Page 53 of Disco Witches of Fire Island

“Trey says it’s all about pastels this year. If you wanna be a successful gay, you gotta look the part. Oh, and by the way, don’t use theboyfriendword in front of Trey. Too soon. I’m in phase one: playing distant. Yesterday he called me at ten in the morning, and I didn’t return his call until two. I didn’t even apologize. He was totally pouty. It was so cute!”

“Hard to believe someone who owns the Taj MaHomo is shy.”

“Don’t call it that,” Ronnie warned. “I don’t think Trey would like it.”

Joe was growing weary of how Ronnie was behaving about this Trey guy. “Howie says everyone is calling it that.”

“Figures a low-class queen would say that. It’s socommon.”

“Howie isn’t common,” Joe said. “Please stop saying stuff like that.”

“Sorry. I don’t mean to insult your disco witch housemaid freaks.”

That did it. Joe had had enough. “Why are you being such a dick about them, Ronnie? Sure, Howie and Lenny are a little weird with all their magical woo-woo crap, but it’s just their way of coping with loss. They have good hearts. I had a really good talk with Howie today. He’s helping me a lot. I bet if you took a little time and got to know them, you might like them.”

“No thanks. We become who we hang out with. And I, for one, donotwant to become like them. That’s why I’m taking you to this party. You’ll meet the very top of the rich, gay food chain.”

Ronnie went on to list the famous fashion designers and record executive billionaires that would be in attendance. None of whom impressed Joe all that much. He, of course, was hoping Gladiator Man might be among the A-list guests. He hadn’t seen him since that awful night of the Knockout punch delirium.

“I heard Madonna might show up at the party,” Joe offered enthusiastically, trying to get his mind back into a more positive mood.

“I don’t know about that,” Ronnie said, “but one of Trey’s friends is Lorna Luft’s accountant, so she might be there. The important thing is we need to differentiate ourselves from the rest of the working trash on this island. That’s why you need to study the guys you meet today. These fellas want to date class acts. So, copy their behavior, but don’t say anything too brainiac—it’s not hot. Just nod your head and give half smiles. Full-on smiles make you look desperate. Just do it like this.” Ronnie stopped walking and pretended he was listening to some classy guy talking to him. He nodded his head, his eyes half squinting, and gently lifted the corners of his mouth.

“It looks like the sun is hurting your eyes,” Joe said.

“No it doesn’t. It’s my sexy and slightly disinterested look. It makes me look hot but mysterious. You try!”

Joe tried it himself, the squint, the partial smile.

“You look like you’re taking a shit,” Ronnie said.

“I’m trying,” Joe said, frustrated with his willful facial muscles and with himself for caring so much about Ronnie’s sometimes nonsensical flirting techniques. But still, Ronnie was the expert in the hookup department.

“Try harder,” Ronnie commanded, “but make it look easy.”

Joe made another attempt, but whatever he did made Ronnie groan.

“Not to be mean, but your smile is way too working-class friendly. Rich guys want a hunk who’s quiet, elegant, and someone they can take anywhere. Your goal is to become the human equivalent of a Gucci loafer. It goes with everything, looks valuable, and doesn’t distract. Be a crazy-expensive loafer, Joe.”

Just as Joe considered what it meant to be a loafer, expensive or otherwise, a tall, shirtless runner turned the corner onto Fire Island Boulevard and ran smack into Joe.

“Hey!” Joe shouted as he stumbled back.

With the agility of Bruce Lee, the runner quickly grabbed Joe’s arms so he wouldn’t fall. It was only then that Joe registered the shirtless runner was Fergal the ferryman, looking agonizingly sexy with sweat pouring down his face and chest. The sight of his blue-blue eyes, the smell of his musky odor, and the warm touch of hisrope-callused hands reminded Joe of everything he had felt that morning they’d kissed—the morning when Joe had ruined everything. For a quick second the two young men silently and awkwardly looked at each other while Fergal’s hands remained wrapped around Joe’s biceps. Then, as if he’d only just realized who he had been touching, Fergal abruptly released his grip and stepped back. Joe swore he saw repulsion in the ferryman’s eyes, so he scowled in return. Fergal gave a small, annoyed click of his tongue, then shuffled around the two men and jogged away.

“Hey,” Ronnie said to Joe, “wasn’t that the bi deckhand who almost fucked you Memorial Day weekend?”

“Shh!” Joe whispered angrily. “He might hear you.”

“Only if he has superman hearing.” Ronnie chuckled. “Boy oh boy, that one clearly has some strong feelings toward you.”

Joe felt his face redden. “No, he doesn’t.”

“I didn’t say they were necessarilygoodfeelings,” Ronnie said.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Joe mumbled.

“Mm-kay. Well, no great loss. Sure, he’s got those knockout eyes, a pretty sweet bod, and that hot Long Island blue-collar thing going for him. But trust me, it won’t age well. He’ll hit his forties, get bloated from beer, and start hitting the piano bars, ruining all his macho value. Forget him.”

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