Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
AARON LIES ON HIS BED CURLED ON HIS SIDE. His snore, soft and low, fills the room with its insistent rhythm. I want to say that’s what’s kept me awake all night, or that I’ve made myself get up every hour to make sure he hasn’t died from anaphylactic shock, but I’d be lying if I did. As I lay next to him with my hands behind my head, staring at the water stains on his apartment ceiling, I’m thinking about the same thing that’s been on my mind all night.
Paolo.
Or rather, kissing him without warning him. The scene has replayed itself in my mind for hours, bothering me like an itch I can’t scratch. I need to apologize to him so that I can stop thinking about it.
Now that we’re working together, I could do it at the next karaoke night. But that seems like an eternity from now. The problem is that I don’t know how to contact him. I suppose I could go back to AquaMarine, if I knew his work schedule. But Aaron mentioned it seemed to be erratic at best.
“Hey. You stayed?” Aaron says, his voice gruff. He’s looking up at me, sleep wrinkles etched all over his face, though no trace of swelling remains, thankfully.
“I wanted to make sure that you didn’t stop breathing during the night. Especially since, you know, it was me who did it.”
“You always did take my breath away.”
I smile. “Really?”
“Back then? Sure.”
“Ah,” I say, my smile fading. “But not now.”
“That’s… not what I meant. Sorry. But look—I’m fine now,” Aaron says, sitting up. “The antihistamines I took last night helped.”
“I’m so sorry about what happened. Can I make it up to you somehow?” I say, brushing his arm hair softly with my fingertips. Getting sexy is probably the last thing on Aaron’s mind now, but it couldn’t hurt to try.
He hops out of the bed and stretches. “I need to get going, unfortunately.”
“Where are you off to so early?” I glance up at the digital clock on his wall, its numbers glowing red. “It’s only seven a.m. On a Sunday.”
This reminds me of the first time he and I hooked up back in Bloomington. I was floating on cloud nine after having had sex with the hottest guy I’d ever met, but the next day, he woke me up at six a.m. “Sorry,” he said, “but I need you to leave now. I don’t want anyone seeing a guy leave my place in the morning.” To save face, I lied and said I had an eight o’clock exam and needed to leave anyway. I knew I had to make certain concessions when he was still in the closet. But what was his excuse now?
Aaron smiles apologetically at me, running a hand through his hair and rearranging it into something less mussed up. “I’m sorry, Rex. There’s this running club that has a nine a.m. run in Golden Gate Park. I try to go every week.”
“Oh,” I say. “No worries. I’ll get going.” That’s a better excuse than not wanting to be outed. The disappointment of not being a top priority for him still stings a bit. But to be honest, there’s something else that I’d like to take care of soon: putting an end to my incessant thoughts about kissing Paolo.
“Hey, Aaron,” I say, “before I go, I was just thinking about logistics for karaoke night. Now that Regina Moon Dee’s the host, she’ll need to coordinate a few things with Paolo. Do you have his number?”
“Yeah, I’ll give it to you,” he says, grabbing his phone from the charging station on his bedside table.
“Thanks.”
“Or I can just text it to Regina directly,” he says. “I should probably have her number anyway.”
“No, you can’t!” I say. “I mean, uh, Regina doesn’t have a phone.”
Aaron tilts his head at me. “Then how was she going to talk to Paolo?”
“Well, I mean, she does have a phone. Of course she has a phone. Duh. But she doesn’t like handing out her number to just anyone. You know. Fans can get kind of stalkery and stuff.”
Aaron squints. “But I’m not a fan. I’m going to be her boss. I should have her number.”
“Of course! That makes perfect sense,” I say.
“Great. So?”
“So…?”
“Regina’s number?”
“Right. Regina’s number, Regina’s number.” I retrieve my phone from my pants pocket and swipe. “Now where did I put that number? Is it under Dee? Nope, nope. Under drag queen? Hmm. Not there, either.” I keep going through my contacts, not looking for anything in particular. Just killing time until I can figure out what to do.
I land on Eva’s phone number. She’s already impersonated one aspect of me, why not the other?
“Found it,” I say. “It’s 510-555-7611.”
Aaron punches it in. “Cool. I’ll just send her Paolo’s number right now—”
“No, wait!” I say, reaching out with my hand. “She doesn’t like to get woken up early in the morning. And she never remembers to turn her notifications off. Just wait a few hours or so. Okay?” I clench my other hand behind me in a tight ball, stress-squeezing.
