Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Post Up...And One! ❯ Lying ( Chapter 6 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
Quatre plays twenty questions with Jake; but the burning question is---is a manwhore a manwhore, or is a slut a slut?
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Drama / Comedy | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.10.2007 | Pages: 7 | Words: 6.4K | Visits: 199 | Status: Work In Progress
Quatre plays twenty questions with Jake; but the burning question is---is a manwhore a manwhore, or is a slut a slut?
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Drama / Comedy | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.10.2007 | Pages: 7 | Words: 6.4K | Visits: 199 | Status: Work In Progress
Chapter Six:
“Lying” Linkin Park
Nearly a week passed since that Monday–Quatre wasn’t thinking too much about that kiss. He wasn’t going to take it out of context. It was probably just...hormones. Yeah. Trowa was bi–he was probably tired of sinking himself into a female every night, and wanted male ass. So he wasn’t going to take it too badly. He hadn’t talked to the guy since then–he’d been too busy with school and work, and Sunday found him relaxing with Jake and Michael. It was nearly eight, and Jake had suggested going down to the basketball courts at their apartment complex to wear his son down for the night.
When Quatre had first arrived at the very numerous and quite cramped complex, he was struck dizzy by the lower class dwellings. He felt a little ashamed, actually, showing off his brand new apartment to someone that lived in a place where shootings were frequent and the apartments were crammed together in a rather upsetting jumble of rooms. They were set on a small hill, and there were seven main buildings that were clustered rather closely to each other. The alleyway that he took to Jake’s back apartment had made him claustrophobic, his shoulders nearly brushing each wall. The stairway was narrow, and the apartments were small.
Jake’s living room was about the size of Quatre’s bedroom; his kitchen and dining room were crammed together almost as an afterthought. The small hall leading into the back bedroom was narrow and thin, and the hall bathroom had enough room for a toilet and a slender sink (it was hard to perform a single turn inside!). The master bedroom was about the size of Quatre’s bathroom, and Jake had managed to fit in a queen-sized bed (on top of a worn wooden bedframe that had stairs leading up to the mattress), a slender telephone stand to use as a night stand, and a massive dresser that was crammed into the closet to allow for room. Mike’s bed was pushed tightly near the closet, and was rarely used, for the boy liked sleeping out on the couch.
The master bathroom was half the size of the bedroom, and was fitted with a tub, sink, and toilet, the area made up comfortably of matching rugs, shower curtain, and towels that were obviously worn and well taken care of.
But there was a sense of coziness and warmth that emanated from the entire apartment that made Quatre immediately comfortable and fuzzy. It was well-kept, clean, and was simple in functioning needs. In the living room was a corner tv stand with a locking cabinet for movies; no coffee table; a single stretch black couch that Jake had recently re-holstered and re-stuffed; worn walk rugs that hid worn holes in the carpet, and a toybox that Jake had made in high school wood shop that held all of Michael’s treasures. The kitchen had an area rug thrown inside (to hide worn tile), and was comfortably set with clean counters, a basket of fruit, and the basic necessities a kitchen needed.
The tiny placed reeked strongly of Jake–the scent was intoxicating, taking Quatre back home, in the comfort of his uncle’s house. It was odd–he stepped in, and felt immediately at home.
But he had come over to hang out. Michael had been excited to see him–as expected. The six year old leapt onto his legs as soon as he walked in. He had grown since Quatre had last seen him before leaving for Laramie. His hair had been shorter, prone to fuzz, but now it was cut in a way similar to his father’s. It hung in his eyes, which were sharp and seemingly weary like his father’s. Even though he had many characteristics of his father, it was obvious he got his expressions and such from his mother. He was gangly, thin, and Jake confessed that he was still wearing 4T clothing. His grandparents were complaining that he wasn’t getting enough to eat, but Quatre had seen the kid’s ‘snack’–a ham sandwich, a bag of chips, two cups of milk. He may have looked tiny, but he had an appetite similar to that of his father’s. Michael spoke more clearly than he had when he was four, and was completing sentences that were similar to an adult’s. He had a serious expression on his face, his smile strained and seemingly forced, and Quatre felt a little sorry for the kid. It was obvious the custody issues were wearing down on him as well.
This, of course, did not deter him from behaving in a hyperactive manner. He was constantly zooming around the apartment, crawling over counters, leaping off chairs, and shouting every answer to a question directed to him.
Jake had suggested the trip to the basketball courts because the dinner he had cooking was still roasting in the oven, causing the entire place to fill with heat. Combined with the late summer heat outside, it was sweltering inside.
So, while Michael gabbed on and on about some kid named Jason’s booger, Quatre stared at the various dwellings they passed while heading toward the court. The children’s playground was in good condition, at least, and the basketball court was nothing more than a stretch of pavement, sagging rims, and bullet riddled backboards. The playground was currently in use by several minority children, all of whom looked related. There were a few women sitting at the park tables, and they watched the two men with interest.
Quatre stepped onto the court, and realized that there were no keys or boundary lines. One just had to imagine them. Jake was shooting down at the other end, and Michael was trying his best to mimic his father’s movements.
Quatre immediately rolled his eyes, and steered Mike to another rim.
“You’re doing it all wrong,” he declared. “Watch the master.”
Michael watched closely as Quatre made a three (at least, he hoped it was) from the left. Michael rebounded, his gangly frame struggling with the ball. He posted himself near the rim, and hurled it with both hands at the backboard. Surprisingly, he made the shot. He looked back at Quatre with a huge grin, and Quatre shrugged.
“Whatever. You don’t even have any muscles in those arms of yours! How do you do it?”
“Easy. I’m manly and tough!” Michael flexed both arms.
“HAH! Check these out, and weep in jealousy,” Quatre barked, displaying his own muscles.
Michael scoffed at him. “Those are PUNY! My dad’s a lot bigger...”
“But then again, so is his head. Look at it. It’s like a freakin’ watermelon!”
Michael turned and looked, then grinned back at him. “He does have a big head, huh?”
“Probably full of air.”
“Not-uh. My dad’s the smartest guy in the world.”
“You know what?”
“What?”
“That worship of yours is going to make you weird when you grow up,” Quatre said, shooting the ball. The rims didn’t have any nets, so the ball fell right through without a sound.
“No, it’s not.”
“Yeah, it will. You’ll be trying to get a girlfriend, and you’ll be picking a girl out that’s just like your dad. So, basically, you’ll be turning out homo. Like me. You want to be a homo?”
“NO!”
“Well, then!”
Michael stared at him skeptically, then scoffed. “Whatever, Q. You just like to make up stories. You’re always lying to me.”
“I never lie. This face never lies...”
“...Really? I mean...about dad?”
Quatre nodded solemnly, dribbling the ball around his ankles. “Yeah. You got to look at another hero. At me.”
Michael stared at him in silence, then burst into giggles. “You’re stupid! You just told me that if I like my dad, then I turn out gay. Then you’re telling me to like you, and you’re gay. I think, either way, I’m screwed.”
Quatre laughed as he made another shot. “Whoops! Too bad, then. You have no future!”
“You’re stupid, Q!”
“Takes one to know one!”
Michael stuck out his tongue, then raced after the ball as it bounced off the rim. He got the ball before Quatre could, and hurled it once more at the rim. Quatre wasn’t about to admit that he was impressed for the small six-year old for making the shot. It appeared that Michael had inherited his father’s genes.
