Nicky wasn't as hard to get along with as I was worried he might be. Being his driver was a real job of work, but the man himself was not a problem. Sometimes I even kind of liked him. He didn't try to take the keys from me, ditch me, make me party with him, or any of the stuff I thought he might do. He just told me where to take him and had me sit by the door until he wanted to go somewhere else.

Gave me bar money, too, for while I was sitting around waiting. What was I going to do with bar money? I put away so much orange juice, I'll probably never get another cold in my life.

Most nights he went out to clubs with his friends. I watched him dance, flirt with girls he never took home, and drink, and drink, and drink. He had stages. First he'd get friendly and funny, laughing at everything anyone said. Then he'd get sarcastic and mean. And then he'd get morose, which was when I'd take him home. I learned how to get him out of a club before he started crying. I learned how to carry him to bed without the doorman helping. He didn't weigh much.

The roughest part of the job was watching him ride that downhill slope every night. Sometimes when I took his shoes off and put a blanket on him, he apologized. That was hard to take. He knew he wasn't doing himself any good. I just couldn't figure why he kept it up. I didn't ask, though. Psychologist was not part of my job description.

Not that I figured it'd be long before it was. My job expanded little by little as the weeks went on. It was my own fault. I guess I'm just one of nature's volunteers. My folks raised me to be a hard worker, keep things neat, don't leave stuff unfinished. It started out with just cleaning up around the couch as I put away my blanket and pillow every day. Then the kitchen, because I was eating there and it would've been weird to wash my dishes and not his. By the end of a month, I was cleaning the whole place, doing his laundry, and feeding him.

At least I wasn't cooking for him. I can't cook worth a damn. But hell, a man can't live on pizza and fried rice. My big sister works at Bertelli's, it was no problem to have them send up some spaghetti or a roast chicken on the nights he stayed in. It was good for him. He didn't look so pasty after a while of that.

Big Nicky came by one day to see how his son was doing. He took one look at the apartment and handed me a roll of twenties as big as my fist. "Bet you been feeding him out of your own pocket," he said.

Little Nicky stared at me. "You're shitting me. You never said."

I just shrugged. "I'm living here free, so..."

Big Nicky thumped my shoulder. "Don't let Junior take advantage of you." He winked. "Now beat it. Father-son bonding time."

I went to see my Mom for a couple hours, and when I got back Nicky was asleep on the couch. I cleaned up his empty bottles, put a blanket on him, and crashed out in his bed. Fair's fair. He's gonna steal mine, I'm gonna steal his.

I woke up to the sound of the door shutting. It took me a minute to figure if I cared; it was six in the morning, it was still dark. But I had to piss because Mom poured about a whole pot of coffee into me, so I just had a look around since I was up anyway.

Nicky was gone. So were the keys to the Jag.

I cursed myself out real good for leaving them on the entry table. But damnit, he never tried to take them from me before. Luckily, I needed the bathroom way too bad to waste time freaking out. By the time I was finished I was a little bit calmer, and I was able to sit down and think it through.

Okay, so it was real early, and he was not what you'd call a morning person. But apparently his dad's visit the night before really threw him. He didn't usually drink at home. He passed out early, he got up early, he decided to go have some alone time. Watch the sunrise or something. He'd had enough sleep that he was probably sober.

Still, it was my fucking job not to let him behind that wheel.

I'd call him first, I decided. He wouldn't answer his phone, but that'd give me something to tell the next guy I called. Not Big Nicky, not yet. A couple of the friends. Get them calling around. It'd embarrass him, but maybe that'd teach him not to disappear on me.

Then he threw my whole plan out of whack by answering on the third ring.

"Yeah, I know," he said before I could say anything. "I was gonna be back before you got up."

"Jesus, Nicky. Someone sees you driving --"

"I'm stone cold fucking sober, all right?"

"I believe you. But I'm not supposed to take your word for it."

"Fuck. Joey... fuck."

I heard a muffled horn, then the Jag's engine revving. He must've sat at a light for more than a second once it turned green, that'll get people real mad at you in this city, especially during morning rush hour. I bit my tongue so I wouldn't ask where he was. I didn't need to know that. So the silence just stretched on.

"You're such a good boy," he said at last. It should've been sarcastic, but I thought he sounded kind of sad. "Everybody keeps telling me that."

"Everybody, or just your dad? Look -- you're using the hands free thing, right? You're not steering with your knee or something?"

He sighed. "Shut up, Joey. I'm sorry I fell asleep on your couch. I'm just going to meet somebody, I'll be back in an hour."

"Meet --? Are you going alone? I'm not gonna ask who it is, but you shouldn't do business alone."

"It's not business. I'm having breakfast with an old friend of Dad's. Now pull your nose out and go back to bed. I may not be your boss, but you're not my boss either, you got it?"

I was looking out the window while I talked to him, and just then I got the first ray of sunrise straight through my goddamn eyeball. "Ow."

"Sorry," Nicky muttered, like he thought that had been for what he said. "I'll be back in an hour, Joey. I gotta go." He hung up.

I sat and watched the sun climb and thought about that. This was the first time I'd heard him sound like a wiseguy. Being the boss's son didn't make him one of us. As far as I knew he wasn't 'made', never got his hands dirty like the rest of us did. But the truth was I didn't know all that much about him. Maybe he had shit going on that was none of my business. Maybe I should just pull my nose out, like he said.

Or maybe he was in deep shit, and I should call Big Nicky so they could find him in time to haul his ass out of the frying pan.

