Free Object of Desire by William J. Mann Page A

silence for a moment.
    â€œ I’d go with you, Danny,” Randall said, sitting up and pulling his shirt back on, “but I should be heading back to L.A.”
    I said nothing. I didn’t want to go hiking with Randall. I wanted to go with Frank. I stared at Randall and wondered if—as so often happened—he was reading my mind. If he, too, was remembering what he’d said to me two decades ago, standing in the bar on Santa Monica Boulevard. Frank had just asked me to move in with him.
    â€œI just want you to think long and hard about this, Danny,” Randall had said then. “When you’re thirty, he’ll be forty-four. When you’re forty, he’ll be fifty-four. When you’re fifty…”
    It hadn’t mattered at thirty. But now, at forty-one…
    It was at that very moment that I looked up, and coming through the courtyard toward us was Jake Jones. His blond hair seemed to glow in the sun, and the flip-flops he wore, barely visible under his long, loose jeans, slapped the pavement in a regular beat as he walked. He seemed in that moment the personification of youth. The lightness to his step. The indifference of his shoulders. He noticed us.
    Or rather, he noticed me.
    â€œHey, Ishmael,” he said, approaching. I couldn’t tell if he was being ironic or if he really thought that was my name. “Why’d you disappear so fast last night?”
    He came to a stop barely a foot from where I was sitting. My eyes were level with his crotch. A black belt with silver studs was half visible from under his semi-tucked white T-shirt, and green checkered boxer shorts bunched up over the waist of his jeans. From the corner of my eye, I could see both Frank and Randall watching our encounter, Frank with curiosity, Randall with envy. Jake had walked right past the two of them and straight up to me. I lifted my eyes to meet the youngster’s and smiled.
    â€œBecause,” I said, “my boyfriend, Frank, was waiting for me at home.” I gestured with my head toward Frank.
    Jake’s eyes turned to look. “Hi,” he said, unflappable. “I’m Jake.”
    â€œGood to meet you, Jake,” Frank said.
    He spoke the way fathers do when meeting their sons’ friends. The two of them shook hands.
    From behind us came a small voice. “Hi, Jake,” Randall offered.
    The boy finally turned, lifting an eyebrow in my poor, forgotten friend’s direction. “Oh, hey,” he said. “Did you and Thad and Jimmy go out to dinner last night after I left the bar?”
    â€œWe…um…we ate something back at their house,” Randall replied.
    I smiled despite myself. They ate something, all right. Frank caught my smile, and our eyes met. He chuckled. It broke the tension between us.
    â€œWell,” Jake was saying, returning his attention to me, “it was good seeing you again, Ishmael.” And then in front of my boyfriend, he took my phone off the table, where I had placed it, and entered his number. “Just in case you ever have a party and want to invite me,” he said, handing the phone back to me. “Good meeting you,” he said to Frank. To Randall, he said nothing more, just disappeared inside the café.
    â€œWhat’s up with the Ishmael?” Frank asked.
    â€œA silly joke,” I said.
    â€œHe’s cute,” Frank noted.
    Randall was standing now, brushing off his shorts. “Thad and Jimmy told me to watch out for him. They have done so much for him. They’ve let him live with them for a while, and they’ve helped him get a couple of jobs….”
    â€œAnd what’s their problem with him?” I asked. “Is it that he accepts their help but refuses to put out?”
    Randall didn’t reply. I had my answer.
    â€œWell,” Frank said, “I think it’s obvious he’d put out for Danny, since he gave him his number.”
    â€œDanny