Sushi Central Read online

  Jeremy: I’m glad we met, Calvin. You’re cool.

  Me: Thanks.

  Jeremy: Hungry?

  Me: I guess.

  Jeremy: Sushi?

  Me: Okay.

  196

  We agree on Sushi Central. Jeremy says he once got food poisoning at Omekaido Avenue. As we’re walking back towards the centre of the city, it starts to rain. We duck into the entranceway of a building and wait for it to pass. He stands close to me. He feels warm. I don’t know where this is heading.

  Jeremy: My dad works in there.

  Me: Oh, cool.

  I look inside.

  Lobby of the building: High ceiling. Walls painted deep red, and a painting hanging over by the elevators, like an art deco approximation of an octopus. There are lights, globes, hanging on long, thin cords from the ceiling. A table in the centre, a glass vase, thick, almost overgrown, with some kind of water plant.

  Jeremy: Hope he doesn’t see us.

  He looks at me like he’s going to kiss me but then he doesn’t. I’m kind of relieved.

  197

  Observations of Jeremy now I’ve met him in the flesh: Jeremy is young and dumb and hot and he knows it and you know he knows it because of the way he carries himself, and the look on his face which says I can make guys do whatever I want — including you, and he’s so cocky and so sure of his good looks and his power over guys that it would be sickening if he weren’t good-looking. Older faggots go absolutely nuts for guys like Jeremy. Because guys like Jeremy are young, cocky, available, and that gives them power. I have that power. I had that power over Adam. I’ve had that power over all the other guys who’ve sucked me off. They don’t do it for me, they do it for what I am, which is to say, I’m young. That’s the ultimate attraction. In this particular world, that’s the ultimate power, and you can say whatever you want and make whatever excuses you want, but it’s true. Being young and pretty means having power. And it’s the kind of power that we have to exploit while we can.

  Every time Jeremy’s with a guy, I’m sure he feels it slipping. When there’s an older guy frantically sucking his dick, Jeremy must look down and almost pity him — I mean because of how desperate the guy must seem. I mean. Desperate for something. An idea. Something from the past that he’s trying to recapture, or at least remember. Whatever. Whenever Jeremy’s with an older guy I’m sure he must look down at the guy and think, one day I’ll be that guy. Maybe that fear is what motivates him. Maybe under the swagger and the perfect hair and the cool shirts and the come-hither glances, there’s someone who’s terrified because he knows one day it’s all going to end. I guess Jeremy must feel this, because I feel exactly the same way.

  198

  We talk for a while as we’re standing in the entranceway of that building. I can’t even remember about what. The point is that eventually the rain starts to ease off, and we keep going, head to Sushi Central.

  Jeremy: I fucking love sushi trains.

  Me: Yeah. I’m thinking of having one installed in my bedroom.

  Jeremy: Are you … serious dude?

  Oh my god.

  There is a woman sitting at the sushi train, with these two small children, one sitting either side of her. She is eating a piece of what looks like tofu. Little brother leans around and hits little sister, who starts to cry. The woman turns and says something to little brother, but I can’t hear what it is. She shakes her head at him and then turns away. Little brother goes back to playing with this little plastic dog that’s sitting on the counter in front of him. Little sister stabs a big piece of avocado right through with a chopstick.

  It’s lunchtime and the whole restaurant is packed. There is music playing over the sound system, and I think I might recognise the song, but it’s difficult to hear over the noises of conversation, shouting, plates being set down, the noise of rain outside.

  199

  Me: There’s like … A friend of mine. This guy I met … At a party.

  Jeremy: Sounds wonderful.

  Me: Thing is, I recognised him. I’d seen him before.

  Jeremy: You had.

  This is not phrased as a question.

  Me: Look, forget about it.

  Jeremy: Okay.

  He’s staring at me, waiting for me to say something.

  Me: Those photos of you that were on the website. The ones you showed me …

  Jeremy: What did you think of them?

  Me: They were cool.

  Jeremy: I looked kind of weird in some of them. Sort of pale, or like, I don’t know, too young or something. I didn’t really like all of them.

  I don’t know whether he’s fishing for compliments or whether he’s actually serious, but I indulge him anyway.

