My Busboy Read online

  Dario’s hand was still in mine. We were shoulder to shoulder, and the street was so dark, what with the blackout and the rain, I could barely see Dario’s face, although I was acutely aware it was in easy kissing distance. I mean, if I had been brave enough and stupid enough to try such a thing. Which I wasn’t.

  “No. Like I said, I live in the dorm,” Dario explained. “I have a roommate, but it isn’t Lee. Lee’s been wanting me to move in with him off-campus, but I didn’t think it was a good idea. Now I really don’t. Plus, I’m on a scholarship. If I give up my living space on campus, I might not be able to get it back if the relationship doesn’t work out.” He coughed up a sarcastic snicker. “And you have to admit a long-term relationship with the jerk is looking pretty iffy at this juncture.”

  “What’s your major?” I sniped. “Understatement?”

  He gave me a gentle jab with his elbow. “Don’t be mean. And it’s premed. Pre-veterinary-med to be exact.”

  That took me by surprise. I was truly impressed. “You must be smarter than your taste in men would imply.”

  “You’re being mean again.”

  “Who, me?” I steered him in off the street. “Here’s my building.”

  I keyed the door open and waved him through in front of me. The lobby was illuminated by red emergency lights, making the place look totally alien. I had to squint around for a second to make sure I was in the right building. The lobby was empty. The tenants must have been holed up in their individual cubbyholes, waiting for the blackout to end, too lazy to tackle the stairs.

  I pointed straight ahead as the door closed behind us, sealing out the rain and locking psychopathic admirers out in the elements where they fucking belonged. I wasn’t sure about Dario, but I breathed a sigh of relief when I realized we were safely inside. My jaw still ached, but I was shooting for butch, so I tried to ignore it. In the red glow of the emergency lanterns positioned along the walls, I made a closer inspection of Dario’s injuries.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked. “You don’t look like you’re bleeding. You’ve got a fat lip, though. And your eye is swelling shut. Can you feel it?”

  “Yeah,” he mumbled. “You were right. I’m gonna have a shiner by morning. I can barely see out of my left eye.”

  I took his arm. “Well, come on, let’s get up to my place, and we’ll put some ice on it anyway.” I aimed my chin toward the back of the lobby. “The stairwell is back there. Let’s start the trek upward. Hope you can keep up with me.”

  He cocked his head and cast a withering one-eyed glance in my direction, half-mocking, half-serious. “I’ll have you know I ran a marathon two weeks ago.”

  “So did I,” I said.

  “Really?”

  “Hell, no.”

  He laughed. “Don’t worry, Robert. If you collapse halfway up, being old and feeble and injured and all, I’ll carry you the rest of the way.”

  “Goodie. I was hoping you’d say that. Now my manliness is totally shredded.”

  We eased ourselves through the squeaky stairwell door and commenced the climb. We ascended side by side, our hands still clasped together, our opposing hands clutching the banisters on either side. The stairwell, like the lobby, was lit with a dim red glow which didn’t do much to illuminate the way. The building was eerily silent around us. Every horror movie I’d ever seen kept popping into my head.

  “Clutch is probably freaking out,” I said.

  “Who’s Clutch?”

  “My cat. Hope you aren’t allergic.”

  Dario clucked his tongue. “I’m studying to be a vet, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah. Um, Dario, do you mind if I ask you a question?”

  “Sure. Shoot.” He winced. “Ow. Fucking lip.”

  We were on the third floor landing now. Twenty more to go. “How old are you?”

  If he thought I was overstepping my bounds, he didn’t let on. “I’m twenty-one.”

  That surprised me. “I took you for nineteen or so.”

  Our shoulders bumped. “Everybody does. I guess I have a baby face. But I’m a sophomore at State. Why? How old are you?”

  Oh, crap. I didn’t expect that question to come bouncing back to bite me on the ass quite so quickly. “I’m thirty. As of yesterday.”

  “You look younger too.”

  “You’re lying,” I said.

  He snickered. “Maybe a little. But only in the kindest way.”

