Page 22 of Second in Command
I lean in, “Is that—”
“Yes, that’s our mayor,” he remarks quickly, taking out a cigarette, “And don’t stare.”
“How do you know them?” I ask, a little incredulous.
He takes a deep puff of—not a cigarette—but a joint, and hands it to me.
I didn’t want to get high—I was alreadyhigh—what I wanted was to DANCE. “Dance with me!”
He takes another toke and then hands it off to the mayor. The elected official smiles at me, and drops his eyes down to my ass, as I whirl Enzo out towards the floor. The beats were intoxicating, the women were gorgeous, and the men were horny to perfection. I close my eyes as Enzo pulls me in and out to the music.Heatwave’spulses thump in my ears…
Boogie nights
Boogie nights
Boogie nights
Ain't no doubt we are here to party
Boogie nights
Come on now got to get it started
Dance with the boogie get high
'Cause boogie nights are always the best in town…
* * *
Weeks passed by,and from that night at Studio 54, Enzo and I only grew closer.
Papa seemed to approve of our union, we all sat in the dining room, a shared newspaper between us as we discuss some of the things that had happened recently.
My hands were wrapped in Enzo’s lap, close to his crotch and by now you think he’d learn. He was persistent in waiting before we had sex. Although I’m not sure exactly what, I didn’t complain much.
The need was growing though.
Sometimes he’d spend nights in my room, and his abs, and physique bothered me to no end.
Little by little things changed, and as Enzo promised, he did whatever he could to make me happy.
Daily visits at the bakery with a bouquet of flowers, hyping my treats when he could, dinner dates, and of course, we can’t forget his daily love affirmations. He wasn’t at all what I thought he was at first, or maybe I just saw a different side of him, whatever it was, I was grateful.
With my mom always in my heart, it felt good to finally say that for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t weighed down by the sadness of her absence. Who knew that my haven wasn’t just in the bakery, but in my own home as well?
“We believed we had a mole,” my dad says after a moment, taking a sip of his coffee, “Maybe I was just a bit paranoid.”
“There’s been no further instances?” Enzo asks and he shakes his head.
“It seems that you were right,” he chuckles, “Maybe it was all in my head.”
“Papa, are you sure? If you feel there’s a mole then most likely there is one.”
“We searched intensively . . . monitored, hidden cameras, hidden recordings, there was nothing.”
“Enzo here even looked into your friend, Michael.”
I glance at Enzo from the corner of my eye, as he buries his head in the newspaper.