While they were playing, Jake was doing his own thing from the other end of the court, quietly reliving his glory days on the high school basketball team. He missed the familiar sights, sounds, and smells of the basketball court, too caught up in reality to go back there in person. With his ball in hand, playing on a court that was barely fit for casual shooting, he felt that sense of nostalgia that usually left one feeling sick in the stomach, and for wishes to be thought over again.
Sighing, he made a three pointer from the faded line, and glanced over to check on his son. Both Michael and Quatre were involved in a casual shooting match, with Michael trying his hardest to outdo the blond. He had to pause, though, shaking his head with an uncertain frown as he silently questioned Quatre’s maturity level. From the way he was shouting and carrying on, he was acting like a damned kid...
But the thing was, Michael was loving it. His son was getting a kick out of the antics Quatre was performing to entertain him–even Jake had to snicker at the way Quatre was deliberately dribbling the ball in a limp wrist manner, and talking with that cringing lisp he had.
He resumed shooting, watching the ball make a perfect arc through the air and into the net-less rim. He missed ball, and this was the only time he could ever play. He regretted being unable to play any other league, especially for college, but what was done was done. He could only forge forward instead of lingering in the past.
He looked back at the two again, watching as Quatre helped Michael position himself to shoot the ball. The little boy was trying hard to mimic the movement Quatre was trying to help him with, but he was just too small and thin to even accomplish it. To help out, Quatre moved away from him and formed an ‘o’ with his arms, and tried to catch the ball that way when Michael shot.
Really, the guy was good with kids–well, with Michael. He had been since the moment Michael tripped over him in that cafeteria in Roseville over a year ago. Jake had to hand it to him. Maybe it was just because Quatre related to kids in a manner that made it easy for kids to warm up to him. Or perhaps...the blond simply lacked any sense of maturity.
Shaking his head, he walked over to retrieve his ball, picking out the small pebbles that were embedded within the rubber. He looked over again, seeing them whispering to each other in a conspiring way that had him suspicious.
He narrowed his eyes, wondering what sort of trash Quatre was dumping into Mike’s head, now. Really, the little boy looked up to the blond in a wholly unhealthy way. Michael was sure that every word that dripped from Quatre’s mouth was the gospel truth.
He studied the blond from his position, frowning. He noted the boyish grins and the playful expressions, and felt a little odd for noticing them. Really, he shouldn’t be looking at the guy that way...but he couldn’t help but notice how, whenever Quatre smiled, his entire face seemed to light up in glee. Jake forced himself to look away, cursing himself. He shouldn’t be looking at guys like that.
Was it really happening again?
“So,” Quatre began, sinking down onto the sun-warmed pavement, and propping his chin onto his palms. “Just you and your father live there, huh?”
“Yeah. Celia used to, but she didn’t like it. It was too small, she said,” Michael said, dribbling awkwardly. The ball kept hitting his chin, but he was determined to dribble the same way he’d seen his father dribble. “She was always mad about it.”
“You don’t like your mom, huh?”
“Nope.”
“What about your grandparents?”
“They’re okay. But, I don’t like them, either. They took me away from my dad. But, I’m glad that I can still see him. Some kids, when they get taken away, they go with other people. I don’t wanna go with other people.”
Quatre frowned at this, shifting his elbows underneath his chest. “I never got to see my dad. I mean, he was always busy with things. I didn’t like him.”
“How come?” Michael asked, shielding his eyes to look over at him. “He didn’t like you because you’re gay?”
“...Basically. But even before that, I didn’t like him. He was...very controlling. Very...mean.”
“Celia’s mean. She likes to pick on dad. I want to beat her up, but dad says not to hit girls. Only Felicia.”
Quatre laughed again.
“He–” Michael trailed off when the pair heard female voices, and they both looked over to see that the women sitting nearby were calling Jake over to them. Quatre noticed that they were young–around their age. They were pretty ladies–plump from having children and from genetics. They smiled and laughed as Jake walked over, talking to them, obviously knowing them. Michael snorted, dropping the ball.
In mimicry of their voices, he said, “Jaaaaaakkkkeeee....come heeeeeere. Come fix my caaaaaarrr.”
Quatre snickered. But he watched Jake as he talked to the ladies, of whom were laughing too loudly and flipping their ponytails with some finesse. There was something irritating about it all, and he found himself grinding his teeth.
“Do they say that a lot?”
“I don’t like them. All the stupid girls like my dad,” Michael said with an annoyed tone, looking scarily older than he was. He put his hands on his hips, and sashayed around, Quatre laughing at the sight. “I need you to fix my siiiiiinnnnnkkk, Jaaaakkkkeee. C’meeeeere, Jake. My man’s away!”
“They don’t say that!”
“Uh-huh! I know what they do! They’re all whores!”
“You shouldn’t be talking like that,” Quatre scolded between chuckles, picking at the pavement.
Meanwhile, Jake snorted at the questions that were being flung his way.
Desmonda, a twenty-three year old with four kids and an abusive man that was away in prison for his latest scandal, was interested in knowing who Quatre was.
“I just wanna know, that’s all,” she said, her plump lips pulled back into a smile. “He’s cute for a white guy!”
“Trust me, he’s not interested,” Jake said, dribbling the ball.
“Why not?” Estella asked, frowning darkly lined eyebrows. “He single?”
“Um...yes. He is. But...I don’t think he’s looking, right now.”
“How old is he?”
“Ah...I think twenty. He’s three years younger than I am.”
“You’re twenty-two, right?”
“Three in October.”
“Why ain’t he interested in looking?” Desmonda asked, frowning over in the blond’s direction. “I ain’t woman enough? Sucka, I had men bigger than him on top of me!”
“You always have men on top of you, slut!” Estella crowed, slapping her knees.
“I ain’t complaining...Just wondering why I ain’t good enough. It’s cuz I have kids, huh?”
“No,” Jake laughed, twirling the ball in the air. “It’s not that. Just...trust me on this, all right?”
“He get along good with your kid, man,” Monie said with a wave of her head. “Uh-uh. Your kid the spawn of Lucifer an’ all that.”
“Hey, c’mon...”
“Celia, man. Celia’s Lucifer’s whore, man,” Estella said, slapping hands with Monie. Jake looked pained, but he laughed. “So he is the spawn, basically!”
“Don’t talk bad about her, girls.”
“Whatever, Jake. You know she’s bad!” Desmonda said, frowning up at him. Her shapely form was adjusted as she wiggled her sweats over her ample bottom. “I ain’t telling or talkin’ shit! We all know what your relationship was like with her!”
“Yeah. We all heard it around the fuckin’ court yard, yo,” Estella said with a scoffing expression. “You ain’t exactly quiet when ya’ll fight. I’m surprised the kid could still hear!”
“It wasn’t that bad...”
“C’mon, introduce us!” Monie said excitedly, thrusting her hair behind her shoulder. “He’ll be interested!”
“I don’t think so...honestly. Trust me. He won’t.”
“He gay?”
“Uh...that’s for him to say. I don’t know him very well.”
“He is, ain’t he? Shit,” Desmonda pouted, then grinned. “Well, I’ll just introduce him to my cousin, Pedro! Pedro likes them white boys!”
“PEDRO? Gah! GIRL! Pedro’ll kick your ass for talking shit like that!” Monie shrieked, laughing as she bounced up and down on the seat.
Jake thought of the multi-tattooed man that walked about in a wife-beater and Dickies, and snorted. He began dribbling the ball once more, shaking his head.
