Chapter Eight My Own Private Idaho, dir. by Gus Van Sant #2
“Yeah, but I was like five when I saw it. I hardly remember anything except how scary it was when those guys got turned into
skeletons by that bomb.”
“I can see how that’d be traumatizing to a young, impressionable Peter.”
“What about you?” Peter prompts. “If you’re going to sit there and critique my lack of movie literacy, let’s hear about your
favorite jazz musicians.”
“I don’t know anything about jazz,” Eli admits.
“See! Not everyone knows everything about everything!”
“Yeah, but movies are... they’re movies !”
“And jazz is probably the most influential style and genre of music that’s ever existed,” Peter swiftly elaborates.
“Without jazz we don’t have R I saw afterward how I ignored Keith, putting my needs before his own, how selfish I tend to be.
“But I don’t regret the actual relationship, if that makes any sense. I learned a lot being with Keith—what I appreciated
and wanted out of a relationship, what I expected. How I like to love other people, how I enjoy spending my time. It was messy,
but I learned a lot about myself.”
“I guess that makes it worth it, huh?”
“It’s hard to rationalize that. Like you said, it’s easy to think that, at the end of a relationship, there’s nothing to hold
on to. But my time with Keith changed me, taught me a lot, and I liked who I became after it ended. It took a few weeks, but
I liked myself.”
“What do you think you’ll learn after we’re done ‘dating’?” Peter uses air quotes around dating .
Eli swallows, still keeping his smile. “You’ve certainly taught me about communication. The importance of giving second chances
to the people who prove they’re worth them. Oh, boundaries, you’ve really helped me there.”
“You’ve gleaned all that from me?”
“Of course! Why wouldn’t I?”
“I... I guess I didn’t expect this to be a learning opportunity for you too.”
“I think every relationship, platonic or romantic, gives someone the chance to learn more. About themselves, about other people.
And that’s valuable.”
“I like the way you think about these things.”
“What can I say?” Eli offers, trying to play off how deep he’d allowed the conversation to get. “I’m good at what I do.”
Peter laughs, finishing the bottle of lemonade he’d had with his lunch. “Did you have any ideas for our next date?” Peter
asks suddenly, and his boldness surprises Eli for a moment.
“Uh...” Eli chews his food. “Nothing yet. Why?”
“There’s a jazz club I want to take you to. It’s down the street from my apartment.”
“I’d love that, actually.”
“They’re having a big show at the end of the week?”
“Sure.”
“So...” Peter steals another fry. “If you love movies so much, have you thought about writing about them? Instead of being...
you know, here?”
“I gave it some thought,” Eli says. “It never really went anywhere.”
“Why?”
“I guess the writing got to be too personal.” In the middle of what other people might call his more serious work, Eli has
a whole slew of articles about queerness in horror films, particularly the trans history of horror. From the 1930s Hitchcock
classic Murder! and Paul Bartel’s Private Parts to more widely recognized examples like The Silence of the Lambs , Sleepaway Camp , and Dressed to Kill . How the genre and history attempted to vilify trans people—especially trans women—for so long and yet trans people seem
so drawn to horror because of how they’re so often seen as the other.
He even wrote a full essay in college on how the Child’s Play franchise, of all things, helped him come to terms with his gender identity by having the first non-binary main character
he’d ever seen on the screen.
Of course, that character is a British doll that other characters call Shitface for most of the movie, but the point stood.
Eli can recall that character so clearly on his television as he watched through all the movies one by one, his mother objecting
to them but his father sneaking them into the stack of VHS tapes and DVDs procured from the rental place down the street from
their apartment.
“ Shouldn’t writing be personal, though?” Peter asks.
“Maybe.”
“I think so,” he says. “One of my favorite authors says that some of their best writing is fact mixed with a little bit of
fiction.”
Eli can’t help a smile. “Got that from all of your tech billionaire biographies?”
Peter looks away suddenly. “I feel like I should take that as an insult.”
“Oh.” Eli freezes, realizing how what he’s just said sounds. “I’m sorry, Peter, I honestly didn’t mean—”
It’s Peter’s arm, thrown casually over his mouth in an effort to hide his laughter, that so obviously gives him away.
“Oh, okay. I get it now.”
“It’s not fun, is it?”
“Yeah, now that you mention it—” Eli starts to say, but he doesn’t bother to complete the thought when Peter’s phone starts
ringing.
