That night was somewhat different in La Dolce Vita. A distinct mortal in a form of a visibly young gay boy was a rare highlight in that place. He was not only very loud cheering enticing compliments to every guy at the bar counter. He moved so wildly, lively but people could tell he wasn’t even drunk. He also looked glowing in that bright white sissy hem and tight washed-out blue jeans. He was the center of attention that night.
In a corner near the entrance, two guys looked so cautious, watching the boy. One had whiskey coke in his hand, another had margarita. They recognized the boy as an odd from another place – a most famous discotheque in Jakarta. They knew the boy was in his typical act, so they kept alert.
“It’s him. Never thought he’d be here,” the margarita guy said.
“Mmmh,” the whiskey guy smiled.
“I hate him.”
“Huh? You hate him?” the whiskey guy frowned and looked at his friend.
“Ya, I hate him,” the margarita guy turned his hand up the air, dejected.
“He did something wrong to you?”
“No. But the way he acts.”
“Hey, man. He’s just doing what he likes,” the whiskey guy looked uncannily at his friend now. He had seemed a little cautious of the boy’s act earlier. Now, he appeared curious of his friend. “Are you gay?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I said are you gay?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Why do you hate him?”
“I don’t like gays.”
“Homophobic ….. Sure.”
The boy was approaching them. The margarita guy passed up toward a couch behind them. He looked so nervous. He sat and put his glass on the table. The whiskey guy turned around to see his friend. He mimicked a ‘why’ and raised his shoulder. When he turned back, the boy was already in front of him – dancing, seducing him with a run of fingertip over the chest. The guy smiled, lifted his whiskey glass to the air and served the dance to the boy. He then held the hip of the boy with his free hand. They danced erotically. The boy screamed, “hot dog!!!” People turned to look at them now. The cheering shouts got on track. The ambience shifted to an outrageous scene. The jazz bar became a place with no judgement.
Minutes flew. The whiskey guy looked a little exhausted after some crazy moves. He came to his friend at the couch. He put his empty glass on the table, waved to a passing waiter and ordered another whiskey coke. Then he sat beside his friend.
“Sandy, what’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing. I hate him. That was no decency.”
“Hey, this is a place for freedom, you know?”
“It’s a jazz bar, Randy.”
“Yes. So, what?”
“I came here for a straight bar scene.”
“You think a straight bar scene must be decent?”
“At least there shouldn’t be any gay there. I shun them.”
“Oh my God, what are you trying to reject in this life?”
“Homos.”
“Man, are you gay?”
“What?”
“Come on, man. Get out of the closet. We’ve been co-workers for a year. We should’ve known each other very well, right? I’m not gay. But I don’t mind a gay friend,” Randy smiled tantalizingly at Sandy.
“You’re insulting me,” Sandy stood angrily. He almost bumped an approaching waiter, who brought a glass of whiskey coke. By that time, the gay boy came up and said, “Lovers at a fight?”
“Shut up you, faggot!!!” Sandy pointed his finger to the boy’s face.
“No. I know who I am, dear,” the boy pushed aside the finger in front of his face and turned away, swaying his whole body as if he had finished performing and had to leave the audience. He walked away to the dance floor with his left hand on his hip as if he was on a catwalk.
Sandy dropped his body on the couch again. He looked furious.
“Calm down, man. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you,” Randy tapped him on the shoulder. They looked at each other. Randy smiled, but Sandy looked back fiercely.
“I’m going after I finish my drink,” Sandy reached his glass. It was empty. So, he grabbed the whiskey coke from Randy’s hand. He sipped slowly and closed his eyes. Something calmed him down, but he still insisted in going home.
“Are you sure? I’ll stay.”
“Yeah, up to you. Bye. See you on Monday,” he stood up and straightened his shirt, then headed for the entrance.
“Ok, bye,” Randy said powerlessly.
Being left alone, Randy finished his drink, sitting on the couch. He looked around and found some people had been staring at him, maybe they noticed what happened to him and Sandy and the gay boy. He suddenly looked crestfallen like being aware that something long buried now came to touch his senses again. He sighed and approached the small dance floor without his whiskey coke. He tried to find the gay boy and finally saw him in the very center of the dancing crowd then went to him.
“Hey, baby, wanna dance some more?” he asked the gay boy.
“Nope,” the gay boy refused and kept dancing without even looking at him.
“C’mon. I was a hot dog, right?” he tried to grab the gay boy’s shoulder.
“Hey, mind your attitude,” the gay boy threw out the hand from his shoulder.
“Playing hard to get, hey boy?” now he held the hip of the gay boy from behind. He was about to tease the gay boy’s left ear when suddenly he got an elbow thump on his stomach. The gay boy turned around and got his left arms grabbing Randy’s neck. He slapped and pushed Randy away. People stepped aside. Security guards seized the gay boy and dragged him to the back side of La Dolce Vita. Randy held his face and stood stunned in the middle of the crowd, watching the detention of the gay boy.
Some things hastily and heavily gleamed over Randy’s mind. He still stiffly stood there feeling a sting on his just-slapped chin. He slowly looked over the crowd and seemed to be making a move as if the gleaming was fading to the same extent with the diminishing pain.
Suddenly Randy ran out of La Dolce Vita. Sandy! He thought about Sandy. He snatched his hair as if feeling sorry for an inanity. He thought about going to Sandy’s place. He wanted to apologize and say that he now knew and something mutual.
He ran and only ran with only Sandy in his mind.
*
(Jakarta, 7 April 2008)
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