“Tell me you’re not sleeping with him.”
“I’m not sleeping with him, but he is staying at my place.”
“Martin,” she complained.
“He needed a place to stay.”
She got a faraway look in her eyes then, like she was remembering something from her distant past. “Yeah, let’s go dancing. I’ll be over after I shower. We can take your car.”
Later that night we headed down to SoBe, the three of us, to hit up the strip. Andre wore one of my black V-necks and his blue jeans. Melissa wore a tight strapless dress, and I wore slacks and a collared shirt, since I didn’t feel right about wearing a T-shirt to go out, though Andre wore mine well. We went to a place called the Top Hat because I knew we could get him in underage, since we were friendly with management. The bouncer looked him over appreciatively and winked at me. I blushed but also felt pretty proud. Beauty, in whatever form, is a blessing to behold.
We bought a round of drinks and meandered out to the dance floor. The music was hot and so was the crowd. Before long we were all grinding to the music, hip to hip, chest to chest, bodies coalescing to become one living, breathing organism. We were sweating and tipsy, gyrating on each other. The bass was the heartbeat of the dance floor, and we obeyed. Andre had a perma-grin he couldn’t wipe off his face. “I fucking love Miami,” he kept shouting with his drink in the air, while guys and girls vied for the chance to get up next to him, to put their hands on him, to move with him.
He was a ticking time bomb.
“Buy me a drink,” Melissa said and pulled me off the dance floor. We headed for the upstairs bar, which was less crowded and overlooked the dance floor. Andre caught my eye as I climbed the stairs, lifted his glass as if to toast me. I responded in kind.
“That boy is going to ruin you,” Melissa said darkly. I smiled at the thought of it. I was enamored with him, truly. Would it be so terrible to be ruined by him?
“Seriously, Martin, he’s like the last cold beer in a sea of thirsty alcoholics.”
I glanced down at him. A woman had her lacquered nails around his neck, her ample bosom pressed up against his chest. Behind him a man in a Scully shirt had his hands on Andre’s hips. Andre’s smile lit up the room. He was a beautiful boy in a city of beautiful people. Miami was his homecoming. I remembered how voraciously he ate all the new fruits earlier that day, like a kid in a candy shop. He would never want for attention around here. Men and women would shower him with gifts and affection. In this city opportunity comes knocking for beautiful boys. I doubted he’d be a dishwasher for long.
Melissa was right. He was going to ruin me.
“There’s something about him,” I said. “I can’t take my eyes off him.”
“You’re going to fall for him,” she said with conviction, “and he’s going to break your heart.”
“How do you know that?”
She sighed and shook her head. “It took me so goddamn long to find you.”
I studied her. When we met I was still in art school. She came to an open house at the school’s studio where I had a few pieces on display. She introduced herself. We hooked up. And then we became friends and business partners. We were never more than that. “Is this about us?” I asked. Maybe she was jealous, unlikely but not impossible.
“Listen to me, Martin.” She set our drinks on the bar, then grabbed my shoulders. Her eyes drilled into mine. “You have an incredible talent, one that doesn’t come around very often. Not in a hundred years. I want you to do well for yourself. I want the world to see what you have to offer. You’re better than her. She’s just going to drag you down.”
“Who are you talking about?” I asked.
“Simone,” she spat. The name dripped with venom.
Hairs rose up on the back of my neck and a chill ran down my spine, tickling my toes. It was the same name I’d called out in my sleep earlier that morning. “Who’s Simone?”
She looked up at me. Her eyes slowly focused on mine. She was drunk, but not that drunk. She looked guilty, like she was hiding something from me. “Andre,” she said.
“You said Simone.”
“Who’s Simone?”
“Fuck if I know. You said it.”
“You’re drunk, Martin.”
But I wasn’t drunk, and I knew what I heard. She was being dodgy as fuck. My arms still had goose bumps on them and my heart was racing. “What’s going on, Melissa? Who’s Simone?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’m exhausted.” She yawned, a little too on point. “Stay out with your boy toy. I’m going home.”
“I’ll wait outside with you until your Uber comes.” I wanted to grill her for more information. It couldn’t just be a slip of the tongue, a mere coincidence.
