Getting It

  Carlos couldn’t imagine anybody giving Roxy a one, except some bitter maniac like the friend next to him.

  … guys who just want sex … pervs, creeps, and annoying needy guys (get a life!)

  Carlos breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing he’d read had ruled him out. Yet even so, little blisters of nervous sweat began beading on his forehead.

  “You going to e-mail her?” Pulga asked.

  “Um, not right now.” Carlos quickly rated her a ten before Playboy could give her any less.

  But Playboy had calmed down, moving to the mirror to study a blemish. “How can she have a nine-point-eight and I’m a four-point-eight?”

  “She’s got better boobs,” Pulga answered.

  Playboy threw a hairbrush from the dresser at him, but Pulga ducked.

  “It’s getting late.” Carlos faked a yawn. “I’m heading home.”

  “Nah, don’t go,” Toro urged. “Let’s watch a DVD.”

  “You pendejos want to spend the night?” Pulga asked.

  “I can’t,” Carlos replied. “I’ve got to get up early tomorrow.”

  “For what?” Playboy flashed Carlos a glance in the mirror. “You got a brunch date with your boyfriend?”

  Carlos froze. Had his friends somehow found out about his Saturday mornings with Sal? Quickly, he replied, “My pa’s picking me up early.”

  Playboy pulled himself from the mirror and wrapped an arm around Carlos’s shoulder. “Hey,” he whispered in his ear. “Promise, when you get home, you’ll give me a ten. Okay, buddy?”

  “Sure.” Carlos patted him on the back, feeling kind of sorry for him. Although at times he wondered if Playboy had any feelings at all—unless you considered horniness a feeling—in other moments (like now), it seemed there was more to Playboy than his swaggering exterior suggested.

  When Carlos arrived home, he did as he’d promised. Then he searched for Roxy’s profile. After giving her another ten, he stared at her picture on the screen for a good half hour, fighting an urge to kiss it. That would be way too silly.

  And yet, as he undressed, the urge grew uncontrollable. He clicked off the light, crept across the darkness to the monitor and tapped his lips to the screen, feeling supremely harebrained. Then he climbed into bed and, after a series of contented moans, drifted into dreamland.

  Twenty-Four

  SATURDAY MORNING, CARLOS answered the door expecting Sal, but found that Sal had also brought along another boy who appeared to be the same age, though shorter and more muscled.

  “This is Javier, my boyfriend.”

  Carlos’s brain reverberated with the word “boyfriend.” Although he recalled Sal mentioning it, the reality of an actual live person had never sunk in—till now.

  Having a gay couple in his home seemed almost too much to handle. He was now outnumbered. And besides, Sal was supposed to keep their makeover sessions a secret. On top of all that, Carlos felt something totally unexpected: He didn’t want to share Sal. He’d grown to enjoy his time with Sal alone.

  “’S’up?” Carlos shook hands with Javier, while giving Sal a sideways glare.

  But Sal didn’t seem to notice. “Javi is in cosmetology school—a hair master. I told him how you stood up to Harris and he wanted to meet you—your reward for helping out.”

  Lucky me, Carlos thought. He led the boys to his bedroom, feeling even more uncomfortable when Javier whispered, “You’re right, he’s cute,” and Sal replied, “Didn’t I tell you?”

  “Hey, nice job with the room,” Javier exclaimed. He dropped his backpack onto Carlos’s bed and strode over to the praying mantis. “So this is the bug?”

  Carlos gritted his teeth. How much had Sal told Javier?

  “That’s her!” Sal replied, rolling Carlos’s desk chair in front of the dresser mirror. “So, should we start with hair or face first?” he asked Javier, while guiding Carlos into the chair.

  It was all making Carlos feel weirdly out of place in his own room.

  “Let’s begin with a face mask.” Javier pulled a series of tubes and bottles from his backpack. “First, we need to cleanse his pores.”

  “You’re all bottled up inside,” Sal agreed, draping a towel around Carlos’s neck, while Javier smeared a cold, grainy paste onto Carlos’s cheeks, caking his face till only his eyes peered out, raccoonlike.

  Carlos tried to sit still, while growing uncomfortably warm. He wasn’t accustomed to having somebody else touch his face—especially some gay dude he’d barely met. “Um, will this get rid of my zits?”