“Call him over here, Jake! Hurry!” Estella begged, gesturing over at Quatre. “We wanna talk to him!”
“Ah...no. I don’t want to be involved.”
“CALL HIM! HEY! YOU! WHITE BOY!”
“Shut up! He don’t want to talk to you girls, and he’s entertaining my son,” Jake said, playfully nudging her ankle. “Leave him alone.”
When Quatre glanced over, one of the ladies, a Hispanic woman in a pink tracksuit and annoyingly long nails, was playfully poking one of those fake plastic talons into Jake’s arm. The guy laughed and said something that made the others laugh. The kids in the background were forgotten as all the ladies’ attention was directed to Jake.
“That’s what mom said all the time.” Michael was frowning in that direction, Quatre looking up to see the little boy’s face cross with his thoughts. “She didn’t like them, either. She always got mad when dad did go fix whatever. Dad’s smart that way. He fixes anything. But mom, Celia always didn’t like it. She said they were whores trying to steal him.”
“They could be really nice, y’know...”
“Not-uh. All they want is dick. That’s what Celia said.”
Quatre was laughing again. “If your dad heard you talking like that, he’s going to ground you.”
Michael sniffed haughtily.
“I can’t get in trouble if its true. And they talk funny. ‘Hi, Jake’!” he warbled in a high octave, fluttering a limp wrist about.
“They’re probably lonely. And he’s single. They just want another guy to talk to.”
“They ain’t coming to my home,” Michael muttered, picking at the stones in his shoes. “Their kids are brats.”
“And you’re not?”
“No.”
Quatre chuckled again, and reached over to ruffle his hair. “Sometimes, you’re okay.”
Michael grinned at him, and stood up. “I’ll play you.”
“All right. But you better make it good, or else I’m going to hang you from the rim by your underwear.”
“Not uh!”
“Yeah huh!”
“Not uh!”
“Yeah–”
Jake walked over, twirling the ball on top of one finger. Michael turned to him, and threw the ball at his knees, causing him to stumble. “Whore!”
“Mike!” Quatre scolded. “You don’t call your dad a whore. He’s a man-slut.”
“Oh. Right.” Michael turned and grinned gratefully at him.
“Don’t be teaching him that!” Jake sighed, giving Quatre an exasperated look. He looked back down at his son, who was now scowling at him. “What’s your problem?”
“Don’t talk to those girls, dad!” Mike whined, giving him a dirty expression. “They’re not good!”
“How would you know? Have you been running around with them?”
“Daaaaddd....I just don’t like them. I don’t like it when you’re with them! They’re dirty!”
“Mike, you don’t know that. And keep your voice down! It’s not nice to talk about people like that...”
“I do too! That’s why they have all those kids with different men! They just want one of yours!”
Jake rolled his eyes, but flushed with color, giving an amused Quatre an embarrassed look. “Where do you GET this stuff? Have you been talking with your mother again? You know she’s just making stuff up...”
“I don’t want them! I don’t want them for my mom!” Michael began shouting, furiously growing red. It was obvious that the subject was upsetting for him, and Quatre looked at him in concern, while Jake looked troubled about the entire thing.
“Mike, it isn’t–”
“It is too! You’re looking at them! I don’t want them!”
“Mike, chill out, all right?”
“NO! NO! NO! I HATE THEM! THEY AREN’T GOOD!”
“Sheesh, little guy. Nothing’s going to happen,” Quatre said, getting a little nervous as Mike’s voice grew louder and louder, Jake looking more and more upset at the exchange. The blond crouched, looking into Mike’s face. “Look, he isn’t going to go for them, all right? Just like you said, he’s smarter than that. He’ll look for a guy, instead.”
Michael looked confused as Jake kicked Quatre in the side, knocking him down into the pavement. Then, he laughed shakily.
“You’re so dumb, Q!” Michael said, giggling as he dive-bombed the blond. “Why do you always say dumb things?”
“I never lie!”
“Liar!”
Jake rolled his eyes and continued shooting as the two continued to do their thing on the pavement. He glanced back at the women, who were looking their way, and talking quietly amongst themselves. When they noticed him looking in their direction, he grew distinctively uncomfortable and focused on his shots. He knew dating would have an effect on Michael–he just hadn’t been sure how much. Knowing that Michael was upset about the subject, he felt a little down that he would have to hide whatever dating he managed to get from his son.
Which was okay, really–he wasn’t planning on having potentials meet Michael right off the bat. Mainly because it would be upsetting for the boy, and upsetting on his date. Michael wasn’t exactly fond of new people, and made it very clear. Quatre and a few others were the only ones the boy seemed to approve of.
After dinner, at the apartment, Michael was sitting in front of the television set, watching his nightly Cartoon Network line-up. Jake was doing the dishes, and Quatre was exclaiming at his Wall of Fame, where he saved all his awards and newspaper clippings for over seven years. It wasn’t much, but the blond was impressed by what he found.
“Man, this is all bull!” Quatre was saying, touching an article written about Jake in his freshmen year at Stanton. “These people don’t know talent! They take note of trash, but not talent.”
“Quit your jealousy, Winner,” Jake chuckled, focusing on his baking pan, which was dark with scorch marks.
“You played in the Western Conference? Fucker.”
“Where were you? Oh, yeah, right–still living in hickville.”
“Fuck you. So?” Quatre moved away from the Wall, and glared at Jake as he sat down on one of the stools that lined the back counter. They had eaten in the living room, but due to Michael’s insistence that he shut up during his cartoons, he was hanging out in the kitchen. “So, he has a big problem with you dating, huh?”
Jake shrugged, rinsing off what he’d washed. “All kids do. It’s natural.”
“So...you haven’t gone out with anybody since...his mom?” Quatre asked incredulously, blinking. “How long ago was that?”
“Will you drop the subject? It’s none of your business...”
“Ooh, someone’s a little sore. Rosy Palmer getting old?” Quatre ducked the wet washrag that was set to his face, and chuckled. He reached out to play with the tiny knife grooves on the countertop. “You know, my offer still stands on the baby-sitting thing.”
“There’s no way I’m leaving my son in your hands, Winner. And besides,” Jake added, frowning in his direction, “I’m not interested in anybody.”
“How can you not?”
“It’s not like there’s an abundance of chicks at the garage, Winner!”
“So? What about the ones that come in, all helpless and needing of your assistance?”
“They’re taken. And I don’t do that cheating thing. And those that do, I look down on.”
“Oh, c’mon, you hypocrite! I’ll bet you have a few times. Helped someone cheat on someone.”
Jake sighed, and looked over at him, raising his eyebrows. He had the uncomfortable feeling that Quatre was flirting with him. It left him with a sour taste in his mouth, and caused him to fumble with the last of his dishes.
It wasn’t the kind of flirting that the girls had done with him–more of a...constant teasing in a...non male-friendly way.
“Are you trying to start something?”
“No...can’t you tell I’m being snoopy?” Quatre leaned on his palm, frowning at him. He took in the weary expression on the older male’s face. He had the impulse to leave his stool and work at a back rub on the stiff, broad shoulders. But Jake would probably turn around and break both of his hands for even attempting. “Lay off the old guy attitude, man. Relax.”
“...Sorry. Whatever. No, I’d like to date, but I haven’t the time, nor the interest in doing so.”
“You’re still in love, aren’t you? With her?”
“NO,” Jake answered in disgust, turning away from the dishes. Wiping his hands on the nearby rag nearby, he reached for his cup of milk and downed it, rinsing it out afterward. “Never. Never again. It’s over and done with.”
