Читать книгу Miami Manhunt - Johnny Diaz - Страница 11

“Do you think there will be some cute guys?” I turn to Ray who is sitting shotgun in my BMW grooving to the Scissor Sisters. We’re cruising along the MacArthur Causeway with the Port of Miami to our left and Star Island to our right. It’s another sundrenched South Florida day, and I’m glad I put on my Clinique moisturizer and sunscreen although I don’t think I can get any darker than I am. It’s my Portuguese DNA. My Portuguese cousins and I look like we could be Greg Louganis’s relatives even though he’s Samoan. My cousins from my dad’s side of the family look like your typical Boston Irish descendants with the fair skin and blue or green eyes. And some of them shared the same racist attitudes, looking down on people not quite as light as them and making people feel like outsiders. I remember one time at my Uncle John’s birthday party in Quincy, my cousins Trish and Marty, part of the Williams, Cunninghams, and Cavanaugh brood, kept calling me and my sister Lourdes sand-niggers and spics. We were ten years old, and it stings just as bad now as it did then. It was one of the last times my mother ever let us visit, and the incident put a further strain between my dad and his family because you know the kids picked the words up from my uncle and aunt. So I always felt more at home with my mom’s side of the family, and among Latinos especially, with the last name Martinez. My mom’s side of the family and even Ray’s familia are a lot like me, very affectionate/lovey-dovey/let’s-throw-a-party. My dad’s family is stiff, silent, and let’s go-to-prayer-meeting people. Among Cubans or just Latinos in general, I feel accepted and loved. I feel I’m among my own, especially here in Miami where I’m part of the brown rainbow of Hispanics and Latinos. In Boston I usually stood out in the bars and school and surprised people by speaking English perfectly sans accent and being (surprise!) on TV.

“I don’t know Ted. This is a book club, not Score. We’re hear to read and engage in lengthy discussions about specific literary works. I want to find a new book to read and perhaps, meet some other intellectual men to interact with beyond the ‘Where do you work out?’ bronzed muscle gods we meet out and about. I dunno about you though,” Ray says, lifting his sunglasses and his thin black eyebrows to make his point. When he’s done speaking, he lets his shades fall back into place. I now can see myself talk again in the reflection of his Ray-Bans.

“Well, you never know. There might be a hunk in the crowd that never goes out. I doubt these guys go out much if they’re meeting on a beautiful Sunday afternoon…in a bookstore!”

“Bueno, we’ll see.” Ray says, wearing his Lethal Weapon black T-shirt, another freebie from his job, his Old Navy shorts, and Converse sneakers. He looks like a big kid who would be seen hanging outside a mall and smoking a cigarette. I went for my usual preppy look: a beige Polo shirt, dark blue khaki shorts, and boat shoes. “If anything, Gilbert’s Bakery is around the corner. We can get some cafecito y pastelitos. Yum. They make the best ones. You can smell their succulent aroma while driving down Le Jeune. My parents would take me and Racso there on Sundays after lunch at La Carreta when we were little.”

Fifteen minutes later after passing rows of bridal shops and hair salons on Miracle Mile, I pull up to a meter outside the small bookstore. I see a small crowd gathering inside. I pop my top back up on the BMW, and Ray and I walk into the store and take off our sunglasses in slow motion like David Caruso on CSI: Miami.

And so it begins.

“Hey! Aren’t you Ted Williams from Channel 7?” an older woman in her sixties with bright red dyed hair that matches her nails greets me. I smile and shake her hand, thanking her for watching the station. Ray rolls his eyes. This rarely happens to him, but I guess he’s used to it happening to me. It’s those bus ads and billboards, I tell you.