  I made a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a “fuck you.”

  Our conversation lagged as we rose higher and higher. The sound of my breathing increased exponentially with the number of flights we slogged up.

  “I jogged up Iron Mountain once,” Dario said. He still sounded perky, I thought. He must have lungs the size of feed sacks.

  “Bully for you,” I said, trying not to pant. I thought I felt him grin at my answer.

  A couple of agonizing minutes passed. Just as my legs were threatening to cramp up, Dario broke the silence.

  “Look,” he said, pointing to a sign on the landing above. The sign read 12. “We’re over halfway there.”

  I grunted something unkind and hopefully indistinguishable. My legs were not only threatening to cramp, they were also starting to wobble.

  He grinned again. “Want to rest?” he asked.

  I tried to pshaw, but I couldn’t quite manage it. “Well, only if you’re tired,” I gasped, and kerplopped my ass down on the top step without waiting for an answer. Dario dropped down beside me.

  I looked over at him. His hair was still soaking wet, as was mine. We looked like a couple of drowned rats. He was dabbing at his busted lip with a restaurant napkin he had hauled out of his coat pocket.

  “You bleeding again?”

  He nodded. “Uh-huh.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He blinked long lashes and studied me. I should say, he blinked long lashes on one eye. The other eye wasn’t moving much. I think its blinking days had been put on hold for a while.

  When Dario pulled the napkin away from his lips, his dimples were showing again. The napkin was bloody, but he wore a measured smile on his face. “How do you do it?” he asked.

  “How do I do what?”

  He looked down at my knee next to his and considered it for a minute. Then he seemed to come to a decision and rested his hand on it. Not in a sexual way. Just friendly-like. As if his thoughts could only be conveyed through touch. “How do you come off so caring? So considerate? Why in the world would you be interested in anything I do? Or even anything I hope to be? You’re—you know. Who you are. A famous writer. But I’m just—me. A frigging busboy.”

  I studied his face in return. Inside my head, I could hear my pulse thudding. I wasn’t sure if it was thudding from the climb or from the goodness I saw sitting there beside me. I knew instinctively this was a time for truth. His open face, the sweetness in his eyes, and the hurt there too, warranted nothing less. Still, I didn’t quite know what to say.

  I gave a self-deprecating little smirk, stalling for time. “I’m not that famous. And you’re far more than a frigging busboy. You’re a med student. You’re a nice guy. You look cute in a bow tie. Not everybody does, you know. And you climb stairs like a squirrel.”

  “I’m serious,” he said, rolling his eyes at my feeble attempt at humor. “Tell me. Why would you care what happens to me?”

  I rested my hand over his, expecting him to pull away. My heart gave a happy lurch when he didn’t. His hand was cold and damp from the rain. So was mine. “I guess I felt sorry for you back there in the restaurant. You really do seem like a nice guy. You were reading my book, which for a writer is the emotional equivalent of donating a kidney, and it really pissed me off when I saw what your boyfriend had done to you. You’re also beautiful. I’m sure that’s what caught my eye first. Do you mind my saying that?”

  “N–no.”

  “But it isn’t even your beauty anymore, Dario. I just like you. You needed help and I was selfi
sh enough to want to be the one to give it to you.”

  “I appreciate it, you know.”

  I gripped his fingers in mine. “I know you do. But don’t think I’m trying to get you up to my condo to put the moves on you. You’re out of my league, and I know it. Wrong demographic and everything. I just want to help. I don’t want your friend to hurt you again. I want you to have some time in a safe place to maybe think things through and decide what you want to do next. Abusive people frighten me. I don’t want to see you punched out again tonight. That guy is nuts. I know it’s not my place to say so, but if you were my son, I’d tell you to stay the hell away from him.”

  “Your son? Is that how you think of me?”

  “No,” I said. “Not in a million years.”

  “Good,” he said, and his eyes went back to my hand over his.

  We let the silence settle over us. I wondered what he was thinking. I wondered if I had scared him off. I wondered why he had said, “Good.”

  “And I’m not out of your league, Robert. No one is out of your league.”