Quatre studied him for a few moments, then shrugged. “How long has it been since her?”
“Well..shit...over...hmm. Well, we broke up for final when I was a junior, so...I don’t know. Over three years?”
“And NO ONE SINCE THEN?”
“NO! Man, what is it with you and this subject?”
“I’m just trying to determine who the bigger loser is between the both of us. So far, you’re winning,” Quatre answered, flicking at the grooves.
Jake narrowed his eyes at him, then looked over at Michael. Lowering his voice, he said, “I may not have dated, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t hooked up.”
“So...you had ass?”
“I had pussy since then.”
Quatre grinned at him. “But was it good?”
Jake stared at him for a few moments, then shook his head in disgust once more. He took out his wallet, and handed over twenty bucks. Quatre blinked at the bill in confusion.
“Use that, take Fifty-First East, then turn right at the lights. You’ll see a big blinking sign, reading ‘McDougal’s’. It’s a male brothel, and–”
“FUCK YOU!”
Jake laughed, taking back the twenty bucks, then studied it. “Hell, this probably wouldn’t even get you a handjob.”
“Go to hell. I hope you die, asshole.”
“You’re so hard up on the subject!”
“...I was just being curious.”
“Be ‘curious’ with someone else’s sex life, then, fucker.”
Quatre grumbled to himself, then narrowed his eyes. “And, anyway...what was Celia like, anyway?”
“Blond, slutty, and incredibly spoiled. Why?”
“Do you prefer blonds, or brunettes?”
“Why are you asking me all this?”
“Well? Which one?”
“...Depends.”
“Chunky? Thin? Tall? Short?”
Jake leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. Quatre gave him an innocent expression, picking at his hangnail.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothin’. What are you doing?”
“Stop playin’, Winner. What are you doing?”
“Look, fine, you wanna be so cold. All I’m doing is trying to find out what you’re looking for in a girl, all right? And then...I’ll find her.”
“Winner, fuck that bullshit! I TOLD you, I’ve seen your taste in guys! There’s no way in hell I’m trustin’ your taste in girls! I’ll find my own girl, thank you.”
“Are you even interested in girls?”
“Are you interested in eating my fist?”
“...does it come with whipped cream?”
Michael poked his head around the counter, looking at them both. “What are you two talking about?”
“Nothin’. Go watch tv,” Jake said, gently pushing him back in that direction. Michael ran across the short space between the kitchen and the living room, and flew onto the couch, sitting on his knees to watch tv. Jake turned back to Quatre, and growled, “And STOP with the bullshit!”
Quatre shrugged, chewing at his hangnail. His cell rang, and he dropped the subject, looking at the number. Seeing that it was Felicia’s number, he winced and let it go to his answering service. Moments later, Jake’s phone rang, and the older male went to answer it. Quatre frowned at his own phone. He got up from the stool and walked out, sitting next to Michael to watch ‘Mucha Lucha’. Michael curled up against his side, and Quatre looked annoyed at the little boy, who was picking his toes and watching the screen at the same time.
Jake was laughing at something over the phone, and Quatre looked over wistfully, wondering who it was he was talking to. He looked back at his cell to see if Felicia was done leaving a message, and set it aside.
“Winner! Here,” Jake then said, holding out his phone. Quatre answered it, hearing a feminine belch on the other end.
“Why did I know you were going to be there?” Felicia asked, chuckling.
“Bitch. What are you implying?”
“I just tried calling your cell. When no muthafucka answered, I called Jake. An’ he said you were there. Shit, Quat. You’re a dirty playa, goin’ for both the kid and the dad.”
“You’re sick.”
“As a dawg, sucka! Anyway...I never got back to you, didn’t I? Let’s get something clear, here, Winner,” she said in a mimicry of Jake’s voice, “it’s obvious ya’ll got somethin’ for him. Just confess to me, an’ I’ll help you out.”
“I’m not confessing to something that’s not even true!” Quatre shouted.
“I’ll tell hiiiimmm!”
“And I’ll tell Max I’ll take up on his offer!”
“You wouldn’t! He’d stay with you forever!”
“I would! And I would rub it in your fucking face!”
“WHORE!”
“SLUT!”
“Fine. Fine. But let’s get a few things in the clear, o gay fag friend of mine,” Felicia’s voice took on a sultry tone, and he could just see the grin she had plastered on her face, “I don’t set up my fag friends with straight people. Just ta get things in the clear–ask him, without letting him know where ya’ll got the info from, about his two very close friends back in Stanton. In other words, ask him about his partyin’ days. Capice?”
“Why?”
“Just do.”
“What’s that about?”
“JUST DO IT, FAG! And get back to me in the morning. Goddamn it, if it all ends up that Mike’s my fuckin’ Godchild in the end, so be it! Peace!”
Quatre gaped at the phone in his hand, and rammed it back onto the receiver with an annoyed puff. He looked back to see Michael still watching cartoons, but Jake was gone. Probably in the back. He furrowed his brow with concentration, and wondered what Felicia meant by what she said. He walked over to where Michael sat, and sat down roughly on the other end of the couch. Michael turned and laid so that his head was on his thigh, and sighed heavily. Looking over, Quatre could see that the boy was getting pretty sleepy. His eyelids were threatening to shut. Feeling a little awkward, he placed his arms along the back of the couch and watched whatever those things were in wrestling suits battle it out in some roller derby.
Nine-thirty rolled around, and Michael was snoring on his leg. Quatre had found interest in ‘Teen Titans’, and Jake came back up front, wincing at them both. He’d taken a shower, and Quatre tried not to look too interested in the way his faded jersey shorts fit, and the way his plain tee stretched over his shoulders and chest.
“He’s asleep? That was fast. What’d you do, knock him out?” Jake asked him curiously, looking at his son.
“I have the right touch,” Quatre said, grinning as he ran his hand over Michael’s hair. Jake scowled at him, and looked at the tv. He looked back at Quatre with a raised eyebrow.
“Don’t you have school, tomorrow?”
“Are you trying to tell me to leave?”
“As a matter of fact.”
“Fine, fine. Here,” Quatre said, gently pushing Michael to one side, getting off the couch in a way that wouldn’t disturb him. The boy merely resettled back into position, turning his back to them.
Jake took off his socks and pants, and let him sleep in his tee and underwear, since it was so hot out.
Quatre stretched his limbs, and winced as his back popped. “Well, thanks for dinner. Saved me from eating out.”
“Whatever.”
“So...uh...what was Stanton like?”
“School? High school?”
“Yeah...”
“Filled with rich kids. Why?”
“I don’t know. What kind of crowd did you hang out with?”
“The bad ones.” Jake shrugged a shoulder. “I partied a lot. Since I was in seventh grade.”
“Ah...drinking? Drugging?”
“Both.”
“And you quit? Just like that?”
“Yeah. No rehab, no nothin’. Just straight out.”
Quatre cracked his knuckles, staring at the older male closely. Jake looked distinctly uncomfortable, and looked at him just as closely.
“Why?”
“Just...asking. So...what do you mean about ‘partying’...?”
Jake frowned, looking from side to side. “Why the twenty questions?”
“I’m just curious!”
“Go home, Winner.”
“Aw, c’mon!”
“GO. HOME!”
Quatre held his hands up in surrender, took his car keys from the nearby key holder nearby, and sauntered to the door. But before he left, he peeked back in, seeing Jake’s suspicious face peering at him from the living room.
