At a bar in the middle of town, on a small side street off Commercial Street, he paid his cover fee and walked to the end of a long bar and ordered a beer. This bar was the oldest one in town; he'd been there before and he knew the dance floor was uneven and lopsided. The music played too loud and people had to shout over each other in order to be heard. When he glanced at the annoying mob on the dance floor jumping up and down, with their arms waving above their empty gay heads, the same feeling of doom he'd experienced earlier grew even more intense. They all seemed to know each other. No one seemed remotely interested in cruising. Elroy had experienced this before, especially in Provincetown, and he started to think he'd made a huge mistake by driving all this way. When single gay men travel in groups they tend to stick together and they don't allow their friends to know they are cruising. Or they are usually too intimidated to cruise other men. And they all wind up going home alone at the end of the night, so they can complain the next day to their best girlfriends about how they didn't get laid. Elroy didn't feel like playing games that night. He didn't want to make new friends or bond with a bunch of queens in bad costumes. He wanted dick.
The air in the bar was thick and it smelled of old wine and cheap cologne. These were the times he missed smoking in bars. He moved closer to the end of the bar and leaned back on his elbows to watch the dance floor. But when he lifted the beer to take a drink, someone banged into his elbow and knocked the bottle right out of his hand.
A man touched his shoulder and said, "I'm sorry, dude. Someone pushed me into you. This place is so fucking mobbed. Let me buy you another."
Elroy's first instinct was to push him back. But he glanced at the man still touching his shoulder and said, "No problem." He had to shout over the music, and even then he couldn't hear his own voice. Then a big drag queen with a bad red wig bumped into him and he wanted to give her a shove right back. He would have shoved her if he'd been alone. But he continued to smile because he didn't want this guy to think the worst of him.
The man leaned forward so he could speak into Elroy's ear without shouting. "What were you drinking, buddy?"
He didn't sound girly; a good sign. Elroy sent him an innocent look and shrugged. This time he reached up and rested his palm on the man's chest and spoke into his ear. "Just beer." He hadn't expected this turn of events. The guy had thick black wavy hair, steel blue eyes, and just the right amount of dark stubble. He was one of the ten other people in the bar not wearing a Halloween costume. He wore a white button-down shirt under a brown leather jacket and jeans.
The guy set one hand on Elroy's back and motioned for the bartender with the other, and he bought Elroy another beer. He handed it to him and spoke into his ear again. This time his lips touched Elroy's ear. "Here you go, man. I'm Ricky." His deep voice made Elroy's knees weak.
Elroy took the beer and smiled. He leaned forward and said, "I'm Mike." Elroy never used his real name in places like this when he was cruising for men. He knew this would be nothing more than a one-night stand and he didn't want to take any chances with his real name. If a guy asked for his phone number later, Elroy would give him a fake one. It was the kind thing to do to with men who might wind up becoming too needy. He'd used the name Mike many times. It was as easy to remember as it was to forget.
Chapter Thirteen
The moment they stepped onto Commercial Street, Elroy noticed the gold wedding band on Ricky's finger. It had been too dark to see it inside the bar. He figured Ricky had taken a short vacation from his regular life that night. Elroy didn't ask any questions, and he pretended not to notice the ring. The ring spoke for itself louder than anything Ricky could have said. Elroy knew if Ricky had wanted to hide it he could have.
Ricky placed his hand with the gold wedding band on Elroypretending-to-be-Mike's back and led him down the street. Even though versatile top Elroy had been in the mood to top that night, he wasn't about to ignore this good-looking man on a mere technicality-the wedding band or the top issue. And Ricky was all man, indeed. From his scruffy dark beard to his large strong hands. That fat little fuck back in Boston, Edwin Sutton, would have given handsome Ricky a bank account in his own name just to sniff his underwear.
As they walked toward the West End of town, Ricky asked, "Where are you parked?" They'd already established the basics inside the bar. Ricky knew Elroy had driven down from Boston and Elroy knew Ricky had a room for the night at a local bed-anbreakfast. He didn't know where Ricky lived and he didn't ask. It didn't really matter to him.
