Cupid's Arrows

They pull in up the parking lot of a low structure, surrounded by woods. By Andrew's count, they passed the last house at least ten minutes ago. Between that and his father's mysterious behaviour, this is some serial killer bullshit. Roo is ready to bolt from the car when he notices the neon sign on top of the building: Cupid's Arrows. Complete with a bad animated cartoon of a plump little cherub shooting an arrow through a pink heart.

He's heard about this place.

It's basically a legend. Some of the older guys in school brag they come here every week, though no one believes them, of course. It'd cost too much. What's more believable is that about a quarter of Roo's classmates lost their virginity here. The Cupid's is not a bar, or a stripclub, or even just a bordello; it's a rite of passage for guys Andrew's age.

Damn. He'd even be excited about this, if only he were into girls.

He makes a decision. In the car he already had a mini panic attack when his dad asked him about his non-existent girlfriend. He has no idea whether or not his dad would be cool with him being into dudes, but it seems unlikely; he's made some disparaging remarks about "sissies" before, and he does work at a construction site, after all.

This is going to take some acting skills.

"Whoa, the Cupid's, huh?" He was going for enthusiasm, but it immediately sounds hollow and artificial to him. Stupid. Don't try so hard.

His dad on the other hand perks up right away, oblivious. "You've heard of it, then?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, some of the guys, at school..." He trails off.

"Hey, I get it, son. I might not look it, but I was your age once." His dad seems very pleased with himself, and Andrew's heart drops. It's kind of sad, really, to think how he'll eventually turn out to be a disappointment to Jeremy.

Or he could just never tell him. Only bring home girls and tell dad they're his dates, or--

"You ready to go in?"

Andrew forces a smile. "Sure. Let's do it."

They exit the car and cross the short distance to the front door. Andrew reaches for it, but his dad puts a hand on his shoulder. "This is where you become a man, son," he says gravely. "That's what my own father told me here, once, so that's what I'm telling you now. And don't worry." Wink. "It's my treat."

Okay, that's actually sort of sweet, in a very awkward way. Andrew swallows, nods, and pushes through the Cupid's front door.

The front room feels a lot like a reception desk. A young woman stands behind a counter, offers them a smile. It grows wider as she notices Andrew's dad. "Jerry! How long has it been? And you brought a friend."

Jeremy turns beet red, stammers, "Hi, Sapphire. This is my son, Andrew."

The woman -- Andrew's not naive enough to believe her name is really Sapphire -- winks at him. "First time, huh? Well, you go right on in, sweetie." She nods towards double doors, framed by potted plants and decorated with shiny golden cherubs and curlicues. All fake, of course. All plastic, even the potted plants. He glances back to his dad, who's speaking to "Sapphire" in a low voice. She laughs, a bright, too loud sound, and touches Jeremy's arm. Jeremy smiles, keeps talking, and digs up his wallet. Probably to pay their entrance fee, or something. Andrew steps inside.

The heat, the music and the smell hit him all at once. It's like stepping into some kind of nocturnal jungle cave, if jungle caves were filled with chemical floral air fresheners and patchouli, and if the jungle animals were for some reason really into generic trance music. It takes only a second for his eyes to adjust to the dim lights.

There's topless women everywhere.

Despite himself, Andrew's heart starts to beat faster. His palms feel clammy, though he can't be sure whether it's because of the heat or the nerves caused by the excessive nudity all around him. Should've brought an extra shirt; he can already feel the wet patches form around his armpits.

A hand lands on his shoulder and he nearly jumps. It's his dad. "Feast your eyes, son. You only turn eighteen once."

Andrew swallows. His mouth is suddenly very dry. "Yeah. Hey, now that I'm a legal adult and all, how about a drink?"

His dad laughs -- too loud -- and slaps Andrew's shoulder -- too hard. At least one of them is having a good time already. For fuck's sake, I'm your son, not one of your construction site buddies. Andrew grimaces and hopes it looks like a smile.

