Vitamin Q

CHAPTER ONE

And so I've come to feel that I have no choice. I have to end it, Nico. Bobby Sangthong put his mug onto Nico Gonzalez's old battered, wooden coffee table. I know I'm hurting you. Please, please, let me off lightly. After all we went into this thing as an experiment, being best friends and all.

Are you saying I never should have taken us seriously? Nico was pissed because he had done exactly that. He tried to look crestfallen and crushed. During their first weeks together, the strategy of trying out one's best friend as a lover had seemed exhilarating. Now, a few months later, Bobby's rejection was opening up deep wounds from his past.

Distressed, Bobby clamped his hands to his temples. It's better that we stop now. His pain distorted his beautiful face into an ugly grimace. The guilt is just too much.

Having argued for leniency, he became silent, sitting there on Nico's shabby old green couch looking ashamed and even a bit pathetic. Nico prolonged the silence by censoring the castigating words perched on his lips. Instead, with his arms still folded across his chest, he lowered his head and resigned himself to the fact that Bobby's parents, the Sangthongs, had won. Thai immigrants and Catholic aristocrats to the core, they had been unrelentingly insistent that Bobby, their only child, produce a male heir. Nico had compassion for Bobby's situation, but he could have done without the sting of feeling rejected. After all, back in college, not one but two lovers had dumped him to return to high school sweethearts. During his twenties, determined not to get hurt again, he had tried to limit himself to men who had officially declared themselves gay. But none of those well-meaning attempts had lasted more than three months and only a few had made it into the second week.

The failure of these romances had the effect of driving him back to his youthful belief that he wanted another kind of relationship. Maybe his previous desire to explore the high ground of advanced male bonding had not been totally wrong-headed. And so, approaching the bewitching age of thirty with a sense of romantic homelessness, he had decided to take a chance with the good-natured Bobby, who, for the last three years, had provided him with scintillating intellectual and emotional compatibility.

Today Bobby's head hung low and his eyes were deep brown pools of misery. I feel so bad about having to do this. I'd be devastated if I lost you as a friend. His deep voice climbed higher the more upset he became.

Those were the words that Nico wanted to hear. But needing to be perverse a bit longer, he countered with, We'll have to see about that. He just had to make Bobby squirm a little, even though he actually had mixed feelings about ending their sexual intimacy. He still found his friend most appealing. Strikingly handsome, looking, like many Asians, a good deal younger than his twenty-eight years, Bobby had the slightly wry smile of a cute child who had absorbed a lot of love, despite his parents' rigidity. Sitting there in the blue dress shirt and pressed gray slacks that he had worn to work, Bobby was desirable, even with his gym-toned body pretty much hidden.

Please, Nico, let's move on to the next phase. We've always been able to talk about everything and do so many things together. I'd go crazy without that. Bobby remained appropriately desperate, fiddling with a remote. He didn't expect a whole lot of reassurance from Nico on this painful occasion and Nico wasn't about to give him much, despite the fact that he had already impulsively decided to remain a steadfast friend. Becoming lovers had only made it more evident to Nico that Bobby was sensitive and considerate. Besides, he was addicted to the joys of gossiping with his male confidante.

Well, at least we won't have to search all around my apartment looking for your Calvin Kleins in the morning. Bobby, compulsively neat, had always complained about the mess that was Nico's apartment. Maybe they were just an odd couple, not really suited to living together.

Bobby went through the motions of inviting Nico out to dinner. Not even a free meal could entice him. No, I can't handle it tonight. Hurt, Bobby got up to go, grabbing his raincoat and letting himself out. Nico didn't stop him, but he did follow him to the landing at the top of the stairs, where he found himself kissing his ex on the forehead. Bobby managed a bittersweet smile before he hustled down the stairs without turning around.

Left alone in Plato's Cave, his nickname for his old, dingy flat, Nico pulled his cat, Miranda, onto his lap and imagined her licking his wounds. Truth to say her raspy tongue barely wet his wrist, but something about her ministrations released his tears. Impulsively, he did something an older and wiser person would surely avoid. He dragged out photos of his college boyfriends. First there was Tim, the blond farm boy, a fellow freshman at Evergreen. Timmy, in his innocent beauty, had never even considered becoming physically close to a man before meeting Nico. At the end of that first year of college, however, he had suddenly announced his engagement to a high school sweetheart. Losing Timmy—their friendship had also ended—was like the death of a boyhood dog. A well of loneliness opened up.

