Free Love on Site by Neil Plakcy Page B

that he wasn’t as interested in getting laid as I was?
    Maybe he just didn’t like me as much as I liked him. Or maybe I was obsessing needlessly. Roberto had a whole life beyond me, and until I knew more about it, I wasn’t going to waste my time worrying. But as I got dressed for the drive west, I compared him to Walter.
    Roberto was at least fifteen years older than Walter, and his hair was thinner and grayer. Roberto was a snazzier dresser than Walter; I couldn’t imagine him in a sleeveless T-shirt and tight-fitting shorts. Nor could I see Roberto with a five o’clock shadow or hair mussed the way Walter’s was after a run on the site.
    Roberto’s body was slimmer and less muscular than Walter’s. Walter was more robust, Roberto more delicate. Walter was boisterous, Roberto courtly. I felt guilty when I realized that Walter was the more attractive to me. That was stupid; I needed to focus my attention on where it was rewarded.
    But then, I thought as I rode the elevator down to the garage, Walter had sent me a couple of signals, most recently when we stood side by side at the urinal on Friday night. He thought I was handsome and charming, and his eyes had glinted with sexual longing. Was he as unavailable as I’d thought?
    I pushed those thoughts aside and focused on driving to my parents’ house. Once there I was caught up in family drama, and I didn’t think of Roberto again until midmorning on Monday, when I was observing the fine grading of the first warehouse pad.
    A rolling mixer, which kept the concrete moist until pouring, stood idling beside the building while Camilo argued with a guy in a yellow hard hat. Finally they came to some agreement, and one of the men stepped over the hose, guiding it with his legs, and the mix began to spew out. A team of men finished the backbreaking work of spreading and smoothing it out.
    That was probably the way Roberto thought of men on a construction site. No wonder he didn’t see me in that kind of role—I didn’t see myself doing it either.
    I was finishing up that afternoon when Walter appeared in the doorway to my office. “You’re a good guy, Manny,” he said. He hesitated, and I looked up at him. “I hope you didn’t take anything I said at the bar the wrong way.”
    Oh, Jesus. When I thought he was flirting with me at the urinals, had I responded in some way that he misinterpreted? I did a quick rewind of our conversation in my head. “You mean you don’t really think I’m smart and hard-working?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light.
    He tilted his head a bit. “That’s what I said?”
    I wasn’t about to remind him he’d also said I was handsome and charming, especially if that’s what he wanted to take back.
    “That, and a bunch of stuff about aiming high in my career.”
    He nodded. “Good. Because anything else would be inappropriate, you know, because I’m your boss.” He rapped on my door frame with his fist. “Anyway, get out of here and go have a life. You don’t want to end up like your old boss.”
    What did that mean, I wondered as I packed up and drove back to the Beach. Walter wasn’t old, and it wasn’t like he had no life—I’d seen photos on his office wall of him socializing, and heard him talking with his friends about weekend plans.
    The next day, when I went to place my lunch order with Estefani, she said, “No meeting today. Walter’s got a lunch date.”
    “So we’re free?” I asked.
    “ Como un pájarito ,” she said. Like a little bird. She leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. “He’ll be out for hours. I’m putting the phones on night service and meeting my girlfriend for lunch.”
    The front door opened, and two Cuban men in business suits stepped inside. They were the kind of successful, assimilated guys I aimed to be like, kings of their own worlds. I moved over to the file cabinet as they flirted with Estefani. As I pulled out the contract I needed, Walter’s office door opened and he