Aaron looks at me blankly. He shrugs. “Sure. In fact, while I have it open,” he says, showing me his phone, “here’s Paolo’s number.”
“Thank you,” I say, trying not to let on how relieved I am as I quickly punch it into my phone.
Aaron, now fully dressed in his running gear, says, “Thanks for watching over me last night. That was really sweet of you.”
“Least I could do.”
His eyes flicker toward the front door.
“Well, I should get going,” I say, catching his hint.
He walks me over and then hugs me with his barrel arms, squeezing roughly. “Let’s talk soon, okay?” he says, shutting the door behind me with a click.
Does it bother me that Aaron was more interested in putting an anti-chafing stick between his legs than me? Yes. But Aaron’s always been into sports and being athletic. Let him have his hobbies.
And besides, I have something else I want to do today.
After a big pot of coffee back at my condo, I text Eva, warning her that Aaron now thinks her number is Regina Moon Dee’s. She responds with a bunch of very impolite emojis.
I start texting a message to Paolo but decide that’s too impersonal. I call him instead.
He picks up immediately. “Hello?”
“Hey, this is Rex Araneta. Uh, Regina Moon Dee, from the Pink Unicorn? Is now a good time? Or did I call too early?”
“Rex! No, it’s fine. I’m definitely up already.” Metal pots clang, and food sizzles in the background. He must be at AquaMarine early for brunch service.
“Are you at work right now? I don’t want to disturb you.”
“No, it’s okay, I—” I hear a muffled conversation with someone else, as though he’s covered his phone with his hand. And then, “Can we talk later this afternoon? It’s a little hectic in here right now. I should be done around three p.m.”
“You know what,” I say, “why don’t I swing by when you’re done?”
“You don’t have to drive all the way here. Are you sure?”
“I’ll be in the city this afternoon, anyway,” I lie. “No problem at all.”
I don’t know why I feel the need to go to him just to apologize. It’s much easier to say it over the phone, or even just text it. But whatever I saw in his eyes last night, both in the bathroom and when I left abruptly, makes me want to see him in person.
“Looking forward to seeing you,” Paolo says, his voice hushed, as if he’s telling me something that’s only meant for me to hear.
Either way, when he hangs up, I realize that I’m looking forward to seeing him, too.
AQUAMARINE IS NEARLY EMPTY when I get there later that afternoon, except for two women talking quietly over empty plates and half-finished mimosas. A few workers are cleaning up the other tables around them. I stay in the front lobby area near the entrance, looking around for Paolo.
A tap on my shoulder. I turn around, and the scent of leather and smoke fills my nose. Paolo is still in his uniform but wearing a motorcycle jacket on top.
“Sorry, I was just finishing up some things,” he says. His face glistens with light perspiration.
My nose crinkles. “You mean you were in the back alley having a cigarette?”
“What?” He laughs. “No, I don’t smoke. I was just helping the cooks. They’re trying a new dish—smoked crispy pata. I suggested smoking it with applewood chips to give it an extra kick. We were cooking it on a grill out back.”
Paolo leans in close to me, and I feel momentarily lost. It’s the smell of him. That combination of smoke and leather that’s always thrilled me, reminding me of the type of men I’ve always found attractive. The ones who ride motorcycles and fix cars. Or maybe it’s the way he’s standing now, legs apart, shoulders broad, back erect, like he’s much bigger than me, though I know this isn’t the case. We’re almost exactly the same height and build. Still, there’s something about him today that radiates authority. Strength. Not the scatteredness that sputtered off him the last time I saw him here attempting to serve food.
He nods toward the dining room. “Want to sit?”
“You’re sure it’s okay for us to just hang out here?”
He smiles. “I’m on good terms with the manager.”
We sit across from each other at one of the tables for two, tucked into the corner next to a window. Cars and people stream by us in the unusually sunny San Francisco day.
Paolo leans back against the chair, one arm draped on the table, looking as relaxed as he would sitting on a sofa at home. “So, what is it you wanted to talk to me about?”
“It’s about last night.”
“Which was so much fun, by the way. I’ve never had that great of a time at karaoke. Ever. You were incredible.”
