"Now think again, and think fast!" I said at my menacing best. My delivery was slightly undermined by my slurring.

The heavy I'd been conversing with was having a hard time staying in character too. "She left hot on the tails of a Jag. Your girlfriend?"

I shook my head. "That's just swell. She was my ride home." The spirit of Bogie abandoned me.

I was screwed. Maybe I could sleep under the azaleas and figure out how to get home once I had more functioning brain matter. Did azaleas even grow in California?

"Tough break, kid. Why don't you call someone to pick you up?"

My brain cells had a conference. I dug out my phone and dialed Sandy. No answer. A third brain cell regained consciousness and had a brilliant idea. I dialed Jez. He answered at the second ring. I began to explain my predicament, but halfway through, I realized I had no idea where I was, geographically speaking. I was describing the view when the more charitable of the heavies took the phone away from me and gave Jez the address. The conversation went on a little longer, and I had the distinct impression it was about me-especially the "completely wasted" part.

"Yeah, we'll look after him. See you soon, Jez." He hung up and tossed the phone back to me. I fumbled.

They parked me against a palm tree and told me to stay put. I was bored. I remembered the sole joint I'd tucked into my pocket before leaving home, and dug it out. It was battered, but still in one piece. I had no light. I detached myself from the tree to ask one of my minders. By the time Jez arrived, the three of us were best pals. Joe and Mike were really nice guys once you got to know them.

Jez pulled up in the Impala, top down, and nodded to the guys, who nodded back like they knew him. Jez knew how to arrive in style. I just swayed in place, returning his scowl with a grin. I couldn't help it; he was an Edward Hopper painting come alive. I climbed into the car, still grinning. Jez's scowl softened, and then he just shook his head. We snaked down to a road that wound its way across the hills. We had glimpses of the Valley and the coastal side at alternate turns. We were up high, and LA lay below us like a s.h.i.+mmering alien landscape.

"Where are we?" I asked.

"Mulholland Drive."

We descended into the lights. Most of the alcohol had burned out of my system, but the weed was still going strong. We took the surface streets-Jez avoided the freeways whenever he could. He had told me they were a perfect way to get from point A to point B without seeing anything in between. Jez preferred the sights. The lights, the people, even the sounds gave me a dizzy sense of deja vu. I felt like we were inside a movie, something foreign, European-French New Wave, most likely. But we didn't look the part. For one thing, Jez was too blond.

"What?" he asked. "You're staring at me funny."

"We're in the wrong movie," I confessed.

"You're a nut, you know," Jez said with warmth in his voice.

Hmm. Maybe we were in a Fellini movie... That could totally work. Anything could happen in a Fellini film. It wouldn't hurt to be dressed a bit sw.a.n.kier, though.

"You'd look good in a white suit, maybe with a fedora," I declared.

Jez cast a searching look in my direction. "You live a lot in your head, don't you? It must be interesting in there."

"Nah, mostly just lonely." d.a.m.n it. I tended to be too honest when high. He looked at me again but said nothing.

At the next red light, I reached out to tuck his blond tresses behind his ear. I ran my thumb along its perfect sh.e.l.l. I couldn't help myself; its fine curve compelled me. Jez tilted his head into my palm for a moment. Then he sighed and turned away. The light changed, we were moving, and the wind kicked his locks free. I fell asleep.

I saw Sandy the next day as my s.h.i.+ft ended.

I accosted her. "You left me stranded there alone!"

"What are you talking about? You were tonsils deep in Mark last time I saw you."

"That's not the point!" I retorted, feeling the heat rise in my face at the recall.

"He's a nice guy and just broke up with his boyfriend. After you two hit it off, I was sure you'd go home with him."

I was flabbergasted. "You...you took me there to fix me up?"

"Why not? You just mope around all the time. What was the harm?"

"I'm not..."

"You're not what?" Sandy put her hands on her hips and stared me down.

I was stumped for a moment, because I wasn't sure where I was going with that sentence either.

"I'm not moping!" I stormed off rather than admit defeat.

Chapter Six.

It was weeks after the party fiasco. I was at work when the ringing of my phone startled me. Not many people ever called. Roger on occasion, or Sandy, but they were both there; no reason to call. Jez sometimes called me from his trips, but he wasn't on the road at the moment. The screen displayed unknown number. I answered with a cautious "h.e.l.lo."

"Nate, honey!"

"Mom?"

I didn't expect my family to call. My father and I communicated through polite Christmas cards since he'd been stationed in Germany. I gave them my number, but only my mother ever called, and our conversations were so full of awkward, unfillable silences that we'd both given up on them after a while. Neither of us had picked up the phone for months, and I wasn't expecting a call before Christmas. Even now she called only because she had to.

"Honey, your dad pa.s.sed away. I'm sorry."

"Oh," I uttered, because I simply didn't know what to say. "How?"

"It was a heart attack. They told me it was very quick."

Didn't you have to have a heart for that? No, that was a spiteful thing to think, I chided myself.

"What about the funeral?"

"Ah, that's just it; he's already buried. Helga saw to it."

Not long after my father had been stationed in Germany, he'd married a local woman. We knew the bare minimum of her, only what he let us in on in his infrequent and brief letters.

"One less thing to worry about, then, right?"

"Oh, Nate..." She sniffled.

"It's all right, Mom. How's Ellie?" I asked, not because I cared much how my stepsister-the little princess-was doing, but to steer her away from a conversation I wasn't ready to have. It worked.

Mom babbled for a little while, finis.h.i.+ng off with hints of how my job with "Uncle" Albert would be waiting if I decided to return to Indiana. I told her I'd think about it. We both knew I was lying.

