Page 79 of Bobby Green
Bobby sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, part of him trying to remember what else he needed to fix their goddamned bathroom.
“Control,” he said, getting it.
“You’re good.” Lance’s tone of voice would have melted the pipes if his stomach bile hadn’t.
“I understand control,” Bobby admitted, thinking about how easy it had been to fuck for the camera. His body, his call, his idea. Little boy from Dogpatch got to be a god. “I get it. But Lance—” And suddenly Bobby’s hurt at the world at large flooded him. “Lance—these guys. They depend on you. And you know better. I mean—youknowbetter, right? There’s shit everywhere that tells you how bad this is for you—”
“Do you know how many doctors smoke?” Lance asked angrily. “What, I don’t get one lousy vice—”
“Get fat!” Bobby snapped back. “Eat it. Own it. Have a fucking ice cream sandwich, for fuck’s sake. Don’t toss it down the fucking drain, man.” His voice wobbled. “Man, Reg looks up to you—do you know how much?” He looked at Trey, who was staring at his hands. “Either of you? He—he’s got nothing, but the way he looks at you guys, that gives him something, right? Like guys as smart as you will be his goddamned friends.”
Trey wiped his eyes with his palm, one at a time. “You fucker,” he mumbled. “That’s… that’s playing fucking dirty.”
“Then talk to me,” Bobby told him, his own eyes burning. A part of him was sayingWhat? You lived with these guys for two months and suddenly you’re family?But most of him was sayingGod, I love these guys like my fuckin’ brothers. How’d that happen? I didn’t know there was that much of my heart to give.“Both of you—did you know?”
Trey shrugged. “That’s why both sets of pipes, Bobby. One night I left the door unlocked, and Lance walked in, and it became our thing.”
“You couldn’t have bonded over blowjobs?” he asked, hating that idea. “Because seriously—”
“Look—we just knew, okay?” Trey muttered. “And you don’t know what it’s like. I’ve looked at your fucking reviews—”
“For what?”
Trey rolled his eyesandhis head. “Oh my God—yourporn, Bobby—don’t you ever look and see how people like what you do?”
“Why would I care what they say?” Bobby asked, feeling stupid. “I just care that they download it so I can afford to bring my mom down here and get her the fuck out of Dogpatch.”
Trey and Lance exchanged a pitying look. “Well, that’s great,” Trey told him savagely, kicking at the absolutely immovable pole in the center of the aisle. “That’s just fucking perfect. You don’t even fucking look. Would you like to know what those comments say about me? ‘Great smile but a big moon face—lose some weight, porky, and I’ll care how you pork.’”
“Ouch,” Lance muttered, but Trey wasn’t done.
“That one’s just clever. I get it all—I get fat face, fat ass, low body tone, concave chest—by God, there’snothingthose fuckers won’t criticize, and I get it, right? I get that you put yourself out there, you gotta expect some blowback, but I’mkillingmyself in the gym trying to fix that shit, and it’s just never fucking enough—never. And I need the money, and I actually like the fucking work, but that shit on the computer, man—it just echoes in my head all day, and it’s all I can hear and—”
“Sh….”
Bobby and Lance both moved in at the same time, folding Trey up between them, calming him down. He shook in their arms until the intercom sounded, telling them they had ten minutes to get their purchases and get the hell out.
One more second, two, and a final squeeze, and Trey pulled away.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “Sorry—I didn’t mean to come apart like—”
“You’re both too bound up,” Bobby muttered. “I mean, we get back and Billy’s gonna have appointments with Chase and Tommy’s shrink lined up for you guys, but I’m telling you right now—this shit is all….” He used the hand holding the basket to make a circle around his stomach. “Bound up. Like too much meat and not enough fruit. Constipated. It’s all constipated in your soul. And you guys—you’re living with a bunch of gay guys—”
“Billy’s straight,” Trey said reasonably.
“Like that fuckin’ matters. You think he doesn’t love you guys? You’re living with a bunch of guys who can fuckin’ listen. That’s what I’m saying. You’re living with a couple of health food nuts who’ll turn your bodies inside out trying to make them perfect, but even better, you’re living withfriends.” He felt this injustice keenly as he stalked toward the front of the giant musty vault of tiny bits and pieces used to repair the random shit in people’s lives. “I mean, I was calling to ask a favor, and Trey didn’t even hesitate—and I’m the outsider here, right? I bailed on your little flophouse ’cause….” He sighed. “’Cause sex would be too easy. I’m not wired that way.” He swallowed a little, met their eyes, and shrugged. “I already fell for somebody, you know? I liked that person. I didn’t want to fuck around with his feelings if I didn’t have to.”
“We get it,” Lance said with a sigh. He placed his hand on the back of Bobby’s neck and squeezed, his touch platonic and familiar and intimate all at the same time. This was why—thiswas why Bobby had stayed as long as he could. This was why he didn’t want to leave Johnnies unless he had to. All those years living in Dogpatch, thinking he was a freak, letting Keith Gilmore talk him into fooling around when he knew it was wrong—all that was because he wantedthis. A group. A community. A tribe he could count on.
And who could count on him.
“What do you get?” Bobby asked—but he didn’t shrug Lance off.
“You’re our friend. A good friend. And you care.”
Bobby nodded. “Damned straight.” He took a step forward and gave the clerk his basket of stuff, and Trey moved in to pay for it.
“I get a frequent-flyer discount,” Bobby said, pulling out his card mournfully, and Trey laughed.
