Chapter 16

 

 

STEP 3: The Introduction

Okay, you’ve done your homework. You’ve prepped fascinating and interesting topics of conversation. You’re dressed to impress (but not overwhelm!) and you’re confident without being cocky. Remember, it might be intimidating, but your fella surely wants you to be impressed by them just as much as he wants them to be impressed by you.

It can be easy to appear standoffish or reticent. This can lead to the opinion that you’re nothing but a bitchy dick. But, if you do the opposite, it’ll appear that you’re trying too hard, and no one likes a kiss ass. It might be difficult to find that happy medium, but you can do it! Don’t do anything that makes you uncomfortable, however. This should be a safe, positive experience that will be the start of new friendships that you will treasure for the rest of your life.

Here is an example of how to act:

“Hi, my name is Joan. It’s so nice to finally meet all of you! Eduardo has told me so much about this particular group of people that I feel like I know you all already. You must be Tim, right? How did your discectomy surgery go? And you must be Oliver! Eduardo told me you were a bit of a devious rascal and I can see that’s true! And finally, you must be Belinda. I hope we can be friends because I’ll sure need someone to gossip about these boys with!”

Here is an example of how not to act.

“Yo, I’m Joan. You’re welcome for showing up. Eduardo, get me a beer, babe. Yeah, I almost like watching him go as much as I like watching him come. You Timmy? Yeah, Eduardo said you got a crooked back or something. Can I see your gross stitches? Oh, and Oliver. Eduardo talks so much shit about you behind your back. I can see why. Belinda, Belinda, Belinda. I don’t like you and I haven’t even heard you speak. I swear to god if you even look at Eduardo funny, I’ll cut you, bitch. In the words of the indomitable Brandi and Monica, that boy is mine.”

See the difference?

 

 

IT WAS Josiah who’d spoken, and it was Josiah whom Gus saw first. Josiah, he of the villainous mustache that Gus absolutely did not want to make fun of to his face. Gus was not completely socially inept, mostly. He understood niceties and what they meant. He was even capable of performing basic functions of being a human being.

But he was fucking nervous. Nervous Gus was not the most reliable Gus there was. He said stupid shit. He acted ridiculous. Nervous Gus was definitely not Normal Gus and Gus needed this moment to be as normal as possible.

Josiah was smirking at Gus, not quite yet twirling his handlebar mustache, so Gus felt safe that he wouldn’t be tied to train tracks for at least another five minutes. He wore jean shorts and deck shoes and a surprisingly un-ironic plain white shirt. But to his credit, he was wearing a fedora, and Gus was going to have to try really hard not to make some kind of comment because of it. He also wondered if Josiah had a wooden pipe stored somewhere that he would use to smoke tobacco that smelled like a forest. He seemed like the type. Gus didn’t know what it said about his life that he was able to start discerning the different subsets of hipsters.

Serge was next to him, leaning with his elbows on the table, one hand stroking what could only be described as designer stubble that looked manicured down to the millimeter. His skin was deeply tanned, his eyes dark, almost black. He had massive eyebrow game going on, more so than maybe even Gus had. One currently was perfectly arched in Gus’s direction and Gus couldn’t even begin to interpret what it meant, but he assumed it was judgmental and therefore would have to fight back with his own eyebrow game as much as possible.

Lastly, there was Xander. Gus’s first reaction (and therefore usually the worst one) was to tell him that nobody whose name started with an X should ever be trusted. Thankfully, by the grace of man and God, Gus had learned the art of restraint and was able to (barely) hold back the snark that threatened to spill forth from his mouth. It didn’t help that Xander looked coolly comfortable, all sprawled out in his chair, long legs stretched out before him. He was heavily muscled and tattooed, his bare arms completely covered in bright colors. His own beard looked to be more scruff than anything else, but he wore it better than Gus ever could. In fact, if Gus even remotely tried the same thing, he would look like he had a horrible case of mange and should probably be put down for fear he might infect others.

So. To recap: all of Casey’s friends were fucking hotter than fuck and looked even better than their pictures did, which was completely unfair. Gus hoped Casey would forgive him some day if Gus kneed him in the balls so he could make his escape to Canada or Uruguay. It seemed to be the more prudent thing to do in the face of such hipster intimidation.

