“I’m not vain about these things,” Luis said. “I know people who take hours to get ready, and they never look any different. Sometimes they look worse. I never take too long to get ready for anything. I don’t see the point. You’re going to look the same and be the same person whether it takes you five minutes or fifty minutes to get dressed.”
“I never thought of it that way,” Jase said. “But you have a point.”
On the street, Luis turned left and said, “I hope we get a taxi. If we don’t, we’re going to have to take the subway.”
Jase grabbed his arm and pulled him to the right. “Follow me,” he said. “I’ll drive. My car is just up the block in a garage. It’s the fastest way to get down there.”
“You have a car?” Luis asked. Most of Luis’s friends and acquaintances couldn’t afford cars in Manhattan. Evidently, Jase’s decorator friend paid him well.
“Actually, a truck.” Jase shrugged and started walking up the block. “C’mon,” he said.
“We’re already late, and I hate being late. I’ll race you to the garage.”
A few minutes later, they reached the parking garage at the same time. Their faces were red and they were gasping for air. Luis hadn’t run this fast since the time he’d almost been mugged up in the South Bronx. He grabbed Jase’s arm, leaned over to catch his breath, and said, “You sure are fast for a forty-year-old. You’re not even out of breath.”
Jase squared his wide shoulders and lifted his chin. “I work out a lot,” he said.
When the young parking attendant with the shaved head saw Jase again, he grabbed Jase’s keys and jogged over to where they were standing. He smiled at Jase and handed him the keys, then looked Luis up and down with an expression that was a cross between a sneer and a frown.
“Thanks,” Jase said, as he reached for the keys, “I’ll be out all afternoon.”
“I’ll be right here when you get back,” the attendant said. “You know I’ll take good care of you, man. You’re looking good today.”
Jase’s face turned red again. He thanked the attendant and said, “I’ll see you later. I’m late for something right now. But you look nice, too. Thanks.”
Luis looked down at his shoes and pretended he wasn’t interested. But he was wondering why Jase was flirting with this guy. He wasn’t Jase’s type at all. There was something sleazy about him, and his fingernails were dirty. Jase didn’t have to tell the guy he looked nice, especially not while Luis was standing there with him. He could have just thanked him and kept on walking.
The attendant smiled and looked into Jase’s eyes. “I’ll be here, man.” Then he gave Luis another dirty look and walked back to his booth.
When he was gone, Luis said, “That guy is hot for you. He wants to get in your pants.
But he looks like trouble to me.” A moment after the words came from his mouth, he was sorry.
It was none of his business. He had no right to interfere in Jase’s life. He never did things like that.
Jase turned and started walking to the truck. It was parked up front, in the first row, between a big blue Bentley and a white Mercedes Benz. “He’s just a nice kid, is all. And he can’t be more trouble than you are.”
Luis frowned and looked back at the parking attendant booth. The young guy with the shaved head was staring him and shooting him dirty looks. Luis didn’t pursue the issue with Jase, but he knew the guy was hot for Jase. The little creep was practically ready to drop to his knees and beg for Jase’s dick. Luis wasn’t sure why this bothered him, but his stomach tightened and his teeth clenched. He had the urge to kick the attendant in the balls.
Jase walked up to a large black pickup truck and clicked the locks. It was one of those long trucks, with oversized knobby tires, four doors, and tinted windows. Luis pressed his palm to his chest and said, “I can’t believe you drive a pickup truck.”
Jase laughed and opened the driver’s door. “Calm down,” he said. “It has leather seats and power windows. It’s not a Rolls Royce. But it gets me around just fine.”
“I didn’t mean it that way,” Luis said, walking to the passenger side. “I’m just shocked to see you drive a truck. My uncle back home, the one I told you about with HIV, drives a truck just like this. Only his truck is ten years old now and he’ll probably have to keep it for another ten because money is so tight.”
Jase smiled. Before he sat down, he said, “I should warn you. I’m still getting used to driving in New York.”
“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Luis said. “I’m used to New York cab drivers by now.”
When Jase backed the truck out of his parking space, he tapped the gas pedal with a light touch and eased the huge truck backwards with care and precision. When he drove through the garage and turned left to enter the street, he kept his foot on the brake the entire time. Luis put on his seat belt, adjusted his body to a comfortable position, and folded his hands on his lap. He smiled and looked out the window at people walking down the street. Sitting in a big, comfortable truck with black leather seats was a nice change—so quiet!—from public
transportation. And Jase seemed like a good driver in spite of the fact that he was getting used to driving in New York.
For the first time in a long time Luis wasn’t dreading his Friday afternoon visit with Derrick. But when Jase pulled into the street and hit the gas, he came within inches of sideswiping a taxi. The back of the truck fishtailed and the tires screeched. People stopped walking and lowered their sunglasses to see what was going on. At the end of the block, Jase clipped the rearview mirror on someone’s SUV without even knowing it. Luis turned back and saw the mirror dangling, then clutched the door handle and the armrest as hard as he could. His feet slammed into the floor and his mouth opened wide.
At first, Luis didn’t want to say anything. Jase was in charge; it was his truck, and Luis didn’t want to be accused of being a backseat driver. But when they crossed Amsterdam Avenue and slipped between a city bus and a work van with only inches to spare on either side, Luis pressed his palm to his chest and said, “We can be a few minutes late. Derrick won’t mind.” His knuckles were white by then and his stomach was turning in knots.
“I’m not rushing,” Jase said. He was sitting all the way back in his seat. His legs were spread, his right arm was resting on the armrest, and he was only using two fingers on his left hand to steer the truck. “Am I going too fast? I guess I’m not used to city driving yet.”