  “It’ll definitely help,” Javier told him. “You need to do this once a week. I’ll leave the can with you.”

  Meanwhile, Sal took hold of Carlos’s hand. “We’ve really got to work on your nails. They’re one of the first things a girl looks at.”

  Javier nodded in agreement. “Who knows why they’re so obsessed with guys’ hands, but they are.”

  “First you clip down to the pink,” Sal explained, snipping away with a pair of nail clippers. “Fingernails should be rounded. Toenails can be straighter. Give me your other hand.”

  Carlos switched hands and Javier pulled out an emery board, filing the trimmed nails. “After you clip, then you smooth them down.”

  Carlos stared in the mirror at the two gay guys holding his hands. Maybe it was better to close his eyes.

  “Does he know about cuticles?” Javier asked. Carlos cracked one eye open again.

  “Oh, good point,” Sal replied, and explained to Carlos about taking care of cuticles and hangnails. Then Javier grabbed several bottles from his backpack and led Carlos to the bathroom to wash off the face mask.

  As the three boys crowded in around the sink, Javier explained: “Now, here’s what you do on a daily basis: First, you use a gentle foaming cleanser to wash away dirt without taking away your necessary oils. That’s this one.” He held up a white bottle. “Use it twice a day, when you wake up and before you go to bed. Do it now to practice.”

  While Carlos massaged the foam into his face, Javier pulled out a clear bottle. “Good. Now, after that, use a mild toner. Witch hazel is cheap, natural, and fragrance-free. It’ll help contract those large, unsightly pores and get rid of residues your cleanser couldn’t.”

  Carlos wiped his face outside, while inside, his head was swimming. Did the straight guys on Queer Eye feel this uncomfortable? How would he ever remember all this?

  As if reading his mind, Sal reassured him. “Don’t worry, we’ll write down instructions.”

  “Last …” Javier brought out a jar. “You use an oil-free moisturizer. I know that sounds girly, but your skin will thank you.”

  “And remember,” Sal broke in, “the best moisturizer is water. You need to drink at least eight to ten glasses a day. Not Coke or coffee—water.”

  “Does he take vitamins?” Javier asked Sal, and Sal looked at Carlos.

  “Sometimes,” Carlos mumbled.

  “You should take a multivitamin every day,” Javier told him, “to help replenish your skin. Now, ready to work on your hair?”

  They returned to the bedroom. While Carlos and Sal spread an old bedsheet on the carpet, Javier pulled from his backpack scissors, a comb, and electric clippers. Sal sat Carlos down in the chair again and Javier redraped the towel around Carlos’s neck, gazing in the mirror at him. “So, now, what’s your vision for your hair?”

  “Huh?” Carlos stared back at him.

  “He means,” Sal clarified, “is there anything you’ve always wanted to do with your hair?”

  Carlos thought for a moment, then sat up excitedly “Can you shave my initials into the back of my head?” He’d always thought that looked tough on guys.

  Sal and Javier peered in the mirror at him, eyes aghast. Simultaneously, they replied, “No!”

  Javier turned to Sal. “Here’s what I’m thinking …” He ran his fingers through Carlos’s hair. “Short on the sides and choppy on top so he can spike or tousle.”

  “Exactly,” Sal a
greed. “And a little longer in front?”

  “Yeah, that’s it! Let’s start with the sides. Do you think a two or a three?”

  Sal handed him the clippers. “Start with a three. We can always go down to a two.”

  Javier clipped the sides, then sprayed the top of Carlos’s hair with water and snipped quickly with scissors, twirling the shears between his fingers. He made it appear so easy.

  “Is it hard to cut hair?” Carlos asked.

  “Yeah, at first … I began when I was eight—by trying to give our Pekingese a new hairstyle. When I showed my sister, she said Mom was going to kill me.”

  Carlos glanced down at his own cut hair, suddenly feeling a little nervous.

  “I hid in the laundry room,” Javier continued, “crying hysterically while I tried to glue back Ming-Ming’s hair. But when Mom found me, she only laughed.”

  He turned to Sal. “Gel or pomade?”

  “I’d go with wax.” Sal handed Javier a jar. “He’s got wicked thick hair.”

