at this point in Lizzie’s retelling of the story people halt her. They don’t believe her and they say it’s just not possible for someone to be dating someone for two years and not know they were a major coke-head. To which Lizzie always replies: you must not know Zoe. Open the dictionary and look up self-absorbed and you’ll see her picture. Then she tells them to hold on to their hats: the story gets better.
“Zoe,” Danny said, “There’s more. I blew all my tuition money on drugs. I’m not really enrolled in college, haven’t been all year. I’m not graduating tomorrow.”
Danny’s entire family, siblings flown in from the west coast and all, were still sitting obliviously at a table inside the trendy bar. Outside, Zoe and Danny were a mess on the street. At least he’s not gay, she was thinking. But all of her perfect, catered wedding at the Waldorf dreams seemed to run from her like OJ fleeing the cops. Then Zoe said she wondered if this was what it’d be like in hell. She had always hoped hell would be better than that, she used to say, that at least there’d be a wealthy section or something. I told you she’s messed up. According to her this is what she was thinking about just after he told her this.
Danny slumped down onto the curb, his foot in the gutter. He looked up at Zoe, who was towering over him in all of her synthetic might, and again he played the scene beautifully, like a pro. Danny told Zoe how much he loved her, how she was the only person in his life he cared about, not even himself; he told her how he needed help and rehab and how he could only make it with her love and support. Since she loved being needed almost as much as she thrived on causing scenes, she bought every ounce of his drivel. She’d always wanted to take care of someone; she sat down next to him and began to rub his back.
After Zoe reassured him that she was always going to be there for him, and that she loved him too, she told him that she was going to go inside and tell his parents that they were okay. He begged her not to; he told her there was no way he could face them. Initially she wasn’t sure what to do, but then she thought of how her father would react if she told him she blew all her college money on drugs, and she understood his hesitation. The whole debate was moot though, because his sister walked outside looking for them at that moment. When Danny saw her he started to cry all over again and he buried his head between his knees.
Zoe told Danny’s sister what was going on and the sister went back inside to tell his parents. Not even a minute later, before she had a chance to assess the damage to her blouse, while Danny was still sobbing in self-pity, his parents walked outside. Zoe just stared at them bug-eyed to see what they would do. They did nothing. Danny’s father said, “Why don’t we all go to bed and get some sleep. We can discuss this all in the morning.”
Zoe was totally perplexed to say the least. Danny just seemed out of it and not too shocked at his parents’ lack of a reaction. They went home together to his apartment and his parents and siblings went back to the hotel. The next morning, as if nothing at all had happened, Danny got up and showered like he was going to graduation. Zoe went into the bathroom and she was like, “Do you remember what happened last night?” And Danny flipped out and slammed her hard against the wall and cuffed her with the heel of his hand. She freaked out. Another scene ensued as she ran away from him, out of the apartment, onto the street. She ran down Commonwealth Avenue, away from his apartment, and all she was wearing was a green bra, pants, and jewelry. Of course Danny ran after her screaming how sorry he was and of course she forgave him.
Once back inside he began to shake and he told her that the night before, when he was on the phone in the bathroom, he had been begging his dealer for a few grams on credit. No luck. Danny had been without any drugs since the afternoon before when he had snorted the last of his stash in the back of the third floor of Virgin Records on Newbury while Zoe and his parents were shopping a level below. He started crying and fell into a lump on the floor. Zoe was afraid he was totally going to fall apart and didn’t really know what she was supposed to do. Then his parents got there.
Like a fairy God-family they whirled in, scooped up Danny, said good-bye to Zoe, and waltzed him into recovery. Zoe was left behind in his apartment, bewildered and pissed off. She started to search. And she didn’t like what she found. In addition to all sorts of drug paraphernalia she found a huge stash of biracial porn: magazines and books and DVDs all about dirty, hard core black girls who like it wild and hard. She thought she was going to throw up.
Lizzie says that Zoe is like an author on a book tour and that even though she pretends to detest the attention, she is coming to reunion all ready to tell her story to anyone who will listen, as many times as she can. I’ll get into the rest later, when she tells it in a bar to a group of horrified-like-they’re-laughing-at-you-not-with-you people.
12
John Doyle
John Doyle was the poster boy for homoerotic, straight to the next dick, nothing a six pack wouldn’t cure, and all the other sayings. That’s how straight he was: kind of not totally. But I didn’t know that at the time. It was the end of my freshman year and we were on the tennis team together. He was tall and slim with dirty blond tight curls, green eyes, and skin that always looked just slightly tanned. He was toned and trim with a very nice body and a fat cock, fatter than you’d expect on such a narrow frame. I’d had ample time to see it as he leisurely showered after practices and matches. And he had no problem strutting around the locker room naked while he shaved, etcetera. I always made sure to get a locker in the row that ended at the sinks. I can’t tell you the number of times I sat on a bench untying and retying my shoes while I stared longingly at his ass as he shaved. It was lightly creamy like coffee with way too much milk and there were a few wisps of hair, a peach fuzz almost, at his crack. The best part was when he’d lean over the sink to rinse the shaving cream off of his face and his ass cheeks would spread a little. He had a low-hanging nutsack and I’d watch it slightly sway, slightly hairy, and I’d have an insta-rod.
Sometimes if I stayed late enough after practice I could watch him during his shower and then throughout his shave. I’d be so hard by then and dying to cum—preferably in his mouth—that I’d go into the last row of lockers and walk almost all the way to the end. I’d put my bag on the bench and open a locker so that the door blocked anyone’s view of me from the beginning of the row. Then I’d whip out my cock and spit in my hand and close my eyes and replay the pictures of his hot body. I’d picture him in the shower tugging on his cock and letting his nuts swing in the water, rinsing the soap off of himself. I’d imagine poking my tongue into that soft crevice between his asscheeks and licking up and down his crack and then tonguing his wrinkly tight hole.
My fantasy would be enhanced by the sounds of the locker room. I’d hear him turn off the sink and I’d hear someone else walking by. I’d hear someone say hey to him and his answer back and then I’d hear a locker open in another row that I thought was his. I’d imagine him slipping his tight underwear up his legs and then tucking his cock into the pouch. I’d imagine myself walking into his aisle just as he did that. He’d look at me and I’d smile and push him back on the bench. I’d go after his crotch with my mouth and I’d chew on his cock through his underwear. I’d get his white undies all sopping wet and I’d taste the outline of his hard, fat boner through the fabric. He’d be writhing in ecstasy, never having felt so good in his life (hey, it was a fantasy, okay?) and then I’d slowly pull his underwear down and let his hard, damp cock pop out and slap me in the face.
Then I’d hear a locker close and a bag zip up and someone walk out the door. And I’d imagine it was the other guy, the one who’d said hello to him, and that now we were alone, just the two of us. And all of a sudden I’d hear the shower and realize that he’d gone back in and I’d go over and see him stroking his cock under the spray of water. His eyes would be closed and he’d be pinching one of his nipples while he slowly massaged his cock. His fingers would graze the head but mostly they’d stay with his fist on his shaft. I’d throw caution to the wind and