Two years later history had repeated itself, proving Nico, like most of us, learned little from experience. Randy, a fellow racially mixed junior, had evoked buried memories of his own father. Indisputably handsome, Randy was, like Bobby, with his killer smile and flashing eyes, another brown-skinned version of the all-American boy. This time Nico's love was deeper. Randy was politically and socially savvy, but he wasn't strong enough to love a boy in a world where things were so much easier with a girl. And so he too went back to a previous girlfriend. It hadn't yet occurred to Nico that he might have picked these particular guys knowing they could take closeness only so far. After all, back then, he had no inclination to settle down. Instead, he preferred to wonder why love had to be so difficult.

He recalled how fresh, how unusual his courtship with Bobby had been. Bobby had dated and even lived for a while with a beautiful young white woman. Nico, meanwhile, had continued his futile cycle of dating cute gay boys with no interest in the concept of commitment. After Bobby had become free of entanglements, they started flirting. It was only a matter of time until they had sex. Nico worshipped Bobby's silky skin and his taut, muscular frame, so smooth above the waist and so hairy below. Bobby felt the same way about Nico. Sometimes his Thai lover would wax lyrically about Nico's physical attributes. He loved the attention, but he sometimes became self-conscious.

Nico had winced—his friend, Brianna, was always telling him that he winced far too much—when Bobby disclosed how repressed his youth had been. In the old-fashioned Catholic parlance of his parents, he had to always, as a teen and an undergraduate at the U. of Washington, control all pangs of the flesh. Nico had provided him with a unique male outlet and their first months together were filled with plenty of wild sex. I wonder how Bobby is going to handle his strong attraction to men now that I'm out of the picture?

Still dejected, Nico tossed off his burnt orange pullover in favor of a dilapidated flannel shirt and shimmied out of his new olive green jeans to put on stained, gray sweatpants. He would stay in all night and, now that he had had his cry, gird his loins for the confrontation with Delucchi, his boss, tomorrow at work. He indulged in some red wine from an open bottle and heated up leftovers while his mind wandered to the dilemma of Bobby's parents. They were fine people, but America's rhetoric of unwanted immigration had made them determined to fit in as useful members of society. While working days in restaurants, they had gone to school at night, learned English, and become citizens. When they amassed enough college credits, they entered into and moved swiftly up in the health care field.

Nico wolfed down his dinner listening to more accounts of Republican absurdities from Rachel Maddow on MSNBC. Facing recall, State Senator Randy Hopper, Wisconsin, has an awkward question to answer. Turns out it's a really, really, really superawkward question. Rachel gripped her pencil in one hand while wildly gesticulating with the other. His wife told protesters who turned up at his home that 'He no longer lives here. He lives in Madison with his twenty-something mistress.' Turns out his fellow Republicans got her, the mistress, a state job with a twelve thousand-dollar salary hike over her predecessor. In a fiscal crisis! They're making out like bandits. Rachel scribbled madly before the screen faded to a commercial.

Nico's mind wandered back to his first days as Bobby's friend. They had met in a local geek café one Saturday, their conversation constituting the only social interaction in the place, the rest of the clientele safely isolated behind their laptops. From the start Bobby had encouraged him to tell tales of his relatively wild youth. Nico relished recounting his political activism to his friend, but was more careful about some of his sexual escapades until it became evident that not only did Bobby like his stories—he was attracted to him!

And the feeling was mutual. Nico found himself drawn to this gorgeous guy with the deep voice, sexy little beard, muscular body, and powerful, hairy legs. No, this wasn't another effete Asian. Bobby, although slightly slimmer, had physical traits not all that different from most of the males in his own family.

Nico piled the dishes into the sink where they would remain for an undetermined period. He was trying to be philosophical about his loss. He hated the arbitrary way Bobby had dumped him, but he was glad he had gone along for the ride. Sadly, he had to admit to himself that even though Bobby liked men somewhat more, he was now looking for a woman. Sure, he'll get married to please his parents, but I bet he'll resort to his computer for the vicarious company of boys. Maybe he'll even succumb to some Asian version of the Down Low!

