“Spill it, Roly.”
“Well, the night of the dinner, he met someone in the parking lot.”
“A boyfriend?” Oh fuck, I’m going to stroke out. And then throw up.
“No, man. Nothing like that. Um, she was a sex worker. Like a trans or drag sex worker. Who dabbles in meth, apparently.”
I run my hands through my hair, feeling my throat start to spasm and spit start to pool around my back teeth. “Man, do you think he sells… himself? Like that?”
Roly shakes his head and shrugs. “I don’t… think so.”
I swallow, only somewhat relieved. “Goddammit, Roly. Why didn’t you say something before?”
“I didn’t… you know, with the way things with Adrian went down, I… I figured you just wanted someone to show up and do the job and leave, and whatever happens after work is on them.”
“Roly.We run a gym for combat vets.Our biggest charity outlay is to the HVA… what if our employee and my… whatever… is a homeless vet? Howfuckinghorrible would that be?”
His grimace says it all.
I shake my head, a few synapses finally firing. “Wait, no. He talks all the time about how his roommates are super colorful and kinda hard to live with and how he can’t wait to get a better place. I mean… he was just talking the other day about using this paycheck to find a better living situation. Do you think that the trans person mighta been a roommate?”
He is slow to nod but seems to find that acceptable. “That sounds about right. Well, and I doubt he’s been doing a lot of sleeping in his dorm situation or whatever since y’all’ve been fucking each other.” He sticks his tongue out in a lewd way and punches my shoulder.Pinche Roly.
“Okay, spill. How long have you known? Was it the way we were dancing at the dinner?”
Roly laughs and shakes his head. “Well, pretty sure the dinner made it clear to everyone. But nah, bro, pretty sure it was right around the time that we told him we’d given him the promotion. You know, when the weather was bad.”
I feel my cheeks grow a little warm. I can’t help but smile… until the thought of Elijah having to sleep somewhere less than safe and comfortable causes the bile to rise in my throat again.
* * *
After my chat with Roly, I am more and more convinced that I need to see where Elijah’s living for myself. I’ve been hesitant to talk to him about it because he seems ashamed of it, but if he’s staying at some flophouse with hookers everywhere, I’m going to put an end to it, posthaste. This evening, after we close up shop, instead of inviting him to stay with me, I tell him I’m going to San Antonio and that I’ll be back in the morning. He’s disappointed but pulls me in for a hard kiss, then heads out, walking down Seventh toward I-35. I step out to the sidewalk and watch him until he goes under the bridge, and then get into my truck and roll slowly down the street. I stay about two blocks behind him, feeling like a total creeper.
As I’m rolling under the bridge, I realize that ARCH—the Austin Resource Center for the Homeless—is just on the other side of the highway. Five blocks from the shop, well within walking distance.
I lose him for a moment in the crowd of people waiting for entry on this chilly night, and then I spot him. He’s getting in line.
God, Iwishhe’d had a sugar daddy.
I’ve made several donations to ARCH over the years, and something like shame creeps in on me. I think about how I was not exactly nice to him when he started, when all he’d wanted to do was fight his way back from… this. I think back to our interview, when he joked that his goal was to put food on the table, and how quickly he’s bulking up, and I wonder how many nights he went to sleep hungry. I’m trying to figure out how someone with four years of Army experience could be homeless, for Christ’s sake. He should be able to get a job with that, surely. It’s bad in a lot of places, but the Austin job market is pretty good. Why the hell is he in line at a homeless shelter?
As I’m sitting there like a first-class weirdo, one of the ARCH employees comes out and announces they’re topped out for the night. The look on Elijah’s face just kills me. It’s as if the weight of the building itself is on his shoulders, and the disappointment on his face makes him look worn and tired. Older than his few years. I think about how I’d considered giving him a key to my place and hadn’t, because that was too fast, or whatever. Motherfuck.
Austin is usually either baking or temperate, but tonight is definitely going to be below freezing. Just last month I’d given a donation for blankets.
The kinds of blankets they’re passing out now.
The kind of blanket that Elijah is taking for himself.
Jesus Christ.
I don’t want to embarrass him, but there’s no way I’m going to let him sleep outside in this weather. I park my truck at the curb and roll down the window.
“Elijah!”
The shout startles him, and when he sees me, his face drops. Fuck, his expression. He hesitates, considering whether or not to… I don’t know, run? Or simply ignore me. But he can see that I’m not going to go, and people are starting to stare and make comments.
He approaches the truck, and my heart falls to the pit of my stomach. He’s biting the inside of his cheek, looking very much like somebody who does not want tears to fall. He’s barely successful.
