Tim Murphy - Christodora

Tavi introduced everyone over the music; she and the handsome nerdy guy — who was how old? not quite thirty yet — met eyes. He gave her a kind smile, not that kind of “Heeeeey, girl!” greeting she got from most of the queens here.

He took a few steps toward her, kissed her cheek. “I’m Hector,” he said over the music.

“I’m Ysabel,” she shouted back. “Issy.”

“How do you know Tavi?” he asked.

“We grew up together in Corona,” she shouted. “Since we were little kids.”

Hector nodded his understanding. “He’s crazy,” he said.

Issy laughed. “I know!” she screamed. “He’s crazy, it’s true! But I love him!”

“I do, too.”

“How do you know him?” she asked.

“First from out in the clubs, but now we volunteer together at GMHC, too, on the phones.”

She knitted her brow in puzzlement. “What’s that?” she asked.

“Gay Men’s Health Crisis,” Hector said. “It’s an AIDS organization.”

“Oh.” She frowned. Then a horrible thought struck her. She glanced over at Tavi. “Is he okay?” she asked Hector.

“Oh, I think so. As far as I know, I mean. The test for it isn’t out yet. We’re just trying to provide direct services because the Health Department isn’t doing anything. Which I should know, because I work for them.”

Issy nodded gravely. She hoped Tavi was okay. Otherwise, she hadn’t caught much of what Hector had said. He seemed so serious for a guy on the dance floor! He’d even fully stopped dancing for a moment.

“It’s a terrible thing,” she offered.

He nodded in turn. “Yep. You gotta be careful, protect yourself.”

Tavi came over. “What you bitches talking about?” he shrieked.

Issy shoved him lightly. “Tavs, you didn’t tell me you do volunteer work for AIDS!”

Tavi looked briefly freaked out, like he hadn’t wanted Hector to tell her, then he cackled and threw his arm around Hector. “Yeah, we’re like fucking Florence Nightingale and Mother Teresa up in there! I’m like Lily Tomlin with her receptionist-headset thing going.” He did his Ernestine imitation, with an overbite, stretching out his face. He hip-checked Hector. “This one’s always recruiting queens for the cause.”

Hector shrugged. “If we don’t do it, nobody else will,” he said. So serious! Issy thought again. Yet very handsome. Could he loosen up and have fun? She took his hand, made him spin her. “Come on, papi , no more heavy talk, you gotta shake it more!”

“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.