  Before I could respond to the kindness in that remark, probably by stupidly demurring, he rose to his feet and pulled me up beside him. “Onward and upward. I’m dying to meet Clutch.”

  Before we recommenced our climb, I carefully cupped his chin in my hand and turned his face toward the red emergency light on the wall. I winced. “Your eye is swollen shut now.”

  “I know. Don’t come at me on my left side. I’m blind as a bat.”

  “Your boyfriend’s a dick.”

  A new tear shimmered in his one good eye. “Yes, well, I think we’ve covered that already.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

  “Thank you, Robert. Thank you for being so nice.”

  I chucked him gently on the arm. “Come on, then,” I said again, and we led each other up another flight. Then another. We trudged upward until finally our destination drew near, thank God. 21. 22. 23. Just as my heart was about to explode like a hand grenade, we found ourselves standing outside my front door. We were both breathing heavily. Well, Dario was breathing heavily. I was sucking in air like a DC-10. On the other side of the door, I could hear Clutch cussing me out for being late.

  Dario gave me a quizzical look. “What’s wrong with your cat?”

  “He’s kind of grouchy.”

  “You abandoned him in the middle of a blackout. Why wouldn’t he be?”

  “I didn’t know there would be a blackout or I would have moved to the first floor before I left rather than face climbing these fucking stairs when I got home.”

  Dario chuckled. “Whoa. Sorry I spoke.”

  Before I could open the door and lead him inside, Dario laid his hand on my arm, pulling me to a stop. “And Lee’s not my boyfriend anymore. Just so you know.”

  “That’s the best news I’ve heard all week.”

  He gave me a wistful smile. For some reason he was blushing. “I thought you’d like it.”

  I ONLY owned a few candles. They were gathering dust in the kitchen junk drawer, but I lit them and placed them around the condo in strategic places so Dario wouldn’t break his neck on the unfamiliar turf. The boy’s wallet, some loose change, and his battered copy of my novel were lying on the coffee table, drying out. His flimsy jacket hung dripping on the hat rack by the front door.

  Freshly showered, Dario stepped from the bathroom wearing the pajamas I had given him. I stepped into the bathroom after him and showered, afterward donning a pair of sweats. Our clothes waited inside the dryer in the utility room for the power to come on so they could be de-monsooned. I found Dario standing in the living room, getting his bearings. His ability to do so was hindered by the fact he only had one working eyeball, hence no depth perception.

  His hair, like mine, was damp from the rain and the shower. My pj’s hung all over Dario like king-size sheets tucked around an army cot. His hands were lost in the sleeves. The shirttail hung halfway to his knees. He had rolled the legs up so he wouldn’t trip and kill himself. If he had been any cuter, I’d have fainted.

  Clutch was trailing along at his feet, purring, tail high. He seemed to enjoy our houseguest as much as I did.

  “Your cat likes me,” Dario said.

  “Of course he does. What’s not to like?”

  Dario’s teeth flashed white in the dim light. I saw he was embarrassed. “Oh, please.”

  I started to apologize for making him feel uncomfortable, but then I took a closer look at his face. “Crap,” I said. “You didn’t.”

  He appeared startled by that. “What? I didn’t what?”

  I stepped closer and studied his injured eye. “Did you shower in hot water?”

  “Yeah, as hot as I could stand it. I was chilled to the bone from the rain. Why?”

  “Um. I guess no one ever told you not to shower in hot water if you’re trying to avoid a black eye.”

  “Why? Is it black?”

  I hemmed and hawed. “Well, it’s more like onyx.”

  “Great.”

  “Did you ever see a bowl of black beans? You know how black they are? It looks like that. Maybe even blacker.”

  “Okay, I get the picture.”

  “It’s also swollen. You know how an inner tube pokes through a tire, all poofed up and about to burst? Then when you pump more air into it and it poofs up even more until you think it’s going to explo—”

  “Jesus, just because you’re a writer doesn’t mean you have to be creative with your descriptions all the time. I get the picture. I’ve got a big ugly puffy black eye.”

