He didn’t even glance in my direction, so I pulled off the road, parked halfway on the sidewalk, and ran to catch up with him. Lucky for me, I was pretty fit. When I finally reached him, I was out of breath, still jogging to keep up with him.
“Hey, man, look, I know you’ve had a rough time. You’re running away from something, and you needed a place to stay, whatever. I’m not judging you.”
“Like hell.” He didn’t pause in the least. If he started running, I wouldn’t catch him.
“Just let me give you a ride. I won’t say another word.”
“You don’t know me, Martin.”
“You’re right. I don’t know you.”
“Then why you trying to get all up in my guts?”
“I’m not. I mean….” What the hell was he even talking about? “Can I just give you a ride home?”
He stopped abruptly and rolled his eyes until they met with mine.
“Why do you even care?”
“I don’t know.” I grasped at an answer but found none. “I just do.”
He crossed his arms and stared at the sidewalk, pouting like a little kid. It felt to me as if everything depended on his answer. I held my breath and silently prayed he’d let me in.
“Fine, you can give me a ride. But I want to drive.”
I walked with him back to my car, giving him the physical and mental space he needed. At my car I tossed him the keys. He took forever adjusting the mirrors, kicking back the seat to fit his long legs, reclining it so that he was “laid back,” finding a station on the radio that suited him, adjusting the volume and the bass, and then the volume again.
“Yeah.” He nodded when he reached the optimal sound settings. “All right, let’s ride.”
It seemed anticlimactic to take him straight home, so I suggested we cruise South Beach since he said he hadn’t been by there yet. Once on the strip, he rubbernecked it so much I worried he was going to mow down a pedestrian. There were people crawling all over the neon-lit avenue, women and men in stilettos, skintight sequined dresses, big hair, painted faces, people making out, dancing, fighting in the streets. SoBe was messy, unpredictable, exciting, and sometimes depressing all at once. I never tired of it, but seeing it through Andre’s eyes made it fresh. I imagined what it must be like for him, a country boy from Alabama, cruising through this madness, everyone letting their freak flags fly, without the worry of being judged or hated on simply for being yourself.
“I love Miami,” he shouted with glee.
“Want to stop?”
“No.” He glanced over at me. “Not tonight. But some other time?”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “You like to dance?”
“Hell, yeah,” he said. “You?”
“I’m Cuban. I could rhumba before I could walk.”
We came up on the causeway, and I decided to pitch something I’d been thinking about since I caught up with him on the street. The situation between him and Fang wasn’t likely to change if Andre couldn’t afford his rent.
“You want to stay with me for a while?”
“With you?” He cocked his head, flashing me a sideways grin.
“I have a place. It’s big enough. Closer to work than where you live.”
“What do you want out of it?” he asked as if this was just another in a long line of transactions.
“Nothing. I mean, you don’t have to pay rent right away. Or anything… else for that matter.”Ay Dios mío, it felt like I had marbles in my mouth.
“What do you think about what you saw, between me and Roger?”
I cringed. He certainly didn’t beat around the bush. I didn’t want to embarrass him or scare him off or make him feel ashamed. I knew he was in a desperate situation. Still, I hated seeing him like that, prostrating himself before a sick fuck like Fang.
