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  “Is it…” she lowered her voice again. “Is it someone here at Ellegrandé’s?” She stared at me.

  I stayed silent, as silent as the tomb, chewing on the inside of my mouth and studying the chips in the floorboards by the side of the bed.

  “Holy shit, Anthony. Do you like Marcus? Is that why you were so mad when I came out of the closet just now down there?” She laughed. “I mean, not came out of the closet,” she laughed again, but still not in a funny way.

  “Mad?” I breathed. Had she known? Had she figured it out? Had she seen it in my eyes?

  Oh St Sebastian, she knew, didn’t she?

  It must have been so obvious to anyone who even glanced at me, and I had stood there and tried to hide it, tried to deny it, I had lied to her face, and she must have seen right through it. She knew that I had been sitting there in the dressing room, getting hard listening to her.

  I hated myself so much I wanted to just die on the spot. Maybe I should just go into the kitchen and chop my dick off with one of the knives in the knife block.

  “You were mad at me,” she said. “When I came into the dressing room. You turned around and you were staring at me like I just murdered your grandma or something.”

  “What?” I yelped in shock, hurt swirling through me. “No—no I didn’t!”

  The truth was that male voice had gone into the core of my body just as powerfully as her normal voice.

  The truth was that when I had realized it was her, it made me swallow, hard, and bite down on my lower lip, then the inside of my mouth, that voice affected me so much.

  Because she was so womanly and that voice coming out of her, it—the contrast of it, the raw masculinity of it—the combination lit me on fire.

  “Yes you did,” she replied. “I thought you liked him.”

  “Me like Marcus?” She was the only thing in my universe.

  She fixed her eyes on me steadily, for one second, then another.

  “I wasn’t mad at you, I swear—I don’t like Marcus!” I raised my hands in front of me.

  “Okay, okay,” she muttered, like she didn’t believe me.

  “I wasn’t mad at you, Damaris!” Hot shame was inflaming me from the inside out.

  “Okay, you weren’t mad,” she said, smoothing her hair out. She lay down on the bed and turned her back to me.

  I stood up. My heart was pounding. Damaris really just thought I liked Marcus and was jealous of the two of them.

  “What can I say to convince you that I wasn’t mad?” I said as I stared at her back, bare skin criss-crossed by the straps of the crop top.

  “Leave it,” she laid one arm over her face, her eyes in the crook of her elbow.

  I stood there, my chest was heaving with the injustice of it. Anger boiled up in my stomach and I bit down on something I wanted to say, but what?

  What was I going to say?

  Tell her right then and there that I worshipped the ground she walked on as a living goddess?

  I turned and walked out of her bedroom, across the tiny living room and let the door swing shut behind me as I skidded down the stairs and out into the street.

  The sunlight on the concrete blinded me. I squinted, held my hand up to block out the light forcing my eyes shut.

  A cold, sick feeling was growing in my mid-section. The fluttery buzz of the adrenaline was clumping into cold, lumpy dread.

  Well, that went well, a voice whispered in the back of my mind. I blocked it out.

  A shudder went through me. My heart, if possible, beat harder. I started feeling sick, as sick as a vertigo patient at sea in a storm.

  I had never argued with Damaris before. Never.

  This is all his fault.

  Two blocks away from the club, I stopped under the awning of a Polish bakery, took out my phone and called Marcus.

  “Marcus?”

  “Anthony,” Marcus said in a pleasant tone.

  “I need to speak to you,” I said, my voice hard. “About what happened today.” Marcus had obviously done something in that storage closet which upset Damaris, but she didn’t want to talk about it. She had said herself that she was so angry she had lost control.

  “Is that right?” Marcus drawled, like someone had taken an upper-class British accent, melted it and was pouring it slowly into my ear.

  “Yeah,” I breathed out hard. I could feel myself bristling in anger. “I do.”

  “Okay, sure,” Marcus said, sounding completely unruffled. “I’m home. You can come over now.”

