The waitress brought us dessert menus. I smiled at her. She smiled back. What's seldom is wonderful.
"She's got a fat ass," remarked Angel, as she walked away. He was dressed in the traditional Angel garb of faded denims and wrinkled check shirt over a black T, and sneakers that were now a filthy mockery of their original white. A black leather jacket hung on the back of his chair.
"I wasn't looking at her ass," I replied. "She has a pretty face."
"So she could be like the spokeswoman for the lardasses, the one they wheel out when they want to look good on TV," offered Louis. "Folks look at her and say, 'Hey, maybe them lardasses ain't so bad after all.'"
As always, Louis looked like a deliberate riposte to his lover. He wore a black, single-breasted Armani suit and a snow-white dress shirt with the collar unbuttoned, the virgin white of the shirt in stark contrast to his own dark features and his shaven, ebony head.
We were sitting in J. G. Melon's at the corner of 74th and Third. I had not seen them in over two months, but these men, this diminutive, white ex-burglar and his enigmatic, soft-spoken boyfriend, were now the closest things to friends I had left. They had stood by me when Jennifer and Susan died, and they had been with me in those last, terrible days in Louisiana as we drew closer to a final confrontation with the Traveling Man. They were outsiders-perhaps that was one of the reasons for our closeness-and Louis in particular was a dangerous man, a hired killer now enjoying a murky, indefinite form of semiretirement, but they were on the side of the angels, even if the angels were not entirely sure that this was a positive development.
Angel laughed loudly-"Spokeswoman for the lardasses," he repeated to himself-and scanned the menu. I tossed a discarded french fry at him.
"Hey, Slim," I said. "Looks like you could skip a couple of sundaes every now and then. You tried to burgle somewhere you'd get stuck in the door. The only places you could break into would be ones with big windows."
"Yeah, Angel," said Louis, stone-faced. "Maybe you could specialize in cathedrals, or the Met."
"I can afford to fill out," replied Angel, throwing him a glare.
"Man, you fill out any more, you be twins."
"Funny, Louis," shrugged Angel. "She's still two tokens on the subway, if you see what I mean."
"What does it matter to you anyway?" I said. "You don't have any right to pass comments about the opposite sex. You're gay. You don't have an opposite sex."
"That's just prejudice, Bird."
"Angel, it's not prejudice when someone points out that you're gay. It's just a statement of fact. It's prejudice when you start baiting the wider members of society."
"Hey," he said. "Doesn't change the fact that if you're looking for company, maybe we can help."
I stared at him, and raised an eyebrow. "I think that's unlikely. I get that desperate, I'll blow my head off."
He smiled. "Well, you know, you got that look. I hear that Web site Womenbehindbars.com, is worth a visit."
"Excuse me?" I replied. His smile widened so much you could have slotted toasting bread into it.
"Lot of women out there looking for a guy like you." He turned his right hand into a little gun and fired his index finger at me with a movement of his thumb. It made him look like the cabaret act from gay hell.
"What exactly is Womenbehindbars.com?" I asked. I knew I was being baited, but I sensed something more as well from both Angel and Louis. You're up there alone, Bird, they seemed to say. You don't have too many people you can fall back on, and we can't look out for you from New York City. Sometimes, maybe even before you think you're ready, you have to reach out and find something on which you can rely. You have to try to find a foothold, otherwise you're going to fall and you're going to keep falling until it all goes dark.
Angel shrugged. "Y'know, it's one of those Internet dating services. Some places have more lonely women than others: San Francisco, New York, state prisons…"
"You're telling me there's a dating service for women in jail?"
He raised his hands wide. "Sure there is. You know, cons have needs too. You just log on, take a look at the pictures and pick your woman."
"They're in jail, Angel," I reminded him. "It's not as if I can invite them out for dinner and a movie without committing a felony. Plus, I might have put them in jail. I'm not going to try to date anyone I jailed. It'd be too weird."
"So date out of state," said Angel. "You declare anywhere from Yonkers to Lake Champlain a no-go zone, and the rest of the Union's your oyster." He toasted me with his glass, then he and Louis exchanged a look, and I envied them that intimacy.
"Anyway, what are these women in for?" I asked, resigned by now to playing the role of straight man.
"The site don't say," replied Angel. "All it says is their ages, what they're looking for in a guy, and then it gives you a picture. One without numbers underneath it," he added. "Oh, and it tells you whether or not they're willing to relocate, although the answer's pretty obvious. I mean, they are in jail. Relocation's probably top of their list of priorities."
"So what does it matter why they're in there?" asked Louis. I noticed that his eyes were watering. I was glad I was providing amusement for him. "The ladies do the crime, do the time, then their debt to society is paid. Long as they ain't cut off a guy's dick and tied it to a helium balloon, you're home free."
"Yeah," said Angel. "You just set some ground rules, and then dip your toes in the pool. Suppose she was a thief. Would you date a thief?"
"She'd steal from me."
"A hooker?"
"Couldn't trust her."
"That's a terrible thing to say."
"Sorry. Maybe you could start a campaign."
Angel shook his head in mock sorrow, then brightened. "How about an assault case? Broken bottle, maybe a kitchen knife. Nothing too serious."
"A kitchen knife and it's nothing too serious? What planet do you live on, Angel? Plastic silverware world?"
"Okay then, a murderer."
"Depends who she killed."
"Her old man."
"Why?"
"The fuck do I know why? You think I was wearing a wire? Do you date her or not?"
"No."
"Shit, Bird, if you're going to be fussy you're never going to meet anyone."
The waitress returned. "Would you gentlemen like to order dessert?"
We all declined, Angel adding: "Nah, I'm sweet enough as it is."
"Cheesy enough, too," said the waitress, and flashed me another grin. Angel reddened and Louis's mouth twitched in an approximation of a smile.
"Three coffees," I said, and grinned back at her. "You just earned yourself a substantial tip."
After the meal, we took a walk in Central Park, stopping to rest by the statue of Alice on the mushroom by the model boat pond. There were no kids sailing their boats on the water, although one or two couples sat huddled together by the bank, watched impassively by Louis. Angel hoisted himself up onto the mushroom, his legs dangling beside me, Alice in turn watching over him.
"How old are you?" I said.
"Young enough to appreciate this," he replied. "So how you doin'?"
"I'm okay. I have good days and bad days."
"How do you tell them apart?"
"On the good days, it doesn't rain."
"The house coming along?" I was completing the renovations on my grandfather's old house in Scarborough. I had already moved in, although there were some repairs still needed.
"Nearly finished. Roof just needs fixing, that's all."