“Gus,” Casey said. “These are my boys. Josiah, Serge, and Xander. Guys, this is Gustavo Tiberius. He’s awesome and has a ferret and man, does he give good hugs.”

Gus flushed horribly.

Casey made that slightly strangled noise he was wont to do every time Gus blushed. “Oh, and he turns red sometimes and it’s epic and look at his face, just look at it, it’s amazing.”

“I do not,” Gus said, even though he was a liar and a fat mouth. He looked toward the Three Ironic Amigos (as he called them in his head) and opened his mouth to say hello, but instead said, “You guys look like you liked Mumford & Sons before everyone else did and now don’t like them because everyone else does.”

Casey choked next to him.

Gus wished the ground would open up and swallow the entire town. It would certainly make things easier.

“I had their EP before anyone else did,” Josiah said. “I was the one that got everyone to start listening to them. Then they sold out and became lame.”

Serge rolled his eyes. “You have everyone’s EP before everyone else,” he said. “If you’re to be believed, you have EPs for bands that haven’t even formed yet.”

“I’m ahead of the curve,” Josiah said. “I have my finger on the pulse of artistry.”

Gus tried not to speak, but he couldn’t not. “I looked up your role on Criminal Bad Guys: Topeka, Kansas on YouTube. You were a really good dead person.”

Josiah beamed at him. “Thank you, Gustavo. It’s nice to meet a fan who understands the subtle intricacies of my work.”

That wasn’t what Gus meant at all, but what the hell. “Yes,” he said. “I especially liked how you had your tongue hanging out of your mouth. Looked very realistic.”

“I had this whole backstory planned out in my head,” Josiah said. “Cadaver Number Three was named Toby and he was a rent boy from Nebraska trying to make it big in Topeka and found himself surrounded in a web of lust and betrayal. The producers, the philistines that they were, wouldn’t hear of it.”

“Tragic,” Gus said, trying not to resist as Casey pulled him to the table. They sat side by side, Casey’s hand held loosely in his own. He noticed the Three Ironic Amigos never looked away from him, and he wondered what they saw when they looked at him. He hoped it was nothing bad. He was wearing his dead father’s best Hawaiian shirt, after all.

It was off to an okay start, Gus thought. He’d interacted with one of them and it was time to move on to the second. “Serge,” he said. “How are your chakras?”

Serge said, “Centered. I meditated this morning before the flight and was able to achieve a stage of enlightenment I hadn’t yet been to before. I am hoping that California gets its head out of its ass and legalizes marijuana because it helps you reach places within your mind that might otherwise be locked to you forever.”

“Sure,” Gus said. “Got to use that weed-shaped key to unlock those important thoughts that everyone has while stoned. Buddha, Krishna, and Nirvana stuff.”

“Exactly,” Serge said, apparently unclear that Gus didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. “I have a feeling I might reach an even higher stage here in Abby. The mountain air is fresh and ripe with possibilities. I shall have to meditate on it and see what my mind’s eye shows me. You should join me.”

That sounded terrible. “Er. Um. I’ll see what I can do.” He did his best not to scowl at anyone because that was not normal. He didn’t think he should smile yet, either, because he was sure he’d look like a crazy person.

“Great,” Serge said. “I get up at three in the morning. We can start then.”

Well, fuck.

Casey said, “Maybe. Gus owns his own business and has to be up to open the store. He needs to get his sleep.”

Gus was pretty sure Casey was the greatest human being that had ever lived. Well, maybe not better than Pastor Tommy, but close. At the very least, better than Mother Theresa.

“Business?” Xander asked, the first time he’d spoken since Gus had walked into the shop. Even his voice was perfect, so deep and gravelly that it made it sound like he’d just smoked six bowls and was ready for a nice bout of fucking. “What business would that be?”

“He owns a video rental store,” Casey said, sounding absurdly proud. “And he owns this building and a bunch of other buildings here in town.”

Xander grimaced slightly. “A video store? People still rent from stores? I thought Blockbuster went out of business.”

“It did,” Gus said. “I don’t own Blockbuster. I own Pastor Tommy’s Video Rental Emporium.”

“That’s a mouthful,” Josiah said.

“You would know, you slut,” Serge said, bumping his shoulder.

“Why do you still own a video store?” Xander asked, and Gus was quite sure he was not a fan of Xander. “Surely there are more lucrative businesses out there.”

