Out - late_bland - @ 20six.co.uk

Out

Enzo and I have been mates for years, ever since I first landed on the Arcade, still skinny and twitching from the breakdown. I used to escape into the Giannone's cafe for a coffee, shell-shocked and reeling after one of Marxist Jim's verbal assaults (I had yet to develop my current immunity to being called a useless f***ing c***; for some absurd reason I was still feeling a little bit fragile), and when he brought over my latte Enzo would chat to me about normal, comforting things like football and getting drunk.
I liked him from the start. Sure, he was maybe a little too fixated with trainers. And he was almost aggressively good-looking. And the whole "I'm going to be a popstar" thing wore thin very quickly. But he was a good laugh, and Christ knows I needed that in those days when everything seemed to be saturated with shades of grey.
Eventually we started hanging out after work - drinking and playing pool down the pub with his big brother Tony, or occasionally going clubbing in town, where Enzo would always end up playing tonsil hockey with some gorgeous girl while I sat on the sidelines and marvelled.

When Lucy arrived on the scene, however, our friendship cooled a little. I figured that he'd fancied himself in with a chance, and my unexpected success had put his nose out of joint. Eventually, we started hanging out again, but as part of a group rather than just the two of us.
Now, picture the scene: it is a sultry day in July. The sort of day that just cries out for a beergarden and one too many pints of cold lager. Lucy has bombed off in the Morgan to visit her barking mad sister in her new house down in Wiltshire, so I find myself alone, at a loose end and with craving for fizzy alcohol. Wall-Street Phil is busy with young Jude (as ever), Vinnie is in Brighton, getting yet another tattoo, and I am not such a masochist that I would ask Dylan along to the pub, as his conversation would make me want to drown myself in the nearest water-butt (the hosepipe ban is still in force – and I’m not sure how I’d go about drowning myself with a hosepipe anyway). So I nip next door to the cafe and ask if Enzo fancies a few pints after work. He answers in the affirmative.
At the end of the day, we meet up in the Swan's "beer garden" (actually just a patch of bare concrete and a few scattered tables with wonky legs) and proceed to get riotously drunk on lager. All of which is well and good, until Enzo leans towards me and, in a slurred stage whisper, offers to suck my cock.

To say that I am taken aback would be the understatement of the year. How to respond? I rack my brain, but can find no precedent. I opt for the polite refusal.

"Errr... no. But, look, thanks for offering."
"Are you sure? I'm very good at it," Enzo puts his hand on my knee.
"Umm, no, you're all right. Thanks anyway, mate." I mumble.
"S'okay. Just thought I'd offer." And he goes back to his pint as if nothing untoward had happened.

The next morning, Lucy groons back in the Morgan and bounds into the flat, where I am busy self-medicating with a bacon sandwich and a vat of coffee. I look like death, and feel even worse.
"Hiya slugger. Good night last night?"
"Yeah..." I chew pensively on some bacon fat.
"You don't sound so sure."
"Well, it's all a little indistinct, and I was very pissed so I may just be imagining things, but I think Enzo kind of... offered to give me a blow job."
"What was it like?"
"I didn't say yes. Jeez, Luce."
"Well I can't say I'm surprised. He's had a crush on you for ages."
The piece of bacon fat sails across the living room and hits the stereo with a wet plick. I am aghast.
"He has?" My brain is doing cartwheels. "So, does this mean that Enzo is, you know, gay?"
"Well, duhh." Lucy delicately picks the bacon fat off the stereo. "Do you want this?" I shake my head, and she pops it in her mouth.

Further questioning reveals the following facts:
Lucy's gaydar is several million times more sensitive than mine.
She has been aware of Enzo's sexual preferences for a couple of years now, but has never seen fit to mention it to me.
Enzo is not officially "out", in that he hasn't told his family yet. But he is unofficially “out”, in that he has sex with men.
Enzo confessed to Lucy that he had a bit of a thing for me during one of our tasting evenings at the Bottle Shop. Again, she chose not to mention this until now.
It turns out that when Lucy appeared on the scene, it wasn't her of whom Enzo was jealous.

All this came as something of a shock, I can tell you. But as the hangover abated and my capacity for rational thought returned, it all began to make quite a bit of sense. I think back to all those women he pulled when we were out - they'd be throwing themselves at him, and yet he never seemed to have any long-term relationships. And then there was the obsession with shoes. But I clearly have the observational skills of Helen Keller, so all this passed me by.
I have since spoken to Enzo about it and he has confirmed that yes, he is indeed gay. Which makes it sound like an easy conversation - it wasn't. I was appallingly English about the whole thing. The amount of stuttering, blushing and umm-and-ahhhing would have struck even Hugh "all I do is stutter" Grant as being a bit over the top.
Still, all is now well between Enzo and myself. And it's always nice to know that someone out there thinks you're hot stuff. Even if that person does have 5 o'clock stubble and dresses to the left.

The Bottle Shop recommendation for today: 'Sassaiolo' Rosso Piceno Superiore 2003 (Italy). A bold wine with a ripe, brambly nose and the deep, ruby colour of someone who's trying to be subtle about asking his friend if he's... y'know... ummm... ahhhh... well... sort of... you know... gay. £5.99

6.10.06 14:15

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