  “Well,” I said, shocked, quite frankly, at his arrogance. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, then.”

  I set off in the direction of Marcus’ apartment, which was in walking distance, indignation flowing through me, growing hotter every moment.

  So much for my idea of turning over a new leaf with Damaris. So much for becoming better and closer friends. My hopes had been dashed so brutally that if I hadn’t been angry, I would have wanted to cry.

  I turned left onto Marcus’ street. I recognized the mom and pop store on the corner. I crossed my arms nervously across my chest and walked up to Marcus’ building, three doors down from the store, and scanned the doorbells until I found his.

  Fong / Whittermeyer

  Alexis Whittermeyer. That was Marcus’ ballet dancer roommate.

  The door buzzed and popped open and I went inside quick and walked up to the first floor. The door of the apartment was already ajar.

  I pushed it open and went inside, taking a deep breath.

  There was a cluttered bookshelf, open on both sides, just inside the door which formed a narrow corridor with the wall.

  It was filled with bowls of keys, scarves, gloves, balled shopping bags, used subway cards, crumpled gum wrappers and other detritus festooning the books, which were shelved from the other side so all I could see was their pages.

  “Anthony?” Marcus called. I walked further and when I came out from behind the bookshelf, I was in the living room with the couch facing the bay window and a small kitchen in the far corner.

  “Hey,” I said. My voice came out weak and unconvincing.

  His head was visible over the back of the couch and he turned around and fixed me with a broad grin. The anger which had propelled me down the streets to this point seemed to turn and flee now that I was actually here to confront Marcus.

  “Do you want tea?” He asked, getting up and walking the three steps to the kitchen.

  “Sure,” I said, standing awkwardly next to the book case.

  “Sit down,” he called. His tight t-shirt rode up his back as he reached up to open a cabinet, revealing pale skin.

  I looked away and sat down on the couch. Now I just felt self-conscious and awkward that I was here.

  St Sebastian… you’re such a coward, a voice whispered in the back of my mind.

  I noticed an indoor candle the size of a small trash can, in a copper-colored metal pot on the floor next to the couch. It had three wicks burning and it was giving off a scent like the sea, but a little darker.

  “I like your candle,” I said, to make conversation more than anything else.

  “Oh, that’s one Alexis got as a gift from work. It’s like five hundred dollars at Krumpdorf’s or something. Nice huh?”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. Actually, I knew the brand. I had seen it at Krumpdorf’s myself.

  “What do you want for tea?” Marcus called. “I’ve got pu-er, oolong, white tea, jasmine, gunpowder, roasted barley tea, Earl Grey, and some herbal stuff that Alexis drinks—”

  “Earl Grey,” I said, staring at the dancing flames of the candles.

  Marcus came over with a mug and put it on the coffee table in front of me, and sat down on the couch as well, leaving an empty cushion between us.

  I didn’t know what to say. I looked at the mug, clear water slowly infusing as the tea ball spread amber tendrils.

  “You came over,” Marcus remarked, twisting his fingers together around one bony knee.

>   I didn’t answer, just picked up the mug and held it between my hands for something to do, something to stall for time.

  I could taste it at the back of my throat, bitter and harsh, the utter hatred I had for Marcus, because she liked him. I could feel it deep in the pit of my stomach, the nauseous rejection I felt when I was near Marcus, because she liked him.

  It felt like a mockery for this to be staring me in the face right now as I sat here.

  “Anthony?” Marcus sounded concerned. “Is everything okay?”

  My heart started to pound. The way Damaris had dismissed me earlier, as if I was nothing to her—as if we weren’t even friends. As if I had done something wrong. It was unfair. So unfair.

  My earlier hopes for our relationship had been stupid and childish. It had been pathetic of me to go to the club so early, hanging around like a groupie at the stage door.

  I had thought the only good thing about Damaris’ absence for the past three months was that if she was so depressed she couldn’t leave the apartment, she clearly wasn’t hooking up with Marcus on the sly. And that alone had brought some calm to my mind.