Gus felt himself becoming snappish and pushed it down. He aimed for casual but could hear the strain in his voice. “It belonged to my dad. He loved that place and I loved him, so I keep it open because it was his and now it’s mine. It doesn’t make money, sure, but I don’t need it to. I own half of Abby and don’t have to worry about finances.”

“Huh,” Xander said. “You know Casey is a famous author, right?”

“Xander,” Casey said with a frown.

“Yeah,” Gus said. “I know.”

“So you know he’s worth a shitload of money.”

“Xander!”

“What?” Xander asked, sitting back and folding his arms over his chest. “It’s true. I just want to make sure your new boyfriend here isn’t some gold digger.”

“Boyfriend?” Gus squeaked.

“Gold digger?” Casey said.

“Oh boy,” Josiah said.

“Here we go,” Serge said, looking toward the ceiling.

“Boys!” Lottie said, appearing out of nowhere like the saving angel that she was. “Welcome to my shop. How about we get you some lunch today?” She stood next to Gus and leaned against him slightly. He knew what she was trying to say, and he loved her all the more for it.

The Three Ironic Amigos ordered sandwiches from the menu. Casey and Gus didn’t have to as Lottie already knew what they wanted. Lottie playfully threatened to put pickles in Gus’s egg salad, and Gus playfully threatened to evict her and make sure she never worked in Abby again.

“So,” Xander said as soon as Lottie walked back to the kitchen. “You’re not after him for his money.”

“Jesus, Xander,” Casey said. “I told you to be nice.” He sounded irritated, the first time Gus had probably ever heard him like that. It didn’t sit well with Gus, who was still trying to wrap his brain around being someone’s boyfriend. He itched to excuse himself and go home to research How to Be a Good Boyfriend, but he thought that might not be the best first step. Especially since it would look like he was running away. Which he would be. “Not everyone has an agenda.”

“I’m just watching out for you,” Xander said. “There are a lot of people out there who would use you for your fame.”

“Gus,” Casey said, “remind me what the first thing was you said to me when you found out who I was?”

“Um,” Gus said, unsure if this was a trick question. “The movie based on your book was terrible?”

The Three Ironic Amigos gaped at him.

“Right,” Casey said. “And are you ever going to read my books?”

“No,” Gus said immediately, then winced. “Uh, I mean I can be supportive or whatever, but I probably won’t.”

“And why not?”

Gus mumbled something under his breath.

Casey squeezed his hand. “Say that a little louder for me.”

Gus sighed. “I said I don’t want to rot my brain with something that probably has no literary merit. And also, I am not a fifteen-year-old girl, so.”

“Are you using me for my money?”

“Honestly? I knew you were popular, but I didn’t even know you had money until now. I mean, do you see the car you drive? You’re not a suburban housewife, oh my god.”

“You drive a 1995 Ford Taurus,” Casey said, rolling his eyes.

“Hey!” Gus retorted. “That car is a classic. It has sleek lines and handles like a dream. You only wish you were as classy as the Taurus. You’re jealous because you don’t have a cassette player in your soccer-mom van and have to listen to Aphrodite’s Back Fat using your magical Bluetooth.” Gus still wasn’t quite sure how a Bluetooth worked. Something about satellites or something. The concept was quite terrifying.

“Aphro-what now?” Josiah whispered.

“I have no idea,” Serge whispered back.

“Yes, Gus, because a Ford Taurus screams class,” Casey said, sounding amused.

“It does,” Gus insisted. “Did you know there are message boards on the Internet devoted to Ford Tauruses? I should know. I’m on one of them now. I have conversations with other Ford Taurus enthusiasts.” Which, in hindsight, was something he wished he’d never admitted out loud.

Casey grinned. “Oh really. What’s your username on this message board?”

Gus narrowed his eyes. “Something perfectly normal and not weird at all.”

“Cool, man. What is it?”

“TauruSaurus Rex,” Gus said. “And I really wish I’d thought of a different name now.”

“Dude,” Casey said in awe. “How the hell do you come up with these things?”

“Don’t call me dude,” Gus reprimanded. “You are twenty-three years old. Speak like it, oh my god.”

“Gus loves alliteration,” Casey told his friends. “He’s alliterative all the time.”

“I am not!” Gus said. “You just literally lied a lot. Dammit.”