“Hey, one more question...”
“WHAT.”
“Are you for real straight? Or confused?”
He shut the door quickly to avoid being hit by a shoe, and laughed as he left. He felt pretty good, actually. If Felicia’s kind words were a clue, he just may have a chance...
“Lying” Linkin Park
Nearly a week passed since that Monday–Quatre wasn’t thinking too much about that kiss. He wasn’t going to take it out of context. It was probably just...hormones. Yeah. Trowa was bi–he was probably tired of sinking himself into a female every night, and wanted male ass. So he wasn’t going to take it too badly. He hadn’t talked to the guy since then–he’d been too busy with school and work, and Sunday found him relaxing with Jake and Michael. It was nearly eight, and Jake had suggested going down to the basketball courts at their apartment complex to wear his son down for the night.
When Quatre had first arrived at the very numerous and quite cramped complex, he was struck dizzy by the lower class dwellings. He felt a little ashamed, actually, showing off his brand new apartment to someone that lived in a place where shootings were frequent and the apartments were crammed together in a rather upsetting jumble of rooms. They were set on a small hill, and there were seven main buildings that were clustered rather closely to each other. The alleyway that he took to Jake’s back apartment had made him claustrophobic, his shoulders nearly brushing each wall. The stairway was narrow, and the apartments were small.
Jake’s living room was about the size of Quatre’s bedroom; his kitchen and dining room were crammed together almost as an afterthought. The small hall leading into the back bedroom was narrow and thin, and the hall bathroom had enough room for a toilet and a slender sink (it was hard to perform a single turn inside!). The master bedroom was about the size of Quatre’s bathroom, and Jake had managed to fit in a queen-sized bed (on top of a worn wooden bedframe that had stairs leading up to the mattress), a slender telephone stand to use as a night stand, and a massive dresser that was crammed into the closet to allow for room. Mike’s bed was pushed tightly near the closet, and was rarely used, for the boy liked sleeping out on the couch.
The master bathroom was half the size of the bedroom, and was fitted with a tub, sink, and toilet, the area made up comfortably of matching rugs, shower curtain, and towels that were obviously worn and well taken care of.
But there was a sense of coziness and warmth that emanated from the entire apartment that made Quatre immediately comfortable and fuzzy. It was well-kept, clean, and was simple in functioning needs. In the living room was a corner tv stand with a locking cabinet for movies; no coffee table; a single stretch black couch that Jake had recently re-holstered and re-stuffed; worn walk rugs that hid worn holes in the carpet, and a toybox that Jake had made in high school wood shop that held all of Michael’s treasures. The kitchen had an area rug thrown inside (to hide worn tile), and was comfortably set with clean counters, a basket of fruit, and the basic necessities a kitchen needed.
The tiny placed reeked strongly of Jake–the scent was intoxicating, taking Quatre back home, in the comfort of his uncle’s house. It was odd–he stepped in, and felt immediately at home.
But he had come over to hang out. Michael had been excited to see him–as expected. The six year old leapt onto his legs as soon as he walked in. He had grown since Quatre had last seen him before leaving for Laramie. His hair had been shorter, prone to fuzz, but now it was cut in a way similar to his father’s. It hung in his eyes, which were sharp and seemingly weary like his father’s. Even though he had many characteristics of his father, it was obvious he got his expressions and such from his mother. He was gangly, thin, and Jake confessed that he was still wearing 4T clothing. His grandparents were complaining that he wasn’t getting enough to eat, but Quatre had seen the kid’s ‘snack’–a ham sandwich, a bag of chips, two cups of milk. He may have looked tiny, but he had an appetite similar to that of his father’s. Michael spoke more clearly than he had when he was four, and was completing sentences that were similar to an adult’s. He had a serious expression on his face, his smile strained and seemingly forced, and Quatre felt a little sorry for the kid. It was obvious the custody issues were wearing down on him as well.
This, of course, did not deter him from behaving in a hyperactive manner. He was constantly zooming around the apartment, crawling over counters, leaping off chairs, and shouting every answer to a question directed to him.
Jake had suggested the trip to the basketball courts because the dinner he had cooking was still roasting in the oven, causing the entire place to fill with heat. Combined with the late summer heat outside, it was sweltering inside.
So, while Michael gabbed on and on about some kid named Jason’s booger, Quatre stared at the various dwellings they passed while heading toward the court. The children’s playground was in good condition, at least, and the basketball court was nothing more than a stretch of pavement, sagging rims, and bullet riddled backboards. The playground was currently in use by several minority children, all of whom looked related. There were a few women sitting at the park tables, and they watched the two men with interest.
Quatre stepped onto the court, and realized that there were no keys or boundary lines. One just had to imagine them. Jake was shooting down at the other end, and Michael was trying his best to mimic his father’s movements.
Quatre immediately rolled his eyes, and steered Mike to another rim.
“You’re doing it all wrong,” he declared. “Watch the master.”
Michael watched closely as Quatre made a three (at least, he hoped it was) from the left. Michael rebounded, his gangly frame struggling with the ball. He posted himself near the rim, and hurled it with both hands at the backboard. Surprisingly, he made the shot. He looked back at Quatre with a huge grin, and Quatre shrugged.
“Whatever. You don’t even have any muscles in those arms of yours! How do you do it?”
“Easy. I’m manly and tough!” Michael flexed both arms.
“HAH! Check these out, and weep in jealousy,” Quatre barked, displaying his own muscles.
Michael scoffed at him. “Those are PUNY! My dad’s a lot bigger...”
“But then again, so is his head. Look at it. It’s like a freakin’ watermelon!”
Michael turned and looked, then grinned back at him. “He does have a big head, huh?”
“Probably full of air.”
“Not-uh. My dad’s the smartest guy in the world.”
“You know what?”
“What?”
“That worship of yours is going to make you weird when you grow up,” Quatre said, shooting the ball. The rims didn’t have any nets, so the ball fell right through without a sound.
“No, it’s not.”
“Yeah, it will. You’ll be trying to get a girlfriend, and you’ll be picking a girl out that’s just like your dad. So, basically, you’ll be turning out homo. Like me. You want to be a homo?”
“NO!”
“Well, then!”
Michael stared at him skeptically, then scoffed. “Whatever, Q. You just like to make up stories. You’re always lying to me.”
“I never lie. This face never lies...”
“...Really? I mean...about dad?”
Quatre nodded solemnly, dribbling the ball around his ankles. “Yeah. You got to look at another hero. At me.”
Michael stared at him in silence, then burst into giggles. “You’re stupid! You just told me that if I like my dad, then I turn out gay. Then you’re telling me to like you, and you’re gay. I think, either way, I’m screwed.”
Quatre laughed as he made another shot. “Whoops! Too bad, then. You have no future!”
“You’re stupid, Q!”
“Takes one to know one!”
Michael stuck out his tongue, then raced after the ball as it bounced off the rim. He got the ball before Quatre could, and hurled it once more at the rim. Quatre wasn’t about to admit that he was impressed for the small six-year old for making the shot. It appeared that Michael had inherited his father’s genes.
While they were playing, Jake was doing his own thing from the other end of the court, quietly reliving his glory days on the high school basketball team. He missed the familiar sights, sounds, and smells of the basketball court, too caught up in reality to go back there in person. With his ball in hand, playing on a court that was barely fit for casual shooting, he felt that sense of nostalgia that usually left one feeling sick in the stomach, and for wishes to be thought over again.