  Me: You looked good.

  Jeremy: You think so?

  Me: Yeah, you looked hot.

  He leans in closer.

  Jeremy: You’re making me blush.

  Me: So, you know … Where were they taken?

  Jeremy gives me this weird and fairly suspicious look that is halfway between a smile and an ‘I promise to rip you to shreds if you so much as fuck with me!’. It takes him a second to launch into his explanation.

  Jeremy: Those photos were … Look. It was just this guy I know through my dad. He took them.

  Me: Who was the guy?

  Jeremy: Are you really so interested?

  Me: I guess.

  Jeremy: Okay, well, the guy … He’s in his fifties. Like I said, he works with my dad. He’s a lawyer too, and he has this thing for teenage guys. He got all obsessed with me, came to my parents’ house one night for a dinner party thing, and he was, like, staring at me whenever I came in the room, asking me all sorts of questions about how I was going at school, my interests, really painful stuff. Anyway, later in the night he, like, cornered me in the hallway outside my room, and he was acting all pathetic, like, you know, I’d never normally do this kind of thing but you’re so young and so beautifully put together and, you know, fucking, blah blah blah. You can imagine how it went.

  Me: I guess I can.

  Jeremy: So we … I don’t know why I’m telling you this story …

  When people say ‘I don’t know why I’m telling you this story’, they’re always lying.

  Jeremy: I let the old guy suck me off a few times, and eventually, this was months later, he asked me if I’d like to pose for some photos, like, for his collection. So, you know, I indulged him. I thought, whatever, cool.

  Me: So that was when you did it?

  Jeremy: Yeah. He gave me his address, his apartment, and told me to come on such and such a day, which ended up being a Friday night, after school, and he told me if I wanted I could bring a friend. Like, the emphasis he put on bring a friend … You fucking had to be there. It was funny. So yeah.

  Me: Is that the guy who was with you, in the photos?

  Jeremy gives me a look. He’s wondering where this extremely subtle line of questioning is leading.

  200

  The woman with the two little children is staring at me. The little boy is still playing with the plastic dog. The dog menaces a half-eaten plate of paradise rolls and then makes a suicidal leap off the edge of the counter. The woman looks back at the little boy. The little boy reaches down for the plastic dog.

  201

  Jeremy: The guy who was with me … That was just a friend of mine.

  Me: Like, your boyfriend or something?

  Jeremy: Ex.

  Me: Did you … His name. Was it Anthony?

  Jeremy smiles at me.

  Jeremy: Fuck … Yeah, it was. Do you … Like, are you a friend of his or something?

  Me: I know him, yeah.

  Jeremy: Fuck!

  Jeremy laughs.

  Jeremy: Small world. Seriously. Six degrees and all that.

  I give him my best ‘blank’ look.

  Jeremy: You’ve heard that saying before. You’re always hearing of guys who, you know … It doesn’t matter … So were you … you k
now … going out with him or what?

  Me: With Anthony?

  Jeremy: … Duh.

  Me: I guess.

  Jeremy: Hahha. How fucking funny is that? You were with Anthony. God. Small fucking world.

  Me: Yeah.

  Jeremy: I haven’t seen him in so long.

  Me: How long were you guys going out?

  Jeremy: I don’t know. Few months I think.

  This Britney Spears song begins playing over the sound system. Britney is requesting that we hit her, baby, one more time. Jeremy looks up.

  Jeremy: Hahha, this song. Fuck. We were listening to this on that afternoon.

  Me: That afternoon. Before, like …

  Jeremy: It’s so fucking tacky. I love it.

  Me: You and Anthony, you mean? Like, the afternoon before the photos and stuff?

  Jeremy: Yeah.

  Me: What was it like?

  Jeremy: The … Calvin, what’s with all these questions?

  Me: I don’t know. Just interested.

  202

  Jeremy grabs this piece of tuna and avocado with his chopsticks; puts it in his mouth, chews very slowly, staring at me the whole time. I don’t know if the look in his eyes is sexy or scary, I think it’s possibly both, but the whole time he’s doing this, with the sushi, he never breaks eye contact.