Resigning himself to the end of their affair, Nico acknowledged within that he had enjoyed providing Bobby an escape hatch from his prison of romantic frustration. But had either of us ever truly believed we would last? He returned to his laptop to finish a story on a high school playoff basketball game. And tomorrow he would have to face Delucchi.

The next morning, Nico slipped unseen into his tiny cubicle at the Seattle Times. Like every other newspaper in America, The Times was struggling, its income steadily dropping since Nico had first set foot in the gloomy building four years ago. The demise of Seattle's principal daily, the Intelligencer, had brought in more revenue for a while, but had only helped delay what seemed to be the inevitable.

Watch out, Nico. I heard Delucchi's already on the warpath. Brianna Brenhouse, a beautiful, blond reporter with whom he had become close friends, waltzed into his office and sat down on the edge of his desk. God, it's so stuffy in here. How do you stand it?

Nico gave her a conspiratorial smile. By being out in the field as much as possible, just like you.

Brianna reported on developments in education and frequented the local schools and colleges. It gets so bad in the summer. What can we do? No windows, no air-conditioning in such an old building.

My old fan here is my best ally while I bang out endless copy.

Yes, I think I'm going to get one, too. Brianna, clad in a crisp white blouse and tan pants, swiveled her own derrière, in imitation of that old fan.

You can tell Delucchi I'm on the warpath myself. He better not give me any trouble. Nico folded his arms and looked up at her, trying to appear determined.

Well, get ready, Brianna smiled warmly. Your good work on your blog has gotten you in hot water. There's a right-wing principal from over near Kelso complaining that you're advocating that young athletes 'convert' to homosexuality.

Nico laughed in response. Oh I know what that's about. This senior on their basketball team emailed me about how he'd get hassled for not covering his tracks. You know how it is. He was in the school orchestra and the drama club. Even worse, he had never shown up at a dance with a date. Brianna did know and had been the one to encourage him to start his blog. I encouraged the guy to find a faculty member to help him start a Gay-Straight Alliance. That's what, my dear, he leaned in closer, bent that principal so badly out of shape.

Well, you're going to have to defend yourself to Delucchi. She jumped off the edge of the desk. Are we still on for tonight? Maybe a movie? Nico was in and out of the office so much they rarely had time to socialize at work. Luckily her apartment was in walking distance of the Cave and had become a second home.

A good idea. We need to pick out a good comedy to help me forget about breaking up with Bobby. Or I should say his breaking up with me. Nico let his news sink in, but he had already forewarned her that he and Bobby had had issues.

Brianna had initially encouraged him with Bobby. Back then she had let him know that she found Bobby's good nature—and his tidiness—most appealing. She happened to like the way the kids of Asian immigrants morphed so seamlessly into boy-next-door Americans and yet had a little more sensitivity than most middle-class white boys. So what happens to Bobby? Weren't the two of you virtually living together at your place?

Only by default. He moved back in with his parents. He's been dragging his ass about finding a new place ever since his old roommate kicked him out. Girlfriend moving in, you know. That was one of our conflicts. We couldn't, of course, get together at his parents' place and he hated the messiness of the Cave.

So how are you taking this? Not very well I imagine. Nico could always count on Brianna for some much-needed empathy.

I'm miserable. What can I say except that I need consolation? He's broken it off. He says he needs a girlfriend, someone to keep the family going. The pressures on an only child, I guess. Hell, we could have adopted a kid, maybe even found a surrogate mom. He raised his arm after advancing this absurd fantasy and took a deep breath, unable to stop himself from imagining Brianna as his first choice for the woman who would bear their child.

I see. The wheels were turning inside Brianna's head. So Bobby likes girls?

To a point.

Brianna backed off. Well, sexual confusion is rampant these days, you know. She gave Nico a wink.

Don't look at me. I'm gay. End of story.

Yes, but it's almost as if you're the exception in Seattle these days. Besides, it's more complicated than that for you. You're drawn to all this confusion. As for me, I'm as confused as anyone. I still very fondly reminisce over my days with Katherine at Lewis and Clark.

