“So we’re naming him Chester, eh?” he asked. “I like him already. Sounds like me.”
“A pain in the ass?”
“Occasionally…yes. Depends on who you ask.”
I cocked my head curiously. “Are you saying you’re attracted to uncooperative types or that you are one?”
“Both. I’m attracted to people who are a little out there, you know what I mean? People who aren’t afraid to look silly or take chances.” He flopped back onto the chair and motioned for me to sit. Then he leaned over the armrest and absently brushed his hand against mine. “But not completely insane and ideally, not malicious.”
“Your bar is a little low.”
Justin snickered and then took a sip. “I don’t really have a bar. I’m terrible at relationships. I could never write a believable love song.”
“Sure you could. You just pretend you’re writing about ice cream or Chester and let your feelings go.”
“But that’s fake and contrived. I’d rather write about things everyone can relate to, like isolation, frustration, loneliness.”
“That sounds bleak,” I commented. “Don’t you think people need songs about hope, friendship, romance, love?”
He scoffed. “Friendship and hope…sure. But romance and love are bullshit.”
“What’s wrong with romance?” I hiked my knee on the cushion to get a better look at him. His expressive facial features fascinated me. He was scornful, then thoughtful, and always passionate.
“Romance is the perceived gateway to love. It’s a front. You can woo someone with flowers, nice dinners, return text messages in a timely manner, and pay extra attention to their boring-ass stories, but let’s be real…you do it for sex,” he proclaimed.
“Me?” I pointed at my chest and gave him an innocent look.
“Yeah, you. And me. And every single person in this bar and the one we just left. We all want something. ‘Everybody’s in it for their own gain.’ ” He jumped to his feet again and snapped his fingers. “That’s a line from a Joni Mitchell song, by the way.”
“ ‘Free Man in Paris,’ ” I said automatically, impressed that someone his age knew Joni Mitchell well enough to quote lyrics from a relatively obscure song.
“Yeah. That’s it. And it’s true. We do this casual exchange of emotional currency all the damn time without thinking twice. Tell me I’m special, I’ll give you a blowjob. That kind of thing. Maybe there’s real affection involved, but if channels of reciprocation and communication fail, you’re fucked. Not in a good way.”
“You are very cynical for a guy who hasn’t hit thirty yet.”
“I’m realistic. My brother and his boyfriend are the only exception I’ve seen lately. And I can’t even tell you what makes them different. It’s not flowery bullshit like romance or love. It’s something more elusive, like the right balance of respect, affection, friendship…and still wanting to fuck whenever they can.”
I barked a quick laugh, then stood to join him at the railing. “Cynical and eloquent. I should be writing this down.”
Justin shrugged nonchalantly. “Go ahead. It’s the truth. I’ve never had that before. Definitely not with Xena. We were a series of gives and takes. That sounds okay, but mental and physical bartering without respect wears thin after a while. We broke up six months ago, and it still feels like a chess game. I just don’t want to play anymore. With anyone.”
“What do you want to do?”
“Start over,” he said in a low tone. He pointed meaningfully toward the sparkling city lights and continued. “You can do anything in LA. This city is so diverse. It’s a little phony sometimes, but the truth is there…if you’re brave enough to look for it. You won’t find it hanging out at the Grove or Universal Studios or hiking Runyon Canyon or—”
“Slow down. What’s wrong with Runyon Canyon?”
“Nothing. It just reminds me of my dad. When I was a kid, my dad went through a brief phase where he decided he wanted to get to know me. I was eight, so Rory would have been six. The timing was kind of brutal because Rory’s dad had just left…as in, we woke up one morning and his shit was gone. We never saw him again. Anyway, I rarely saw my bio dad. Even when he picked me up to hang out, he’d end up dropping me off at my grandmother’s house. Which I didn’t mind. She only spoke Spanish, and she was an amazing cook.”
I chuckled at his dreamy expression. “What does that have to do with Runyon Canyon?”
“Nothing. Or maybe everything. See, when he said he was taking me to Dairy Queen, I knew what to expect. Ice cream and then a day of speaking Spanish with my grandmother and eating tamales until my stomach hurt. But a real hiking trip with Dad? That was special.” Justin snorted derisively. “I should have known better. The entire trip was a disaster. No one spoke on the drive from Long Beach to LA. Mom had tears in her eyes and Rory looked upset, like he was afraid I was leaving for good too. By the time we got there, I wasn’t excited anymore. My mom must have noticed I was upset, ’cause she smiled and said, ‘Don’t worry. He’s trying to do the right thing.’ Except he wasn’t. He showed up late with his new girlfriend and her son.”