Sighing, he made a three pointer from the faded line, and glanced over to check on his son. Both Michael and Quatre were involved in a casual shooting match, with Michael trying his hardest to outdo the blond. He had to pause, though, shaking his head with an uncertain frown as he silently questioned Quatre’s maturity level. From the way he was shouting and carrying on, he was acting like a damned kid...
But the thing was, Michael was loving it. His son was getting a kick out of the antics Quatre was performing to entertain him–even Jake had to snicker at the way Quatre was deliberately dribbling the ball in a limp wrist manner, and talking with that cringing lisp he had.
He resumed shooting, watching the ball make a perfect arc through the air and into the net-less rim. He missed ball, and this was the only time he could ever play. He regretted being unable to play any other league, especially for college, but what was done was done. He could only forge forward instead of lingering in the past.
He looked back at the two again, watching as Quatre helped Michael position himself to shoot the ball. The little boy was trying hard to mimic the movement Quatre was trying to help him with, but he was just too small and thin to even accomplish it. To help out, Quatre moved away from him and formed an ‘o’ with his arms, and tried to catch the ball that way when Michael shot.
Really, the guy was good with kids–well, with Michael. He had been since the moment Michael tripped over him in that cafeteria in Roseville over a year ago. Jake had to hand it to him. Maybe it was just because Quatre related to kids in a manner that made it easy for kids to warm up to him. Or perhaps...the blond simply lacked any sense of maturity.
Shaking his head, he walked over to retrieve his ball, picking out the small pebbles that were embedded within the rubber. He looked over again, seeing them whispering to each other in a conspiring way that had him suspicious.
He narrowed his eyes, wondering what sort of trash Quatre was dumping into Mike’s head, now. Really, the little boy looked up to the blond in a wholly unhealthy way. Michael was sure that every word that dripped from Quatre’s mouth was the gospel truth.
He studied the blond from his position, frowning. He noted the boyish grins and the playful expressions, and felt a little odd for noticing them. Really, he shouldn’t be looking at the guy that way...but he couldn’t help but notice how, whenever Quatre smiled, his entire face seemed to light up in glee. Jake forced himself to look away, cursing himself. He shouldn’t be looking at guys like that.
Was it really happening again?
“So,” Quatre began, sinking down onto the sun-warmed pavement, and propping his chin onto his palms. “Just you and your father live there, huh?”
“Yeah. Celia used to, but she didn’t like it. It was too small, she said,” Michael said, dribbling awkwardly. The ball kept hitting his chin, but he was determined to dribble the same way he’d seen his father dribble. “She was always mad about it.”
“You don’t like your mom, huh?”
“Nope.”
“What about your grandparents?”
“They’re okay. But, I don’t like them, either. They took me away from my dad. But, I’m glad that I can still see him. Some kids, when they get taken away, they go with other people. I don’t wanna go with other people.”
Quatre frowned at this, shifting his elbows underneath his chest. “I never got to see my dad. I mean, he was always busy with things. I didn’t like him.”
“How come?” Michael asked, shielding his eyes to look over at him. “He didn’t like you because you’re gay?”
“...Basically. But even before that, I didn’t like him. He was...very controlling. Very...mean.”
“Celia’s mean. She likes to pick on dad. I want to beat her up, but dad says not to hit girls. Only Felicia.”
Quatre laughed again.
“He–” Michael trailed off when the pair heard female voices, and they both looked over to see that the women sitting nearby were calling Jake over to them. Quatre noticed that they were young–around their age. They were pretty ladies–plump from having children and from genetics. They smiled and laughed as Jake walked over, talking to them, obviously knowing them. Michael snorted, dropping the ball.
In mimicry of their voices, he said, “Jaaaaaakkkkeeee....come heeeeeere. Come fix my caaaaaarrr.”
Quatre snickered. But he watched Jake as he talked to the ladies, of whom were laughing too loudly and flipping their ponytails with some finesse. There was something irritating about it all, and he found himself grinding his teeth.
“Do they say that a lot?”
“I don’t like them. All the stupid girls like my dad,” Michael said with an annoyed tone, looking scarily older than he was. He put his hands on his hips, and sashayed around, Quatre laughing at the sight. “I need you to fix my siiiiiinnnnnkkk, Jaaaakkkkeee. C’meeeeere, Jake. My man’s away!”
“They don’t say that!”
“Uh-huh! I know what they do! They’re all whores!”
“You shouldn’t be talking like that,” Quatre scolded between chuckles, picking at the pavement.
Meanwhile, Jake snorted at the questions that were being flung his way.
Desmonda, a twenty-three year old with four kids and an abusive man that was away in prison for his latest scandal, was interested in knowing who Quatre was.
“I just wanna know, that’s all,” she said, her plump lips pulled back into a smile. “He’s cute for a white guy!”
“Trust me, he’s not interested,” Jake said, dribbling the ball.
“Why not?” Estella asked, frowning darkly lined eyebrows. “He single?”
“Um...yes. He is. But...I don’t think he’s looking, right now.”
“How old is he?”
“Ah...I think twenty. He’s three years younger than I am.”
“You’re twenty-two, right?”
“Three in October.”
“Why ain’t he interested in looking?” Desmonda asked, frowning over in the blond’s direction. “I ain’t woman enough? Sucka, I had men bigger than him on top of me!”
“You always have men on top of you, slut!” Estella crowed, slapping her knees.
“I ain’t complaining...Just wondering why I ain’t good enough. It’s cuz I have kids, huh?”
“No,” Jake laughed, twirling the ball in the air. “It’s not that. Just...trust me on this, all right?”
“He get along good with your kid, man,” Monie said with a wave of her head. “Uh-uh. Your kid the spawn of Lucifer an’ all that.”
“Hey, c’mon...”
“Celia, man. Celia’s Lucifer’s whore, man,” Estella said, slapping hands with Monie. Jake looked pained, but he laughed. “So he is the spawn, basically!”
“Don’t talk bad about her, girls.”
“Whatever, Jake. You know she’s bad!” Desmonda said, frowning up at him. Her shapely form was adjusted as she wiggled her sweats over her ample bottom. “I ain’t telling or talkin’ shit! We all know what your relationship was like with her!”
“Yeah. We all heard it around the fuckin’ court yard, yo,” Estella said with a scoffing expression. “You ain’t exactly quiet when ya’ll fight. I’m surprised the kid could still hear!”
“It wasn’t that bad...”
“C’mon, introduce us!” Monie said excitedly, thrusting her hair behind her shoulder. “He’ll be interested!”
“I don’t think so...honestly. Trust me. He won’t.”
“He gay?”
“Uh...that’s for him to say. I don’t know him very well.”
“He is, ain’t he? Shit,” Desmonda pouted, then grinned. “Well, I’ll just introduce him to my cousin, Pedro! Pedro likes them white boys!”
“PEDRO? Gah! GIRL! Pedro’ll kick your ass for talking shit like that!” Monie shrieked, laughing as she bounced up and down on the seat.
Jake thought of the multi-tattooed man that walked about in a wife-beater and Dickies, and snorted. He began dribbling the ball once more, shaking his head.
“Call him over here, Jake! Hurry!” Estella begged, gesturing over at Quatre. “We wanna talk to him!”
“Ah...no. I don’t want to be involved.”
“CALL HIM! HEY! YOU! WHITE BOY!”
“Shut up! He don’t want to talk to you girls, and he’s entertaining my son,” Jake said, playfully nudging her ankle. “Leave him alone.”
