Authors: Brad Boney
Ryan decided to ignore the snark. “Hmm. Well, we’d have to close to accommodate that many people, but since Bartley’s involved, you can put us down as interested and available.”
“Thank you. This establishment would be quite agreeable, since the location is able to accommodate participants with varying transportation resources.”
“So you’re an architecture student?”
“Affirmative, but unfortunately my days in the ivory tower of academia will soon be little more than a distant memory. And since I have yet to secure employment in my chosen field, I shall find myself working side by side with my mother, come September.”
“What does she do?”
“Private investigation.”
“Sounds interesting.”
“I fear, Mr. Parker, that you have watched too many television programs. More often than not, the reality of investigating the personal lives of strangers involves the pursuit of cheating husbands and wives. I would think it both true and fair to say that nothing is less interesting, or more common, than infidelity.”
“You might be right. What are you doing until September?”
“I will be attending the six-week Career Discovery Program at Harvard University’s School of Design, after which I shall travel to South America in an attempt to retrace the footsteps of one Ernesto Guevara, commonly known as Che, and the odyssey he chronicled in
The Motorcycle Diaries
.”
“Do you realize that trip took him nine months and covered about five thousand miles?”
Alexander Marlow sighed. “I do realize the facts as you have presented them. However, my father was born and raised in Argentina, and since I never had the opportunity to make his acquaintance, the journey is largely symbolic.”
“Well, I wish you all good fortune. I liked the movie. Gael Garcia Bernal is a total stud.”
“I agree. He is a fine example of the male specimen.”
“Would you like a latte?”
“No, though I do thank you for the offer. I have never put any kind of stimulant into my body.”
“Not even a cup of coffee?”
“That is correct. I have yet to drink alcohol or smoke a cigarette or even take an aspirin.”
“No kind of drug? Ever?”
“No kind, ever. There can be little debate over the fact that drugs cloud one’s judgment and impair one’s ability to process information.”
“That’s kind of the point.”
“Then it is a point lost on me. As I said, I am quite grateful for the offer, but filtered water, preferably from a natural spring, is the only beverage I drink.”
“Not even orange juice?”
“Why drink the juice and throw out the fruit? I cannot support a concept that reduces the nutritional value of food and, at the same time, creates unnecessary waste.”
Ryan laughed. “Okay, then. I’ll mark the date on the calendar, and you give us a call about a week ahead of time to iron out the details. You can get our number off the website.”
“I find your plan satisfactory. I was not looking forward to this transaction in the slightest, Mr. Parker, but you have managed to make it almost enjoyable, and I hope you accept that in the complimentary manner with which it was intended. I wouldn’t last five minutes in your line of work.”
“That’s why Hillary said it takes a village.”
“Actually she was talking about raising children. Nonetheless your point is well taken, even if it would have been better articulated by a phrase such as, ‘different strokes for different folks.’ Something to consider for next time.”
Ryan noticed a few beads of sweat on Alexander’s brow. “Are you nervous?”
Alexander took a handkerchief from his bag and wiped his forehead. “Ryan,” he said, “I have long been aware of the fact that people do not like me. I have been called pretentious and cartoonish to my face, so I can only imagine what goes on behind my back. One of my professors even called me a stereotype, although he never made clear exactly which stereotype I represent. What am I supposed to do about that? I talk the way I talk. I speak what is on my mind. How do I change those things? I bear no animus toward others, and yet I do not seem to fit into the world. And because of that, to answer your question, I am always nervous.”
Ryan wanted to give him a hug. “I like you, Alexander. Sure, you’re an odd duck, but this is La Tazza Magica. It’s like the Island of Misfit Toys.”
“I am unaware of such an island.”
“You’ve never seen
Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer
?”
Alexander’s blank expression answered for him.
“We’re gonna have to fix that,” Ryan said. “But my point is, you fit in here just fine. There’s no reason to be nervous around the likes of me.”
“Thank you. I find your attitude to be a rare one indeed. Your uncle must think very highly of you, seeing as he placed his business into your young, yet clearly capable, hands.”
“Just because we’re young doesn’t mean we can’t be responsible, right?”
