The Velvet Bullfighter

Chasing Austin - Part I

I’m scanning the black marker board behind the bar because I need to look at something besides gay Mexicans, and because I don’t have anything to say to John at the moment.

Scribbled across the board in florescent pinks and greens are the house specialty drinks. The Velvet Bullfighter costs seven dollars and 50 cents. The Fat Cobra is five dollars. I try to come up with faggier-sounding cocktail names and I’m stumped. They’ve done good work. John isn’t looking in my direction, either. So far, this road trip has been one of the greatest shared experiences of our friendship, but we’ve basically only had one another to talk to since we left Lafayette Wednesday afternoon and the need for some alone time is becoming necessary. Our annoyance is compounded by the Texas-size mass of truth between us: John is leaving for New York next month and this is probably the last time we'll be spending time together like this.

We decided Tuesday that we could cut our drive to Austin in half by spending the night in Houston. So, after work, I pick John up at his apartment, we take a few selfies, and we head west. We arrive at my exboyfriend’s house in the Museum District before sunset. Nick meets us in the driveway where he introduces us to his new boyfriend. I engage him and I begin drawing parallels between him and myself because we both have romantic history with the same person, and therefore, we must have some personality traits in common. After careful observation, I note that we are the same height. Other than that, we share nothing — besides a working knowledge of Nick’s thrust.

That night, we get drunk and I meet a guy named Reece. He talks like Drew Barrymore, or at least Kristen Wiig doing a Drew Barrymore impression. We go back to Nick’s place, and we take everyone else from F Bar with us. Outside the bathroom, I see Reece. In the bathroom, he talks about his car, and I ask if I can see it. In his car, he talks about his apartment, and I ask if I can see it.

I wake up in Reece’s apartment. He drives me home. John is moaning on the couch, so I head up to Nick’s room where he and his boyfriend are sitting on the bed, watching The Avengers. Nick says someone gave John ecstasy last night, which made him violently ill. We spend the entire day indoors and only go outside at twilight to watch the fireworks from the rooftop.


Crashed. Burned.

On the drive to Austin, I listen to the June 28 episode of This American Life while John sleeps. The program is about the American government’s unmanageable process of immigrating Iraqi allies into the U.S., and by the time John wakes up, I have my own opinion on the issue.

"Can you fucking believe this?" I ask, disgustedly. "Injustice for all, right?"

"I want jerky and I have to dump out eventually," says John, waking up. "Next exit?"

In Austin, we spend the day eating, shopping, and sweating. After dinner, we head home to get ready for the night. On 4th Street, there are three gay bars in a row: Oil Can Harry’s, Castro’s Warehouse, and Rain. Oil Can Harry’s is busted and so is the crowd, so we walk next door to Castro’s. Here, I scan the black marker board behind the bar because I need to look at something besides gay Mexicans, and because I don’t have anything to say to John at the moment. But still, I have everything to say to him. I'm about to tell him I'm glad we took this trip together and it's going to be painful to say goodbye. I don't want to have a full-blown moment, but I want to reach him in the way I can with our brotherly bond. I'm about to say something to him and then the only attractive guy in the bar walks over and stands to my left. John touches my arm and performs the international signal for "Cigarette?" We walk to the patio and I turn my head to see the hot guy staring back at me.

Outside, we smoke and develop a really impressive thread of passive aggressive comments about the patrons of Castro's Warehouse. I'm laughing at something John says when the hot guy steps onto the patio and begins walking in our direction. I'm immediately aware of the way I'm holding my cigarette — like Olivia Newton John at the end of Grease — so I impulsively flick it. It lands on a nearby bench where a beige-skinned man in a pink American Eagle polo and jeans with holes in the knees pick it up and takes a drag. "Fucking seriously," I whisper to myself, just as the hot guy enters my bubble. With him is a tall, skinny guy with glasses who bears an uncanny resemblance to a young Bobby Jindal, or at least what I imagine young Bobby Jindal to look like.

"Can I bum a cigarette?" the hot guy asks.

"Yeah, yeah," I stammer, fumbling for John's Parliaments.

"Sorry to be those guys," says Young Bobby Jindal (YBJ). "But can I have one, too."

"No worries," I say. "It's our first night in Austin. Everyone seems super cool."

"Where are you from?" asks YBJ.

"New Orleans," says John. "We work in advertising."

"That's so cool," says the hot guy, inching closer to John.

"Yeah," I say, my voice loud and bombastic. "It's pretty sexy."

The hot guy bites his bottom lips and runs his right hand through John's hair. "Fuck," he says. "I love your hair. It's beautiful."

"I'm Ryan," I say, sticking out my hand awkwardly.

The hot guy pulls the cigarette from his mouth, looks into my eyes, blows a stream of smoke into the breeze, and says, "I'm Austin."

I smile with teeth, shake his hand, and then turn to YBJ who introduces himself as someone named Harvey. Austin turns back to John and wraps his arms around his lower back. He whispers something into his ear and John smiles coyly. I pretend like I don't see what's happening, and I ask Harvey what he does for a living. "Well, I'm working on my Masters in Sociology and Austin is a nutritionist," he says. Austin finally looks back at me and says, "Yeah I measure peoples' caloric intake and make recommendations and stuff."

"That's so weird," I say. "Caloric Intake used to be my drag name!"

No one laughs and I fucking hate them for it.

Later, our new friends will take us to Rain where I'll dance, and take shots, and try to keep Austin interested in me. Then, we'll all go back to Castro's where I'll shotgun one Velvet Bullfighter after another, and let Harvey breathe onto my neck, and try to leave on my own. I'll see John with his legs wrapped around Austin and I'll perform the international signal for "I'm bailing." Next, I'll wander down the street and try to hail a cab on my own. John will run up behind me and demand to come with me. I'll say, "Whatever." In the cab, the driver will laugh at his own jokes and I'll glare out the window. At home, we'll undress and flop onto the air mattress. Minutes will pass, and finally, I'll say into the darkness, "I wish you would've stayed."

And he won't say anything.