Chapter 34
34.
First Date
“Disco Witches should always carry snacks.”
—Disco Witch Manifesto #4
“Careful what you’re doing, lad!” Vince bristled at Joe, who had not been paying attention while filling the beer cooler. “You’re feckin’ mixing Bud Lites with the Heinekens!”
“Sorry, Vince,” Joe said, waking from a daydream. He had been replaying his last kiss with Fergal and fantasizing about their upcoming first date—which would commence as soon as the merman hurried his fishtail to the number eight.
“I hope you’re not getting your hopes up about that date.” Vince slammed a vodka bottle into the well rack. “Not to be a downer, but statistically, romantic relationships on this feckin’ island have the success rate equal to landing a man on Mars. And if you do, by some miracle, stay together through August, you’ll for sure be signing the divorce papers before Christmas.”
“I appreciate that useful and optimistic feedback, Vince,” Joe said with a sarcastic smile. He knew Vince was only acting bitter because he was still heartbroken. Hopefully, Joe’s plan for Vince and Ronnie to “accidentally run into each other” at the ACT UP benefit would work.
As Joe was reorganizing the beer cooler, the bar door pushed open, and in walked Fergal, wearing khaki pants and a long-sleeved blue button-down that made his eyes pop. He had also groomed his scruff and gelled his hair, looking JFK Jr. hot. Joe was speechless. Unfortunately, he was also shirtless and wearing his package-enhancing go-go shorts. Sensing the glaring contrast, he threw his bar rag over his shoulder to cover the little he could.
“Well, looky here!” Vince sang, sarcastically emphasizing his brogue. “Young Master Fergal all dressed up for his first communion! Or is it the wedding already?”
The few men at the bar all turned toward Fergal, who looked apologetically at Joe. “Did I wear the wrong thing?” he stammered.
“No,” Joe said, his heart melting. “You look choice . Vince is just jealous because he hasn’t worn a shirt since 1983 and forgot how buttons work.”
Vince shook his head before petulantly polishing the rocks glasses.
“You actually had those fancy duds on the boat?” Joe asked.
“Nope,” Fergal said. “I had my roommate drop them at the dock for me. I hope I didn’t get here too early?”
“Nah, I was just going to leave in about ten minutes.” Joe lowered his voice. “I’ll need to go home first and throw on something a little more decent before we hit a restaurant. I don’t wanna look like you’re paying me.”
“Good idea.” Fergal laughed. “But I got a little surprise waiting for you over at your house.”
“A surprise? For real?” Joe’s heart did a little flip.
“Yep.” Fergal leaned over the bar until he was touching distance from Joe.
“What is it?” Joe let the tip of his finger touch Fergal’s, eliciting a smile.
“Then it wouldn’t be a surprise.”
Vince groaned like he had stabbed himself with broken glass. “Ah Jaysus feckin’ Christ! Get the hell outta here already! The both of you! Please. Before I have to rip my ears off! Go! Now! Feck off! And use protection!”
As they walked back to 44 and ⒈／⒋ Picketty Ruff, holding hands, the butterflies in Joe’s stomach were dive-bombing one another as he absorbed the hugeness of what was happening—he was going on a date with someone he really, really liked for the first time since Elliot. But then he began to wonder why Fergal was being so quiet all of a sudden. Was he having second thoughts? Was he struggling to trust Joe? Joe had physically attacked Fergal—twice. Stop thinking so negatively, Joe told himself. Do some of Ronnie’s positive thinking.
As they arrived in front of his house, Joe saw there was something different about it. For one thing, the lighting inside the windows looked dimmer than usual, like someone had unscrewed some of the lightbulbs. And instead of one of Howie’s nonstop retro DJ mixtapes, he heard the strains of Cyndi Lauper’s “Time After Time” being played.
“Something weird’s going on,” Joe said, unsure whether they should go inside.
“Um, this is your surprise,” Fergal said like he was apologizing.