“Ask him what he thinks about Michael Bay,” Casey said to Josiah.

“What do you think about Michael Bay?” Josiah asked.

“That rat bastard ruins dreams and is an abomination—”

“His ferret is named Harry S. Truman.”

“His what is named what?” Serge said.

“He reads encyclopedias, wears retro Hawaiian shirts, is sarcastic as shit, wants to have an ironic bongo band called Bleeding Jesus, and used to smoke weed with his dad.”

“Dude,” Josiah said. “You’re a hipster.”

Gus stared at him in horror. “You take that back! I can’t even grow a beard, much less do I want one! And I’m not a hipster. I do have a little self-respect, after all—”

“This escalated rather quickly,” Serge said. “We should probably take a selfie to commemorate this moment. Everyone smoosh around Gus.”

“What! No. No smooshing and no selfies, oh my god, you can’t even—”

Gus was cut off when he was smooshed by four hipsters, all of them holding their brand-new iPhones out in front of them, careful to keep each other’s arms out of the shots. Gus was pretty sure he didn’t want to see any of the pictures, given that he was probably scowling like he’d never scowled before in his life.

It only took moments before the traumatic experience was over. Gus was slightly dazed as the four sat back in their seats. He tried to focus on what they were saying, but it was like they were speaking another language.

“Oh, what filter are you going to use?”

“I don’t know. Maybe Crema or Slumber? I was going to do Mayfair, but I think I use that too much.”

“I need to crop this. Josey, your hand was in the way. And yeah, Mayfair is overdone. Branch out a little.”

“Sorry, sorry. Make sure you raise the brightness level. It’s kind of dark in here and you want everyone to see the photo clearly.”

“Don’t oversaturate! It won’t look realistic.”

“Ooh, that’s some good contrast levels you’ve got going on there.”

“Why thank you! I do like to think I can contrast well these days.”

“Hey, followers. Boyfriend is meeting friends for first time—”

“—LOL JK FYI dis place totes adorbs—”

“—met the new BF of my BFF TGIF—”

“—LMAO made herpderp face FML—”

“—hashtag Grumpy Gus—”

“—hashtag quaint little town—”

“—hashtag Mayberry lives—”

“—hashtag do these jeans make my dick look fat—”

“And posted,” they all said at the same time before putting down their phones.

“Oops,” Josiah said. “Gus, I didn’t even realize. Did you need to take a selfie and post it to Instagram? We can smoosh back around you again for another one.”

“Gus doesn’t have Instagram,” Casey said, taking his hand again.

“That’s okay,” Serge said. “Hardly anyone uses it anymore. It’s so retro. Do you want to Snapchat it? Or go old school and post it on Facebook or something? I can tag you if you want.”

“Is that like MySpace?” Gus asked nervously. “Or Wikipedia?”

The silence that fell around them was not comfortable.

Casey didn’t let it last long. “Gus doesn’t use social media.”

“But… how do you let everyone know what you’re eating when you go out?” Josiah asked, sounding worried.

“And how do you check in so everyone knows exactly where you’re going?” Serge asked.

“Where do you post the selfies that you take?” Xander asked.

“Um,” Gus said. “I don’t do… that.”

“Whoa,” Josiah said. “How…? I don’t… understand.”

“Are you Amish?” Serge asked him seriously. “Is that why you eschew technology?”

“Gesundheit,” Josiah said.

“What?” Serge asked. “I said eschew.”

“Bless you,” Josiah said. “Must be all the pollen in the air.”

“He’s not Amish,” Casey said, which Gus was eternally grateful for as he wasn’t quite sure what was going on. “He’s just old school.”

“Yes,” Xander said. “Speaking of old, just how old are you?”

“Twenty-nine,” Gus said, trying very hard not to be offended.

“Ooh,” Josiah said. “You poor thing. Don’t worry. I hear thirty is the new something something. I don’t even know. You’ll make it work, somehow. I believe in you.”

“Thanks?” Gus said. Or asked. He wasn’t quite sure.

“We could help you make an Instagram account,” Serge said. “It’s not that hard. What generation of iPhone do you have?”

“Oh. Uh. I don’t. Have an iPhone?”

“What’s happening?” Josiah asked Serge. “I feel like I’m about to freak out.”

