Free Beijing Comrades by Scott E. Myers Page B

he said there was no way he could be that flashy at school; it would just be too awkward.
    The phone rang for a full five minutes before someone picked up. When I finally got Lan Yu on the phone, he said he had midterms that week but would be able to see me on Saturday after he was finished. I said okay and hung up, disappointed. I wanted instant gratification. And I wasn’t used to being rejected.
    When Saturday came around, Huang Jian gave me a call saying he wanted to come over in the evening. That makeup-wearing drummer must have put some kind of spell on me because I had completely forgotten that I had plans with Lan Yu.
    When Huang Jian arrived, I went into the kitchen wearingnothing but a pair of underwear and poured a glass of wine. He sat on the couch and popped a porn video into the VCR.
    â€œLook at that position!” he yelled, pointing at the screen as I returned to the living room. “We’re definitely trying that later.” I looked at the TV. One guy was lying on his back while the other guy sat on his dick and rode him. But instead of facing each other, the guy on top turned around so they were facing the same direction. As Huang Jian had suggested, it was an impressive stunt.
    â€œHey, by the way,” he said excitedly. “I went and saw that drum set today. It’s awesome! It’s from West Germany.” In addition to everything else I had bought him, Huang Jian now wanted a $4,000 drum set. He had also made it more than clear he wanted a car, but I hadn’t agreed to that one yet.
    Out of nowhere the doorbell rang. I figured it was probably the delivery that Huang Jian had ordered: some kind of American food, unclear to me exactly what. All I knew was that Huang Jian absolutely worshipped the West and ate nothing but Western food, sometimes Japanese. Japanese I liked, but the other stuff? I had no idea what he saw in it.
    â€œI’ll get it!” Huang Jian shouted. Wearing the bathrobe he had changed into, he got up from the couch and swaggered toward the door in his typically pompous way.
    â€œChen Handong, please.” It was Lan Yu’s voice.
    â€œFuck!” I muttered under my breath as I jumped to my feet. I darted into the bedroom to throw on some clothes, then rushed toward the door.
    The look on Lan Yu’s face when he saw me wasn’t so much anger as bewilderment. This reaction wasn’t the least bit lost on Huang Jian, who threw his competitor a bitchy look before sneering at me and walking into the bedroom.
    I considered pushing Lan Yu back into the hallway so wecould talk, but I didn’t want to lose face by seeming too eager to placate him, so we continued standing there, facing each other in the doorway.
    â€œWhat are you doing here? Why didn’t you call first?” I sounded like I was lecturing a child.
    â€œI told you I was coming over today after I finished my midterm examinations,” he replied, enunciating each syllable as if to make sure I understood what he was saying.
    â€œOkay, but you should still call first.” I had completely forgotten about our rendezvous, but was determined to make it sound like it was his fault.
    â€œI didn’t know you—anyway, you’re busy. I’ll just go back to campus.” Lan Yu hesitated for a moment, then turned around and left.
    I wanted to stop him, but didn’t. That night, I didn’t feel like having sex and wouldn’t have been able to get hard anyway. Huang Jian, for his part, took the opportunity to deride me for being so inept at planning my affairs. He didn’t care that I was fucking someone else; he just wanted me to do a better job juggling all the pieces.
    I didn’t have any contact with Lan Yu for a month after that. Again and again I thought about calling him, but each time I persuaded myself to hold out. Nor did I ask Liu Zheng to contact him for me. For some reason, I no longer felt that he or anyone else should be involved in