Joe turned to look at Fergal’s face for more clues. “I don’t understand.”
The screen door swung open, and there were Howie and Lenny, smiling and wearing button-down shirts with clip-on bow ties, suit jackets, and aprons over their shorts, as if they were half-dressed waiters in a fancy restaurant.
“Welcome to Chateau Picketty Ruff!” Howie declared with a ridiculously thick French accent (by way of Far Rockaway, Queens).
“What is all this?” Joe said to Fergal.
Fergal cracked his knuckles and looked even more nervous. “I wanted to take you out for a really nice dinner—you know, something a little special. But I forgot I don’t get paid until the end of the week. The Leviathan is nutso expensive, and I’ve heard the food isn’t that good anyway. But I didn’t want to cancel, so Howie and Lenny said they had a more affordable idea. I hope you’re not disappointed.” The tips of his ears had turned pink.
Joe smiled and squeezed Fergal’s hand. “Not at all. This is amazing.”
“Magnifique!” Howie proclaimed, deepening his accent. “C’est bon! I shall now go make Monsieur Fergal zee cocktail while Monsieur Joseph freshens up before zee din-nay?”
“What are you even saying?” Joe laughed.
Howie leaned into Joe’s ear and whispered, sans accent, “Go shower up and clean all the important nooks and crannies, if you know what I mean.” He winked.
“Gotcha,” Joe said, feeling his cheeks grow warm. “I’ll be back in about fifteen minutes.”
While Howie and Lenny’s did their French waiter routine with Fergal, Joe showered up and then headed to the attic to pull on his best pair of shorts and the expensive polo he had bought for Trey Winkle’s awful party. The punch stain was still faintly there, but Lenny’s secret laundry treatment had managed to render it almost invisible. This first date would be the perfect memory to rechristen it. Before heading back downstairs, he took a deep breath and looked in the mirror. “You’re gonna be okay,” he said to his reflection.
As soon as he stepped onto the back deck, he was hit with a blast of incandescence. Twinkling Christmas lights had been strung along the banisters and throughout the mulberry tree. White candles covered every surface, and a huge bouquet of white hydrangeas sat in the center of the picnic table, which was covered in a glowing white chintz tablecloth.
“Wow, Howie,” Joe exclaimed. “This place looks …”
“Great, right?” Howie said. “I call it Chez Max. Max always makes us dine out here at least twice a week when the weather is nice.”
“You know it’s just a first date,” Fergal said. “It’s not like we’re getting married.”
“Yet!” Lenny yelled from the kitchen.
Fergal’s face flushed again, which made Joe smile so hard his cheeks hurt.
“Now you two enjoy our evening’s special cocktail.” Howie handed them each a phosphorescent green beverage in a tall glass goblet with a silver stag horn stem.
“What are these?” Joe asked, sniffing like the pro mixologist he aspired to be. “A kind of mojito?”
“It’s a secret.” Howie winked. “Just a little fresh basil, some beach nettle, seaweed, tequila, and other thingamajigs I like to use. Old Guatemalan recipe of Max’s. Trust me, you’ll like it. Now, I’m making like magic ink and disappearing.” Howie scuttled back through the kitchen door, leaving them alone.
Joe took a sip of the green cocktail and was instantly struck by its unusual deliciousness. He recognized some of the flavors, but there were other ingredients that were completely alien.
“Hey, this shit’s incredible,” Fergal said.
“It is!” Joe agreed, then laughed. “Although, knowing Howie, it’s probably some sort of folk medicine aphrodisiac.”
“Not really necessary,” Fergal mumbled, letting his eyes linger on Joe.
Another huge wave rose and crested inside Joe’s chest, swallowing his heart and swooshing it around with all sorts of sand, saltwater, and shells. It was the most overwhelming thing he had felt since he first met Elliot. It was both a joy and an agonizing fear that his soul’s small vessel could not contain all his longing.
“So,” Joe said, trying to make the moment normal, “have you heard any of those whacked-out rumors about the boys being Disco Witches? Freaked me out at first.”