“He’s an Android user, I guess,” Serge said. “Nothing wrong with that. Gus, let me see your phone and I can figure out how to set it up.”

“It’s not my thing,” Gus said with a shrug, but he pulled his phone from his pocket and set it on the table.

Xander poked it with a finger. “What is that?”

“A phone,” Gus said.

“But… it… flips open?”

“What’s a Nokia?” Josiah asked, squinting at the scraped lettering. “Is that Chinese for iPhone?”

Serge flipped open the phone and cocked his head. “The screen is really tiny. How can you look at Tumblr on a screen so tiny?”

“I don’t look at Tumblr,” Gus said quickly. “That place is scary. A man wanted to get a woman’s mouth pregnant and so I never went back to Tumblr.”

The silence that followed was only slightly more awkward than the ones before it.

Xander then decided that the conversation had focused on Gus for far too long and started asking Casey if he remembered some guys named Chumley and Bad Tomás back in LA and apparently they’d been thinking of opening a new froyo shop (whatever the hell that was; Gus thought maybe it was some kind of underground illegal dispensary) and that LA was just drab without Casey there and how was his book coming along? Did he hear back on the status of the second movie? Did he like working in a coffee shop? He could do that in LA too, Xander reminded him. Apparently, there were thousands of coffee shops in LA if that’s what Casey wanted to do.

“I guess, man,” Casey said, his hand never leaving Gus’s. “But it has been good here for me, you know? Cleared my head quite a bit.” He glanced over at Gus fondly, and Gus felt that warm happiness in his chest and he didn’t even try to ignore it.

Josiah and Serge kept talking to Gus, but Xander made sure to override him any time he spoke. Casey’s hand tightened every time it happened, and Gus could see the frown getting more and more pronounced. He was relieved when Lottie brought out the food so he could focus on eating.

After, Casey invited him back to Lottie’s to go smoke out with them, but Gus declined, saying he needed to run some errands before dinner that night. He shook the hands of the Three Ironic Amigos and told them he’d see them later. Two of them smiled. One did not.

Casey walked him out of the shop, the crowd apparently having long dispersed.

“Sorry about that,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll talk to him and—”

“No,” Gus said hurriedly. “It’s cool. They’re just… protective of you. I get that.”

“I know, man,” Casey said. “Still no excuse, you know? He’s acting like a bitter ex and it’s never been like that before.” He frowned. “He was never the jealous one. It was always—” He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.”

Gus wanted to ask him what he meant, but thought maybe it was best to avoid it. Avoidance was key to many, many problems. “So,” he said. “Boyfriend, huh?” He hoped he didn’t sound needy.

Casey said, “Uh. Yeah. Kind of? I guess. We didn’t really talk about that before. Um. Sorry? I can tell them that we’re not like that if—”

Gus said, “No, no, I’m good. Like. Good. In the hood. I mean, if you want to tell them it’s not—”

Casey said, “No! Nope. No. I don’t want to tell them that at all. I’m… good. With it. If you are. In the hood. We just didn’t even talk about it and here I am—”

Gus said, “Here you are. Saying those things. Like. Just. I was all sitting down for my sandwich and conversation and you were, like, boom. You know? Boom. Boyfriend bomb, oh my god.”

Casey said, “Yeah, yes. Boom, man. Like. Boom. I wanted to ask you, but then I went all Kamikaze with it. You were like Pearl Harbor and I was your boyfriend bomb. Boom.”

Gus said, “Boom.”

Casey said, “Boom. God, I wish I didn’t say that about Pearl Harbor. That was wrong. Those people suffered enough and—”

Gus said, “And then Michael Bay came and made it worse, what the hell. Really, Mr. Bay? You needed a love triangle as a backdrop to Pearl Harbor? Really?”

Casey said, “Yeah, man. Seriously. A love triangle. What the hell. I’ve never seen it so I don’t know what you’re talking about. So. Boyfriends?”

“Yeah,” Gus said, nodding maniacally. “I’m down. I’m down with it. I’m jiggy like Will Smith. You know? Bienvenido a Miami. Or however that song goes. So. Yeah. Boyfriends. Cool beans, man. Rock on… rock… star.” Internally, Gus was screaming at himself to stop talking. Thankfully, it eventually worked.

Casey’s smile was blinding.

Gus didn’t even ask for the hug this time.

Just went right in.

It was glorious.