Free Between Boyfriends by Michael Salvatore

declared.
    It was decided that since Sebastian’s Thursday night fuck buddy did PR for Splash, he would handle booking the party, Flynn would deal with food and alcohol, and Lindsay would steer the decorations committee because history had taught us that he would redecorate whatever decorations were put up anyway. I, being the most organized, would put together the guest list and send out the invites.
    “Now if you’ll excuse me, boys, I gotta run,” Sebastian announced, downing the last of his double-D. “I’m late for my Tuesday night blow job.”
    “Oh, is it Tuesday already?” I queried.
    “Time to be the highlight of some lonely queen’s week,” Sebastian declared. “I’ll be free in an hour if you guys want to be rounds two and three.”
    We watched Sebastian’s denim-swathed ass wiggle out of Starbucks and we were confronted with the gay man’s age-old dilemma—sometimes the ass you wanted to boot out of your life was the same ass you wanted to rim. Sebastian, much more so than any of us, embraced his sexuality and didn’t care if he teetered on the edge of slutdom. Collectively, we tsk-tsked him; individually, we envied him.
    Pushing X-rated thoughts from our minds, Flynn and I started to sketch out ideas for Gus’s party and soon we had come up with this: each guest had to come as a character from Can’t Stop the Music or a major icon from the disco era. Anticipating an influx of Donna Summers and Grace Joneses we decided to adapt a technique mastered by heterosexual women: the bridal registry, or what I refer to as the scam of the century. Along with the animated e-vite that we would create, we would include a list of appropriate disco era personalities that people could impersonate. Each time a guest chose a name it would disappear from the roster, thus ensuring that each guest would attend as a different disco star. To satisfy the popularity of such megastars as Donna and Grace we would allow them, and a few certain others, to have multiple listings that would reflect the range of their careers, such as Grace from her “Demolition Man” video and her grunt ’n’ glama role in A View to a Kill, and Donna as the whore of “Love to Love You Baby” and the paid whore of “Bad Girls.” I was filled with an emotion that took me higher when I decided I would break another one of my rules and don drag to attend the party as Samantha Sang. And then another emotion grounded me as I realized that no matter how hard I tried, I somehow always gave in to my mother’s wishes.
    “Do you know what just happened?” Flynn asked.
    “Anjanette picked out the perfect pair of pumps for me?” I guessed.
    “No! You went thirty minutes without thinking about Frank,” Flynn said.
    “Excuse me, Maureen McGovern, can you read my mind?” I asked.
    “Stop joking, Superman, I’m serious.”
    I didn’t want to get serious, but I also didn’t want to contradict Flynn. As a producer I had learned the art of multitasking and that’s what I had been doing. While laying out the groundwork for Gus’s landmark party, I was planning what I would say if Frank walked through the door.
    “Wow, maybe I’m moving on,” I lied.
    “Well, it’s a start,” Flynn said. “I guarantee you, Stevie, that by the time Gus’s party rolls around you’ll have a boyfriend who loves you almost as much as I do.”
    Sometimes truth flows effortlessly into the air. When it does it’s important to catch it so you can remember it at a later date like when you’re just about to fall asleep and you’re feeling a little bit lonely. I mentally stored Flynn’s comment, certain that I would need to use it later that night.
    I watched Flynn walk down the street for a moment, then continued on my way. It was a balmy night, which meant the streets were packed, but I felt like a ghost floating through the horde of happy-go-luckies. Every once in a while when one of the happy boys brushed against my shoulder, I thought I got a fleeting