Fergal momentarily puzzled his eyebrows—most likely from Joe’s sudden change of subject. “You have to take everything with a grain of salt out here. I will say, Howie, Lenny, and Max are pretty special. That’s for sure. Anyone who’s been out here long enough has heard some crazy stuff.”
“Like what?” While Joe was curious, he was more grateful for the diversion from his desire.
“Just stupid stories. Like how when they used to go out clubbing, weird shit would happen. Really bad dance parties would suddenly become the best night of people’s lives. Or they’d show up dressed in some nutso outfit and start dancing, and suddenly broken amplifiers or lighting systems would start working again—tons of crazy coincidences. Really, whenever they’re around, the island always feels safer. Like someone is watching over us, protecting us. You know what I mean?”
“Yeah,” Joe said. “As a matter of fact, I do. Dory and Saint D’Norman too. It’s weird.” He laughed. “There were times before I really knew them, I worried they might be psychotic arsonists, but even then I still got a warm feeling.”
“Nothing like the warmth of a psychotic arsonist.” Fergal laughed and then took Joe’s hands into his. His calloused palms reminded Joe of the satin nubs of his favorite childhood blanket, which he’d rub for comfort. Between Fergal’s fingers there was a slight webbing close to the palm, similar to what Joe had noticed between his toes.
“Weird, right?” Fergal said, stretching his long fingers to exaggerate the deformity.
“I kind of love it,” Joe said, kissing Fergal’s fingers, then the sun-bleached hairs on the back of his wrist.
Fergal pulled Joe to him and entwined his arms with his own, as if Joe were a small tree being consumed by a huge thick vine.
“How can this feel so good?” Joe said. “Just last week I hated your guts.”
“That’s summer on Fire Island for ya.” Fergal wiggled his eyebrows. “One moment you wanna kill someone, the next you want them to have your butt-babies.”
“Eww,” Joe said, grimacing even though Fergal’s comment made him hard again—like he had a direct mental connection to Joe’s cock. Joe took another sip of the special cocktail. Again, the heady taste of the drink confounded him. He took several more sips, trying to decipher the mysterious mix of herbs and spices. Fergal drank as well. The whole time their unused forearms and hands remained entangled, unwilling to part.
“So, your name. Fergal. That’s Irish, right?” Joe said, an attempt to regain his individuation and slow things down. “Is that your background?”
“Yep. Or half Irish anyway. My mom was Irish, but I never met my father. She said he was something like Italian or Greek.”
“Did you ever try to find him?”
“Couldn’t. My mom didn’t know his name. I know that makes her sound kinda trashy, but she wasn’t. She was working as a waitress out in Montauk, and one evening after her shift, she headed down to the beach to watch the sunset. She thought she saw a sea lion, but then realized it was a man playing in the surf. She said he was ‘devastatingly handsome,’ with long black hair and a beard. When he saw her, he stopped swimming and treaded water for a really long time, staring at her. Finally, he waved for her to come into the ocean with him. So, she did. After a bit they went up into the dunes and made love. When they finished, he gave her this.”
Fergal pulled out the gold chain around his neck and showed Joe a small pearlescent shell decorated with tiny ornate carvings and what looked like some foreign language.
“It’s really beautiful.” Joe touched the shell, brushing his finger on Fergal’s clavicle.
“After that, he split.”
“What?” Joe said. “That was it? Just that one time? And she got pregnant with you?”
Fergal smirked. “They don’t call them ‘breeders’ for nothing.”
Joe laughed, but then his Armenian eyebrows signaled distress. “Hopefully you’re not like your dad,” he half mumbled, but then immediately wished he hadn’t shown his hand so blatantly. “Sorry, that was a stupid thing to say.”
“I’m not,” Fergal said. “At least not in that way. I do like the ocean a whole lot, though. But I was raised by my Uncle Harve, who is a real gentleman. He taught me to be kind and respectful to all people, and to make sure that if someone is important to you, you show up for them. That’s why I came out to him before I came out to my mother. Uncle Harve always stood by me. My mom, not so much.”
