On the topic of betrayal
Thomas Shapiro
Short Fiction
This weekend, one of the skeletons of my summer resurfaced. To call it a skeleton may sound a tad melodramatic, but I really don’t care, I’m entitled to my pain right now. “Bob. B.O.B.” those three letters spell out the name of a man I had true emotional attachment to. I met him at “Nowhere”, a sleazy gay bar near Union Square. He was so handsome with his cowboy clothes, stubbly angular face, and unusual mustache. I was in lust.
We struck up a conversation over a series of drinks, I had whiskey sours he drank his beers, we both smoked. Our conversation was awkward; trivial remarks, interspersed with heavy petting and chaste kissing. I saw potential with him. Breaking from routine, I did not go home with him that night; I wanted to make this work.
We went on our first date later that week at a chic Indian restaurant in the east village. The neon pepper lights that hung from the ceiling gave it a very silly vibe, but we didn’t care. In a sober state we talked about love and being queer. We both had been betrayed more than once and we were both so tired of the club scene; Poppers, coke, and orgies. We wanted unrequited love.
We continued to date until our “summer of love” came to an end. On the last night that I saw him I slept over. We went to a bar and took a secret spot in the back. I would nibble his ear and he would love it, his bristles tickling my lips as he kissed me, the stubble made me raw and vulnerable. I bought one round, he bought the next, and then we hopped on a train and went back to his place. I sat at his kitchen table, sucking in smoke from his cigarette, the TV was on and I wanted him. We undressed. My body, rubbed his, we were together. Yet I never let him penetrate me, he never got inside of me, at least, not sexually.
I woke up the next morning, his dog, Dudley was licking my face, Bob was gone; he had work. I got up and walked to the G train.
We continued to date until my third week back at school. He had been going through problems at work. One day, he stopped calling- stopped texting- stopped our heat.
I forget how sad I was, I placated my sexual longing for the lover whom I lost with frequent pornographic stimulation and other guys whom I pursued.
On a whim last night I returned to the place where I first met Bob. It was a Saturday. Bob sat at the bar, his beer bottle seeming almost phallic between his skinny legs. I approached him- he smiled- I smiled- say hello. he winks .
I return later that night after having dinner with my friends. Bob is still there, now painfully drunk. I try to kiss him; he kisses me once on he lips and returns to his conversation with his gaggle of popper-loving losers. All the stools were taken so I sat down next to a talkative couple. I must have been obviously upset since one of Bob’s friends approached me, “Why do you look so sad?”
“I’m Fine. I’m probably just a little tired.” I mumbled.
“Well. Don’t sit alone, come and meet my friends.”
I don’t recall any of the names except Bob’s.
“This is Bear.” Bob’s friend said, pointing at him.
“Yeah I know. We met.”
He half looked down and smiled at me, his eyes glittering behind the black box-frame of his glasses.
I stood there awkwardly and gradually their attentions drifted away from me and back to the topic at hand.
“So you just found out how old he is then?” Bob’s friend asked with surprise, alluding to the shirtless bartender, the one who had been giving me nasty looks.
“Yeah.” Bob said.
When Bob was alone I sat down next to him.
“So you’re dating the bartender then?”
Silence.
“Look. Uhhhhh. I can’t really-” he takes a sharp inhale, then breaths out slowly. He’s silent again.
“I wish you would have told me. Do you know how stupid I feel right now? I mean have you been seeing him long? Do you like him much?”
I was floundering, hoping in the deepest recesses of my mind that Bob and I still had something.
“I’m gonna go pee.” Bob said.
He left me sitting there. I waited. Then I went outside for a cigarette. He was there, standing at the curb with his friends. One of them fell down. Drunk. Everyone laughed. After, they all went back in, Bob stayed.
He looked at me. Puppy dog eyes and a look of slight exasperation on his face.
“I really want you to email me. Will you?” he asked me for what felt like the thirtieth time that night.
“I will.” I say. Each time that he said this to me, I felt like the hope for our love was rekindled.
“OK. Good.” He came close to me, touched my neck. “God you’re cute.” He said.
His Voice had this seductive quality to it; like a southern Jewish Cajun from California.
He kissed me, one last time, then walked back into Nowhere.
I reentered the bar. Bob had his coven of drunken losers surrounding him all whispering loudly due to the diva anthems blaring from the jukebox. Several moments after I approached they dispersed, Bob walked away, I was left with the man who had re-introduced me to Bob in the first place.
“Look,” He started. “Bob is a great guy, I know this because we’ve been friends for so long. And his boyfriend, the bartender, is also a friend of mine. Bob wanted me to tell you that you’re causing him pain. He might not say anything, but that’s because he’s too nice. You should leave, before any more damage is done. I want to see it work with those two.”
After the monologue I got up from my stool. Humiliated. I could feel the tears, but I wouldn’t let him have the satisfaction of seeing me cry. The people in Union Square got to watch instead. I stooped low in a corner. Emitting wild noises from my throat. The tears were hot on my warm cheeks. It took me an hour before I could stop the tears. I stood, and walked the lonely 30 minutes home. I sent him an email that night.
You probably were telling your friend that I was in the way of your functioning relationship, or that I was making your boyfriend jealous, or even that you didn't have the courage to tell me that I was messing up your relationship. I say all of this because that's what your friend told me, he asked me to leave you alone since he was both your friend and your boyfriend's. After I left the bar tonight I walked about a block and then burst into tears, I had to call my friend and sit on the phone with her outside for an hour telling her what was wrong. I still feel upset that you let me think that I stood a chance with you. I assume that, you asked him to talk to me. If you can explain what happened tonight I would like to hear, since right now I'm really upset that you couldn't tell me that to my face.
Sincerely
XXXXXXXX
I’m still waiting for his email.
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