Treston often found it interesting the one person in his life he could call his best friend was a straight guy who seemed to understand him better than his gay friends. He often wished he had more female friends, but his life seemed to be a male-dominated atmosphere. His gay friends tended to be too competitive sometimes. He’d always thought the relationships between straight guys and gay guys were interesting. There was nothing sexual between Treston and Lyon. As Lyon held him, he didn’t feel a hint of sexual energy in the least. All he felt was a sense of love and security from a strong man—person—who cared about him, as if he were safe and nothing could ever harm him again. Treston knew two straight guys would never relate to each other this way. Their egos would have gotten in the way. It would be too personal and too awkward for them and they would be terrified of being branded gay if they showed this kind of affection and emotion. But it was different with a straight guy and a gay guy. There was nothing to prove, no ego issues, no competition, and they could be completely at ease with each other. The only complicated part of this was the straight guy had to be absolutely comfortable with his own heterosexuality, which clearly Lyon was.
“I know you’re there for me,” Treston said. “And you have no idea how much it means to me. You’re my hero, and I’m there for you, too.”
“I know, buddy,” Lyon said.
J.D. threw his arms in the air and turned. He kicked the locker and said, “Well, I think you’re both a couple of assholes, because if Chad Pratt sent me flowers I’d be thinking of ways to become Mrs. Chad Pratt.”
Treston kissed Lyon on the cheek and stepped back. “You really do get it.”
Lyon smiled. “Yes, I really do get it. I would do the same thing if I were in your shoes.”
“This makes me feel a lot better,” Treston said.
J.D. turned to head toward the exit. As he rounded the corner he said, “You two are going to make me puke one of these days.”
When J.D. was gone, Lyon turned toward the exit to follow him. Treston was looking at the roses again and Lyon set his palm on the small of Treston’s back. “Are you really okay?”
“I’m fine. Thanks.”
Before he turned to leave, he squeezed Treston’s shoulder and said, “I’ve got your back.”
When Lyon was gone, Treston wiped a stray tear from his cheek and turned to finish getting dressed. He was dancing alone in a private cage that night, not on stage. He would start out fully clothed, in his regular street clothes, and wind up wearing nothing but the red thong. He realized now he didn’t feel the same sense of excitement as he’d once had about dancing in front of all those men. It felt as if he’d lost something he’d once had and he didn’t know how to get it back. He tried looking deeper and still he found nothing. There had been a time when he’d been filled with energy just thinking about dancing almost naked while all those men watched him wiggle and shake. He only felt obligated to go out and do his best. That was when he knew it was time to start looking for another job.
Chapter Eleven
Although Treston liked to fantasize about himself as the conservative businessman in a suit and tie working in a bank, he knew he had to be realistic. So he combed all the help wanted ads on Craigslist that weekend and saw one job he felt at least somewhat qualified to apply for. The ad said they needed a new salesperson for a used-car dealer and Treston figured if he got the job he could work there during the day and still keep his night job at the club until he started to make decent money. The ad stated they wanted someone who dressed well, was friendly, good with people, and someone who knew how to close a deal fast. This sounded perfect. Treston was great with people, especially men. He’d always been friendly, especially with men. He was always up on the latest fashion trends. He wasn’t sure what closing the deal meant, but he figured he could fake this in the beginning. He also figured there wasn’t much to learn about selling cars; he knew how to drive one, even though he didn’t actually own one. And if he was lucky, maybe they would give him one of those loaner cars. He’d dated a used-car salesman once, and the used car salesman had told him his company gave him a new loaner car every two years.
On Sunday, Treston went to a discount hair salon and had his blond streaks touched up so he’d look perfect. The colorist went a little too heavy on the bleach and she made him look totally blond, but he liked the way he looked so much he didn’t ask her to tone it down. He shaved his body, including pubic hair. It made him feel sexy and blond all over. On the way home, a truck driver passed him, honked the horn, and gave him thumbs up with both hands. A guy on a motorcycle almost swerved into oncoming traffic. When he passed a couple of Latino guys climbing out of a plumbing truck, they whistled and made lewd comments about his ass. Though he flung them both a dirty look, he had to admit deep down he enjoyed the attention. Oh, he’d learned the moment he’d had those blond streaks done a few years ago for the first time, the world turned into a different place. There was something about blonds that seemed to attract attention. And the blonder a person was, the more attention they seemed to attract.
On Monday morning he put on his new tight red skinny jeans—the ones he’d bought because he’d seen them on an MTV video, and because he’d heard red skinny jeans were the latest trend in New York. Then he put on a tight black V-neck sweater, a black leather blazer he’d bought because he’d always read they were classic, and his favorite pair of almost Prada half boots. These boots were really Scandia Woods, not actually Prada. But they looked so much like Prada, no one could ever tell the difference at a glance. And he’d only paid a fraction of the cost with Scandia Woods than he would have paid for real Prada. He even wore his lucky black thong that morning, the one with the see-through lacy front. The first time he’d worn it, he’d won ten dollars in one of the casinos at a slot machine.
He took a taxi to the used-car dealership and told the driver to drop him off at a corner a block away. He didn’t want anyone to see him arrive in a taxi. When he crossed the street and glanced up at the “Lucky Vegas Louie’s Used Cars” sign, he took a deep breath and exhaled. He hadn’t been on a formal interview or applied for a job since he’d walked into Chickey’s club a few years earlier,a nd that hadn’t even been a real interview. He’d walked in, Chickey looked him up and down, then asked him to strip down to his underwear. He’d hired Treston on the spot, without even asking him to fill out an application.