C'mon. That was 'just a phase.' Nico hoped the cliché would rankle her. A rotund middle-aged mama figure. At least Tommy was sexy. Tommy, her old live-in boyfriend, had been summarily kicked out when, unemployed, he adjusted too easily to the role of freeloader.

You know, you male creatures are so much into looks you sometimes miss the best things about human beings. Katherine was a lovely, beautiful woman in her own way. She was my mentor, she understood me, and she gave me so much.

Appropriately guilty, Nico bowed his head in shame. Whoa, okay, I'm sorry to step on a pristine memory. He tried to regroup. I don't think I have to prove to you that I care about love more than looks.

Do you? Brianna's eyebrows arched with considerable doubt.

He ignored her skepticism. I'm not sure how many more such disappointments I can handle. He felt pathetic trying to look pathetic. He wasn't a drama queen—or so he thought.

Poor Nico. I'll help you feel better tonight, I promise. Brianna gave him another hug, started to saunter out, but did a sudden U-turn. No doubt about it. I've loved living alone since Debbie moved out. This honeymoon with myself has been divine, but I'm going broke—I need the income. Might Bobby be a prospect?

For romance? Nico loved to tease her.

No, silly, as a roommate. Brianna laughed and reached over to grab his hand to acknowledge that her motives were, indeed, far more complex.

He smiled to let her know that he was on to her. Well, you have my permission to 'interview' Bobby, not that my opinion would matter, anyway. I do know he really likes you. Just give me a few days to mourn my loss.

Thanks, Nico. Brianna gestured for him to stand so she could give him a fierce, appreciative hug before leaving his cubicle. I don't think she got my message about waiting.

Suddenly feeling isolated, Nico tried to repress his sadness by throwing himself into his writing. He had worked at the Times longer than any of his romances had lasted. Am I becoming one of those cynical gay men who assume sexual chemistry fades after a short period of cohabitation?

Nico was abruptly brought out of his musings by having to answer his phone. Gonzalez, I want to see you in my office, immediately. As expected, Rosario Delucchi's gruff, raspy greeting foretold a nasty confrontation. He took a couple of deep breaths, jumped out of his chair, and made his way down the stairs to the Sports Editor's office.

After hearing Nico's knock, Rosie, as he was called, looked up from a chaotic mass of papers on his desk. He was a short, stocky man in his midfifties with a wide salt and pepper moustache that Nico despised, a belly, an almost-bald head, and eyes surging with anger. Divorced for several years, he got together with his kids every other weekend and constantly complained about his ex-wife's greed. Gonzalez, I need a smoke. Follow me to the alley.

Once outside, Delucchi lit up but the nicotine produced no mellowing out. Instead, he started screaming. What the fuck do you think you're doing? This is a sports department. Our readers couldn't care less if some kid 'comes out' or not! Now I have to deal with this principal out in Kelso. He told me he's going to warn other principals and superintendents about your blog.

Nico bristled and stood firm. I haven't 'outed' anyone in this paper. And I'm getting overwhelmingly good feedback about my blog.

And do you know why? Delucchi was still shouting. He had suckered Nico out here so there would be no witnesses to this abuse. The whole thing's a setup. It's a conspiracy!

A conspiracy? Unafraid of his insubordination, Nico's sarcastic tone suggested that the notion was utterly absurd.

You gays, you dykes, you get control of college faculties and then you threaten the administration with lawsuits if they don't come around. It's the same with the high schools.

Because, Nico smirked, because finally gay bashing is not okay anymore. Bullying, even on the Internet, is no longer tolerated. At least some kids are being saved from traumatic experiences that previously would have haunted them for the rest of their lives.

As usual, Delucchi simply ignored him and continued to rant, more and more out of control. Look at the LPGA. Just a branch of the lesbian mafia! And those lesbo-feminists have virtually taken over university presses. It's getting as bad as basketball and football, both totally dominated by blacks.

Nico was fuming. I remind you I have both African-American and Latino blood. God, I'm glad I didn't have to live in the fifties where your mind still resides. Why did I have to get an anachronism for a boss?

I could care less about your racial make up, Gonzalez. Delucchi squinted as he formulated his next salvo. My concern is that you don't understand the basic bread and butter issue of newspaper sports these days.

And what is that? Nico's impertinent tone was close to a taunt.