“What do you mean?” Joe asked.
Fergal picked up the special green cocktail and gulped it as if it would give him the power to speak his mind. “So, Uncle Harve says something weird happened to my mother after she gave birth to me. She lost it and started disappearing for days, saying she was searching for my father. They’d find her sleeping on the beach. If it wasn’t for Uncle Harve, I’m not sure what would have happened to me. I hate that I let him down sometimes.”
“How?” Joe asked.
Fergal shrugged. “Nothing big. Sometimes I drink a little too much and stay out here on the beach, which probably reminds him of my mother. He worries I’ll end up like her—or worse.”
“You can’t blame him,” Joe said. “It’s a pretty crazy time we’re living in.”
“It is,” Fergal said. “That’s why it’s best to find a teammate to … you know.” He blushed, letting the unfinished sentence fall into a moment of awkwardness.
“Hey, I wanted to say—” Fergal blurted.
“I wanted to ask you—” Joe overlapped.
“You go first.” Fergal motioned with a wave of his hand.
“This seems really juvenile,” Joe said, “but I need to know something. That first day I moved here in May, I saw you on the ferry, and you acted like a real asshole. You and the other deckhand laughed at me. And then you laughed at me again that day I saw you sitting with Cleigh in front of the liquor store. Why?”
“We weren’t laughing at you .” Fergal smiled. “I totally remember both those moments. Especially that time I first saw you. It was drizzling out and you were standing on the upper deck. I told Carl, the other deckhand, that if I was gonna go full-on homo, you’d be the kind of guy I’d want to be a full-on homo with.”
Joe felt a flipping and buzzing in his chest, like his heart was doing gleeful somersaults. “For real? You told him that?”
“Yep. A similar thing happened when I was talking to Cleigh. We were talking about secret crushes we had, and then you walked up at that exact moment. It made me super nervous, because I knew Cleigh clocked that my crush was on you, and that’s why I busted out laughing.” Fergal looked down at Joe’s hands and then back up into his eyes, and with a look of dead seriousness on his face, he said, “So, I guess this means I’m officially a full-on homo now.”
Both men busted out laughing. Joe wanted to kiss Fergal so badly but wasn’t sure if it was the right time. When their laughter subsided, there was another moment of awkwardness. They sipped from their green drinks, took deep breaths, looked at the fireflies playing hide-and-seek in Howie’s garden. All of a sudden, Fergal leaned his tall torso across the table and gave Joe a deep kiss. Joe closed his eyes, once again astounded by the overwhelming taste and sensation of Fergal’s beautiful mouth. When he opened his eyes, it seemed as if the entire back deck was aflutter with even more sparkling lights.
“Did that kiss make it brighter back here, or is it just me?” Joe asked.
“Um … you know, I think it did. Weird.”
There was indeed more light. Before it had just been the mulberry tree and the deck that were lit up, but now the entire backyard was flooded with the little white lights, as if they were in the middle of a huge Macy’s Christmas display.
“Hey!” Joe shouted toward the kitchen window. “Are you guys watching us?”
“Sorry!” Howie shouted from inside. “That’s our last surprise before we serve dinner! We’ll leave you two alone. I swear to the Great Goddess Mother!”
Joe shook his head and shrugged.
“Those guys are cheesier than a gay Hickory Farms,” Fergal said.
“Yep, and I’m gonna have a talk with them about it later.” Joe leaned over the table again. “But right now, I need you to kiss me again—”
Just as they were about to kiss, the stereo switched to Roberta Flack singing “Killing Me Softly With His Song” as Howie and Lenny emerged through the back door with the feast Lenny had prepared. He proceeded to explain each dish, emphasizing all their romance-enhancing ingredients, including a virility-boosting acorn-and-germanium-stuffed ravioli, with sides of rosemary potatoes, and broccoli rabe with feverfew flowers. Howie sprinkled rose petals on the table and poured them each a glass of red wine.