My ears prickle and burn. “You mean Regina Moon Dee was.”
He stares deeply. Like he’s trying to locate something concealed inside me.
“Sure,” he says finally.
“I just wanted to apologize,” I say. “For what happened in the bathroom. I shouldn’t have kissed you like that.”
A dozen different emotions register on his face at once. “Thank you,” he says. “I accept.”
“And I’m sorry for wiping your mouth with my spit,” I add, smiling weakly.
“No worries,” Paolo says quietly. “I didn’t mind. Really.”
We both stare at the table for a while in silence.
A young Black couple walks by our window. The man is pushing a stroller, and the woman is holding the hands of a young boy. They stop for a moment for her to stoop down and tie his shoes. Paolo and I watch them. I don’t know why, but it’s easier for me to focus on them than it is for me to sit here in silence with Paolo. It’s not discomfort I’m feeling, exactly. All I know is that something compelled me to come here to apologize, and now that I’ve done that, I don’t want to drive all the way back home. And not just because of the time it’s taken to get here.
The woman gives the boy a raspberry on his cheek. He shrieks with laughter. Paolo smiles and, still observing the family outside, says, “I envy you, you know.”
“You envy me? Why?”
“Every day, I wake up, and it’s the same thing. I come here, do my job, go home. Hope the next day I’ll figure out what I really want to do with my life. And I never do. Or maybe I do know, but I’m too chicken-shit to admit it to myself.”
The family outside walks away, farther down the street, out of my sight. Paolo’s eyes follow. “But you have a talent. A gift that you can share with the world. I wish I could do that, too.”
“Why can’t you?” I ask. “There must be something you love to do. That you’re passionate about.”
“I…” He looks around at the interior of the restaurant, his gaze resting at the door that leads into the kitchen. “My dad. He’s expecting me to do something. Be something that I’m not sure I want to be.”
“You mean, he wants you to be straight?”
My heart leaps into my throat. I make a few rapid mental calculations, trying to remember. Did Paolo ever actually tell me he was queer? He’s a karaoke jockey at a gay bar. He must be, right?
Dammit. I don’t think he’s ever actually said what he was. Why do I keep messing things up with him?
As if sensing my anxiety, Paolo reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “No, that’s not it. He’s okay with me being gay. Or he’s okay now. It took him a while.”
“I’m glad. That your dad’s okay. Not that you’re gay. I mean, I’m really glad you’re gay. I mean—”
He laughs and squeezes one more time. “Let’s just say he and I have different ideas of what I’m supposed to be when I grow up. And it’s not karaoke.”
When he lets go of me, I have this overwhelming desire to reach back out for his hand. Instead, I clasp my hands together tightly and place them on my lap, afraid they’ll wander and do something I’ll regret.
“If it makes you feel any better,” I say, “my dad doesn’t know I’m doing drag.”
“Really?”
I shake my head. “He made it clear a long time ago that he didn’t want me doing it. And I obeyed him for years. Until last night.”
“Is he why you don’t want anyone to know?”
“He’s the main reason I’ve never publicly revealed my identity, yeah. Only a few people know who Regina Moon Dee really is.”
“Including me,” Paolo says, leaning across the table. The pull of his presence increases, drawing me in. “Can I ask why you don’t want Aaron to know?”
Tiny fires flare inside my stomach. My cheeks. My forehead. “I don’t really want to talk about it,” I mumble.
“Of course.” His face softens. “Just know that I’m here if you ever want to talk.”
He turns his hand over on the table and opens it, as if waiting for me to place my hand in his. A small gesture that feels as big as the ocean. I want to reach out. Interlace my fingers with Paolo’s, like I did with Aaron last night. But my heartbeat rings in my ears so loudly that it’s hard for me to think.
“I…” I get up abruptly. “I have to go. But thank you for taking the time to talk. And for accepting my apology.” I make an embarrassing half-bow, half-curtsy gesture and quickly turn around, ready to rush out.
“Hey,” Paolo says, halting me in my tracks. “That song I sang last night, ‘All By Myself’? That was my apology to you. I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable that first weekend we met, trying to make you do something you weren’t ready to do. That wasn’t my intention. Karaoke is supposed to be fun. Always.”
The tiny fires in my body extinguish. He’s done that somehow. Like he did last night by being with me on the stage. Just by being beside me.
I nod and keep going.