That following sports in a newspaper is the last refuge of the middle-aged, straight, white guy.

Do you know how many gay sports bars there are now?

I could give a shit. It's the straight guys who check out the sports section first thing every morning. They don't want to know that such and such a star athlete is a fag. Keep it private.

Oh, so it's 'don't ask, don't tell.'

Why not? The big boss man lit up once more.

Look, Rosie. This is the Great Northwest in the twenty-first century. Young people just don't care if an athlete is gay or not.

Young people don't read this newspaper.

Time for the propaganda. Young athletes are coming out more and more. I could give you several names, men and women, star athletes, both college and high school, who I happen to know are gay.

Be careful. Stop recruiting. Remember, I got you off the hook when that big Samoan lineman on the Huskies complained about your video equipment in the locker room.

What's with this shit? Nico was pissed that Rosie would try to turn that homophobic episode against him. You know I needed some footage for 'Seattle Sports Roundup.'

That may be, but I've always thought you hung around locker rooms longer than necessary.

Nico cringed at that absolutely truthful accusation. Hey, who in this department gets better human interest stories? You gotta listen to people to find out stuff about them.

Look, Gonzalez. Just forget that you're gay when you're on the job.

You mean I should pretend I'm an asexual robot? No problem, boss. I'll save my fantasies for the bedroom. One thing, though. You're kidding yourself if you think ninety-five percent of men are completely straight. After all, we're all kind of queer in one way or another. None of us is any one thing.

Fuck that crap. As far as I'm concerned, gay is gay and straight is straight and never the twain shall meet.

How eloquent. A little paraphrased Kipling to suit the times.

Delucchi wiped away the saliva that was building up in his moustache. Look, I don't care what you're doing when you're not on the job. Just keep that stuff out of this office. And with that, Delucchi banged on the locked alley door, demanding to be let back inside.

CHAPTER TWO

Several days later, while walking over to Brianna's in the never-ending drizzle, Nico pulled out his cell phone, but Bobby didn't answer. Oh, I forgot. He told me he was going to have dinner with his parents. A little lonely, Nico had been relying even more on his two best friends, Brianna and Bobby, to keep up his spirits. Now that they were about to be roommates and perhaps more than that, he hoped they'd remain close to him, available when he descended into neediness. On this gloomy evening, in particular, he was keenly anticipating Brianna's companionship. Her Jewish warmth (half-Jewish, actually) was infectious.

When she rang him in, however, he had to fight off, once more, his sense of feeling defensive about the Cave. Her immaculate flat was crammed with intriguing objets d'art. Two immense white sofas faced each other across a coffee table at least twice as large as his. The sumptuous green drapes, thick beige carpet, highly polished wood, and gilt-framed artwork all intimidated him. Where'd she get the bread? Was it her Jewish mother? Her father? He was convinced he'd never understand the wealthy. They loved to complain about being on the brink of the poorhouse and never gave out a specific amount about the cost of anything. Her place is perfect for compulsive Bobby. God, I'll have to be extra careful to monitor what I say to whom when my two confidantes start actually living together.

Hi Nico. Good to see you. Your usual green tea? Brianna was looking classy in a lemon cotton polo shirt with only the top button open. She gave off the impression that she didn't want her boobs examined, despite their large size. Her jeans were bleached a very light baby blue and she walked around her chic pad barefoot. So what happened with Delucchi? she yelled from the kitchen.

He immediately grabbed one of the big oatmeal-raisin cookies she had picked up at their favorite bakery. Pistol-whipped in the alley. No witnesses.

I'm sorry you have to take that abuse. Brianna finished up her chores as hostess before perching next to him on the arm of the couch. It's ironic because behind your back he's been saying good things about you. He really likes the way you write. It's me he curses for getting you to start the blog. The teakettle whistled, prompting her back into the kitchen.

Reaching over to snag another cookie, Nico called out, Maybe he thinks you're part of the conspiracy.

What conspiracy?

The feminist-lesbo one to depose straight men. She laughed while she carried in an exquisite coral teapot. I know he hated my getting that award from GLAAD. He poured the steaming liquid into his classy little cup. You know what? I think I've had it with these demented men who so often become bosses.

Still thinking of becoming a teacher? She looked over at him encouragingly, willing to soldier on at the Times if he defected.