When Quatre glanced over, one of the ladies, a Hispanic woman in a pink tracksuit and annoyingly long nails, was playfully poking one of those fake plastic talons into Jake’s arm. The guy laughed and said something that made the others laugh. The kids in the background were forgotten as all the ladies’ attention was directed to Jake.
“That’s what mom said all the time.” Michael was frowning in that direction, Quatre looking up to see the little boy’s face cross with his thoughts. “She didn’t like them, either. She always got mad when dad did go fix whatever. Dad’s smart that way. He fixes anything. But mom, Celia always didn’t like it. She said they were whores trying to steal him.”
“They could be really nice, y’know...”
“Not-uh. All they want is dick. That’s what Celia said.”
Quatre was laughing again. “If your dad heard you talking like that, he’s going to ground you.”
Michael sniffed haughtily.
“I can’t get in trouble if its true. And they talk funny. ‘Hi, Jake’!” he warbled in a high octave, fluttering a limp wrist about.
“They’re probably lonely. And he’s single. They just want another guy to talk to.”
“They ain’t coming to my home,” Michael muttered, picking at the stones in his shoes. “Their kids are brats.”
“And you’re not?”
“No.”
Quatre chuckled again, and reached over to ruffle his hair. “Sometimes, you’re okay.”
Michael grinned at him, and stood up. “I’ll play you.”
“All right. But you better make it good, or else I’m going to hang you from the rim by your underwear.”
“Not uh!”
“Yeah huh!”
“Not uh!”
“Yeah–”
Jake walked over, twirling the ball on top of one finger. Michael turned to him, and threw the ball at his knees, causing him to stumble. “Whore!”
“Mike!” Quatre scolded. “You don’t call your dad a whore. He’s a man-slut.”
“Oh. Right.” Michael turned and grinned gratefully at him.
“Don’t be teaching him that!” Jake sighed, giving Quatre an exasperated look. He looked back down at his son, who was now scowling at him. “What’s your problem?”
“Don’t talk to those girls, dad!” Mike whined, giving him a dirty expression. “They’re not good!”
“How would you know? Have you been running around with them?”
“Daaaaddd....I just don’t like them. I don’t like it when you’re with them! They’re dirty!”
“Mike, you don’t know that. And keep your voice down! It’s not nice to talk about people like that...”
“I do too! That’s why they have all those kids with different men! They just want one of yours!”
Jake rolled his eyes, but flushed with color, giving an amused Quatre an embarrassed look. “Where do you GET this stuff? Have you been talking with your mother again? You know she’s just making stuff up...”
“I don’t want them! I don’t want them for my mom!” Michael began shouting, furiously growing red. It was obvious that the subject was upsetting for him, and Quatre looked at him in concern, while Jake looked troubled about the entire thing.
“Mike, it isn’t–”
“It is too! You’re looking at them! I don’t want them!”
“Mike, chill out, all right?”
“NO! NO! NO! I HATE THEM! THEY AREN’T GOOD!”
“Sheesh, little guy. Nothing’s going to happen,” Quatre said, getting a little nervous as Mike’s voice grew louder and louder, Jake looking more and more upset at the exchange. The blond crouched, looking into Mike’s face. “Look, he isn’t going to go for them, all right? Just like you said, he’s smarter than that. He’ll look for a guy, instead.”
Michael looked confused as Jake kicked Quatre in the side, knocking him down into the pavement. Then, he laughed shakily.
“You’re so dumb, Q!” Michael said, giggling as he dive-bombed the blond. “Why do you always say dumb things?”
“I never lie!”
“Liar!”
Jake rolled his eyes and continued shooting as the two continued to do their thing on the pavement. He glanced back at the women, who were looking their way, and talking quietly amongst themselves. When they noticed him looking in their direction, he grew distinctively uncomfortable and focused on his shots. He knew dating would have an effect on Michael–he just hadn’t been sure how much. Knowing that Michael was upset about the subject, he felt a little down that he would have to hide whatever dating he managed to get from his son.
Which was okay, really–he wasn’t planning on having potentials meet Michael right off the bat. Mainly because it would be upsetting for the boy, and upsetting on his date. Michael wasn’t exactly fond of new people, and made it very clear. Quatre and a few others were the only ones the boy seemed to approve of.
After dinner, at the apartment, Michael was sitting in front of the television set, watching his nightly Cartoon Network line-up. Jake was doing the dishes, and Quatre was exclaiming at his Wall of Fame, where he saved all his awards and newspaper clippings for over seven years. It wasn’t much, but the blond was impressed by what he found.
“Man, this is all bull!” Quatre was saying, touching an article written about Jake in his freshmen year at Stanton. “These people don’t know talent! They take note of trash, but not talent.”
“Quit your jealousy, Winner,” Jake chuckled, focusing on his baking pan, which was dark with scorch marks.
“You played in the Western Conference? Fucker.”
“Where were you? Oh, yeah, right–still living in hickville.”
“Fuck you. So?” Quatre moved away from the Wall, and glared at Jake as he sat down on one of the stools that lined the back counter. They had eaten in the living room, but due to Michael’s insistence that he shut up during his cartoons, he was hanging out in the kitchen. “So, he has a big problem with you dating, huh?”
Jake shrugged, rinsing off what he’d washed. “All kids do. It’s natural.”
“So...you haven’t gone out with anybody since...his mom?” Quatre asked incredulously, blinking. “How long ago was that?”
“Will you drop the subject? It’s none of your business...”
“Ooh, someone’s a little sore. Rosy Palmer getting old?” Quatre ducked the wet washrag that was set to his face, and chuckled. He reached out to play with the tiny knife grooves on the countertop. “You know, my offer still stands on the baby-sitting thing.”
“There’s no way I’m leaving my son in your hands, Winner. And besides,” Jake added, frowning in his direction, “I’m not interested in anybody.”
“How can you not?”
“It’s not like there’s an abundance of chicks at the garage, Winner!”
“So? What about the ones that come in, all helpless and needing of your assistance?”
“They’re taken. And I don’t do that cheating thing. And those that do, I look down on.”
“Oh, c’mon, you hypocrite! I’ll bet you have a few times. Helped someone cheat on someone.”
Jake sighed, and looked over at him, raising his eyebrows. He had the uncomfortable feeling that Quatre was flirting with him. It left him with a sour taste in his mouth, and caused him to fumble with the last of his dishes.
It wasn’t the kind of flirting that the girls had done with him–more of a...constant teasing in a...non male-friendly way.
“Are you trying to start something?”
“No...can’t you tell I’m being snoopy?” Quatre leaned on his palm, frowning at him. He took in the weary expression on the older male’s face. He had the impulse to leave his stool and work at a back rub on the stiff, broad shoulders. But Jake would probably turn around and break both of his hands for even attempting. “Lay off the old guy attitude, man. Relax.”
“...Sorry. Whatever. No, I’d like to date, but I haven’t the time, nor the interest in doing so.”
“You’re still in love, aren’t you? With her?”
“NO,” Jake answered in disgust, turning away from the dishes. Wiping his hands on the nearby rag nearby, he reached for his cup of milk and downed it, rinsing it out afterward. “Never. Never again. It’s over and done with.”
Quatre studied him for a few moments, then shrugged. “How long has it been since her?”
“Well..shit...over...hmm. Well, we broke up for final when I was a junior, so...I don’t know. Over three years?”
“And NO ONE SINCE THEN?”
