Tuesday, February 14, 1995
“Ricky, don’t worry,” Ian said, “We’ll be back by nine.” Inch by inch, he pushed him out the door. His boyfriend hastened back. With every squandered second, Ricky found a pressing duty that only he and none of the three full-time staff or multiple temps could handle. His mouth was parched from assuring him over and over again, Fantabulous! would survive while they had dinner down the Venice Boardwalk and then some. “Tori was nice enough to come in and take charge.” He smiled at his newfound buddy. “Markus has security under control.” He saluted their resident superhero. “And Tyler–I mean Chance–is entertaining the guests.” He squinted as their barback/go-go boy jiggled his butt. No sign of an Only One Love tattoo. His insides tied in knots, the potential Judas strutted on the main platform unchaperoned. Not that he was ever alone since a fan club of gay men of all ages escorted him, their dollars at the ready. “Before long, we’ll figure out what he’s hiding.”
“H-H-H-iding?” Ricky said. “You can see for yourself. I was completely wrong about the tattoo.” He seized his hand, pulling him out the door. “You’re right, they’ll be okay.” His eyes darted back inside.
“If you’re not in the mood to go on a date, please say. It’ll break my heart since it’s our first Valentine’s in LA, but I’ll live.” He choked up. After he spoiled his original surprise for today, Ian wanted to do something less grandiose. More intimate. More Ricky.
“It’s not that.” He turned to the front entrance, where the line of guests increased. “I want to celebrate what’s left of Valentine’s Day with you. I’m a little–no, a lot–overwhelmed. Not only do we have this place to worry about, but we have two houses.”
“I should have just said it was a rental.” His stomach grumbled.
“Have you eaten anything all day?” He stepped closer, listening in. “Sorry, I was here all afternoon to help decorate.”
“I had lunch at Spago with an old friend. Not as wonderful as your cooking, but close enough.”
“Not another ex, I hope?” He nudged his arm.
He vigorously nodded no. “Only some guy I met during auditions in the late eighties. He’s on that show you watch every day. Winter–”
“–Autumn of my Discontent!” Ricky jumped up and down. “Who do you know there? Angel Santos? Richard Hunter? Is it Kendra Kane herself?” Grinning from ear to ear, he caught his arm and pulled Ian out the door. As they passed the line on the way out, his boyfriend proudly observed the reactions.
He wanted to cry. Finally, he was pleased with him. Thankful to be seen with Ian Hornsby. He wasn’t just the man who kissed him in front of America or Jake’s ex, the love of his life. It wasn’t hunger that beset his stomach. It was butterflies. All it took was calling up a closet case who was an extra on Glock’s final season. Said he was Tommy Glock’s Number One fan. Now it was Hughie Roman whose star shone. Was that his character’s name? Richard Hunter. He burst out laughing. Dick Hunter?
The pandemonium of the Venice Boardwalk quickly swallowed them whole as the once vivid blue sky mutated into a bruised orange and brown. Couples with forced smiles lined up at restaurants while hopeless singles looked on. As if the date February 14 wasn’t just another day, they could demonstrate their love, find true love, or the next best thing. Ian did it on another manufactured holiday. Who thought of this Promise Day? Not from the same folks as Valentine’s Day, since he couldn’t find the card when he stopped for gas Saturday night. He left Ricky at their new home to obsess over what would go where. Meanwhile, he called a Palm Springs moving company’s emergency number and their housekeeper, bribing both to make this as painless as possible.
A light afternoon shower left puddles on the pavement. It didn’t stop the street performers from juggling fire, hotdog stands from burning their onions, or vendors from announcing they had the cheapest sunglasses or tie-dye. While he covered his nose, Ricky breathed in what he called its atmosphere more deeply. Maybe he should be thankful his partner still stopped at everything he found interesting, shook the hands of new acquaintances, and giggled wildly that he could wade in the Pacific.
“We’re not going somewhere like Spago,” Ricky said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t forget about tonight, but I forgot to bring extra clothes.
“Your Fantabulous! uniform will be fine.” He stroked the silver disco ball on his boyfriend’s chest.
“But you’re wearing Polo.” He unbuttoned the top button of Ian’s pine long-sleeve shirt.
“Then I’ll be overdressed. Gumshoe is a dive. But I promise, you’ll get the best burger, beer, and pool for your money.”
On cue, a blur of motion jumped from a group mostly of adolescents blasting their competing boomboxes. Every kind of music thundered from The Notorious B.I.G.’s Juicy to Hole’s Miss World to Ace of Base’s The Sign. A gangly kid in a dark hooded sweatshirt bumped Ricky hard, then ran away without apologizing. He caught his balance, screamed, “He took my wallet!” The teens moved more slowly than usual as they took their time comparing Pogs, conversing in looks and whispers, or lounging in their wide-legged JNCO jeans. He nodded once as his attacker disappeared behind them. “I think it’s the same kid who spraypainted our poster.”
“I’ll call Bee!” He scratched his face. “I mean, text him ASAP.” It wasn’t the time to come clean about that little matter. His whole face combusted. “If any of you children aided and abetted that juvenile delinquent, I will find out! Ricky, I’m sorry.”
“Ian…” His boyfriend turned away from where he last saw the culprit. “He had OOL tattooed on his wrist. Just like on Tyler.”
“Just like on Tyler?” He couldn’t breathe. “You told me you were wrong. He didn’t have a tattoo.”
“Kitty helped him cover it up with makeup.”
“Hollywood make-up would hide it, especially with the way he sweats. Is that why she’s MIA tonight? She’s avoiding me.”
“No. Ernesto asked for tonight off as Ernesto. He has a hot date, too.”
“Did you ask why he…she…they lied for Tyler?”
He shook his head. “No. He assured me Fantabulous! is safe. That Jake knew about the tattoo. And to ask Ty myself if I wanted the very special episode, whatever that means.”
“Confirmation, Jake knew. But I still don’t buy Ty-boy’s innocence. Especially when another juvenile delinquent mugged you.” His heart pounded faster as he connected the three dots: OOL. Before Glock, Jake guest-starred in several sitcoms that aimed for social relevance. An older Jacob Monk was cast as an insensitive jerk whose girlfriend got pregnant, a punk because his parents divorced, and a nerd who brought alcohol to homecoming. It became their code for heavily promoted but nothing special. He sighed. “As for confronting Tyler Truman, stay away from him. We can’t fire him without rocking the whole Fantabulous! Boat.”
Ricky crossed his arms over his chest. “I didn’t say anything about confronting. I was going to bring it up. Nicely.”
“I’ll leave it to you.” He looked him in the eyes. “I trust you. Can we forget about Tyler, Kitty/Ernesto, and just for a couple of hours, that queer bar you manage?” He scratched his chin. “What was its name?”
He blew him a raspberry. “I’m here to just enjoy cheap burgers, beer, and I haven’t played pool since I left Manila.” He reached behind him. “I forgot my wallet’s gone.” He was near tears.
“Your money’s no good tonight, Mr. Luna.” He wanted to hold his lover, nuzzle his cheek, and whisper in his ear. As many times as it would take to make it alright again. But they were far from the safe haven he’d asked them to forget. For now. If that pickpocket was from Only One Love, who knows how many of them hunted the boardwalk expressly for wimpy queers like them. That hoodlum targeted Ricky twice now?
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