"Let's go," Jeremy says, waving an arm around magnanimously. "You see anything you like, you let me know. My treat. Happy birthday, Roo."

"Don't call me that," Andrew mutters, knowing the music makes it impossible for his dad to hear him. In truth, he enjoys the nickname -- but to hear his dad use it, to be all familiar with him, to pretend they're buddies now, is just jarring. He desperately needs that drink, and fast. The bartender -- a hunky guy, seems to be in his mid to late twenties, not at all bad-looking, if a bit scruffy -- is in the midst of an animated conversation with a young brunette. Andrew waves to try and get his attention, and, when that doesn't work, loudly snaps his fingers and yells, "Hey! Some service here?"

He really needs a drink.

The bartender saunters over, frowning, which is... whatever. Actually, it makes him look even more attractive. Brooding.

Jeremy sits down on the barstool next to Andrew. "We'll have two beers."

"Actually," Andrew snaps. "Vodka coke for me."

The bartender scoffs. Looks from Andrew to Jeremy, then to Andrew again. Finally says, "Sure, kid."

Did he emphasise the kid? What-ever. It's not like Andrew needs anyone's approval -- and especially not from some meathead jock working at a titty-bar-slash-brothel. He glowers at the guy as he brings him his drink. "Thanks so much." He takes a big gulp from the cold drink.

"Yeah, sure." The bartender gives Jeremy his beer and goes back to talking to the woman.

"Hey, Ruby!" Jeremy booms. The woman looks up, smiles, gives a little wave. His dad beckons her over.

Andrew takes another big gulp. His dad's so pathetic. It's obvious the woman doesn't remember him, obvious she's just acting -- well, doing her job, more likely. He sips his drink again, ice cubes rattling against the glass.

"Jeez, Roo, slow down a bit, huh? It's not even four o'clock yet."

Andrew puts the glass down -- too hard, but he doesn't care. "'S my birthday, isn'it?"

His dad looks like he's about to say something, but then the woman he called Ruby is suddenly standing next to him. "Well, hi there, stranger."

It takes some effort for Andrew to suppress a snicker. He reaches for his drink and nearly misses. Wait, did he have lunch? His dad seems deep in conversation with the woman, oblivious to the fact that she doesn't remember his name and makes up for it by calling him "honey", "sweetie" and "stranger".

They laugh. Andrew drinks. Time seems to simultaneously pass too slow and too fast, and he realises he's just drinking molten ice cubes.

"... so yeah, this is my son, Andrew."

Suddenly the woman is next to him, too close, her breast softly pressing against his bicep. She takes his hand as if to shake it but doesn't let go. He's uncomfortably aware of how clammy his palms really are, despite cradling his cold drink only a second before.

"Well, aren't you a handsome young buck! Your daddy tells me it's your birthday?"

He wants to ask her why she talks like that, but of course he knows the answer -- and besides, none of this is her fault, so why be rude? "Yes, ma'am." The word yes is a lot harder to form than it has any business being. His mouth feels like it's asleep.

She laughs -- Andrew thinks it almost sounds genuine. "What a perfect gentleman. Ma'am. Please, do call me Ruby."

He tries to withdraw his hand, but she won't let go. Ruby leans in, so her lips brush Andrew's ear. "Now why don't we go somewhere we can get ourselves acquainted a little better, all right?" And with that, she starts walking -- leading Andrew along.

His dad winks and raises his beer to them.

Oh shit. Shit. It's happening already? He'd hoped for more time -- and a couple more drinks, at least. Andrew's heart is beating in his throat while the interior of Cupid's Arrows passes him by in a blur. There's the stage with the topless women, three or four men watching them -- the place is kind of empty, but then again, it's the middle of the afternoon. And then the stage is behind them, and they're in a long corridor with about a dozen doors. Flowery wallpaper, more fake potted plants. It seems that whoever designed the interior here was going for an old-timey saloon vibe, before remembering they were supposed to keep to the Cupid-theme and and covering all the doors in tacky cherub decorations.

