Brazil knew a line when he heard one. “You want to be better friends than I want to be. And you want to start right now. No matter what you claim, I know how it works, Tommy. What you’re saying is insincere. If I told you this minute that I’d go home with you, you’d go for it like that.” He snapped his fingers.

“What’s so wrong about it?” Axel liked the idea quite a lot and wondered if it were remotely possible.

“See. A contradiction. That’s not called being friends. That’s called being laid,” Brazil enlightened him. “I’m not a piece of meat, nor do I care to be a one-night stand.”

“Who said anything about one night? I’m a long-term kind of guy,” Axel assured him.

Brazil could not help but notice the two guys with bulging muscles and tattoos, in greasy coveralls, drinking long-neck Budweisers, glaring at them as they eavesdropped. This didn’t bode well, and Axel was so obsessed he wasn’t picking up on the stubby fingers drumming the table and toothpicks agitating in mean mouths, and eyes cutting as plans were being made for the dark parking lot when the fags returned to their vehicle.

“My feelings for you are very deep, Andy,” Axel went on. “Frankly, I’m in love with you.” He slumped back in his chair, and dramatically threw his hands up in despair. “There. I’ve said it. Hate me if you want. Shun me.”

“Puke,” said Rizzo, whose visible tattoo was of a big-breasted naked woman named Tiny.

“I gotta get some air,” agreed his buddy, Buzz Shifflet.

“Tommy, I think we should be smart and get out of here as fast as we can,” Brazil suggested quietly and with authority. “I made a mistake and I apologize, okay? I shouldn’t have come over and we shouldn’t be here. I was in a mood and took it out on you. Now we’re going to make tracks or die.”

“So you do hate me.” Axel was into his crushed, you-have-deeply-wounded-me routine.

“Then you stay here.” Brazil stood. “I’m pulling your car up to the front porch, and you’re going to jump in. Got it?” He thought of West again, and anger returned.

Brazil was looking around, as if expecting a gunfight any moment and ready for one, but aware of his limitations. There were rednecks everywhere, all drinking beer, eating fried fish with tartar and cocktail sauces and ketchup. They were staring at Axel and Brazil. Axel saw the wisdom in Brazil getting the car by himself.

“I’ll pay the bill while you do that,” Axel said. “Dinner’s my treat.”

Brazil was completely cognizant of the fact that the two big boys in coveralls were this very second out in the poorly lit parking lot, waiting for the two queers. Brazil wasn’t especially concerned by their erroneous impression of him and the choices he made in life, but he was not interested in having the shit beat out of him. He thought fast and tracked down the hostess in the raw bar, where she was parked at a table, smoking and writing tomorrow’s specials on a chalkboard.