I wasn’t sure it was a compliment, but I couldn’t help smiling.
“Is there something memorable about me?” I was genuinely curious.
He reached up and scratched the back of his neck, revealing the swell of his bicep, the tender skin of his under arm, a shade lighter than the rest. And the arrow tattoo.
“I guess so,” he said.
“What is it?” I was making him uncomfortable, but I wished to probe him more, peel him back like the skin of a fruit.
“I don’t know. You’re kind of….” He glanced around to make sure we were alone. “You’re cute. For a straight guy, I mean.” He raised one eyebrow, maybe hoping I’d correct him, a cheeky move.
“What about for a gay guy?” I asked.
He smiled widely and pressed the knuckles of his fist to his open palm. “Yeah. I mean, you’re all right for a gay guy too.”
He was a flirt too, my weakness in men.
“How old are you?” I asked.
“Eighteen.”
“Bullshit.”
He shrugged and smiled like he’d been caught.
Fang came in then and plopped a side of beef onto the counter to carve, breathing heavily and clomping around with his steel-toed boots. I nodded once more to Andre and moved along. I’d wait Fang out.
Later, after we closed, I asked Andre when he got off.
He glanced around at the piles of dishes. He looked like one of those cartoon characters who’d come to a fancy restaurant empty-handed and ordered the most expensive thing on the menu, then got stuck washing dishes. He also didn’t seem very efficient in this line of work. In fact, I wasn’t sure how he even got the job.
“I think it’s going to be a while,” he said, blowing out his breath.
“I’m out,” Fang announced, throwing his apron in a laundry basket. “Take care of these on your way out,” he said to Andre, then glanced up to find me there. His forehead creased, causing his heavy brow to hood his eyes, like two caves. “Front’s closed down,” he said to me. “Hector’s upstairs.”
“I’ll be sure to tell him good night.”
Fang glared at me. “Whatever, player. Take care, Andre.” He made a pistol with his forefinger and nodded once before waddling out the back, letting the screen door slam behind him. I marveled at his departure. I’d never seen Fang be remotely nice to anyone. It was the reason we all called him Fang, instead of his real name, which I’d forgotten.
“How do you know Fang?” I asked Andre.
He frowned. “You mean Roger? He got me this job.”
“Where’d you guys meet?”
Andre’s gaze drifted away, and he shrugged. “I have work to do.”
“I’ll help you.” I began unbuttoning my shirt, so that it wouldn’t get stained. I had an undershirt on underneath.
“Why?” he asked skeptically.
The truth: that something I’d been searching for in all the faces I met or passed by on the street, in all the people I’d painted or observed, in all the smiles and frowns, something about his face told me his was the one I’d been looking for.
“I want to get to know you better,” I said.
“You a perv?” He tilted his head and side-eyed me up and down.
“What?” I stopped unbuttoning my shirt. “No, I’m not a perv.” Was I a perv? Making excuses to hang out with a teenage boy because something compelled me to him. Sounded kind of pervy to me.