“I could definitely go for more of that green cocktail,” Joe said.
“Me too,” Fergal added. “That stuff was great.”
“Unfortunately, that’s all we had,” Howie said apologetically. “You’ve had the appropriate amount, anyway. Don’t wanna go crazy. Now, gentlemen, Lenny and I will be in the living room not paying any attention to what goes on out here—seriously this time. When you’re finished, you can leave the dishes, okay?”
“By the way,” Lenny added, “I left some lube and condoms out on the bottom rung of the attic ladder. Be safe!”
“Guys …” Joe squeezed his eyes closed, begging. “Come on!”
Howie and Lenny scooted through the back door, and Joe and Fergal were finally and completely alone. They devoured Lenny’s feast, drank Howie’s wine, and spent a lot of time laughing about all the ridiculousness that was Fire Island. Neither of them loved the whole party scene, and Joe shared his utter embarrassment at having to be shirtless and wear go-go shorts every day. But both agreed their summer gigs were better than waiting tables.
“So, you’ll be here next summer?” Joe asked.
“Nope,” Fergal said. “This is definitely my last summer on the boat. The ferry business is nice, but I got other plans. I’ve had this dream of moving out to Hawaii.”
“Hawaii?” Joe said, surprised. “That’s really, well, far.”
“I know. But I can’t live on Long Island forever. I met this guy a few summers ago. His name is Buck. He was the first guy I ever fooled around with.”
“You mean you guys are …” Disappointment filled Joe’s face.
“Oh, nothing like that,” Fergal added quickly. “We just did it once. He’s got a boyfriend, and is ancient—like forty or something—but still looks pretty sharp. Also, he’s got platinum -blond hair and is my height, which is obviously not my thing. I’ve always had a thing for swarthy, shorty types like you. The sort you can cuddle and toss around like a teddy bear.”
The mental image of being someone Fergal wanted to cuddle and toss around made Joe instantly have to camouflage his lap with a napkin. He loved knowing that merely by his Armenian genetics he was someone Fergal craved.
“Anyway,” Fergal said, adjusting his own crotch, “this Buck guy is a waterdog, like me, and says I’d love it out in Honolulu. I can spend all day just staring at the ocean, like it’s some big friendly blue-green monster.”
“You ever get scared if the waves get too big?”
“Never,” Fergal said, an intent, serious look on his face. “Duck diving under or riding a massive bomb is the only thing that makes me really feel like myself—like I’m free. You know when you’re in the water and you see the entire ocean heave up like it’s breathing? One second it’s flat, and the next thing you know, you’re facing a fuckin’ mountain? It starts going higher, higher, higher, until it crests like it’s reaching up for the sky, then it tips over and breaks, sending me rag-dolling in a big old sudsy washing machine.”
Fergal laughed heartily at what he had just said, as if it was just the funniest story in the world. Joe laughed too, mostly because he wanted Fergal to keep talking. He loved Fergal’s Long Island twang and never imagined he had all this beautiful weirdness in him. Being with him felt like some magic miraculous gift—the antidote to all the darkness.
“So anyway,” Fergal continued, “Buck taught me how to surf on these rinky-dink waves out here, and I caught on just like that. He said that if I wanted to ride the real monsters, I had to check out this place called Waimea Bay in Hawaii. He said in the winter the swell can get as big as a building.”
“For real?” Joe asked.
“Yep. Sometimes the waves are so massive you can’t even get close to the water, or they’ll yank you in, and bam! You’re dead—just like that.” Fergal snapped his fingers. “I gotta see that!”
Joe’s eyes widened. He didn’t like the dying part, but he’d be up to watching a wave the size of a mountain.
“When do you think you’ll go?” he asked, hoping it wasn’t anytime soon.