We pass a cashier standing in front of a wall of books and magazine racks. We make our way deeper into the store. In the back, a small group of chairs form a circle and we see about ten men sitting there. This must be it. Ray and I sit down side by side, and we make ourselves comfortable as some classical music softly plays in the background. This is quite cozy. I’ve been to Books & Books on Lincoln Road, but guys use the books there for towel weights for the beach. It’s also a stopping ground when guys get to Score too early. They come in to mosey around the store and pretend to eye some good book or magazine when they’re really eyeballing each other. I know this because I’ve done this myself. But I do pick up the Wall Street Journal there sometimes and Newsweek. I’m more of a newsmagazine guy.

The Gables Books & Books is much larger, with a courtyard in the middle. It’s really quiet in here. It reminds me of the kind of place that makes you want to sit on the floor, hide in a corner, and read a good book, like I did back at the Sandwich Public Library on the Cape when I was younger.

“They have some coffee. Want some?” Ray offers, getting up from his seat.

“Sure, low-fat milk. I’m trying to watch my figure, Ray.” He rolls his eyes again at me. With his glares, Ray should be called Captain Obvious or Sarcastic Martinez.

I’m sitting here in a half-moon group of chairs, and the ten other guys are waiting for the book club organizer to arrive. Some of the guys start introducing themselves. I hear a Todd, Omar, Tom, Bill, Jose and Mark among the exchange of greetings. Not the handsomest bunch with their beer bellies, big noses, receding hairlines and unkempt hair. Most of the guys here appear to be in their thirties and forties. This could easily be a meeting for the Unlucky In Looks club, but I shouldn’t talk.

“Hi, I’m Ted Williams. Nice to meet you all. This is my first time at a book club meeting.”

“Hi, Ted!” the group greets me back, as if I were in an AA meeting or something, not that I’ve ever been to one.

Ray returns back with two small coffees from the little café inside the bookstore and hands me my drink.

“This is Ray everyone!” I say.

“Hi, Ray!” the group responds. Ray nods, smiles, and sips his coffee as if embarrassed by all the attention. The guys all smile at him.

I see a tall handsome man, in his forties I suspect, approach the group from the backroom of the store. He sits in one of the chairs with some books in his hands. I’m smitten. This man has salt and pepper cropped hair, icy-blue eyes, thick charcoal eyebrows, and a chiseled jaw. He’s got some crow’s-feet around his eyes, but it works for him. I notice his biceps framed by the snug navy blue Polo blue shirt and beige khaki shorts. (We match!) He’s about to speak. I elbow Ray in his side so he can check out the guy.

Ray widens his crystal blue eyes to give me another one of those will-you-stop-it looks. This reminds me of our time at UM where I wrote him silly notes during our Law and Ethics or Feature Writing classes.

“Hello everybody! I’m so glad you all could make it to our inaugural Books & Books Gay Book Club gathering. We’ve wanted to do this for a long time. My name is Richard, and I’m a manager here at the store. Let’s all introduce ourselves.”

We already did that but we do so again because it’s what Richard asks, and if he asked me to, I’d give him my car. He’s that hot! He reminds me of some of the older Irish guys in Boston with their blue-collar street hunky appeal.

We all introduce ourselves, and as I say my name, Richard’s eyes lock on me for one…two…three seconds. He’s interested. I knew it! I may have an exclusive here, people.

Richard continues with the formalities.

“Since this is our first meeting, I wanted to bring some new and old gay literary books that we could decide to read. The idea is to pick two books out of the batch and then we’ll meet up in a month and dissect them. Forgive me if you have read any of these. I tried to choose a wide range of gay novels,” he says handing out a list of ten books for us to choose from.

He holds up each book and talks a little about them. There’s the Anderson Cooper memoir Dispatches from the Edge. I notice some guys make some smirks and tsssks. One guy makes a gagging vomiting sound in the corner. Luckily, I’m blessed to work for a station that embraces and encourages me being open in public, but then again, I’m not an anchor. Just a reporter and a co-host of Deco Time. I wonder how they would feel if I was the main anchor?