When Ricky asked this, they were approaching Elroy's car near the post office. Elroy felt a quick surge of panic because he'd parked in a handicapped spot and he wasn't visibly handicapped. If this guy was the socially responsible, politically correct type, he might frown on this. So Elroy shrugged and said, "Not far from here. Where are you spending the night?" He'd learned early changing the subject fast had its advantages.
"Up on Carver Street," Ricky said. "I didn't decide to come here until this morning. It's not the best place in town, but it was hard to book anything this weekend on such short notice with so many people in town."
They were only a few blocks from Carver Street. Elroy rested his palm on Ricky's stomach and yawned. He wanted to go back to his room with him. "You were lucky to get a room at all. I wish I'd booked something. I'm exhausted." To make this clear he yawned again and said, "I'd love to just get naked and stretch out in bed."
Ricky's hand went lower and he patted Elroy's ass without caring about passersby. He laughed and said, "I hope you're not too tired to see my room. If you are I'll understand."
Elroy knew he was teasing. He arched his back a little and leaned into Ricky's side, encouraging Ricky's hand to go lower. "I think I can stay awake long enough to see your room." Then he stopped walking, turned to face Ricky in the middle of Commercial Street, and kissed him on the mouth right in front of a group of homely young gay guys all in bad drag.
They kissed so long in the middle of the street that one of Provincetown's local taxi services had to honk to get them to move. Ricky grabbed Elroy's hand and pulled him to the sidewalk. They laughed while the nasty little Provincetown taxi driver shouted, "Get a fucking room." This wasn't unusual in Provincetown, Massachusetts. The queens who went there had more attitude than any other place on the planet, and those who lived and worked there despised the tourists in spite of the fact that these tourists paid their bills. Even the drag queens were mean-and not very well turned out. It was one of the reasons Elroy had always felt so comfortable there. He didn't have to pretend to be polite. He could be even nastier than they were because he could buy and sell them all.
After that, Ricky led him up to where Carver Street crossed Bradford. The lobby of the old broken-down hotel reminded Elroy of a time capsule from the 1980s, with potted palms, large wicker chairs, and threadbare carpets in pink and blue. The paint on the woodwork was chipped and the hardwood floors buckled and squeaked. Though Elroy was not familiar with this bedband-breakfast, he had heard rumors about it. This was the kind of place in Provincetown that didn't change the soap in the bathrooms or the sheets on the beds between guests.
On the way upstairs they passed a painfully thin young man who wore his hair too short for his large nose. A good meal would have done him good; longer hair would have created a miracle. They were still holding hands. The young man gaped at them, turned to see where they were going, and didn't move until he saw them shut the door to Ricky's room and lock it. If Ricky had left the door open, the big-nosed young man probably would have joined them without an invitation. Elroy had also heard this was the kind of place where men left the doors to their rooms wide open, hoping someone will join them.
The room turned out to be even more dismal than the jaded palm tree lined lobby. The bed, although painted black now, reminded Elroy of that hideous 1950s mass-produced red mahogany furniture that had once belonged to someone's grandmother, and now some poor deluded soul thought it was an antique when it was nothing more than old used goods. The bedspread was even worse: a threadbare chenille affair with pink and blue flowers that could have belonged to someone's great-grandmother. The white walls had yellowed with time, the hardwood floors were stained and scratched, and the sheer white curtains on the window had turned a pale shade of gray. And it smelled of dust and damp towels. Elroy shuddered to think about what he'd find if he looked under the bed or behind the tables.
This wasn't the first time Elroy had been in a sleazy hotel room and it wouldn't be the last. Although he never would have booked a room like this for himself, being there with a guy like Ricky only made the experience more exciting. He didn't even wait for Ricky to make the first move. When they entered, Ricky said he had to use the bathroom. Elroy smiled and said, "I'll be here when you get back." Before Ricky had a chance to shake his dick and flush the toilet, Elroy's clothes were piled on a green vinyl Danish modern chair.
When Ricky stepped out of the bathroom, Elroy was already on someone's grandmother's painted bed-sprawled out naked, face down, with his legs spread. He sent Ricky a backward glance and said, "I hope you don't mind if I get comfortable." There were few thrills he enjoyed more than getting naked for a man he'd just met.