“Dunno yet. I’m close to saving enough money. Maybe I’ll get my BA in marine biology from the University of Hawaii. You need a year of state residency, and then you can go for cheap. Can you imagine getting to surf and swim every day, all year long?”
Joe imagined what it might be like to watch Fergal swim in these theoretical giant waves, just like he’d seen him that first morning on the Fire Island beach. His lithe body, laughing and diving into the water like some handsome-as-hell dolphin. Joe wished he could give Fergal that kind of joy. He wished he could be Fergal’s wave.
After that, they focused on finishing their meal, with small flirty looks at each other between mouthfuls. Their free hands playing with the other’s, feeling the veins, the hairs on their wrists, the knobs of their knuckles. Neither wanting to interrupt the touching. But then Fergal looked at his watch.
“If I don’t catch that last ferry, I’m gonna be stuck.”
“You can stay with me, of course,” Joe said casually, but then looked into Fergal’s eyes. “I mean, I want you to stay with me. I really want you to.”
Fergal looked down at his empty plate and then at Joe’s hand, which he returned to holding. For a split-second Joe noticed that there was a brief look of sadness in Fergal’s eyes.
“Okay, I’ll stay,” Fergal said. “But I don’t want to have sex yet. Is that okay?”
Joe almost groaned in exaggerated fake agony. “You know what’s going to happen, right? Neither of us will be able to sleep ’cause we’ll be hard all night. I can’t promise I won’t try something.”
Fergal smiled. “I got will power for both of us. But I’m serious. I want to know you better, and I want you to know me better. I’m not the kind that disappears like my father, but I also don’t want to end up like my mother either.”
“I don’t think I’ll get you pregnant, but you never know. Howie does keep saying this island is magical …”
“Very funny. But you got to promise—no trying anything or I’m swimming back to Sayville, and I’ve done it before, so don’t think I can’t. Okay?”
“Okay.” Joe sensed that once they were in his attic bed, things would change.
But things didn’t change, and while each man kept his underwear on, they couldn’t help but kiss and snuggle. After three hours their mutual erections became painfully annoying.
“I’m gonna go sleep on the beach until the ferry gets here,” Fergal finally said after another round of blue ball–inducing kissing. “Both of us have work tomorrow—I mean today. And I’m a little worried that if my dick doesn’t go down, it might bust open.”
“Just sleep downstairs on the couch, then,” Joe begged, although his stomach sickened at the thought of Fergal leaving his bed.
“Nah. Twenty feet away from you isn’t far enough to make my dick go to sleep. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Joe grabbed Fergal and kissed him again. This led to another ten minutes of making out and groping through their clothes until both men were knotted-up in passionate agony. Fergal finally dragged himself down the ladder and out the door.
After hearing the gate slam, Joe listened through the attic vent for Fergal’s departing footsteps, reminding him that what had happened hadn’t been a dream. After Elliot, he’d thought any future love would feel inferior, like a slightly deflated balloon. But what Joe felt for Fergal wasn’t second-rate at all. He closed his eyes and imagined Fergal lying naked on top of him. The heat of his breath. The smell of his body. Joe would run his fingers through the small patch of hair at the top of his chest, and Fergal would lift Joe’s legs, pressing himself slowly inside. “Is that okay?” Fergal would ask. “Keep going!” Joe would beg. Fergal would press further inside and start to work his hips. Joe began to stroke himself, thinking of that pleasurable pain, thinking of Fergal’s hairy thighs meeting his own, Fergal’s balls hitting just below Joe’s hole. Then, just as he was about to cum, Joe imagined looking up into Fergal’s blue-blue eyes and saying “I think I’m in love with you.”
But suddenly the person he saw in his mind’s eye wasn’t Fergal at all. It was the Gladiator Man atop him, his hand around Joe’s throat, his massive cock thrusting painfully into Joe’s ass, ejaculating fire into Joe’s guts. Joe attempted to force his mind from the brutal fantasy back to Fergal, but it was too late. His cum shot across his chest, and in his mind he watched the Gladiator Man laugh.