Richard holds up a fairly new book called Boys of Boston by Tommy Perez, a former News writer now at the Boston Daily. I knew him peripherally, and I’ve heard through the gay media grapevine that he’s a good guy, but I’ve never officially met him. He worked in Fort Lauderdale. My stories are mostly in Miami.

“This one’s a debut novel, about dating in Boston and told through the viewpoints of three different guys. Like a Same Sex in the City. A fun read that explores various issues among today’s gay men,” Richard says enthusiastically.

That sounds like a good book. I’m sure Ray and I could relate. Me because it’s in Boston, and Ray, because he’s Cuban-American, like the author who worked at his paper. Richard continues to rattle off the other books. There’s Where The Boys Are by William J. Mann, an author in Ptown not far from where I grew up on the Cape.

“This is about three guys finding their place in each other’s lives amid the drug circuit party crowd,” Richard explains. I can’t believe I’ve never heard of these books. I don’t have time to read but if I want to keep seeing Richard, I’m going to have to squeeze in some reading rainbow time.

Richard goes on to name the other books, Mysterious Skin by Scott Heim. Ray looks at me and whispers to me that he saw the movie and gave it three stars but wouldn’t mind reading the book to compare the differences.

Richard mentions two other books that don’t seem to stir any interest.

“I vote for Boys of Boston,” announces a stocky guy with a shaved head and brown doe-eyes. He reminds of Charlie Brown, the cartoon character, all grown up. Omar, the Dominican guy with the crew cut and the reading glasses who gagged on the Anderson Cooper book, chimes in, too.

“Yeah, those seem like two different books. Let’s give them a try,” he says.

Richard seems encouraged by the interest among the guys. He leans and holds up the nominated novels.

Just as he does this, I hear Sadeness by Enigma playing in the background. You know the song. It came out in 1991 with the French woman breathing and speaking French to an addictive flute hook. I remember everyone buying the CD to have sex or at least a massage to it because it’s very sensual. I zone out Richard for a second and pick up the song in my head. I see Ray just noticed the song as well. We look at each other with a smirk on our faces and we read each other’s minds. We start to sing some of the French lyrics outloud.

We forget about the book club and start giggling, and some of the other guys give us nasty looks. That’s probably the most French we’ll ever know.

“Um, excuse me fellas. This isn’t a karaoke bar. It’s a book club. Can we get back to the book list?” Richard says, gesturing with his hand for us to join him back to reality.

“Sorry, Richard. Ray and I used to always make fun of that song in college,” I say.

“We couldn’t resist,” Ray says.

“So what’s it going to be?” Richard asks.

Ray and I are elbowing each other to speak up and to stop laughing from our Enigma or un-enigmatic performance. We’re like the male versions of Laverne and Shirley.

“I think those two books would be a great start for this book club, right Ray?” I turn to Ray who catches my drift as I point to the Perez book and Mysterious Skin.

“Yeah…yeah…we should have lively discussions on both novels,” he says. “I would be curious to see how much the movie was adapted from the book.”

So Richard decides we’ll read those two books and announces our meeting. He passes a paper around for us to jot down our names, numbers and emails. I fill mine out, keeping one eye on the sheet and the other on Richard. There’s something about this guy. I’ve never seen him out. He seems to be passionate about books and writing. There’s an unassuming twinkle in his blue eyes. He must work out or at least run, because his calves are well-defined, so tight that I could just bite into them. He seems a little older, but maybe that is what I need, a mature guy, not these club twinks or fame fuckers.

“If you go to the cashier, you’ll be able to buy some of these books new or used. Thank you all for coming, and I look forward to meeting with you again,” Richard says, getting up and shaking each of our hands. “Feel free to hang out here and get to know each other.”

As the other guys pull away in different directions, I use this chance for some one-on-one time with Richard. He smiles as he sees me head his way.

“Thank you for coming out Ted,” he says, standing in the middle of the circle of chairs as the other guys head to the cashier to buy the two books. Ray waits for me in the romance section, and he points up at the sign and starts laughing.