“I couldn’t agree more. If everyone over thirty would simply get out of the way, I believe we could solve most of the world’s problems in the span of a few years. And now, in keeping with the Italian theme of your uncle’s café, I will say
buona sera
to you, Ryan Parker.”
They shook hands.
“Buona sera, Alexander Marlow.”
I
AN
GOT
home after midnight, but at least he didn’t have to open until nine the next morning. He poured himself a glass of milk and called Mark.
“How was your day?”
“I talked to Bartley. As Ian. He left a message on my phone, so I thought it’d be good to call him back and encourage him to go out with Ryan.”
“How did that go?”
“He said Ryan’s a little young.”
“Young? I thought you said he liked young.”
“I guess I was wrong. The guys I’ve seen him with were just architecture students from UT. He’s a mentor there.”
“So what kind of guys does he like?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t say.” Ian pulled a box of donuts from the pantry and ate one.
“Well,” Mark said, “what are you going to do now?”
“We all have a type and we all have exceptions to it,” Ian said with his mouth full. “Ryan will have to be an exception. He probably doesn’t like young guys because of the immaturity factor. But I’m forty inside, so that should work to my advantage.”
“You hope.”
Ian took a drink of milk. “He said he wasn’t interested in a date with Ryan, but that can change.”
“When are you going to call him?”
“Tomorrow. I’m going to suggest dinner on Friday.”
“Maybe at Sandy’s restaurant?”
“Maybe.”
“I’m planning to stop in tomorrow and say hi,” Mark said. “So, I’ve met Ryan before?”
“Don’t you think? You’ve been friends with Ian for over twenty years. You’ve met the real Ryan, and certainly you would have met the fake Ryan when he stayed here three summers ago.”
“You’re right. We might actually have spent a fair amount of time together.”
“Matthew’s working with me in the morning. You should drop by then. Ask me about Sam.”
“Who’s Sam?” Mark asked.
“The pizza boy. I’m meeting him on Wednesday, to throw Matthew off the scent.”
“Ah, okay. I’ll be sure to mention him.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
O
F
ALL
the shifts at La Tazza, Sunday mornings were the slowest. Ryan arrived just before nine and Matthew about five minutes later. They prepped the counter in silence for a few moments. Then Matthew said, “I’m sorry I jumped down your throat on Friday.”
Ryan opened the cash register and stocked it with ones. “It’s okay. I think you’re wrong, though.”
“About what?”
“I talked to Uncle Ian and asked him if he liked Bartley.”
Matthew slipped a pair of wine glasses into the rack above the bar. “So he told you, right?”
“No. He said he and Bartley are just friends and I should ask him out on a date if I want.”
“That’s not possible.”
“You can call and talk to him yourself.”
“But he told me—” Matthew paused, and his whole body language changed. “Oh, I get it.”
Ryan closed the register drawer and turned to Matthew. “Get what?”
“Your uncle’s stepping aside so you can have Bartley. Of course, that’s the kind of guy he is. It doesn’t mean you have to go through with it, though. Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s cool what he’s doing. But it would be even cooler if you stepped aside for him.”
R
YAN
SPENT
the next hour scheduling shifts for the week ahead. When he went out to check on Matthew, Ryan found him working on his laptop behind the bar. Ian made it clear to all his employees that they were free to do their homework on the job, so long as there were no customers in line.
“Watching porn?” Ryan asked.
Matthew looked up and smiled. “Close.”
“Really? I don’t know what my uncle would say about that.”
“I’m not watching porn. I’m writing a paper about it.”
Ryan laughed. “For what class?”
“Performance Studies. It’s an upper-level course in the drama department.”
“But you’re a music major.”
Matthew looked surprised. “How did you know that?”
Shit
. Ryan had screwed up again. “I…. Um, Uncle Ian must have said something.”
“He mentioned me?”
“Sure. We went over all the employees. He told me you just started a couple of weeks ago, and that you’re a music major, and that you don’t know how to drive a stick shift.”
“That’s what he said?”
“Is there something you wanted to add? I can teach you, if you want.”
“To drive a stick?” Matthew asked.
“It’s not that tough, really. So what’s this class about?”
