Chapter 2

He wished he knew the man’s name. Everyone called each other broor dudein that place.

But not Billy. Oh no, the guys there all called him Heyas though his name was a disease, and they usually gave him a probing look full of suspicion. He was the twenty-year-old gay guy in their midst. The strange animal they’d spent their lives trying not toencounter. He was the blue-eyed boy with the product in his blond hair and the immaculately clean finger nails.

It was 1996—shouldn’t straight men be over themselves by now?

“Well,” Francis said, giving him a long look, “you got balls showing up there with your gold earring, bleached blond hair, and Paula Cole T-shirt. You’ve got fag written all over you.”

A little annoyed, Billy ran a hand through his hair. “I grew up around farm boys. I can handle a few mechanics. And don’t say fag. It irks me like you have no idea.”

Francis blushed and stared down at his cast. “Sorry. Yeah, you’re right. I keep forgetting how much you hate that word. Sorry, Billy. Really.”

“I have to educate you, right?” Billy winked playfully, though it always made him nervous to confront Francis about these things. Then again, Francis had made a lot of progress in the last year. “Anyway, the guys at the garage don’t come near me. They treat me like I’m toxic.”

Every time Howie, the owner and his temporary boss, needed to speak with him, he’d stay on his side of the counter, craning his neck to see the computer screen, never daring to actually come around and stand close to Billy.

But Billy didn’t mind it so much. The less attention Howie payed him, the more time he had to stare at his man undisturbed.

Hisman? Boy, oh, boy, he was really losing touch with reality.

“I have to go,” Billy said, excitement running through him. In the door, he turned to give Francis one last look. “Oh, and thanks for the whipped cream, dude. That wasn’t gay at all.”

Francis laughed and waved him off. “Yeah, yeah. Have a good day, Billy boy.”

Oh, he had a feeling he would.

* * * *

Xavier shut the Roadmaster’s hood and wiped his hands with the rag he kept tucked in his belt. He needed a cigarette, but Howie wouldn’t let him take a break just yet, so he looked around at the loud garage and popped a gum into his mouth to curb the craving. He hated this place. Could imagine how great it would feel to walk out of here one of these busy afternoons, and never come back

Yes, to hit the open road. Go down to Mexico. Live anywhere but here, in this city he still couldn’t get used to, with an aunt who barely tolerated his presence in her home.

And sometimes, the way his boss Howie talked to him was degrading. But he wasn’t going to take Howie’s usual crap this afternoon. Xavier was tired of getting the jobs the other gravy lappers wouldn’t do. He was the best wrench in this place. So why was he still on a flat rate, while the other guys were getting paid jobs to job?

Summoning his courage, he walked right up to Howie’s office near the front desk. On the way, he couldn’t help to sneak a peek at the counter, hoping to see the blond technician standing there behind the computer.

Sadly, the guy wasn’t there. Had he left for good? Xavier had caught the blond staring at him a few times this week, but been too scared to meet his eyes. What if the other guys noticed?

Xavier stuck his face in Howie’s open door. “Uh, can I—can I talk to you for a second?”

Great, he’d sounded like a kid asking for the car keys on a Friday night. Why did he always lose his nerve around Howie or his Aunt Diane?

Howie didn’t bother looking up at him. Kept on reading his muscle magazine and eating his gross salami sandwich. “What is it this time, Xavier?” he asked with his mouth full. He sounded annoyed.

Too bad

“How come I always get the long shit jobs andhow come I’m still making peanuts here?” Xavier asked, hoping to sound tough.

Howie took a deep breath and slowly put his sandwich down on the desk. “Kid, you’re getting on my last good nerve, you know that?” He dusted the bread crumbs off his chest. “Six months ago, you came to me with no experience. No credentials. And who gave you a shot?”

Xavier bit his tongue. The only reason Howie had hired him, was because of Xavier’s Aunt Diane. Howie was sweet on her and hoping to get her into his nasty bed. But Xavier suspected that Howie was also surprised at how good of a mechanic he’d turned out to be. “I pull my weight around here. I’m only asking what’s coming to me.”

“Jesus, you’re nineteen years old. What do you need more money for? And what’s coming to you is a whipping if you don’t stop breaking my balls.”

Xavier scoffed. Nineteen years old or not, at six-foot-four, he was at least a head taller than Howie and could probably kick his butt. But he needed to keep his head. Didn’t want to let his aunt down again. She’d threatened to throw him out of her house if he started another fight. His temper had gotten him into enough trouble in the last six years. “Come on, Howie,” he said, switching tactics, “they cut my aunt’s hours at Zellers and things have been tight around the house. I just wanna help her out with paying the rent.”

“Those bastards. I knew something was up with her. She hasn’t returned my calls this week.” Howie seemed relieved. “I thought maybe she was mad at me or something.”

“Aunt Diane’s been a little down, that’s all. But a twenty-cent-an-hour raise would sure smooth everything out.”

Howie stared at him, his pale eyes narrowing under his bushy black brows. “Get me dinner at your house on Saturday night and I’ll give you ten cents more an hour starting December.”

“Fifteen starting next week.”

“Twelve in September.”

He’d be gone by then. Xavier took a deep breath and played it cool. “I can get you coffee on Sunday afternoon, after my aunt and cousin get back from church.”

“Hope you’re not an Indian giver. I know your kind.” Howie blew out a hard breath. “Fine. Now get out. And she better be home. Not like last time.”

An Indian giver

What a stupid and racist expression.