  Happily, I saw he was joking. “Let’s put some ice on it,” I suggested.

  “Don’t you think it’s too late for that?”

  “Yeah, but let’s do it anyway.”

  I took his hand and led him to the kitchen, where I pointed to the kitchen table and told him to sit. He did as I commanded, sitting there rolling up the pajama sleeves because, you know, he didn’t look cute enough already.

  I banged out some ice cubes from a tray, dumped them into a dishcloth, and wrapped them tight. Turning to Dario, I walked up to him and gently laid the homemade ice pack to his eye.

  “Ow,” he said, and his hand came up to rest at my hip.

  My hands began to shake. I wasn’t sure why. It might have had something to do with that young, steadying hand resting atop my hip bone. “Maybe you’d better hold it,” I said. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  He obediently did as I asked, all the while gazing up at me with his one good eye.

  “Thank you, Robert.”

  I nodded and pulled back enough that his hand slid away from my hip. “Would you like something to drink?”

  He smiled at that. “Do you have milk?”

  I smiled back and went about the mundane task of pouring us each a glass of milk, plus a saucerful for Clutch, which I laid on the floor in front of the sink. I placed Dario’s milk in front of him and pulled out the chair next to his and joined him at the table. As if pulled by a single puppeteer’s string, our two heads swiveled toward the kitchen window, where we watched sheets of rain slap the glass, barely visible in the light of the candle on the kitchen counter. Occasionally a flash of lightning would spark through to illuminate the room around us. Since there wasn’t much to see out the storm-blackened window, we turned in unison and gazed down at Clutch slurping away at his saucerful of milk like a cow at a watering trough. Clutch’s tail was laid out flat behind him like it always was when he was digging his meal. Dario and I watched him until that grew boring, then for lack of anything else to watch, our eyes traveled to each other’s face. Dario was a cyclops, his one good eye hovering over the rim of his glass, watching me. His other eye was covered with the ice pack, which pleased me to no end. That meant I didn’t have to look at it.

  “This milk feels good on my lip,” he said.

  “Is it hurting?”

  “Yeah, my lip and my eye are both throbbing. I
feel like I went ten rounds with Muhammad Ali. Lee’s a jerk.”

  No argument there.

  I slid my chair backward and pulled open the junk drawer again to haul out a bottle of aspirin. Shaking a couple out, I handed them to him, and he swallowed them with a slug of milk.

  “Thanks,” he said, then gazed around as if embarrassed by all the attention. “I like your condo.”

  “It’s even nicer with electricity.”

  “I’ll bet. You lived here long?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “No.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  He gave me a knowing grin. “Sorry. I’m a little uneasy.”

  “I know you are. But you don’t have to be. I won’t make a pass. You’re safe.”

  “I didn’t mean that. I mean I’m uneasy because I’m humiliated about what happened.”

  “Please, don’t be. It wasn’t your fault.”

  He merely stared at me when I said that. Finally he gave me a nod and repositioned the ice pack over his eye. “Duly noted,” he said. “But that’s only one of the reasons I’m uneasy. I also don’t know what’s going to happen with Lee. He’s kind of nuts.”

  I cleared my throat. “Did you mean it when you said he wasn’t your boyfriend anymore?”

  He nodded and his tongue came out to lick the scab that had formed on his lip. “He doesn’t know it yet, but yeah. I’ve learned my lesson.”

  “Did you love him?” I asked, knowing it was none of my business but asking anyway.

  Dario stared at me for a couple of heartbeats as if wondering if he should answer or not. Then he gave himself a little shake as if not really caring if it was any of my business or not.

  “We enjoyed each other, if you know what I mean. He told me he loved me, but I never quite believed him. I even tried to tell myself I loved him, but I never quite believed that either. I think maybe he just wanted somebody to own. Does that make any sense?”

  I felt my face scrunch up in a weary frown. “Yes. It makes all the sense in the world. And I’m glad you have enough brains not to let him do it. Never let anybody own you. They can love you. That’s fine. But owning you is something else.”