Page 56 of Disco Witches of Fire Island

“His name is Ronnie, right?”

“Does you-know-who know about him?”

Joe lifted himself on his tip toes, pointing his ear toward the open window.

“I doubt it,” the first man replied. “Trey and Bill have one of those suburban DC don’t ask, don’t tell policies. The only rule is Trey can’t fuck any disease carriers. But with all the rough-trade he’s fucking, like that Ronnie trash, they should have built a private AIDS testing facility rather than that second jacuzzi.”

The two men laughed while reprimanding themselves for being “terrible.” Joe’s face grew hot with anger. These men were just like all the other bigots he had met in his life—the straight people who told AIDS jokes or the gay guys in Philly who would warn each other about who “had it” and who didn’t. On top of all of that, Joe now knew Trey was lying to Ronnie. He had to warn him. As he was about to head back out, the men outside the window said something else.

“But what about that hot little Italian number he brought?” the first man enthused.

“I know! Mamma mia! I’d like him to delivermypizza.”

“They say he bartends at that horrible little bar behind the Promethean—”

“You mean the Asylum Troll bar? Gross! Is he a gift for someone?”

“Well, my understanding is that Trey is trying to get Ace to invest in some South Beach property. So he asked that muscly hotel maid to provide some hot trade to put Ace in a good mood.”

“My goodness. All I get are dinners at the 21 Club. Next time he wants me to invest, I’m holding out for a free night with a wop rent-boy.”

Joe stepped away from the window and stared at his furious reflection in the huge bathroom mirror. The deep red splotch just beneath the logo of the polo made it look like he had been shot in the heart. Was what they’d said true? Had Ronnie brought him to the party as a gift for Ace? Joe stormed back out to the deck and grabbed Ronnie by the wrist.

“Hey, Ronnie, I need to talk to you,” Joe whispered more loudly then he’d intended.

“What is it, Joey baby?” Ronnie said, suddenly bug-eyed and chewing gum like a madman. “Pretty sweet digs, huh?” The words started machine-gunning from his mouth. “Was the bathroom nice? It has a huge shower, right? All these rich gays have huge showers. The fish ponds are my favorite. I love fish. Did I ever tell you that before? I love giant ten-man showers and fish ponds! I like anything in water, I guess. And to think, this is practically mine. All of it. Am I talking too much? I feel like I’m talking too much! I hope you’re not talking too much, I told you that’s not sexy—”

“What the hell,” Joe whispered. “Are you on coke?”

“Maybe just a little!” Ronnie giggled. “You want some? Hey, Trey!”

“No!” Joe growled through his teeth. “You know I don’t do that shit. I want us to get out of here. Now.”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Joey?” Ronnie rubbed his pointer finger on his gums, then licked the back of his hand to get any remnants of powder.

“I’m not kidding, Ronnie. I just heard some guys say really mean shit about people with AIDS. I’m wet and my shirt is ruined, and all these people are a bunch of assholes.”

“Keep your voice down,” Ronnie hissed before pulling Joe away from the crowd. “You’re being ridiculous.”

Joe felt trapped and angry, while ten feet away Ace and several other of the men were staring at him, pruriently sniggering. “Damn it, Ronnie, I want to go.”

“No!” Ronnie’s body twitched as he laughed bitterly through his clenched jaw. “When have you even been to a party like this? I’ll answer that—you haven’t. Ever. You need to see your opportunities, baby Joey. Take that fucking wet shirt off, already!”

Ronnie pulled up the hem of Joe’s ruined polo. Joe yanked it back down.

“No, Ronnie.”

“These guys won’t mind.”

“Ronnie, listen. I heard a couple of guys talking outside the bathroom. They said mean things about you—”

“So what? Old fags talk. That’s all they got. You know that.”

“No, I don’t, Ronnie,” Joe’s face felt hot, and his head swirled with hurt rage. “And look at my shirt and pants. Over a hundred bucks down the toilet!”

Ronnie laughed. “Joey, Joey, Joey. You need to stop being so cheap!”

Joe waited for Ronnie’s crazed eyeballs to make contact, but they didn’t—they couldn’t. Did Joe even know his best friend anymore? Were they even friends at all if what he had heard was true? Was this entire summer the biggest mistake of Joe’s entire life?

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