Mirrors were Ian’s enemy. He didn’t care for them one bit, and from what he could see reflected back at him whenever he looked into one, the feeling was mutual.
If ever he were to look in one and see what Cheyenne Jackson or Matt Bomer saw, he would easily and gladly give up his aversion to mirrors. Alas, when he looked into one, he saw a narrow face. He saw teeth that weren’t bright white. He saw teeth that were crooked. He noticed the weak chin and even the large pores on either side of an oversized, hooked nose.
Were he to step further back from the mirror, he’d see arms and legs that were too skinny to belong to a belly that pronounced. There would be no trace of muscle tone in his arms, and if he looked closely enough, he’d spot the beginning of moobs. The small patch of dark hair in the centre of his chest would seem to enhance his Arctic-white complexion. There would be no trace of a backside. Just a back with a hole in it, as someone once described it. And from his navel down, he would see enough body hair to make someone looking at him from a distance think he was wearing tights. Woollen ones.
The only mirror in his house was in the bathroom. He didn’t look into it when he brushed his teeth, and, after a shower or bath, he tended to dry himself with his back to it. Only when he was dressed did he look at it to do his hair.
His best friend, and technically his only friend, was Zack. Zack had no such low opinions of himself. Why would he? He was possessed of perfect skin, a perfect nose, perfect teeth, blue eyes, and black hair. He was slim but toned. He had an olive complexion that darkened to a nice even brown in the summer.
Ian often found himself wondering how they had ever come to be friends.
It was a ritual that every Saturday, Zack would meet Ian at his house for pre-club drinks. That Saturday was no exception and Zack arrived at Ian’s showered, dressed, and smelling of expensive cologne. His hair was immaculate and his skin seemed to glow. He held a packet of cigarettes in one hand and a bottle of champagne in the other.
“It’s gonna be a good night,” he sang as he danced past Ian.
Their Saturday evenings followed the same routine almost every week. Zack would arrive at about eight o’clock. They would sit in Ian’s lounge room, drinking copious amounts of champagne and white wine, and listening to dance music as the anticipation of the night’s adventures increased.
“Robert called me again,” said Zack, lighting a cigarette.
Ian sipped his champagne and tried not to grimace. He hated champagne, but it was Zack’s favourite poison and so he endured it until finally he could get onto the wine. “What did he want?”
Zack exhaled and took a sip of his drink. “The usual. Wants me to take him back, but no.”
“Why not? What did he do that was so bad?”
“He slept around on me. You’re the one who told me.”
Ian sighed. He had found out purely by chance that his best friend’s partner had been sleeping with another man, one Ian had met through an online dating app. The date had gone nowhere, quelle surprise, but the information had caused Ian a couple of sleepless nights. Should I tell him or not? Finally, he had decided to reveal what he had learnt to Zack based on the fact that if he were ever fortunate enough to get himself a partner, he would prefer to be told if his boyfriend was playing around on him.
Ian took a great gulp of champagne and nearly retched. “But you sleep around on him.”
Zack c****d an eyebrow. “Yes, but he doesn’t know that.”
Ian didn’t know how to respond. Zack’s logic defied interpretation at the best of times.
“Oh, man. I love this song,” said Zack, leaping up from the sofa. “Come on.”
Ian put down his glass of champagne and joined Zack in the middle of the lounge room floor to dance, and he was just tiddly enough to enjoy it.
By ten o’clock, a cloud of cigarette smoke hovered like smog immediately below the ceiling. There was an empty champagne bottle and two empty wine bottles on the carpet by the sofa, and the ashtray was full.
“Okay,” said Zack, extinguishing his umpteenth cigarette. “Time to go.”
While Ian went to the toilet, Zack brushed his teeth and reapplied cologne.
“I hope that guy with the muscle shirt and the tattoo’s there tonight,” said Zack, checking himself in the mirror.
Ian flushed the toilet and washed his hands, his eyes cast down to avoid the mirror. “You never know.”
Ian lived five blocks from the nightclub district. His was a convenient place for pre-club drinks. The neighbourhood could be rough, but generally it was safe enough to walk to and from the club along the main road at any time of the night.
“I hope Alice is there,” said Zack as they left Ian’s house.
“Ecstasy Alice?”
“Yeah. I’m in the mood for one.” He looked at Ian. “What about you? Game enough to try one yet?”
“Can’t afford it,” said Ian as they headed off. “And don’t want to.”
Zack snorted. “I don’t know what your problem is. You’d love it.”
“I don’t need it. I’m happy with alcohol.”
“You know that’s a drug, too. Does more damage than ecstasy.”
“Don’t care. I can control myself on alcohol.”
“I can control myself on ecstasy.”
Ian pulled a face. “Really? Have you seen yourself on E? You grind your teeth so much, I’m amazed you don’t dislocate your jaw. Anyway,” he said, changing the topic, “what are you gonna do if Robert shows up?”
Zack’s response lasted the time it took them to reach Zenith, by which time all talk of drug-taking had been forgotten.
“Ah, look,” said Zack. “The queue isn’t too long.”
“Thank God,” said Ian as a pair of drunk girls walked past, one of them knocking into him.
“Oh, no need to apologise!” he called after them.
The girls erupted into giggles and turned the corner.
Ian and Zack joined the back of the queue and Zack shouted a couple of hellos to people further along that he knew. The two men in front, burly men in leather and beards, turned and looked at Zack, who raised an eyebrow as if to ask “What?”