“We study types of performance that don’t necessarily happen in a theater.”
“Like parades or flash mobs?” Ryan asked.
“Exactly. My final paper is about the relationship between porn and the real sex lives of gay men.”
“You should talk to Uncle Ian’s friend Mark. Have you ever met him?”
“No, not yet.”
“He’s stopping by this morning to say hi. I’ve heard he’s an expert. I guess you’ve watched a lot yourself?”
“Hey, I had to do my research. Did you know they actually showed porn in movie theaters back in the ’70s and early ’80s?”
“I didn’t know that,” Ryan said, even though Ian did.
“It’s true. Every breakthrough in technology has brought us closer and closer to our porn. It went from the movie theater to the VCR to our phone. When you have sex, do you mimic what you see in the porn you watch?”
“No comment.”
“Coward. The unexamined life is not worth living, dude.”
The west door opened and Mark walked in. Ryan smiled and gave him a hug. “Hey, Uncle Mark. Were your ears burning? I was just telling Matthew about you.”
Mark pulled away and looked unsure. “Why?”
“He’s doing a paper on gay porn, and I told him you’re an expert.”
Mark extended his hand and introduced himself to Matthew. “I would rather that not be the first thing you learn about me, but I have seen a lot.”
“I think it’s cool,” Matthew said. “Pull up a stool. I’d love to pick your brain.”
“What do you want to drink?” Ryan asked.
“A cappuccino, please.” Ryan ducked behind the bar and began to prepare the drink. Mark sat down and said, “When did you start working here, Matthew?”
“The beginning of April. How long have you known Ian?”
“Twenty years,” Mark said. “Since college. Did Ryan tell you about his big date on Wednesday?”
“No. You have a date with Bartley already?”
Ryan poured milk foam into a cup of espresso. “No, I have a date with the pizza boy.”
Matthew chuckled. “The pizza boy? Are you kidding me?”
“What’s wrong?” Ryan said. “You’re doing a paper on gay porn and you have a problem with me picking up the pizza boy? I’m sorry, but that’s a highly regarded subgenre in and of itself.
The Pizza Boy: He Delivers
is an all-time classic.”
Matthew took the cappuccino from Ryan and set it down in front of Mark. “Here you go. I take it you get free stuff?”
“I’d better. Has that changed, Ryan?”
“No, it hasn’t.”
“What’s your paper about?” Mark asked Matthew.
“I’m looking at how porn influenced the sex lives of gay men. I’m starting with the ’70s, when it mostly reflected what gay guys were doing in their bedrooms. There were no LGBT film festivals back then, so if you were a gay filmmaker interested in gay movies, you made gay porn. Since so many of the films from the ’70s look like home movies, I have to assume that’s how guys were fucking in real life.”
“That’s a big assumption,” Mark said. “But I see your point. Nobody expected a gay porno to make money, so people could do what they wanted. Gay sex, as opposed to sex between two men, was still in its infancy. The concepts of top and bottom didn’t even exist yet. It would never have occurred to Al Parker not to get…. Are you two okay having a frank discussion about this with a man twice your age?”
Ryan and Matthew looked at each other and shrugged. “It’s fine with me,” Matthew said.
“Me too. We’re both legal.”
“Okay.” Mark took a sip of his cappuccino. “It would never have occurred to Al Parker not to get fucked in his films.”
“But that all changed in the ’80s,” Matthew said, “with total tops like Jeff Stryker. And thanks to the VCR, guys could watch porn in their living rooms.”
“Finally,” Mark said. “VCR porn was the first viable gay market.”
Matthew continued. “That’s when the movies stopped reflecting real sex and started shaping it instead, because the studios realized they could make a shitload of money off this fantasy of ‘the guy who never gets fucked.’ Capitalism is responsible for an entire generation of gay men who are ashamed of bottoming. By 1990, taking a dick up your ass was considered a sign of weakness.”
Mark flinched and said, “I don’t know if ‘weakness’ is the right word, but it was definitely a sign of submission to a more powerful masculine figure.”
“That’s what I meant. Everyone bottomed for Jeff Stryker because he was the highest-paid star. Money talked.”