allergic to Chinese food?” I asked. I could never tell when Martin was serious.
Instead of answering, he continued to reminisce. “Wing Lee’s boyfriend, Yu, also lived with us. It made answering the phone problematic. ‘It’s for Yu!’ ‘Me?’ ‘No, Yu!’ Or I’d yell to Julio, ‘It’s for you!’ and Yu would pick up the extension. It was like Abbott and Costello.”
“Who?” I asked.
Martin glared at me and said, “Is that some kind of age crack? I’m only twenty-six.”
I knew for a fact that Martin was at least thirty, but I said, “I thought you were twenty-two.”
“Yes, four years ago I was twenty-two, but aren’t you sweet for thinking so? Maybe I should tell people that. If I thought I could pull it off, I would.” He paused. Then his face cleared and he said, “I’ll just say I’m twenty-three.”
It seemed cruel to distract Martin from his favorite topic: himself. But these were desperate times, so I said, “I wouldn’t normally ask you to meet me on a Thursday night, but I’m in kind of a bind, and—”
“Is this Thursday?” Martin interrupted with a horrified expression. “I think I had a date tonight.” He jumped up. “I’ll take care of the check on my way out.” He mimed the “call me” signal as he backed away from our booth. I saw him thrust cash at the waitress. Then he was out the door. As a frantic tactic to avoid being hit up for money, it was still a more graceful dance than the one he’d performed earlier onstage.
The waitress stopped at my booth, looked around, then scooted into Martin’s place. After I blinked at her a few times, she said, “I’m guessing he wasn’t leaving me a huge tip for two house salads and water, so he must want you to have the change.”
“How much did he give you?” I asked.
“A fifty. You made out okay, even if he dumped you.” She pushed the fifty across the table toward me.
“He didn’t dump me. We weren’t on a date. He’s a friend. How come you insulted him?”
“It’s not an insult. Lots of good men dump their dates.”
“We weren’t on a—I mean when you said you don’t like men who dress as women.”
“Oh, jeez, him?” When I nodded, she rolled her eyes. “Everybody thinks everything’s about them. It was the end of a story I was telling the busboy. He was right next to your booth and I was staring at him while I spoke.” She looked at someone behind me and blared, “I’m on a break!”
“Lucky me,” I said. Since she showed no sign of leaving, I asked, “What was the story?”
“If you can believe it, it was about a time I got dumped.” When she saw my face, she said, “Yeah, I know. He didn’t dump you because it wasn’t a date. Mine was a boyfriend and a Halloween party in college. Barry went as my roommate, Holly Waisenhaus. She had long, lanky red hair and nerdy glasses. She always wore a green-and-brown-striped sweater. She looked like a beetle. Barry got a wig and some glasses, and I snuck the sweater out for him. He was a big hit at the party. Why didn’t I get it? Why didn’t I know that imitation is the sincerest form of ‘I want to ditch my girlfriend and fuck your brains out’? They live in Connecticut now. They have a duck pond and three kids, and I try to make decent tips in a diner. Bastard.”
“I lost my job,” I said. “Plus I almost got arrested for using a fake ID.”
“Oh, I see,” she said, looking irritated as she slid out of the booth. “You’re one of those guys who only pretends to listen to other people so they’ll feel obligated to listen to your problems. I don’t need a tip that bad.”
“Why are people always doing that to you?” Roberto asked later as we lay in the dark. Or what would have been the dark if there weren’t two or three cop cars at the entrance to the alley behind our building. Our room was bathed in flashing lights. If we’d had a disco ball, we could have danced the night away.
“Doing what? Getting pissed off at me?”
“Confiding in you.”
“It’s the way I look.”
“Like you’ve got a face that says, ‘Free therapy’?”
“More like a body that says, ‘I can’t outrun your story of devastation and ruin.’ I should put on weight. Work out. Get muscles and look menacing. Like you. Nobody ever tells you hard-luck stories.”
“Except you,” Roberto said and giggled at himself. His giggle was endearing because it was so at odds with his virile appearance. “You didn’t have to get my bracelet fixed.”
“I’m the one who stepped on it,” I said. “Martin rebuked me for wearing gold.”
Roberto laughed again and said, “It’s my Guido bracelet.”
The bars on the windows provided a shadowy contrast to the flashing blue and red lights. In Eau Claire, that kind of show would have lured the entire neighborhood out of their beds. People in robes and slippers would have gathered in groups until everyone knew every lurid detail. Now I couldn’t be bothered to get up and look out the window to see what carnage lay at the end of our alley.
“You know I can cover your part of the rent,” Roberto said.
“I’ve got money for rent,” I assured him.
What I couldn’t tell him was that I didn’t have the money to cover Kendra’s part of the rent, because she was short a few hundred dollars. I didn’t want him to think that I’d asked him to move in because he was my only financially solvent friend. Besides, Roberto’s extra money went to his mother to help feed and clothe his younger brothers.
I heard him sigh, always the last thing he did before he fell asleep. One long sigh; then his breathing would deepen and keep the same rhythm for the rest of the night. He never snored. He never snorted himself awake. Sometimes when I couldn’t sleep, it pissed me off the way he could just drop off and stay that way until his alarm woke him. But mostly, it made me feel comfortable. Like a sleeping giant lay between me and whatever was out there.
The drama in our alley finally played itself out, and the lights went away. I closed my eyes and focused on breathing the way Gavin had taught me. Gavin