OOM: A Quiet Drink
He'd told Random he was going out for cigarettes, which was almost true. He certainly intended to find a local vendor. It's just that both of them know he was running for some space, seeing as Random can create anything they need in their room. He hadn't objected though and Ramon pretended everything was fine - and so now, he's in a run down bar on the edge of one of the many villas de emergencia - the slums - that make up Buenos Aires away from the gleaming white of the clean city centre. There's a football match on TV right now, a perfect excuse to be away - he's South American and the World Cup is on, how can he be expected to pass up the chance to watch?
There's a large group of men gathered by the small TV in a dark corner. They're dressed poorly and undoubtedly unemployed but they're loud and passionate about their sport; yells and insults sound out every minute for every perceived injustice or blatant foul. Ramon only half listens, only keeps half an eye on the game as he nurses a beer at the bar. His mind is full of his own injustices, the conversation of yesterday morning playing over and over in his head.
He shouldn't be angry, he thinks. This was always something that was going to have to be faced at some point and maybe Random has a point. Maybe it should be dealt with now so that the rest of their time would be just for each other. It makes sense. Martin would be conceived, they'd raise him, in eighteen years he'd be grown and hopefully happier, so that Random would be. And it's only sex. A few trysts, impersonal and businesslike, from Random's point of view anyway. Hopefully. No, definitely. Well, probably. Who can be sure? And that's part of the problem, isn't it? Ramon likes to be sure about things.
'Good game, eh amigo?'
He's pulled from his thoughts by a man wearing a dirty blue and white striped football shirt, the colours of the national team. He's obviously quite drunk, hanging on to the edge of the bar as he awaits service from the bartender. Ramon nods, though he hasn't really been paying attention.
'Who are you pulling for?'
He considers telling him to fuck off but can't be bothered with confrontation. He'd also like to say Brazil or Portugal, but that would cause problems.
'Argentina of course.'
The man grins. 'Just checking. I wasn't sure you were local.'
Ramon doesn't confirm his suspicions about his nationality, and shrugs instead.
'Why don't you come join us?' He indicates the group in the corner. 'Always room for another fan.'
He smiles and appears quite genuine. Ramon considers the offer. Random has been quiet since yesterday and he already feels a little guilty for being here while his lover sits alone in a dingy room. They'd changed hotels since he'd shot that guy but the new one isn't much of a step up.
'Maybe later. Gracias.'
The man nods and gets another beer, handing over a few notes to the bartender.
'We're over there if you change your mind.'
He goes and Ramon turns back to the bar, fiddling with the label of his imported beer, touching the condensation that runs down its side. He should go. He understands perfectly well that Random hates it when he pulls away like this. He just can't help it. He doesn't know what to say to him - and while it's nice that he'd declared yesterday that it didn't matter and that Ramon comes first, at the same time it put the decision squarely at Ramon's feet. And that isn't fair, to his way of thinking.
He tells me it's on his mind, that he wants us free of it. He tells me that it's hanging over his head. Then he tells me that it's up to me and that he won't do anything until I say it's alright and he'll wash his hands of it in the meantime. So now I have it over my head and have to get used to the idea and wrestle with it until I give him the all-clear. How did this become my decision?
Normally he likes to be the one in control, deciding what happens. But not this time. Of course, he knows full well how furious he'd be if Random gave him no say in the matter all. But knowing that doesn't help.
He's interrupted again, by a woman this time. Pretty rather than beautiful, with a nose that's a little too long and a smile that's a little too easy.
'Hola, Senor.'
'Hola.' He gives her no encouragement but watches her face all the same.
'I saw you talking to Marco. What's your name?'
'Tomas.'
He's not giving his name out here, where there are people that might know it. Given the part of town he's in, there could well be people in this very bar that are aware of it, even work for him. He doesn't do a massive amount of business in Argentina, but enough - and he's not taking any chances.
'Are you sure you wouldn't like to join us, Tomas? You don't look so happy.'
A hand comes to rest on his shoulder but he knows it may not mean anything - South Americans are tactile and expressive as a rule and if she's with the group over by the TV, she's probably not a hooker. None of them could afford one.
'No, thank you. I should be leaving.'
Ramon keeps it polite, a little distant. He doesn't want trouble. And while he'd normally smile at her simply because she's female and close, he doesn't today.
'Wife at home?'
'No.' Just a husband and another woman ruining it all.
Overdramatic thoughts, maybe. He's determined not to let that faceless woman destroy what he has. He may have to let her have Random but she will not ruin them.
'Well, you know where we are, Senor.' She removes her hand and smiles again. Ramon stares at her and is struck by a thought that he wishes he hadn't had.
I could stay. Talk to her. Think all sorts of things I'm not supposed to and then go back to you and tell you. I'd make it clear that I wasn't interested in her but that's not the point, is it Random? You'd still wonder if I wanted to. I'd tell you that she had a nice ass and tits I could lose myself in for days, but I'd still make it clear I wouldn't want to fuck her. And you'd still think about me doing it, wonder about it, try to convince yourself that it's not what I want. Just like I'm thinking about the woman that's going to have your son and the things you're going to do to her. The things she's going to do to you. Is she going to make you yell and thrash and scream? Will you think of me when you're fucking her? You'll say it wasn't as good but how am I ever going to know?
He throws some money down on the bar and smiles at her, sliding off his barstool.
'Some other time maybe.'
And he doesn't look back as he leaves the bar and puts on his shades to hide his eyes. Because Random's waiting, and no matter what's going through his mind at the moment, he can't do that to him. It isn't his fault he wants his son to be born.
But that doesn't make this any easier. And he really wishes he hadn't thought what he just did.