Sneaky bastard.
Daniel pulls out the folded piece of paper out of his back pocket and stares at it, hardly registering what it says -- but somewhere in his brain, there’s a section that’s reading and understanding the words:
Meet me outside the front doors, 1:30 am.
Outside what front doors? Daniel wonders irritably, his hand is shaking. He didn’t tell Elijah what hotel he’s staying in, so he must mean the Vanity Fair building.
Daniel thinks Elijah is naïve and irresponsible, thick-headed to imagine Daniel would know exactly which front doors he’s talking about.
Or maybe Elijah knows Daniel isn’t stupid, that he can figure it out on his own in case someone else finds the note.
Sure, Daniel rolls his eyes at the very idea of it. Who else would be groping around in his back pocket for the next five hours?
He sighs and tucks his chin in his other hand, twirling, folding and twisting the note dazedly, as he sits on the toilet lid. He wonders how long it’s safe to be in here. Not long. But he’s tired and needs some space.
The bathroom is enormous with crimson, white and gold tiles across the counter and the floor; there’s even a twisty, French design on the bottom of the spacious bath tub, complete with jets and brass designer handles.
The toilet is red. Daniel has never seen a red toilet before, and he isn’t quite sure what to make of it. It reminds him of sitting on a bloody toadstool in the middle of a bleeding forest, and he imagines this must be what girls on their periods feel like, only multiplied by about a thousand.
He feels like he’s just discovered he owns a pair of ovaries, uncomfortable in that sense, uncomfortable in his body and he wants to be a boy -- but Daniel, you are a boy! You are a real boy, Daniel! But now’s one of those times when he wants to be nothing, just fade into thin air or become just an unnoticed picture on the wall of a fancy hotel room. The art majors could wince, and everyone else would just glance past it.
One of Daniel’s secret fantasies was to steal a hotel painting. He’d taken other things. Soap, shampoo, remote controls, wash rags, ash trays, coat hangers -- one time he managed to snag one of the rings from a shower curtain, he’d glued random beads and buttons onto it and gave it to Emma as a birthday present. She got mad and told him he was a stingy, rich prick -- it stung, as though he’d just given her macaroni glued to cardboard, doodles in crayon. That had held sentimental value to him, all the memories from traveling wrapped up in one little plastic bracelet. He was sort of relieved when she tipped it back into his lap. Then, after a fair amount of weeks in Daniel’s sock drawer, he’d taken it out again and continued adding random gaudy items.
Sometimes when he looks at the stripes of colors and accidental rainbows, it reminds him of gay pride. He’d like to go to one of those parades in San Francisco. But then, he’s afraid it’s being too blatant.
It’s been too long, he thinks, stands up from the toilet, pulls the lever in an annoyed fashion and crosses to the sink, leaning against the counter as he pulls the faucet on, watching the water gush, fall and swirl down the drain with a forceful grace. He’d like to be water, he thinks. Forever floating through pipes, streams, gutters, basking in a lake before being sucked back into the clouds and floating in the sky, watching the world below him before falling dizzily back to the dry, moist, hard, soft earth below him.
Daniel finds his mother curled on the couch, watching MTV. There’s that Justin Timberlake video, the old one where it’s raining and he breaks into his girlfriend’s house so that he can make-out with that gorgeous Middle Eastern-looking girl and video tape it. She sucks on his lip, pulling and teething, licking -- and Daniel is reminded of curry for some reason. The girlfriend looks strangely like Britney Spears and Daniel wonders if that was intentional.
He continues watching music videos with his mother (That tAtU one where they’re kissing in the rain while wearing pleated skirts that remind Daniel of Emma, he proceeds to feel guilty about associating her with lesbians, even though the idea is entertaining and, by all means, intriguing.) until Christina Aguelera’s “Beautiful” comes on with the guys kissing. He gulps. Thinks about the note, thinks about the awaiting night and what Elijah has in mind. Is it legal in America? But with celebrities, all sorts of things go on behind closed doors. Especially closet doors, he smirks and looks at the clock.
11:34
His mom is asleep, and he thinks now might be a good time to pick out what to wear, grab some cash, make a big deal over his hair, brush his teeth and leave.