  Jeremy: You want to know what it’s like.

  He has this totally evil look on his face.

  Me: What do you mean?

  Jeremy: That’s why … That’s why all the questions. You’re asking me because you want to know what it feels like to do something like that.

  Me: What? Don’t be weird, Jeremy.

  Jeremy: Tell me I’m wrong.

  Me: What?

  Jeremy: Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you don’t want to know. Tell me that and I’ll drop it.

  Me: I don’t care.

  Jeremy: You’re totally lying, Calvin.

  He stares at me. Says nothing.

  Me: So what if I am?

  Jeremy: You want to know?

  Me: I do. Fine. I guess I would like to know. What it’s like.

  Jeremy: Why Calvin?

  Me: I don’t know. Why the fuck not?

  Jeremy: That’s not a reasonable answer.

  Me: I don’t know.

  Jeremy: You’re not the type Calvin.

  Me: What does that mean? What’s the type?

  Jeremy: You think too much.

  Me: No I don’t. I don’t have to.

  Jeremy: It’s not a bad thing. You’re really fucking smart Calvin. I don’t doubt that. But you’re totally, like, neurotic about it. About sex, I mean.

  Me: What?

  Jeremy: Look, I know the type. There’s this whole … elaborate facade, and you try to make out that sex is all a game to you, but it isn’t …

  I wonder where he learned the word facade.

  Jeremy: You can’t fuck a guy without thinking really hard about it, can you Calvin? It’s never just about the sex. You always have to put something more in there. To make it seem significant or worth the effort or whatever. That’s you, isn’t it?

  Me: How can you come to that conclusion? We’ve only just met.

  Jeremy: I know. I can tell.

  He smiles at me. Actually, no, that’s the wrong word. He sneers at me.

  Jeremy: You can’t think about things Calvin. That takes all the fun out of it. You just have to do them.

  Me: You’re being really fucking weird Jeremy.

  He ignores this.

  Jeremy: I can help you.

  Me: Help me what?

  Jeremy: You want to know what it felt like. For Anthony.

  Me: Why would I?

  Jeremy: That’s the reason you’re asking me all of this, right? Anthony? The two of you are going out?

  Me: I guess.

  Jeremy: You want to know what it felt like for him. What it feels like to totally let yourself go.

  I don’t say anything. I let him interpret my silence however he wants.

  Jeremy: I can introduce you to this guy.

  Me: This guy …

  Jeremy: If you really want to know what it’s like. Like I said … This guy. He’s not dangerous or anything. Okay. Man, I don’t know if I should tell you this.

  Me: What?

  A plate comes by six little avocado rolls on it. Jeremy grabs it as it goes. I stare, transfixed at these six perfect little avocado rolls. He picks one up with his chopsticks; the pattern is broken and I stop staring.

  Me: Tell me what?

  Jeremy looks up. Eats the avocado roll in one motion, then picks up another and offers it to me. I don’t know if I’m meant to open my mouth or what. I don’t want to play right now. I leave my mouth shut, stare at him with an expression that’s about forty percent bored and sixty percent contemptuous.

  Jeremy shrugs. Sets the avocado roll back down on his plate.

  Me: What do I have to do?

  Jeremy: You don’t have to do anything. Not exactly.

  Me: I’m just asking.

  Jeremy: This guy … I mean, okay. He likes to take photos.

  Me: Obviously. Like … Photos of me, I assume?

  Jeremy: Yeah. Well. I mean. He’s basically pretty harmless.

  Me:

  Jeremy: Look. This guy … He gets off on seeing teenage boys in uniform. Like, school uniform, or sports, basketball or whatever. That’s his thing. So all you have to do is dress up for him, and then he takes photos of you for a while, and then that’s it.

  Me: You know this guy?

  Whatever part of me it is that registers discomfort registers discomfort at this.

  Jeremy: Yeah. Like I said. He’s not dangerous.

  Me: And I don’t have to do anything else?

  Jeremy: Not if you don’t want to.

  Me: If I don’t want to? What does that mean?

  Jeremy: Look. You can just play it by ear, okay. Like I said, he’s harmless. Seriously.

  Me: How well do you know this guy?

