Page 47 of Disco Witches of Fire Island

It seemed like only a moment later when he felt the warm calloused hands stroking his aching head. A faint glow from the dark blue and orange sky crept through his crusted eyes. The island birds were singing their sunrise chorus.Morning? How long was I asleep?Joe felt so comfortable on the cool wood of the walk, his head nestled in the strong but soft lap. Had Gladiator Man stayed with himat the edge of the Meat Rack the entire night? The man’s touch felt so warm and kind, so unlike what he had thought his sexy scary touch would feel like. He nuzzled his head deeper into the man’s lap and considered the possibility of living there forever. But then a wave of humiliation gushed through his veins. The Gladiator Man had seen him vomit his guts out. Instead of fucking him royally, Gladiator Man was cradling him like a sick infant. “Ugh, I’m so embarrassed,” Joe groaned.

“You okay?” the man asked. “You were out for a while. It’s almost five.”

Joe rubbed the muck from his eyes and mouth. The man’s voice was different from earlier—still deep but now with a thick Long Island accent. Joe’s eyelids opened, and he noticed the material of the man’s pants. The jeans were blue, not white like Gladiator Man’s, more baggy, not tight. The hair on the man’s arms was a different texture. It wasn’t Gladiator Man at all who was stroking his hair.

“What the hell, Fergal?” Joe pushed himself from the ferryman’s lap and floundered up to his feet.

Fergal, wearing a wrinkled but new Pines Ferry T-shirt, quietly got up from the ground and brushed the sand from his jeans. He too looked like he hadn’t slept the entire night. His thick, asymmetrical eyebrows twisted in a confused puppy-dog look.

“It’s a good thing you tossed your cookies,” he said. “You could’ve been a lot worse off. Here, drink this. You’re probably dehydrated.” He picked up a bottle of Frostie Blue Cream soda from the ground and handed it to Joe who downed almost half the bottle in one gulp. Then he took another quick sip, gargled, and spit the remaining foul taste from his mouth. Remembering he was still shirtless, he brushed off the bits of sick and sand sticking to his chest hair. “How long have you been sitting here with me?”

“A long time,” Fergal said. “Howie and Lenny were freaked out. Word is you drank one too many Knockouts. Those things can kill ya, by the way. They sent me looking for you. I found you stumbling down the boardwalk.”

Fucking Fergal,Joe thought.Chasing the Gladiator Man away again. But when?How long had Joe been blacked out? Could it havebeen Fergal’s hot breath he felt last night? Did he smell like Aramis and horse sweat? He leaned over and sniffed Fergal’s T-shirt. It smelled like beer, Old Spice aftershave, and something else. He took another whiff. The ocean?

“Why are you sniffing me?” Fergal laughed and stuck his nose into his own armpit. “Not so bad. I showered last night before I went out.”

“It’s …” Joe sputtered, his thoughts all muddled in his head. “Nothing. One of the Graveyard Girls said those Knockouts would make me feel warm and sexy.”

Fergal smirked. “You feel warm and sexy last night when you were spewing chunks all over the boardwalk? By the way, here.” He offered Joe a stick of Wrigley’s Spearmint gum. “For your breath.”

Joe grabbed the gum and shoved it into his mouth, chewing furiously. His best opportunity to hook up with Gladiator Man had been wasted by him getting sick in front of some arrogant, closet-case ferryman whose eyes, he realized, were the same color as the Frostie Blue Cream soda he was drinking. In the middle of his gulping, he felt another wave of nausea and promptly sat back down.

“Maybe I should get you home,” Fergal said, offering his hand.

Joe glared at the hand, which Fergal lowered as he continued to gaze down at Joe expectantly. “Why are you looking at me like that?” Joe bristled.

Fergal curled his wayward eyebrows until they angled toward the middle. That was when Joe noticed the ferryman’s Frostie Blue Cream eyes had fallen into shadow, darkening until they had become more of a navy blue, the color of the deep, deep sea.

“Well,” Fergal said, “I’m just wondering if you’re ever gonna thank me. I probably saved your life last night.”

“That’s a little dramatic. I was basically fine. Just a little too buzzed.”

“A little buzzed? You almost fell off the boardwalk, like, ten times, and you passed out three times. I tried to get you back to Howie and Lenny’s, but you insisted on going to the Meat Rack. I had to take care of you the whole night—you think that was fun? Everybody was worried sick about you. Some guy croaked lastAugust from drinking too many of those Knockout punches—and you’re half his size. I almost had to call 911. Instead, I stuck my fingers down your throat and made you vomit.”

“No, you didn’t,” Joe stammered. “You’re making that up.”

“You really are an ungrateful little sonofabitch.” Fergal pointed to his foot. “See that? You fucking puked all over my new boat shoes. Know how much these cost me?”

Joe stared at the crusty ochre splotch on the leather. He couldn’t believe he had lost his grasp on reality that much. “Tell me something,” he snapped. “Before you shoved your fingers down my throat—uninvited—did you happen to see me talking with some big hot guy in white pants?”

Fergal, mouth agape, shook his head. “Shoved my fingers down your throat ‘uninvited’? Fuck you, Joe. Get yourself home. I’m done.” He turned and began heading toward the harbor.

A confused anger surged through Joe’s veins. “Hey!” he growled, stumbling to his feet, and clumsily jogging up to Fergal. “I still have questions.”

“What?” Fergal spat and turned to face him.

A dark presence suddenly overtook Joe’s body, and without knowing why, he shoved Fergal’s shoulder, causing the taller man to lose his balance, stumbling a step backward.

“What the hell?” Fergal looked more puzzled than angry. “Why’d you do that?”

Joe, in fact, had no idea why he’d done it. He didn’t want to hurt the ferryman—quite the contrary. He longed to feel Fergal’s warm hands gently stroking his head again. He wanted to crawl inside the ferryman’s long lean arms, wanted to kiss him even. But the more he wanted it, the more the dark muddle inside grew stronger. “Are you going to fight me or not?”

“No.” Fergal scoffed, turning to walk away again.

A panic filled Joe’s chest. “Hey! Wait!” he shouted, wanting to apologize for his confusion.

Fergal turned back toward Joe with a look on his face that said,“What the fuck do you want?”

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