The Metropolis Case_ A Novel - Matthew Gallaway [129]
One night Martin went to see Hüsker Dü at Folk City with Keith and Jay and a few others. He could almost see the air, blue with smoke and suspense, not only for those like Jay and Keith who had already seen the band but also for newcomers like Martin, whose veneer of skepticism belied a hope to be obliterated. At some point they decided to get closer to the stage, and Martin—anxious to impress Keith and the tallest of the three—eagerly led them into the compacted crowd. Though it was now impossible to talk to Keith, Martin continued to make sporadic eye contact, which seemed to establish an unprecedented camaraderie in what would soon be a roiling mosh pit. There were a few scuffles as people fought for space and air; empty beer cans were tossed around, and occasionally a “Hüskers!” or “Fuck Nancy!” chant made its way through the room; it seemed to Martin that hours passed, and on the verge of suffocation, he began to question with some bitterness why the band was taking so fucking long; but at the same time, he was already looking forward to describing—sharing—every moment of this with Keith afterward.
Finally the band—there were three members: drums, guitar, and bass—appeared onstage and without a single glance at the crowd checked their respective instruments, before the drummer clicked his sticks one two three four and launched them into a maelstrom of sound more intense—faster, louder, angrier—than anything Martin had ever heard or, for that matter, imagined. A landslide of distortion crashed over the audience, which after a moment of slack-jawed paralysis erupted into a writhing mass. In the mosh pit, Martin gave in to the riptide of bodies and forgot about Keith for a few seconds, at least until their eyes again briefly met, conveying not just that this was a great concert by a great band but—and this, far more exhilarating and shocking—a naked longing that could be characterized only as desire. He was terrified to recognize this in Keith, and even more terrified to realize that his eyes surely reflected the same, and so he was grateful when the onslaught of music and flying bodies carried them apart.
Nor did they discuss it later, when they went with Jay and their other friends to Lucy’s bar, where Martin felt electrified when his thigh rested against Keith’s as they sat next to each other in one of the booths. They staggered back to Martin’s apartment—Jay was sleeping at Linda’s—and were listening to Zen Arcade, comparing the recorded versions of songs with what they had just heard, when Keith turned to him. “So, Vallence—I have a question for you.”
“Yeah?” Martin allowed his eyes to travel along the poster-covered wall of the living room before coming to rest on Keith.
Keith considered him for a second. “Have you ever slept with a guy?”
Martin felt a jackhammer in his chest. “You mean like fucking around …”
“Yeah—you know—sex.”
The room started to spin as Martin considered how to answer this, before he decided just to tell the truth, albeit with some hesitation. “Uh, no—have you?”
Keith shrugged ambiguously. “What do you think of us, Marty?”
“What do I think of us?” Martin was too stunned to manage more.
Keith’s voice became harsh. “Like what are we, exactly?”
“Uh, friends?”
“That’s it?” The edge to Keith’s voice was gone, and he spoke in a soft but insistent tone Martin had never heard him use before.
“I don’t know,” Martin said but hated the weakness of it. He had dreamed of this since he first saw Keith but felt completely unprepared; to give in, it seemed, would be the end of his longing, and as with any part of his body, he could not after so many years imagine himself without it. “I want to be—closer to you,” he ventured, his voice hoarse. He could barely believe that he had used a