  Jeremy: I mean … Okay, look. He has this website, and he sometimes puts the photos up.

  Me: Are you sure about this guy?

  Jeremy: I can give you the address of the site if you want. It’s all … I mean, it’s basically harmless. He won’t try anything on with you.

  Me: Fine. Okay.

  Jeremy: Might teach you how to let yourself go.

  I take the guy’s name from Jeremy. That’s all I do. I mean, I don’t think I’ll actually go to see this guy. I mean, I probably won’t. I mean, if that’s what it takes to understand Anthony …

  I don’t know. It’s all too weird.

  It’s still raining when Jeremy and I leave the sushi train.

  203

  Anthony’s house: The next day. We’re watching Muff: The Vampire Slaves, Part IV. He’s watching it. I’m just kind of sitting there. He tells me it will be fucking funny. He tells me he knows one of the guys who’s in it and I have to figure out who. I don’t know whether he’s kidding or not. But then, he’s extremely stoned.

  Watching it is riveting, in the car crash sense of the word, when you don’t quite have it in you to look away. A wide-eyed brunette who looks to be in his late teens is kidnapped and gang-banged by a group of vampires, and they menace him for a while until a striking blonde transvestite (who I can only assume to be Muff) comes to save the day, then has her way with the brunette.

  One of the vamps looks vaguely familiar, looks like one of the guys I’ve seen out, around the place, like someone’s boyfriend or someone I’ve encountered at a party or a club, but it’s probably just coincidental. We all start to look alike after a while. His only line in the movie is, ‘Put that boy down.’

  Anthony is lying on the couch watching the movie; there is a bong on the floor beside him which he occasionally takes hits from. He never looks up at me, as if he doesn’t know I’m here, or if he does, he’s making an effort not to care. I guess it wouldn’t matter to him either way. He offers me the bo
ng and I pack it again and take an extremely big hit, which makes this whole thing more bearable. No less surreal, but more bearable.

  I hope he’ll get bored of this soon so we can mess around or something. He keeps rewinding it to the part where the taller of the vamps, the one I’m, like, sure I know from somewhere, is menacing the brunette with a switchblade, and he keeps saying, ‘Put that boy down.’

  ‘Put that boy down.’

  Click. Whirr.

  ‘Put that boy down.’

  Click. Whirrr.

  ‘Put that boy down.’

  THEY ONLY WANT YOU WHEN YOU’RE SEVENTEEN

  204

  There is something on the floor, one of those executive stress things that drug companies give out to doctors. My father has about six hundred of these things lying around the house. Anthony’s must too. I pick it up to take a look — an unpronounceable word with a lot of d’s and x’s is written on the clear plastic. It’s full of a blue liquid that just kind of sits at the bottom in a big, goopy mess, but when you flip it upside down, it all drips in a spiralling pattern towards the other end. It’s the kind of thing that amuses you greatly when you’re a little kid, or when you’re bored, or when you’re incredibly high and close to tripping out of your mind at your boyfriend’s house at one in the afternoon on a school day.

  A lot of the events leading up to this are a blur, but in sequential order, the day so far has progressed as follows:

  1. Morning. I’m supposed to be going to school, but it’s too depressing a prospect at this point. Walk to the bus stop. I stop in a grove of trees not far from home and I suddenly remember a summer night about a million years ago when my little brother and I were playing somewhere just like this. He was wearing this shirt he used to have with a picture of Astro Boy on the front. I don’t know why I remember this, but I wish I hadn’t, because for some reason the memory gets such a tight grip on me that it hurts and I can’t even think, and I have to shut my eyes tightly for a second to make it go away. I walk home, hoping the place will be empty, which it is. Get stoned and spend most of the morning re-reading Less Than Zero, playing Yoshi’s Island on my old Super Nintendo and wishing I was with Anthony.

  2. Anthony calls; he has this incredibly noncommittal tone. Says we can meet up if we want, whatever. I try not to let on how excited I am by this. I catch the bus into the city and the whole time I’m so on edge it’s like there are bugs crawling under my skin or something, because of how badly I want to see him. It’s cold. The bus keeps stopping, and people get on at every single stop. I can hardly sit still.