“Thank you, Richard. I can’t wait to read these two books. I’m a big reader, you know.”

Ray hears me and pretends to gag his finger into his mouth without Richard noticing.

I turn around and glare at him to stop it and then regain my composure to flirt with this Magnum, P.I. silvery clone.

“I see you all the time on Channel 7 doing your news stories and Deco Time. Maybe you can do a story on the book club one day and show people that South Floridians do enjoy a good book now and then and we’re not all about the beach and the bars,” Richard says, leaning closer to me.

“That sounds like a good story idea. Maybe down the road once the club finds its rhythm,” I say to him, paralyzed by his eyes and his friendly presence. I can see Richard and me having dinner one night on South Beach, taking a long walk along the seawall on Ocean Drive, maybe even having a picnic at Vizcaya’s lush gardens. As I drift deeper into the daydream imagining him hugging Max in my house, I hear his voice summoning me from the dream.

“Ted…Ted…are you with me?” he says, and oh yes, I’d love to be with him I think to myself.

“Yeah, still here.”

“Well, it was nice meeting you. I have to go help some customers and make some phone calls on some orders in the back. Thank you for coming, and we’ll see you next month,” Richard says as Enya softly begings her Orinoco Flow on the store’s speakers. I haven’t heard this song in ages. I shake his hand firmly again.

“Yeah, same here. See you soon.”

He walks off and thanks Ray and the other guys for coming as well.

Ray walks toward me with a mischievous look on his face.

“So I guess you scored at Books & Books,” Ray says, carrying his two books around in his arms as if he was in high school. Ray really does have this boyish thing about him. Because of his black hair, blue eyes, and slight build, he reminds me of a real-life, adult version of Pinocchio but one who smokes Marlboro Lights.

“Well, not exactly. He didn’t ask me out or anything. The way I see it, I can win him over with my deep understanding of gay fiction. It will be like reading books for our lit courses at UM all over again.”

“Don’t you mean gay dick-tion, Ted?” Ray teases, making a phallic gesture with his tongue and the side of his cheek.

“Yeah that too Cuban boy! Did you like any of the guys from the book club?” I ask, standing behind Ray at the cashier.

“No one is really my type. I can’t imagine bringing any of these guys back to my parents’ house.” Now I’m rolling my eyes at Ray.

“Just because you can’t picture it doesn’t it mean it can’t happen. Look, I found Richard to be interesting. Maybe you can find one of the other guys interesting too,” I say, as Ray pays the elderly woman working the register.

“What are you, the gay Yoda?”

“No, just a friend who wants you to give someone a chance for once,” I say.

“We’ll see Ted. We’ll see,” Ray answers. When he doesn’t know how to respond to something, he says “It depends,” or “We’ll see.” They’re his diplomatic answers for any situation, and you know what? It works.

“I’m looking forward to reading the Tommy Perez book. I’ve never read Hispanic gay fiction before. His picture is cute too. Now see, Ted, this is my kinda guy. Young, Cuban, a writer. Too bad I never had a chance to meet him when he was at the News. People think everyone knows each other at the paper, but it’s like one big city with bureaus all over the county and Broward. So sometimes, we meet other writers and editors by accident.”

“Well Ray, maybe your fellow cubanito writer may come down and do a book reading or something here since he’s from here,” I say, paying for my two books.

“We’ll see. We’ll see,” Ray says. And with that, we leave Books & Books and head back outside in the unforgiving Sunday heat to my BMW. We both put our sunglasses back on.

“Gilbert’s Bakery?” Ray asks, as soon as he hops back into the passenger seat.

“Definitely,” I say, as I pull away from Andalusia Avenue and head to Gilbert’s. The whole drive there, I notice Ray skimming the Perez book as if it were a lost treasure he just discovered. I really do think he’s going to like it as will I. But I have something else sweet on my mind besides the Cuban pastries, and his name is Richard.