  That’s the most selfish thing I ever heard, whispered the voice in the back of my mind. You disgust me.

  Shut up! I snapped at it, starting to feel flustered. The last thing I needed right now was that stupid voice judging me.

  Well, that peace of mind had now been shattered, because apparently all Marcus and Damaris needed to have sex was an empty dressing room.

  The anger I’d felt earlier returned, and with it I felt a twinge of rebellion.

  “Do you have any idea how upset Damaris was after what happened in the dressing room today?” I blurted out, turning to glare at him.

  I thought I saw a flash of outrage in Marcus’ eyes before his expression changed and he leaned forward at me earnestly.

  “I apologized to her already. But maybe she needs to hear it from someone else. Can you tell her how sorry I am?”

  I stared at him. I felt like the carpet had been pulled from under my feet.

  “Well,” I said. “I don’t think Duane Tyrone will be happy if he finds out someone upset Damaris right before her big comeback tonight!”

  He stared at me, as if he couldn’t believe I had just made the threat explicit.

  “No…” he said softly. He frowned, and then blinked, wiping a hand over his mouth. “No, he wouldn’t be happy. Are you going to tell him?”

  I felt a sense of satisfaction grow inside me like a rainbow-sheen bubble. I didn't say anything, just raised my eyebrows back at him and crossed my arms across my chest.

  “Are you?” Marcus said, a note of urgency appearing in his voice.

  A little spark of pride had been struck like a hammer falling on an anvil and I caught that spark in my hands and tried to fan it gently into flame.

  I had Marcus in a bind.

  This must be how Machyl feels all the time. This was what it felt like to have power over someone else.

  You make me sick the voice in the back of my head whispered. Is that all it takes for you to throw away Damaris’ trust?

  I took a deep breath and blocked the voice out with all my strength.

  I’d prided myself for all this time that unlike Machyl, I had principles. I had integrity.

  I would never betray Damaris’ trust like that. I was better than that. I was better than all of the rest of them.

  “No,” I said, but saying it didn’t make me feel proud. I felt deflated.

  I had gotten all angry and come here to confront Marcus, but for what? What did it matter what I tried to say or do?

  “Okay,” Marcus breathed, sounding relieved. “Thank you. I don’t need to tell you what would happen if Duane Tyrone found out about what happened today.”

  Fraternization was the greatest sin that could be committed under Duane Tyrone’s roof, that was clear. But the precise consequences had never been spelled out to me.

  Were they afraid that one of them would be fired if DT found out they were a couple?

  It was obvious who that would be. Damaris was going nowhere. Damaris was the headliner, the House of Ellegrandé’s greatest asset. I was sure that Duane Tyrone would rather part with his right arm than see Damaris go.

  “Yeah,” I said unenthusiastically.

  I wanted to tell him that I didn’t just know about today. My knowledge of his secret went way back. And how much more furious would DT be if he knew that they had been sneaking around for that long?

  I was so jealous, I felt like fire ants were crawling all over my skin. And with that, same old questions appeared and started to race each other around my mind.

  Damaris had told Sue Ellen she liked big, muscly men.

  So why would she hook up with Marcus, who was, as Sue Ellen had pointed out, slender and pretty?

  And Marcus was gay, so why would he hook up with Damaris, who was so womanly in everything about her?

  But no-one ever explained anything to me in this place. They just laughed when I slipped up and made me look like a fool for how little I knew.

  You’re missing the point, moron… the little voice whispered in my mind. Why would they take such a big risk unless they really are in love?

  The fire ants which had been crawling over my skin moved inward and formed a cluster around my heart. It felt as if my heart was going to go up in flames and burn out completely, leaving nothing but a black, scorched hollow in my chest.

  “So are you a couple now?” I blurted out, unable to keep the question in any longer.

  If Damaris was pissed at me because she thought I liked her boyfriend, then I needed to know. I needed to go and tell her right away that I didn’t, before she ended up hating me forever.