“NO! Man, what is it with you and this subject?”
“I’m just trying to determine who the bigger loser is between the both of us. So far, you’re winning,” Quatre answered, flicking at the grooves.
Jake narrowed his eyes at him, then looked over at Michael. Lowering his voice, he said, “I may not have dated, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t hooked up.”
“So...you had ass?”
“I had pussy since then.”
Quatre grinned at him. “But was it good?”
Jake stared at him for a few moments, then shook his head in disgust once more. He took out his wallet, and handed over twenty bucks. Quatre blinked at the bill in confusion.
“Use that, take Fifty-First East, then turn right at the lights. You’ll see a big blinking sign, reading ‘McDougal’s’. It’s a male brothel, and–”
“FUCK YOU!”
Jake laughed, taking back the twenty bucks, then studied it. “Hell, this probably wouldn’t even get you a handjob.”
“Go to hell. I hope you die, asshole.”
“You’re so hard up on the subject!”
“...I was just being curious.”
“Be ‘curious’ with someone else’s sex life, then, fucker.”
Quatre grumbled to himself, then narrowed his eyes. “And, anyway...what was Celia like, anyway?”
“Blond, slutty, and incredibly spoiled. Why?”
“Do you prefer blonds, or brunettes?”
“Why are you asking me all this?”
“Well? Which one?”
“...Depends.”
“Chunky? Thin? Tall? Short?”
Jake leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. Quatre gave him an innocent expression, picking at his hangnail.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothin’. What are you doing?”
“Stop playin’, Winner. What are you doing?”
“Look, fine, you wanna be so cold. All I’m doing is trying to find out what you’re looking for in a girl, all right? And then...I’ll find her.”
“Winner, fuck that bullshit! I TOLD you, I’ve seen your taste in guys! There’s no way in hell I’m trustin’ your taste in girls! I’ll find my own girl, thank you.”
“Are you even interested in girls?”
“Are you interested in eating my fist?”
“...does it come with whipped cream?”
Michael poked his head around the counter, looking at them both. “What are you two talking about?”
“Nothin’. Go watch tv,” Jake said, gently pushing him back in that direction. Michael ran across the short space between the kitchen and the living room, and flew onto the couch, sitting on his knees to watch tv. Jake turned back to Quatre, and growled, “And STOP with the bullshit!”
Quatre shrugged, chewing at his hangnail. His cell rang, and he dropped the subject, looking at the number. Seeing that it was Felicia’s number, he winced and let it go to his answering service. Moments later, Jake’s phone rang, and the older male went to answer it. Quatre frowned at his own phone. He got up from the stool and walked out, sitting next to Michael to watch ‘Mucha Lucha’. Michael curled up against his side, and Quatre looked annoyed at the little boy, who was picking his toes and watching the screen at the same time.
Jake was laughing at something over the phone, and Quatre looked over wistfully, wondering who it was he was talking to. He looked back at his cell to see if Felicia was done leaving a message, and set it aside.
“Winner! Here,” Jake then said, holding out his phone. Quatre answered it, hearing a feminine belch on the other end.
“Why did I know you were going to be there?” Felicia asked, chuckling.
“Bitch. What are you implying?”
“I just tried calling your cell. When no muthafucka answered, I called Jake. An’ he said you were there. Shit, Quat. You’re a dirty playa, goin’ for both the kid and the dad.”
“You’re sick.”
“As a dawg, sucka! Anyway...I never got back to you, didn’t I? Let’s get something clear, here, Winner,” she said in a mimicry of Jake’s voice, “it’s obvious ya’ll got somethin’ for him. Just confess to me, an’ I’ll help you out.”
“I’m not confessing to something that’s not even true!” Quatre shouted.
“I’ll tell hiiiimmm!”
“And I’ll tell Max I’ll take up on his offer!”
“You wouldn’t! He’d stay with you forever!”
“I would! And I would rub it in your fucking face!”
“WHORE!”
“SLUT!”
“Fine. Fine. But let’s get a few things in the clear, o gay fag friend of mine,” Felicia’s voice took on a sultry tone, and he could just see the grin she had plastered on her face, “I don’t set up my fag friends with straight people. Just ta get things in the clear–ask him, without letting him know where ya’ll got the info from, about his two very close friends back in Stanton. In other words, ask him about his partyin’ days. Capice?”
“Why?”
“Just do.”
“What’s that about?”
“JUST DO IT, FAG! And get back to me in the morning. Goddamn it, if it all ends up that Mike’s my fuckin’ Godchild in the end, so be it! Peace!”
Quatre gaped at the phone in his hand, and rammed it back onto the receiver with an annoyed puff. He looked back to see Michael still watching cartoons, but Jake was gone. Probably in the back. He furrowed his brow with concentration, and wondered what Felicia meant by what she said. He walked over to where Michael sat, and sat down roughly on the other end of the couch. Michael turned and laid so that his head was on his thigh, and sighed heavily. Looking over, Quatre could see that the boy was getting pretty sleepy. His eyelids were threatening to shut. Feeling a little awkward, he placed his arms along the back of the couch and watched whatever those things were in wrestling suits battle it out in some roller derby.
Nine-thirty rolled around, and Michael was snoring on his leg. Quatre had found interest in ‘Teen Titans’, and Jake came back up front, wincing at them both. He’d taken a shower, and Quatre tried not to look too interested in the way his faded jersey shorts fit, and the way his plain tee stretched over his shoulders and chest.
“He’s asleep? That was fast. What’d you do, knock him out?” Jake asked him curiously, looking at his son.
“I have the right touch,” Quatre said, grinning as he ran his hand over Michael’s hair. Jake scowled at him, and looked at the tv. He looked back at Quatre with a raised eyebrow.
“Don’t you have school, tomorrow?”
“Are you trying to tell me to leave?”
“As a matter of fact.”
“Fine, fine. Here,” Quatre said, gently pushing Michael to one side, getting off the couch in a way that wouldn’t disturb him. The boy merely resettled back into position, turning his back to them.
Jake took off his socks and pants, and let him sleep in his tee and underwear, since it was so hot out.
Quatre stretched his limbs, and winced as his back popped. “Well, thanks for dinner. Saved me from eating out.”
“Whatever.”
“So...uh...what was Stanton like?”
“School? High school?”
“Yeah...”
“Filled with rich kids. Why?”
“I don’t know. What kind of crowd did you hang out with?”
“The bad ones.” Jake shrugged a shoulder. “I partied a lot. Since I was in seventh grade.”
“Ah...drinking? Drugging?”
“Both.”
“And you quit? Just like that?”
“Yeah. No rehab, no nothin’. Just straight out.”
Quatre cracked his knuckles, staring at the older male closely. Jake looked distinctly uncomfortable, and looked at him just as closely.
“Why?”
“Just...asking. So...what do you mean about ‘partying’...?”
Jake frowned, looking from side to side. “Why the twenty questions?”
“I’m just curious!”
“Go home, Winner.”
“Aw, c’mon!”
“GO. HOME!”
Quatre held his hands up in surrender, took his car keys from the nearby key holder nearby, and sauntered to the door. But before he left, he peeked back in, seeing Jake’s suspicious face peering at him from the living room.
“Hey, one more question...”
“WHAT.”
“Are you for real straight? Or confused?”
He shut the door quickly to avoid being hit by a shoe, and laughed as he left. He felt pretty good, actually. If Felicia’s kind words were a clue, he just may have a chance...