“Ooh, what a pushy bitch!” Tavi screamed in delight. “You heard her, Hectorina, she needs you to bump her pussy!” Hector smiled goofily and shrugged and obliged her and did the bump with her a little bit before politely excusing himself and disappearing into the crowd.
Suddenly alone in the spot where she’d danced with Hector, Issy felt briefly bereft. She momentarily lost her footing, reached out instinctively for someone to break her fall. And someone did. But it wasn’t Tavi, as she expected. It was the hairy-chested, pillow-lipped moreno in the purple mesh tank.
“Oh my God, thank you,” she said, regaining her footing. “I almost went down.”
“I saw you!” He laughed, showing a mouthful of very white teeth, which Issy noted approvingly. “You were, like, whoa!” He did a funny impression of her tottering on her heels and reaching out wildly for support.
“Oh my God,” she said, “I’m so embarrassed.”
“Don’t be,” he said. “You’re up in the club.”
Then the DJ put on a song she loved from a few years ago, “I Want to Thank You.” I want to thank you, heavenly father, went the lyrics, for shining your light on me. You sent me someone who really loves me and not just my body. The song was a bit of a prayer for Issy. It was a dance song, but a mellow one, and she couldn’t help but exclaim to the purple tank guy, “I love this song!”
His eyes popped open in delight. “I do, too!” he said. He took both her hands in his and led her into a bit of an old-fashioned hustle step, sending her twirling through the bridge of their two arms, then reeling her in close again until she could feel his moist chest hair against her cheek and smell his cologne, which reminded her of her older brother’s. Here, their dancing stopped. She became more and more aware of the feel of his body against hers — the width of his shoulders, the taper down to his slim waist, the feel of his jeans against her leggings, the warmth of his breath in her ear.
“Dios mío,” she said, surprising herself.
Purple Tank laughed and took her chin between his thumb and index finger. “You know how beautiful you are?” he asked her.
“You told me that already!” she protested. “You’re just high on whatever drugs you’re on.”
“I’m not on any drugs,” he insisted. “Well, okay, I took a Quaalude.”
She laughed triumphantly. “See! You’re just fucked up.”
But he held her chin in place and fixed his eyes on her. “No, baby,” he said. “I think you’re beautiful. Why is it so hard for you to believe that?”
Issy felt both touched and uncomfortable all at once. Why is it so hard for me to believe that? she asked herself, still rocking to the song in his arms. Maybe because this was something she’d never heard before — not from family or from girlfriends, and certainly not from boys. She was just — well, she just was. She didn’t think she was a fea and she didn’t think she was a beauty queen. She didn’t give much thought to herself. She probably spent more time thinking about her abuela upstairs and what groceries she should pick up for her on the way home from dental school, or what she should fix her for dinner, than she did about herself. But now, she had to admit to herself, it was damn nice to have a handsome — albeit a somewhat strangely handsome — man looking her deeply in the eyes and telling her she was beautiful.
Then she realized she’d forgotten something. “You’re gay!” she said.
“I’m bisexual.” He shrugged. “I probably like women more than men, to tell you the truth. I just love the music and the vibe here. I love the crazy mix of people.”
“It’s a great club,” she said. She certainly had to admit that. Tavi had been telling her for a year he’d take her, and tonight they’d finally made it. Speaking of that, where was Tavi? She glanced around, failing to see him nearby. Suddenly, she saw nobody she knew, even vaguely, nearby.
Then Purple Tank’s lips were on hers. They felt unbelievably pillowy and insistent. Her throat constricted for a moment. This isn’t right, she thought. But apparently Purple Tank sensed her unease, because he pressed his hands firmly into her lower back, and she felt herself give out beneath him.
“Just relax and enjoy it, baby,” he whispered. “It’s okay. It’s a holiday.”
This was true, she thought. She lost herself in their necking. She clung gratefully to the solidity of his upper body. It took a long time for it to happen, went the song. But I knew those nights I prayed that you would send me someone who’s real and not someone for play. Issy desperately wanted someone like that, she thought. She remembered Freddy, just last week, rubbing his hand over the belly of her pregnant sister-in-law, Vanessa, and how her brother, usually so full of bravado and bluff, had a tender, almost reverent look in his eyes. She wanted a man to look at her like that. Maybe it was this man! she thought. And how funny that for the rest of her life she’d tell people that she met the man of her dreams in a gay club!
She got so caught up in this reverie that she at first didn’t notice that Purple Tank was leading her off the dance floor. She opened her eyes, feeling deliciously sleepy and removed from her body, and pulled him back. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“Let’s get some air outside, baby,” he said. He sheltered her in his arm and guided her toward the exit.
“Just let me tell Tavi,” she said, straining to be heard over the music.
“Tavi—” he called back to her. She couldn’t quite make out what he was saying. She stood up on tiptoes and scanned the crowd, much of which had divided into couples who were slow-dancing, just as she had been a minute ago. She couldn’t see Tavi. Well, she thought, a few minutes of fresh air wouldn’t be so bad.
There was a crowd smoking and laughing outside the club, amid a cool and lovely May night boasting a sky where even a few stars, westward toward the Hudson River, were visible. Still feeling sparkly from the MDMA, Issy reveled in the breeze on her neck and arms. Purple Tank put his arm back around her and led her away from the crowd, down the street. “Let’s sit in my car,” he said. “It’s around the corner.”
“I don’t even know your name!” she said, dragging back a little bit.
He turned. “I didn’t tell you? It’s Chris. Your friend Tavi and I see each other out all the time.” Oh, Issy thought. So he knew Tavi. That gave her some reassurance. “And what’s your name?”
“It’s Ysabel,” she said. “But just Issy.”
“That was my abuela’s name,” he said.
Issy put her hands on her hips. “You are too much!” She laughed.
“I’m not fucking with you,” he said, laughing along. “I can show you pictures.”
She stood there a moment longer, regarding him. “You are too much,” she said again, moving back toward him. He put his arm back around her.
His car, around the corner, was a powder-blue Ford Fairmont with a plastic pendant of San Cristóbal hanging from the rearview mirror. “Oh, now I get the name,” Issy said when she saw it. “Cris-tóbal.”
“That’s right.” He laughed. “El santo de los viajeros.”
They sat in the backseat with the windows open to let in the breeze. The street, in an industrial part of town deserted at night save for the club, was still and silent. She closed her eyes, tilted back her head. In an instant, she could feel those lips back on her own. She curled in toward him until she’d thrown her legs over his. She felt one of his meaty hands, so hairy, slip between the lower buttons of her untucked, oversize shirt with the pink-and-yellow graffiti print on it. Then she felt two of his fingers slip underneath her bra. At that moment, she surprised herself again with an eruption of tears.