“Hello?” A look of shock registers on his face before it sinks into frustrated disappointment. “Yeah, yeah. I stepped out
for a minute for lunch. Let me get back to my computer. Give me ten. Yes. Yeah. Yeah. Send the data report and we’ll go over
it together. Okay. Bye.”
“Speeding off?” Eli asks. He can’t help but share in the defeat in Peter’s expression.
“Yeah, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, I’ve taken enough of your time today. And you are technically on the clock. I’ll text you tonight?”
“Sure. And we’re okay with going to the club on Friday?”
“I can’t think of a better way to spend a Friday night,” he tells Peter.
“Okay. Bye, Eli.”
“Ah-ah,” Eli calls out to Peter just as he’s sprinting away, barely catching himself on the slippery floor of the building
cafeteria. “Forgetting something?”
“Um...” Peter gives himself a pat-down. “I don’t think so.”
Eli puckers his lips.
“Seriously?” Peter looks around at the other employees of the building’s various offices, as if he’s afraid of being caught.
“Don’t you want to kiss your boyfriend goodbye?”
Peter beams shyly. “Yes.”
“Iced Americano?” Eli asks him.
“No.” Peter steps back toward his seat, his height making it easy for him to simply lean over the table and kiss Eli on the
lips. It’s longer than their first from so many nights ago, but only just barely. This one is so much more public than the
last. Eli likes how it feels; he’s always loved kissing for no real reason at all, how intimate it is, how easy it is to lose
parts of himself in the best way possible.
It feels good to get to do it again.
“Get home safely,” Eli tells him.
“I will.”
Eli watches as Peter flashes his guest pass at the cafeteria door. Okay, so maybe he’s watching Peter’s ass more than anything,
but can anyone fault him?
It’s a great ass.
Eli hates himself for wondering what it’d be like to tease Peter with his strap-on, the vibrations of a short plug working
its way inside of him while he makes a babbling mess out of Peter. Then he pushes his tray of half-eaten food away.
“God.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “I need to get laid.”
“Just the words I wanted to hear!” Patricia says as she slaps her hands down on the table, choosing the spot right across
from Eli.
“Where’d you even come from?” Eli asks.
“Blame my parents.”
“How long have you been here?”
“About ten minutes before the two of you walked in holding hands.”
Eli groans. “So, you were watching me and—”
“And your boy toy?” Patricia finishes for him. “Yep, sure was.” She steals a chicken tender, since Eli has the appetite of
a six-year-old. “Figured I’d give you both your moment. Besides, I had edits to read through.”
“So...” Eli dares to ask. “What do you think?”
“He’s very cute.” Patricia stares toward the door to the cafeteria, as if Peter is still standing there. “Nice ass too.”
“I feel like this has to be some form of sexual harassment.” His own guilt notwithstanding.
“You’re telling me you don’t want to take him to pound town?” Patricia asks him.
“Please don’t call it that.”
“Okay, you’re telling me you don’t want to fornicate with him?”
Eli shudders, covering his ears. “That’s worse. Like you’re so close to getting me to vomit.”
Patricia’s just laughing to herself. “But he’s very cute.”
“Yeah, he is.”
“So, a complete three-sixty from your first date?”
“I think you mean one-eighty,” Eli corrects.
“No...” Patricia chews the stolen food, nodding her head and pretending to think. “I think I’m right. So, when do Rose
and I get to meet him?”
Another test that Eli figured he could put Peter through. If he can nail a dinner with Patricia and Rose, integrate himself
into their circle without much effort, then he’d be that much closer to success. Besides, he could always take the feedback
they were sure to offer, get a handle on any blind spots in Peter’s rehabilitation.
“I don’t know,” Eli tells her.
“Come on, let us meet him!”
“I will, at some point.”
“Don’t make me pout.”
“He’s taking me to a jazz club on Friday,” Eli tells her, breezing past the topic he’d rather not discuss. “He’s a big jazz dude.”
“In a sophisticated way? Or a pretentious way?”
“Leaning toward sophisticated.”
“What about the rest of the weekend?” she asks.
“No idea.”
“Okay, well, keep me updated,” Patricia sings, tapping her fingers on the table before heading toward the exit.
“I will!” Eli sings back, watching his best friend exit the cafeteria, one of her coworkers grabbing onto her and handing
her an iPad to maybe read over a piece before it’s finalized. Eli sits there for a moment, staring at the space that Peter
once occupied, and he can’t help but smile to himself.