  “No!” Marcus burst out, raising his hands in front of him as if I had just pointed a gun at him. “No, Anthony, we are not a couple.”

  I frowned. “Really,” I said sarcastically.

  “Really,” he said meeting my eyes. “There’s nothing going on between us.”

  “What?” I said. I couldn’t believe he was just barefaced lying about it now.

  His eyes slid away to the side and his lips pursed. “Look…” he said.

  “Do you like her?” I asked and although I knew my questions were taking me in a dangerous direction, I couldn’t stop. I had to have an explanation.

  “Yeah. ’Course,” Marcus breathed. “She’s tops, Damaris. Love her to bits.”

  “You love her?” I blurted, my heart racing. All of this time I had tried to ignore their relationship, consoled myself that it was irrelevant because it wasn’t serious, because I was too scared to face my own feelings if it was serious.

  Marcus looked at me, alarmed. “I—don’t love her like that. She’s just a friend.”

  “That’s what you do with your friends?” I said incredulously.

  “Er,” Marcus fiddled with his phone. “Yes, actually.”

  I frowned at it. I knew that phone well. It was constantly being passed around the dressing room so everyone could ogle dicks that Marcus had been sent through various apps. I felt my jaw harden. I hated hook up apps.

  “I’m going to be very honest with you, Anthony,” Marcus said, glancing up at me. “Because I know I can trust you. You’re not like a lot of the other girls at the club.”

  His comment smarted. I knew I was different. He didn’t have to point it out like that.

  “Damaris looks different now to when I first met her,” he said. He shrugged. “I’m gay.”

  “You mean because of the hormones?” I said in disbelief.

  “Yeah,” he nodded.

  “She—she doesn’t look that different!” I protested. “She’s always looked beautiful, and now she looks even more beautiful!”

  He gave me a look. “It’s not her face that’s changed.”

  I felt my mouth gape open in outrage. I couldn’t believe he was that shallow. Not to mention—wasn’t it just plain wrong to feel differently about a person just
because they had undergone hormone therapy?

  He shrugged again. “You’re a gay man, you understand what I’m talking about. It’s nothing personal.” He took a sip of his tea.

  “I most certainly do not understand!” I said hotly.

  He frowned, putting the cup back down. “Are you being PC or something?”

  “It’s—it’s not PC to be respectful of—of someone’s identity,” I said.

  “Anthony, I respect her, okay?”

  “It doesn’t sound like you do,” I said skeptically.

  Marcus leaned forward and glared at me. “She wanted my dick,” he said. “There wasn’t a lot of chat about identity.”

  I wanted to clap my hands over my ears and not hear any more. But I had to know more. I had to.

  “So the storage closet,” I said. “You said it wasn’t the first time?”

  I saw Marcus’ cheeks going pink. “First time in the storage closet. We’re usually much more careful.”

  “Her bedroom?” I blurted out before I could rethink the words.

  “What?” Marcus said in alarm, rapidly going red now. “No! Are you joking? Duane Tyrone would have a play-by-play!”

  If Marcus and Damaris didn’t hook up in her bedroom because Duane Tyrone might hear, then where had they hooked up? They must have come to Marcus’s. They must have come to this apartment. They might have—they might have—on this couch. On this very couch.

  I stood up. Marcus looked up at me in alarm.

  “So that’s why she was so upset,” I said. I was furious. The fire ants crawled over every inch of my flesh, and my chest heaved with the pain.

  He winced, rubbing his eyes. “Nothing actually happened today,” he said. “She stopped it before anything could happen and she blew up at me.”

  “Well, are you surprised she’s upset that you treat her like a man? She hates that! She told me she was having dysphoria after what happened today!”

  “Anthony,” Marcus said in a soft voice. “I’ve clearly upset you, now. I’m sorry. Please, sit down.”

  I did so, but huffily. Yes. He had upset me.

  “I know you’re concerned about her,” he said. “I have been, as well. As a friend, because I genuinely do care about her as a friend.” He reached a hand over and touched my arm. “I know you do, too.”