Ruby leads him into a room and it's... well, it's not nice, but it's not awful, either. It's clean, at least on the surface. More fake plants, a flatscreen mounted on the wall, and a kingsize bed. He doesn't really want to think about anything that's gone on in that bed. Probably they change the sheets every time someone uses it, right?

Click.

He turns around. Ruby's by the door, her hand on the small turning knob that locks it -- pretty much like the locks on the doors in a public bathroom. Classy.

"You're a bit... jumpy, aren't you?" For a second there, she dropped her fake accent.

Andrew swallows. "Yeah. I guess."

Ruby walks past him, sits down on the bed. Pats the spot next to her.

Okay. This is it. Andrew sits down -- too fast, the bed creaks loudly -- and keeps his eyes to the front. He jumps when Ruby lightly places her hand on his leg.

A look of genuine concern passes over her face. There's no trace of the exaggerated southern drawl now when she speaks. "Look, kid... We don't have to do anything. You know that, right?"

He folds his hands in his lap, stares at them. "Yeah. Sure."

The silence drags on.

Ruby leans in closer. "Just... relax, okay?" Her hands are on his shoulders, gently exerting pressure. It feels... nice. He can feel some of the tension seeping out of him. "That's right," Ruby murmurs, her mouth by his ear again, nuzzling against it. "Just let it all go."

Andrew closes his eyes, exhales a long, shuddering breath. He leans his body backward, into Ruby's, feels the heat of her through his shirt. Ruby's right hand snakes down his body, lingering on his chest, then down again, the sudden weight of it heavy on his groin.

"... Oh."

He sighs.

"Is it... did you drink too much? Sometimes that happens."

"I... no, no, that's not it." Well, he is pretty buzzed, but by now he's also sure if he can't get it hard for this woman, he can't get it hard for any woman.

"Is it me? Would you like me to get someone else?"

"No! You're great. It's just..." He hesitates. Maybe it's the ****, or maybe it's the fact that she's a total stranger, but suddenly, he really needs to tell someone what he's been struggling to admit to himself for all these months. "I think I might be gay."

She lifts her hand from his crotch -- but, he notices, keeps her arm around his shoulder. "Oh. Oh. Well, that's a relief." She flusters; she sounds very different now that she's not putting on the country cowgirl act. "I mean... that came out wrong! I didn't mean to be rude. It's just, this is my job, you know, to make guys feel all... excited, and whatnot. I'm rattling." She snaps her mouth shut. Squeezes Andrew's shoulder. "Also, there's nothing wrong with being gay, you know."

Andrew has to laugh at that, but he's also... well, relieved. The first person he came out to, and she didn't recoil in disgust. Sure, she's also a sex worker, but it still counts for something. Then, a sobering thought. "Sure. I know there's nothing wrong with it, I guess, but try telling that to my dad."

"What, to Jer-Bear?"

Huh, guess she does know his name... wait. "Who?"

"Nevermind that. Look, I know your dad likes to seem all rough and tough, but he's actually a pretty sweet guy. Although I guess you know him a lot better than I do."

"Jer-Bear?"

Ruby makes a face. "I feel like you're focusing on the non-pertinent issues here."

"And he's a pretty sweet guy? My dad?" Another thought. "Wait wait wait... Did you and my dad--"

"Oh, no, no!"

"Because... if you did, and then he paid you to... to, you know, with me... that would be fucked up."

"Well, maybe once or twice. But that was so long ago, it hardly counts."

"Annnd I'm scarred for life."

"Aw, pumpkin." She squeezes his shoulder again, then stands up. "It's really cute how you can't even say 'fuck' unless it's in 'fucked up'."

"I'm sending you my future therapist's bills."

"Sure. Now, what are we gonna do with you? It being your birthday and all, and Jer-Bear having paid for the full package..."

"I really wish you wouldn't call him that in front of me."

"As my own daddy used to say, tough shit." She perks up, a grin spreading across her face. "Oh! I know just the thing."