More and more. You know, after I counsel students on my blog, I end up feeling better. He sighed and scratched his head above his ear.

Wouldn't you miss 'the world of sports'? Aren't you kind of addicted? She poured herself a cup of tea and finally gave in to a cookie.

Delucchi's right. Big time sports exist as a safe place where everyone's assumed to be straight. There's no room for troublemakers like me. Nico slid his arms back and forth across his chest like a referee signaling that a kick was no good. Better that I limit sports to a mere hobby where I can indulge my homoerotic bent. That's a pleasure that will never grow old.

So what's your time frame at work?

I'm going to give notice right away so I'll have a few weeks off before starting grad school in the fall. This has been in the works for a while. I applied last December.

She took him seriously, forgoing any attempt to derail him with quibbles about money or bureaucratic details. Overwhelmed by gratitude for her approval, he reached over, grabbed her hand, and attempted to reward her generosity. Well, I have to say that this place is perfect for Bobby.

So we have your blessings?

"'We'? Is it a fait accompli?" Don't stall, he chided himself. Give her what she wants. Of course you have my blessings. His good-natured acquiescence changed his mood from bitchy to noble—for a moment. He was still put off by the thought of the two of them starting up a romantic relationship so soon.

Brianna sipped her tea noiselessly with her full, moist lips. She looked fresh and youthful without makeup, had the body of a gymnast, and had somehow achieved a permanent tan. A physical being, she's a sensual animal, a force to be reckoned with. Grateful for his benediction, she smiled demurely. Thanks. Well, I've always liked the guy and I think he likes me. He doesn't strike me as the type who would flirt just for the sake of it.

Give me a break, Nico pleaded. Shouldn't he be off limits for just a little while? I'm still smarting—rejection hurts. It's been less than a week. She raised her eyebrows, as if to say, You hypocrite. I can't believe you're telling me to slow down sexually. Put in his place, Nico toned down his rhetoric. Yes, he is one beautiful guy, totally without guile. Just don't put the trophy on the mantelpiece so quickly.

Hey, he's not that much younger than me—or you, she added with a charming, what-the-hell smile. Well, to be honest, maybe it is his boyish charm. So yes, maybe I am getting an inkling as to why women become cougars.

And we gay men become 'dirty old men.' Nico looked her in the eye, trying to be philosophical about his own plight. After so many romantic failures, he moaned, why shouldn't I become a hook-up whore?

C'mon, Brianna reasoned. I wouldn't call it a failure with Bobby at all. You're still dear friends. You both risked something new, something different. It was far from the same old thing. Not everything different can actually work. She looked deeply into his eyes.

Frustrated, he met her gaze full on. You have much better odds going for the traditional boy-girl thing. That's your advantage. In Bobby's parents' eyes your kids will look at least vaguely Asian.

Nico, that's so premature. It's far too early for you to sound like a sore loser. I might not make out any better than you.

The hesitancy in her voice gave his politically angry side an opening and so, after a histrionic wince, he let her know that he was peeved. But it wasn't ever a level playing field. If you and I directly competed for him, you, the woman, would have an incredible advantage. He immediately regretted his words. After all, she was the strongest supporter he knew for shifting the responsibility of nurturing children to nontraditional families.

Nico! The world's always been like this. C'mon now. So many of the male writers you love were 'confused'—Byron and Shelley, for example. She rubbed her hands together, relishing this topic.

Oh, you mean sexually ambiguous writers who flirted with each other but ended up with women? Yes, how about Hawthorne and Melville, or Neal Cassidy and Jack Kerouac? He mimicked her hand rubbing and then placed his hands on his hips.

But she was determined to stay upbeat. What about your favorite? You know, the handsome English war poet who got killed in the trenches.

On his way to the trenches, actually. Rupert Brooke. He took a deep breath and decided to tell her the story, once again, to justify his pessimism. "He believed in 'tremendous friendships' with other men, but the group he became part of, the Neo-Pagans, were homophobic. Wild and rebellious, he had affairs with women, but refused to commit. Before entering the army he journeyed to Tahiti and played with the natives—women, yes, but I bet there were a few men, too. Sensitive, long-limbed Polynesian men, playfully sexy