  “Excellent!” Javier dipped his finger into the jar and told Carlos, “Now, when you work this into your hair, always start with the back, so you don’t forget.”

  Carlos peered in the mirror, relieved and amazed. His new haircut made him look almost like some TV teen idol.

  But Javier wasn’t satisfied. “It still needs something.” He tapped his fingertips on his chin, pondering Carlos’s hair. “Hmm. Tell me about this girl you’re so hot for.”

  Carlos sighed. Was there anything Sal hadn’t told Javier?

  “Want to see her picture?” Carlos offered. “Just click on the computer.”

  Sal clicked the mouse and Roxy’s Hot-or-Snot J-peg appeared as the screensaver.

  “She’s got great hair.” Javier turned to Sal. “You know, why don’t we—?”

  “Oh, my God!” Sal interrupted. “Highlights! Totally!” He turned to Carlos. “Have you got tin foil?”

  “Um …” Carlos squirmed in his chair, unsure about highlights. He already looked better than before. Maybe he should quit while ahead. Besides, his friends always put down guys who streaked their hair, saying, “That’s so gay.”

  “You’ll definitely get Roxy’s attention,” Sal said coaxingly.

  A half hour later Carlos was getting his hair streaked when the phone rang.

  “Carlitos!” his ma yelled from the living room. “It’s your pa!”

  Carlos quickly glanced at the clock. He’d forgotten about his pa—again. He was having fun with Sal and Javier—a lot more fun than he’d have with Lupita and Henry. But could he tell his pa that? He didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

  A little nervously, he answered the phone. “Um, ’S’up?”

  “Mi’jo,” his pa said. “You going to be ready this time?” He didn’t say it in a mean way, but even so, it bothered Carlos.

  “Um …” Carlos’s voice trembled. “I don’t think I can come today.”

  The line became silent. Then his pa asked, “Is something wrong, mi’jo?”

  “No, I’ve just got stuff to do.” That wasn’t totally a lie: Javier and Sal were still streaking his hair.

  The line turned quiet again. “Okay,” his pa said at last. “See you next weekend.”

  Carlos stared at the phone, trying to sort out his mixed-up feelings. On one hand, he was glad not to have to endure another boring visit. But at the same time, he couldn’t deny the ache inside his chest.

  Twenty-Five

  AFTER CARLOS HUNG up the phone, Sal asked, “You okay?”

  “Huh?” Carlos suddenly realized he’d zoned out. “Um, yeah. I’m okay.”

  As Javier continued to streak Carlos’s hair, Sal asked, “How come you don’t want to go with your dad?”

  Carlos didn’t want to talk about it, especially with Javier present. Nevertheless, he could almost bet Sal would somehow make him open up about it.

  “Because it’s boring!” he sputtered. “He spends the whole time with his new wife and kid. It used to be just him and me.”

  “Oh.” Sal gently unwrapped the tin foil from Carlos’s hair. “Have you told him you’d like him to spend time with just you?”

  “No,” Carlos grumbled. “Why should I have to tell him that?”

  “Well,” Javier interjected, “otherwise how will he know?”

  Carlos clenched his jaw, feeling like they were ganging up on him. “Look, if he wanted to spend time with me, he would. Besides, he’ll probably say my hair looks like a maricón.”

  Sal and Javier winced. Carlos felt sorry for saying it, but at least they shut up about his pa. And yet, he found himself considering what they’d said. Should he say something to his pa?

  While he thought about it, Sal and Javier finished doing his hair. Carlos stared in awe at the mirror. The shiny blond streaks made him look like a different person: Confident. Cool …

  He leaped from the chair. “I want to show my ma!” He ran down the hall to the living room, Sal and Javier right behind him.

  His ma was fitting their neighbor, Mrs. Bustamante, in a dress. Both women stared at Carlos and nodded approval. “Bravo!” Mrs. Amoroso commented to Sal and Javier.

  “Can you boys do my hair?” Mrs. Bustamante asked. “How much do you charge?”

  Javier smiled proudly. “I’m not allowed to charge till I have my license. But I can do it for you at my school.”

  “Carlitos?” His ma glanced at her watch. “Isn’t your pa coming?”

  “Um, no. I’m not going with him.”

  His ma stopped smiling. “¿Por qué?”