Sometimes Ian couldn’t help but admire the courage good looks gave a person. What it must be like.
Thankfully, it was a fast-moving line, which soon had them inside where the darkness was showered with shards of coloured light and the music boomed, obliterating the sound of shouted conversations.
“Drinks?”
Ian nodded.
They went to the bar where shirtless hunks, hired for their looks and bodies rather than any skills, milled about, preparing for the crush that was probably half an hour away.
Dominic was Italian and had the largest, furriest pecs Ian had ever seen. It was impossible for him to look at those well-sculpted orbs of man flesh without fantasising about how they would feel up against his own naked body.
“Two wines?” he asked.
Zack nodded and turned to Ian. “I’ll get these. You get the next ones.”
Ian nodded back and scanned the room, leaving Zack to flirt with Dominic. Ever since they had shared a kiss in the men’s room, three months ago, Zack had thought he was in with a chance. Ian, however, doubted it. Zack and Dominic had both been on ecstasy, and while Zack did have his charms, he was aiming too high.
Dominic handed Zack their drinks without a smile or any other indication that there was any sort of bond between them.
“He’s such an arsehole.” Zack took a sip of his drink and led Ian to a spot on the far side of the club. “s**t, now I need to go to the lav. Hold my drink,” said Zack, thrusting his glass of wine into Ian’s hand.
“Like I have a choice,” he mumbled.
There was nothing quite like the energy inside a nightclub. Everyone was there for a good time. The men dancing with their shirts off, their gym-honed bodies on full display. The girls sipping their vodka breezers in twos and threes amongst the crowd of men. And the drag queens dotted around the club, surrounded by their contingent of pale-faced twinks.
Over by the cloak room stood a man Ian had never noticed before. A man who was already looking at him when their eyes met. At first, Ian glanced away. Coincidence, he told himself. But curiosity compelled him to confirm his theory and so he turned to face the man once more. Sure enough, the man was still looking at him. And smiling. Flattered, Ian smiled back.
“Who are you looking at?” asked Zack, returning from the toilet. “Got my drink?”
Ian handed him his wine.
“Who’s that?” asked Zack, smiling at the man.
Ian’s heart sank. If it came down to a competition between Zack and him, Zack would win, as he did all the time. Ian’s only hope was bluff. “Who?”
“The man you were making eyes at. Him, over there.”
Ian shrugged. “I don’t know. I wasn’t looking at him.”
“Who were you looking at then? That old nana next to him?”
Ian sipped his drink, doing his best to throw Zack off the scent. “I don’t know what you’re on about.”
A wicked smile appeared on Zack’s face. “Then you won’t mind if I go and talk to him.”
As Zack went to move off, Ian grabbed his arm. “Zack, please don’t. I saw him first.”
Zack laughed and jerked his arm free. “Let the games begin then.”
The man by the cloak room glanced at him once more before directing his attention at Zack, who was now standing with his back to Ian.
Ian tried to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat. It wasn’t often anyone paid him any attention. And tonight, he thought that was all going to change. Tonight, he thought he might be the one to take someone home with him. He brought the glass of wine to his lips, but realised he didn’t want to drink any more.
Then something occurred to him. Perhaps the man had told Zack he wasn’t interested. Perhaps he was asking Zack about his friend. But when he glanced back at them, it was quite clear that neither of those things had happened, nor would they. The two men were kissing. And Zack had the palm of one hand pressed against the man’s crotch.
Defeated, Ian put down his drink and made his way to the door, squeezing by the throngs of people still pouring into the club. Doing his best to fight back tears, he stepped out into the night and started the short walk home.
His only thoughts were of Zack. How could a so-called friend have done such a wicked thing? Steal away the only chance at a hook-up he’d had in months? Zack could get almost anyone he set eyes on. Did he not realise how much harder it was for Ian? But perhaps he was being too sensitive. Zack had every right to go after whomever he wanted. And the man hadn’t exactly pushed Zack away.
Why have off-cuts when you can have steak?
He arrived home weary. After brushing his teeth and washing his face and hands, he climbed into bed, though sleep was a long time coming.
* * * *
When he awoke the following morning, there was a text from Zack.
Where did you go? Get lucky? *wink wink*
Ian deleted the message and dropped the phone onto the mattress.
He must have fallen back to sleep because the next thing he knew, the phone was ringing. Still half asleep, he picked it up before he saw who the caller was.
“Hey. Wanna come out for brunch? I’ve got so much to tell you.”
Ian groaned inwardly. Would he like to go out for brunch and hear all about the night Zack’d had with the man he’d had his eye on? “No, thanks,” he replied frostily.
“Aw, come on. We didn’t spend much time together last night.”
“I said ‘No’.”
There was a brief pause, before Zack spoke again.
“Is everything okay? Sounds like you’re pissed off.”
“Gee. You reckon?”
Then Zack being Zack got straight to the point. “Oh, not that guy I was kissing? He was a bit of a loser. No, I met someone else later on. You could have had him after all. If you hadn’t stormed off home.”
Ian felt a surge of rage. “Ahh, so you just wanted to show me that you could’ve got him if you wanted. You couldn’t let me have that one man?”
“Hey, I didn’t force him to kiss me. Don’t take your frustrations out on me.”
Ian’s mouth flapped like a curtain in the wind, and when nothing came out, he hung up on Zack.
Aksara