Page 21 of Lying Hearts

Chapter Thirteen

Brendan

Twenty minutes later. Wearing the same clothes as last night. Bounce in my step. Sun shining. Head: cleared.

When I get to Schmidt’s on Folsom and 20th to join Mark, Tommy, and Ross, the guys are already at a table with coffees, menus absent. Mark’s got his nose in the technology section of The Chronicle. They rise up one at a time to exchange guy-handshakes with me, all of our faces non-committal and chill. “Hey man. Hey. How’s it hangin’? Good.” Etc…etc…

I slump into the last empty seat. “What’s good?” It’s obvious they’ve already ordered.

Ross, a scrappy DJ whose Jamaican roots have his skin black as night and his attitude smoother than smooth, says simply, “Waffles.” He’s missing the accent – a pity.

Tommy pipes up. “We’re all getting the grilled sausage to soak up the booze from last night, except Ross here, who’s gone vegan, mon.” The last part he butchered with his bad Jamaican accent he adopts every time he talks to or about Ross. Nobody laughs. It’s so past old we don’t even notice anymore. Tommy won’t drop it, though. He’s not the type to drop things. He looks over, all grins, and checks me out. “Is that the same thing you wore last night?”

“Yeah, so?”

Mark eyeballs me, then flicks his eyes back to the paper. Ross raises his eyebrows. Tommy shakes his head. “Man, we get it. You got laid. You don’t have to broadcast it.” He smiles but it’s more of a sneer. Fucking trust-fund babies. Why do they all have to be such dicks.

“Shut up, Tommy.”

“Make me.”

I ball up a napkin and toss it at him as hard as you can toss a ball of flakey paper. He catches it with one hand and gives an ‘ooooooo’ sound like he’s scared. We’re just playing… I think.

I guess I did wear the same clothes to revel in the fact that I got some action. I just hate it being pointed out. Now I feel like an idiot and I wish I hadn’t made such a rookie move. And now I like Tommy even less than I used to, which is saying something.

An overworked waitress walks up. The place is way past capacity – you can’t blame her for the exhausted apathy. “You ready?”

I don’t tell her I don’t have a menu, because I will let Tommy be the asshole. I look at him and silently count to three.

“He doesn’t have a menu. How can he be ready?” Tommy says on cue. Predictable jackass that he is.

She glares at him and he smiles like he’s the funniest guy in the room. I let her off the hook. “I’ll have the sausage. And black coffee. Thanks.”

Playing eye-chicken with Tommy, she commits it to memory, turns and leaves without a nod of acknowledgment she even heard me. I stare at her ass. Mark, sitting beside me, lowers his paper and does the same. Then he pops the paper back up and keeps right on reading. “Looks like I should have invested in Google.” We all voice agreement, lamenting.

Ross is leaning way, way back in his chair with stoner-eyes, and he cocks his head my way. “Hey Brendan. I heard you hit some MILF-ass last weekend.”

“Ross, are you stoned, or did you just have a late night?”

“Stoned.”

I grin, look down and rearrange my silverware so that it’s aligned properly. “Yep. Sure did. Though from the tightness of her, I don’t think she’s had kids yet.”

“Oh man!” cry out both Tommy and Ross in unison as they smack the table and each other’s shoulders in celebration.

Mark lowers his paper. “Guys. Get it together. We’re not in college anymore. It’s about time Brendan joined the land of the living, but let’s not act like idiots, okay?”

They quiet. The king has spoken – not that we’d ever admit it, but he is the leader of our little group. There’s always a hierarchy in male friendships. As soon as you know your place, you’re golden – just like a pack of dogs. It’s those who rebel that break up bands. There’s gotta be a lead singer and the women are going to love him the most. So is the press. Live with it and be who you are.

If we’re the Rolling Stones, then Mark is Mick. And Tommy, I guess he’s Keith. Ross, and me we’re the two other guys. That’s how it’s been for the past four years.

Mark is the lead singer because he is by far the most charmed of any of us. Everything happens well for him like it was written on his birth-scroll: And whereith Mark shall walk, the doors shall open to receivith him. Not financially hence his not investing in Google. But people genuinely like him wherever we go and they help him out. He’s the opposite of Tommy. Maybe that’s why Tommy sticks around and why Mark likes him. They balance each other. But where does that leave me?

Even Tommy – whose mouth is unhinged and unfettered by shame or self-awareness – even he does what Mark says without griping or questioning. When you’ve got a gold medal player on your team, you give him the ball as often as possible. Either that or be traded for stupidity and cock-blocking. I want to up my game to make myself indispensable. Sara tossed me away way too easily. I’m not letting that happen with my friends. What can I do to prove my worth? Getting laid and wearing the same clothes did nothing but make me look dumb.

Mark folds up the paper and turns around to the table behind him. “You want this?”

A man in a turtleneck and an expensive watch smiles and takes it. “Yeah, thanks.”

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