  “’Cause I don’t feel like it!” The words came out harsher than he’d intended.

  The room was silent as everyone stared at him.

  “Well,” Sal said at last. “Javi and I are going to lunch.” He turned toward Carlos. “You want to come with us?”

  Carlos shrugged. Although he’d like to go with them, he had zero money.

  “Here …” His ma pulled some bills from her purse. “Why don’t you treat the boys for doing such a nice job on your hair?”

  Carlos gladly took the money, relieved to drop the issue of his pa.

  Javier collected his stuff, Sal wrote down instructions for everything they’d told Carlos, and the boys headed outside.

  It turned out that Javier had his own car—not a new one, but still … It was more than any of Carlos’s buds had.

  As he hopped into the back of the Camry, Carlos asked, “How many miles does she have?”

  “Ninety thousand.” Javier started the car and pulled out onto the street. “It’s in pretty good shape except for a rattle when I turn to the left. Listen …” As he changed lanes, the left side of the car clunked.

  “It sounds like an axle.” Carlos had learned about cars from talking to the guys at his ma’s job and conversations with her boyfriend, Raúl. “I’ll take a look when we park.”

  As they drove, Carlos saw between the front seats that Javier took hold of Sal’s hand. Carlos squirmed on the backseat. Two guys holding hands wasn’t something he’d seen before—unless you counted field-trip buddies in second grade, when all the boys had to hold hands. But obviously that was different … or was it? Why was it okay for two little boys to hold hands but it made him uneasy if it was two teenage guys?

  He thought about that and decided to ask about something else on his mind. “Do you think a gay person can change?”

  Sal gave an exasperated groan, but Javier squeezed his hand as if to calm him and glanced in the rearview at Carlos. “It’s like your hair color. You can streak it blond, but it’s still brown underneath.”

  Carlos looked in the mirror at his highlighted hair, suddenly once again worried how his friends might react.

  “Or like being left-handed,” Javier continued. “Can some left-handed people learn to use their right hand? Sure, but that doesn’t change their being left-handed. And besides, what’s the point?”

  “That’s the real issue,” Sal interjected. “Why do some p
eople get so bent out of shape about anyone who’s different? Who cares whether somebody else loves someone of the opposite sex or the same sex? They think that gives them the right to bash us and treat us like crap?”

  Javier squeezed Sal’s hand again. Then he pulled into the parking lot of a restaurant.

  Once out of the car, Carlos slid beneath the chassis and checked the axle. “Yep, you can see the grease leaking. My ma’s boyfriend works at a garage. I’ll ask him to look at it if you want.”

  “Great!” Javier exclaimed.

  The restaurant was a health food cafe that smelled of yeasty fresh bread. College students, yuppies, ponytailed older guys, and beaded women filled the place. Their waitress looked college-age, with bright blue eyes. “I like your hair,” she told Carlos.

  He darted his gaze down at the menu, blushing. “Um, I’ll have the veggie burger.”

  Sal and Javier both ordered salads. After the waitress left, Sal told Carlos in a low voice, “Hey when someone compliments you, say, ‘Thanks.’”

  Carlos turned even redder. How was he supposed to know that? Hardly anyone had ever complimented him—until recently

  When the waitress brought their order, Carlos told her, “Um, thanks for what you said about my hair.”

  She gave him a big smile. “You’re welcome, honey.”

  Sweat exploded from his pores. Had she actually called him “honey”?

  As she walked away, Sal and Javier grinned at Carlos. “It looks like you have a fan.”

  “Shut up.” Carlos grabbed hold of his burger, eyeing the waitress, then asked, “You think so?”

  As he ate, another thing he’d wondered about came to mind: “How did you two guys meet?”

  “On the Internet,” Javier replied.

  “At a matchup dating site,” Sal added.

  Carlos’s mind instantly leaped to Hot-or-Snot. “You mean a hookup?”

  “No.” Sal frowned. “Not a hookup. A date.”

  Carlos put down his burger. “What’s the difference?”

  “We spent time getting to know each other first,” Sal explained. “Before we had sex.”

  Carlos shifted in his seat. He had zero desire to hear anything about two guys having sex. But he was curious about one thing: “Didn’t you ever want to have sex with a girl?”