Luis Carruthers is, I suppose, incognito. He's wearing some kind of jaguar-print silk evening jacket, deerskin gloves, a felt hat, aviator sunglasses, and he's hiding behind a column, pretending to inspect a row of ties, and, gracelessly, he gives me a sidelong glance. Leaning down, I sign something, a bill I think, and fleetingly Luis's presence forces me to consider that maybe a life connected to this city, to Manhattan, to my job, is not a good idea, and suddenly I imagine Luis at some horrible party, drinking a nice dry rose, fags clustered around a baby grand, show tunes, now he's holding a flower, now he has a feather boa draped around his neck, now the pianist bangs out something from Les Miz, darling.
"Patrick? Is that you?" I hear a tentative voice inquire.
Like a smash cut from a horror movie - a jump zoom - Luis Carruthers appears, suddenly, without warning, from behind his column, slinking and jumping at the same time, if that's' possible. I smile at the salesgirl, then awkwardly move away from him and over to a display case of suspenders, in dire need of a Xanax, a Valium, a Halcion, a Frozfruit, anything.
I don't, can't, look at him, but I sense he's moved closer to me. His voice confirms it.
"Patrick?... Hello?"
Closing my eyes, I move a hand up to my face and mutter, under my breath, "Don't make me say it, Luis."
"Patrick?" he says, feigning innocence. "What do you mean?"
A hideous pause, then, "Patrick... Why aren't you looking at me?"
"I'm ignoring you, Luis." I breathe in, calming myself by checking the price tag on an Armani button-up sweater. "Can't you tell? I'm ignoring you."
"Patrick, can't we just talk?" he asks, almost whining. "Patrick - look at me."
After another sharp intake of breath, sighing, I admit, "There is nothing, not-hing to talk - "
"We can't go on like this,' he impatiently cuts me off. "I can' go on like this."
I mutter. I start walking away from him. He follows, insistent.
"Anyway," he says, once we've reached the other side of the store, where I pretend to look through a row of silk ties but everything's blurry, "you'll be glad to know that I'm transferring... out of state."
Something rises off me and I'm able to ask, but still without looking at him, "Where?"
"Oh, a different branch," he says, sounding remarkably relaxed, probably due to the fact that I actually inquired about the move. "In Arizona."
"Ter-riffic," I murmur.
"Don't you want to know why?" he asks.
"No, not really."
"Because of you," he says.
"Don't say that," I plead.
"Because of you," he says again.
"You are sick," I tell him.
"If I'm sick it's because ofyou," he says too casually, checking his nails. "Because of you I am sick and I will not get better."
"You have distorted this obsession of yours way out of proportion. Way, way out of proportion," I say, then move over to another aisle.
"But I know you have the same feelings I do," Luis says, trailing me. "And I know that just because..." He lowers his voice and shrugs. "Just because you won't admit... certain feelings you have doesn't mean you don't have them."
"What are you trying to say?" I hiss.
'That I know you feel the same way I do." Dramatically, he whips off his sunglasses, as if to prove a point.
"You have reached... an inaccurate conclusion," I choke. "You are... obviously unsound."
"Why?" he asks. "Is it so wrong to love you, Patrick?"
"Oh... my... god."
"To want you? To want to be with you?" he asks. "Is that so wrong?"
I can feel him staring helplessly into me, that he's near total emotional collapse. After he finishes, except for a long silence I have no answer. Finally I counter this by hissing, "What is this continuing inability you have to evaluate this situation rationally?" I pause. "Huh?"
I lift my head up from the sweaters, the ties, whatever, and glance at Luis. In that instant he smiles, relieved that I'm acknowledging his presence, but the smile soon becomes fractured and in the dark inner recesses of his fag mind he realizes something and starts crying. When I calmly walk over to a column so I can hide behind it, he follows and roughly grabs my shoulder, spinning me around so I'm facing him: Luis blotting out reality.
At the same time I ask Luis to "Go away" he sobs, "Oh god, Patrick, why don't you like me?" and then, unfortunately, he falls to the floor at my feet.