Roger let me cut out early when I told him about the news. I didn't go home. I needed time to think. I needed a drink. I found one of those bars off the beaten track where the locals hang out. It was still a colorful crowd, but blissfully tourist free. There were no TVs hanging from the wall either, but there was a jukebox in the corner. I got change for a five and shoved it all into the machine till I lined up every last cla.s.sic rock song I could find plus a few country western ones for good measure. They made me think of my childhood and, inevitably, my father.

It was hours later when I stumbled home. The house was dark and quiet, but Jez's door was open; an inviting yellow glow spilled out into the hallway. I wandered in and found him propped up on the bed, reading. I hovered at the foot of the bed. Either me or the room was lightly swaying. He laid the book on his chest and surveyed my unstable condition with amused curiosity. The neediness I felt must have shown through my drunken daze, because he wordlessly scooted to one side of the bed, leaving the other side temptingly open. I crawled up next to him and flopped onto my back. I was in that state when your brain's still minding the HQ, but the lines of communication to the various body parts are compromised.

"You're drunk," he said.

I grunted in agreement; long explanations weren't necessary. He sighed and put the book facedown on the night table. I shuffled a little closer. He was warm, and it so felt good. My head sort of rolled onto his shoulder-it needed support. I closed my eyes but snapped them open again when the room tilted and started to slowly spin, nauseating me. I fixed my stare at the ceiling instead.

"My father died," I confided to the ceiling fan. It was indifferent.

"I'm sorry," Jez said, his voice full of misplaced compa.s.sion.

"I'm not," I confessed, to the still-unconcerned fan.

I had spent an increasingly maudlin evening trying to sort out how I felt, and sorry or sad wasn't it. I was quiet for a while. Not sure how long-time felt stretchy, like melted cheese.

Eventually the words bubbled out of me of their own accord. "I never called him 'Dad.' It was always 'sir.' 'Yes, sir.' 'No sir.' That's how he liked it."

The ceiling fan mocked me. Big sissy, it seemed to say. I stared it down. Jez was quiet. That was good. I hate it when people spout ba.n.a.l bulls.h.i.+t at you. Jez wasn't like that. He was real. And warm. Hot. He put an arm around me and pulled me closer. Like my father never had.

"I hate him. I don't care if he's dead. I still hate him." My tongue was sluggish; my mouth had apparently gone renegade, spilling my secrets.

A long moment pa.s.sed before Jez spoke.

"You shouldn't hang on to those feelings. They'll just make you bitter. You have to let them go."

I clumsily rolled my head around to look up into his face. "That's very New Agey from you," I slurred.

"No, it's just common sense, stupid."

With my head on his chest, my only view was up his nostrils, but I could still make out his eyes twinkling at me from above. It dawned on me through my fuddled haze that he probably had some authority on not holding grudges, after all. Darn.

"You're too d.a.m.n perfect," I pointed out.

"What? Trust me, I'm not. Not even close."

"Whatever," I said, because he was clearly lying.

There was something I'd wanted to ask him for some time but never had the courage. Now I had the liquid kind.

"When did you know?"

"What?"

"That you were...you know...gay?"

He pursed his lips, and his eyes glinted some more.

"There wasn't a specific moment. I think I always knew."

"Was it hard to come out?" I asked, squinting up at him. It wasn't easy to convey honest curiosity from that awkward angle, but I tried.

"Nah, not really. Adelle figured it out long before I knew what was different about me. She was very supportive. And there was Arthur, of course."

I wiggled around to get more comfortable. Jez's arms were still around me. He kept talking.

"Adelle was scary as h.e.l.l, though, when it came to protection. When I was twelve, she sat me down and gave me The Big Lecture on STDs. She made me swear on my favorite surfboard that I'd never have unprotected s.e.x."

"She sounds kick-a.s.s," I murmured, half on top of him.

"She was pretty liberal. It was downright embarra.s.sing sometimes. Boxes of condoms used to mysteriously appear in my room. She always made sure I had some on me when I went out, years before I had actual s.e.x. Hey, stop that!"

That was in response to my hand searching for a way into his shorts. He smelled so good, like summer-salty with sweat and the ocean, and I swear I could smell the sun on him. Beneath it all was something musky and sweet. He was warm and not soft, but pliant. Smooth. I had such an urge to get lost in him, to be surrounded by him, by his smell, his warm skin. My fingers were scrabbling for the spot I knew would be his warmest, but he patted them away.

"What happened to being straight?"

"I'm reconsidering."

He snorted. "You're too far gone to get it up."

"I could give you a b.l.o.w.j.o.b."

"Thanks, but I'll take a pa.s.s on you drunkenly s...o...b..ring over my c.o.c.k."

Jez sat to get up, but I got a hold of his arm. He looked down at me with a guarded expression.

"It doesn't have to mean anything. Just s.e.x," I pleaded.

He let out a great big shuddering sigh. "It always means something. In the morning you'll hate yourself, and you'll hate me."

"I don't want to be alone."

The corner of Jez's mouth crooked up, and he reached out to brush a lock of hair from my forehead. It was a strangely gentle gesture after turning me down.

"You don't have to be. Stay here tonight."

Jez rolled out of bed, and I kept watching him as he moved around the room. He put a wastepaper basket by my side of the bed, then pulled an extra comforter out of the closet and threw it over me. He turned out the lights and climbed back into bed.

"If you need to throw up, try to remember to roll to your left first."

I rolled to lie on my left. The room spun less that way. It started moving again the moment the lights went out. Also, this way I was closer to the edge of the bed and the wastebasket. I thrust one leg back to hook it around his. Jez let out a deep sigh, but then he rolled over too, and a second later, his fingers threaded into my too-long hair.

"I like your hair this way," he whispered into my nape.