Sunrise in a city is a weird thing. You hardly ever see the sun straight on. Mostly you see it bouncing off windows. Windows shine on windows shine on windows, it's like a maze of mirrors, and sometimes you can see a picture of the sun real faint on some wall low down where it doesn't even belong. This city is such a fucking crazy place. What do I know? I just drive the car.

I got up and made myself some coffee and eggs, and I did the dishes while I waited for Nicky to get home. The dishes took a while, because I burned the living shit out of the eggs, and they don't wanna come off the pan when you do that.

He was back in an hour, just like he said. He was wearing a suit and had his hair pulled back tight. He looked at me while he shut the door like he was waiting for me to chew him out, and he was ready to chew me right back if I tried it.

"Damn, Nicky," I grinned. "You look like a fucking gangster."

He cracked a smile. "Funny thing about that."

I got up to get him a cup of coffee. He came over to meet me. He held up the keys. I put my hand out, and we both laughed a little at the repeat of the scene at his birthday. He dropped the keys in my hand and folded my fingers over them. Then he just stood there with his hand over my hand while his ears slowly turned red.

I wanted to ask him what he was doing, but for some reason I just didn't. When he wasn't drunk or bored or passed out, he was a pretty decent-looking guy, I realized then. Which was not a great time to notice that. Now my ears were feeling kind of warm. I pulled my hand away and set his coffee down on the counter, went and sat at the table where my fourth cup was getting cold.

"You know what my dad said after you left?" he said.

"Yeah?"

"He asked why you're sleeping on the couch."

"Is that a problem? You never said. I could go back to Mom's if --"

"He meant, instead of in my bed."

I sprayed coffee across the table and started coughing. "What?" I croaked between coughs. "Why would he -- what -- does he think --?"

"So I guess he did just tell you to drive the car. That's good to know." He came around beside me and handed me a dishrag to clean up with.

I finally got myself under control. "What the fuck, Nicky."

He studied me for a minute, then shook his head and turned away. "I gotta think about it some more."

"You gotta think about it? What about me? You can't just --"

"Fine, you think about it too." He went in his room and shut the door.

I got up to follow. "Nicky! You don't just drop a bomb like that and walk away!"

"Take the car out if you want," he said through the door. "Be back here by eight, I'm going clubbing." I heard clothing-removal sounds. "And if you're thinking about joining me in the shower, fucking don't. I'm locking the door."

So I did what any red-blooded, hard-headed, gun-toting closet case would do. I took the Jaguar out for a spin.

I'm not a thinker. My brain hurt already, and it was just getting worse. I wished to God there was somebody I could talk to about this. But the only person I ever told about me was Dad. Dad was the one who told me not to tell anyone else. He said he loved me just the same, but that was why I had to keep it a secret. This world, our world, is all about respect, he said, and none of these boneheads know how to respect a homo. I'd get stomped on, or else I'd have to turn into an animal to prove I wasn't a sissy. He didn't want me to have to go through that.

But Big Nicky knew? Or he suspected and he was testing me? Or Little Nicky knew -- suspected -- was testing me -- why? And how the hell was anybody going to guess, anyway? It wasn't like I even thought about that shit most of the time. I didn't even go too far the other way and treat women like dirt to prove I was a man. I had a pattern of being the nice guy girls dumped for someone more interesting, and as far as anybody knew I was mostly waiting for marriage like a good Catholic mama's boy, just like half a dozen others I could name who really were that straight. I was not giving out signals.

Okay, I thought, let's say Nicky's on the level. Anything else is too complicated. So his dad was warning him about me. Unless he actually expected to find me in Nicky's bed -- which would mean Nicky's queer too?

The thought made me flashback on his red ears when he gave the keys back. The way he held onto my hand too long. Right before he said that to me.

But if Nicky --

Then his dad --

But how would he know --

By the time I went back to Nicky's place that night, I had a pounding headache.

I was kind of afraid to look Nicky in the eye. Actually, I was afraid to look at him at all. All this time I'd managed not to think about whether he was good-looking or not, but now I'd noticed I didn't know how to stop. He was dressed the same way he always dressed for the clubs. He always wore his pants that tight. He always wore a wifebeater to show off the tattoo on his shoulder and the muscle definition on his skinny arms. It never bothered me before.

Fake it til you make it, I told myself. Pretend you don't care and eventually you won't. And if he catches you drooling... say the hardon's for the car. Yeah, he's gonna believe that, after the conversation this morning. You'd make a shitty con man, Joey.

I don't know how long he was standing in the door, waiting impatiently for me to move. "Do I need to take a cab?" he demanded at last.

"Oh. Sorry. Kinda tired." I beat it to the elevator. He didn't call me on my cheap excuse.

When we were in the car, he said, "You know where The Aquarium is?"

"Nuh-uh. Is it new?"

"No, man, it's been around since there used to be real night clubs. Like with a band and ballroom dancing and everything. It's a dive now, but I guess I want to see where the guys used to do business in the old days."

And he'd had breakfast with an old friend of his dad's. What was with this nostalgia trip he was on? Not that it was for me to ask. I just followed his directions to a grimy old nightclub in a neighborhood that'd seen better times. You could still kind of see how it used to be posh once upon a time, but when I parked the Jag, it was the only new car in the lot. The whole thing gave me a weird feeling.

Maybe I should've paid more attention to that weird feeling. As we got out of the car, two guys I didn't know blocked our way, showing guns like they didn't care who saw.

"Open the trunk," one of the guys said.