A first look at my new novel I Love You Jeffrey Dahmer.
David meets Jeff in a bar for the first time.
Chapter 5
Love Comes Quickly
THE SUN DROPS TOO SOON in the winter—it’s Saturday night.
Carl decided at the last minute to meet me at the Phoenix. A morning hangover dogged me on the bus down South Street. I ordered a beer right away to flatten my headache.
I vowed to do something bad that night despite what appeared to be my limited options—no one in the club was shaking my tree. Too many guys shuffling around the edges—approaching the possibility of hooking up with hunched shoulders and little faith.
Carl was talking about AIDS (a bummer) and how the plague had rearranged social groups in Milwaukee. He said a line’s been drawn between gays with money and gays skirting the edge of survival. I thought to myself, I know this line in my bones, but it’s more like a cut—still—you gotta find a purpose.
I nodded my head—yes, you’re right—while gulping my second beer. My eyes continued to scan, left to right—to discover—no one in particular.
Janet Jackson was asking what someone had done for her lately.
I leaned towards Carl to hear him better, and I could smell his awful cologne. I couldn’t stop myself and said, Jesus, are you wearing your father’s Jade East?
He said, fuck you—the guy I was with last night said he liked it.
I laughed and tried to picture any guy I was fucking saying something like that to me. Although the thought of a scent having a passionate effect was kookie romantic.
Carl was glowing in a bright yellow Lacoste polo shirt, and he kept ordering tequila shots, and I didn’t find an easy way to say no when he offered me one. He tossed another back, and I watched his bicep flex while my head continued to go up and down—yes, right, I hear ya—which was stupid as it goaded him to talk more about the plague and political activism and shit I wasn’t into right then.
I focused on his bulging traps. He must have started working out again. I tried to remember when we’d had sex for the first time, and I think, yeah, two summers ago after the Soul to Soul concert, or was it—
—behind Carl’s shoulder, over behind the far end of the bar, like a revealing closeup at the start of a movie—in walked Golden. The blood in my chest registered the thrill and possibilities. Golden took a seat at the bar. He lit a cigarette. He ordered a drink. He was watching a Black guy to his right— a gangly kid who looked ready to collapse from too much partying.
I knew it!
And Carl stopped talking about the governor and asked, what?
I said, that guy over there, at the bar, the tall blond—I knew he was queer when I saw him at work the other day. On cue, Carl’s head swerved.
Freed from the public bubble of the library—Golden appeared unleashed—taller—and choosey about what he was gonna get that night. He surveyed the dance floor a few times but brought his stare back to the Black kid.
I told Carl, wow, he’s lovely and edible—a valentine of a man. Electricity lit the tip of my fingers. I tapped my heel up and down. I wanted to walk over to Golden and grab handfuls of his hair. To take his shoulders and shake him like a dirty rug.
A very loud Rick Astley kept singing, together forever…together forever.
Carl watched my mouth to hear what I was saying. I asked him to give me a reading on Golden.
And he said I’ve seen him in here a couple of times last month. He always sits in that spot. If someone else is sitting there, he waits in the corner like a cat and then grabs the stool when it’s empty.
What is he? I wondered aloud. Like a Swede or a German?
A big Ken doll in glasses, Carl answered.
I said nothing. Carl’s comment was wrong. There was so much more to Golden.
Carl continued: Yeah, when I saw him last week, I felt a buzz, but then he did this freaky thing.
Like what? Whattaya mean?
Carl told me how Golden had followed some redheaded guy into a dark corner of the club. He said the redhead had taken his shirt off on the dance floor, and then the blond trailed him everywhere. And when he cornered the guy, he just stood there and stared at the redhead in a trance—like his eyes were boring into the guy’s naked chest like he was a—
I interrupted—Jesus, what’s so weird about that?
Carl yanked his head away from mine. His eyes widened when he said, well, after a while, the blond reached out and put his hand over the guy’s heart—and just held it there. So creepy. No thanks, not my kinda freak.
I was intrigued but acted unimpressed. Carl kept talking:
I’m sure the blond thought no one noticed—but I did. I mean, working at the Ambassador, you notice weird shit all of the time—you know, people on the down-low in hotels are so obvious.
I said whatever—and asked, is the blond always dressed like that? It looks like he walked in here from a warehouse. Carl turned to eyeball him again. Golden was wearing a grayish-blue factory uniform, and the fact that he wore that get-up in the bar was crazy-making.
Carl said, yep, the same gay porn ensemble.
I laughed at the word ensemble.
Carl added: Primo said he cooks up chocolate at a factory down on North 5th.
A chocolate factory? Damn, I thought, this gets better and better.
How would Primo know that?
Carl said, uhm, you’re not the first guy that’s cruised the dude.
Hmmm, I said, half hearing what Carl was mumbling and half imagining how I needed to seal the deal with Golden.
I’m not sure why, but just then, in the bar’s shadow light, Golden looked like he knew things about life that nobody else in Milwaukee knew. And funny, how, right there, too, on the spot, I ignored the warning my brain had flashed when I saw him for the first time in the library. But that was last season’s prime-time show. And right then and there, I was dying to meet him.
I stepped away from Carl and into the dance floor.
Carl yelled into my back, hey, where are you going?
On route to Golden—I answered—to no one in particular—under my breath—I need that guy to mess me up.
I pushed through the gyrations, the exhaled smoke, and the scent of poppers. And my timing was spot on. The Black guy was leaving. I watched his skinny ass wobble around the corner and lurch toward the bathroom.
Just as I made the touchdown, Golden turned towards the bartender. I blinked when I slammed into the wall of him. The instant my chest touched his back, I was swallowed up by the scent of chocolate. For the first time in my life, I understood the derangement of a swoon.
“Oh! Hey, man—sorry. I’m David”
He turned ‘round. His long shape stood before me like a totem pole. He adjusted his glasses. He looked at my chest when he said, “Jeff. Hi.”
In a flash, I knew he wasn’t accustomed to being approached. I thought about a record my mom used to play when I was a kid, something about when the hunter gets captured by the game.
He said, “Can I buy you a beer?”
That smell of chocolate was all over me.
Until next time,
Oh god, I noticed I was bracing myself while reading this, but then you'd have me laughing. Fantastic descriptions, eerie images. Felt like I was in the bar with David. Congrats.
Love this!