Short Story by David Toussaint

FIRE

The deer aren't right on Fire Island. They're beautiful, yes; mythological wonders, and to gaze upon them from a distance is to witness the perfect form of God's capricious hand. But look a little closer and a different creature comes into view. Their eyes have lost the spark of forest life, and their once-shining gold coats seem burnt brown and toxic, as if the very air that sustains them has contaminated their skins. They are rampant here, always have been, but their stay is overplayed and unwelcome, leftovers from a time when there was space for them. If you dare get close enough to touch one, its eyes betray what's left of its composure, and you realize it has no place to flee.

San Francisco, 1981

Daniel, removing the contents of his locker on the last day of acting class, untaped the Brooke Shield's Calvin Klein ad from the metal door. He would take it with him as a reminder. The ad epitomized his ideas of New York. There, he mused, he'd find real theater, true actors, and glamorous people who would flock to his charm. He'd heard of mens' after-hour clubs and blue-lit private rooms. Someday, he thought, someday.

When he looked up, Bradley, the teacher's aide, appeared to his right, smiling, leaning against the arched door, arms folded casually over his chest.

Daniel had never seen a man more beautiful. In class, he often stared at Bradley's perfect body-- muscles puffed out in circles, flat stomach accented by khaki shorts that tented up unusually high when he sat, always on the floor, cross- legged with his knees up. When Bradley spoke in his low, instructive voice, it was as if he'd developed a hard-on just for you. He wore sandals every day, and his long, sculpted legs sprouted the same shiny blond hair that covered his head. Each strand seemed bright and wet, like his eyes, reflecting little drops of light that gave the appearance of just having come from a long swim or a warm shower. Bradley was twenty-three, and for Daniel, he was the dream of youth's ache; someone a gawky, undeveloped seventeen-year-old could never possess.

The sound of laughing students running through hallways echoed outside the locker room, mixed with the scent of fresh linen, disinfectant and soap. Summer sun bloomed inside Daniel's head.

"Hi there," Bradley said.

"Hi." Daniel blushed and stared inside an empty locker.

"I wanted to thank you for taking our class. You were an excellent student."

"Oh. Thanks. I enjoyed it."

Bradley 's gaze swept over the ad in Daniel's hand. "Do you like him?"

"Who?"

"Calvin Klein." Bradley took the ad from Daniel, brushing an elbow against his arm. "I think he's sexy."

"I don't know. I've never seen him."

"You're kidding. He's on the island all the time."

"What?"

"Fire Island. Don't tell me you've never heard of it." Bradley tilted his head toward Daniel and lowered his voice. "You'd love it."

Daniel pictured a piece of deserted land with flames on every side. "Where's that?" said Daniel.

"New York. Long Island, actually. It's where all the men go."

"Really?" Daniel tilted his own head slightly. Bradley's lips were inches away.

"Really!" Bradley laughed and leaned back. "I spend my summers there. I'm leaving tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? Wow. That's so soon."

Bradley laughed harder and took in Daniel from top to bottom.

"You're so funny. Maybe I'll see you there sometime. 85 Beach End Walk."

"New York's a long way away. I hope so."

"Anyway, I have to go." He grabbed Daniel's arms and kissed him on the lips. "Good-bye, beautiful."

Beautiful.

"Bradley?" Daniel stopped him at the doorway. "When are you coming back?"

Bradley grabbed the top of the doorframe with both arms and leaned in. His tank top revealed strong triceps and underarm hair.

"Who says I'm coming back?"

When he disappeared, Daniel closed the locker and stared at his reflection in the metal door.

"Fire."

Fire Island, 1991

Daniel was fixated on his reflection in the mirror, and smiled. He knew others around him were, as well. He'd keep this smile for the entire weekend.

"Come along, virgin. It's time for Tea" Anthony called from the gate at the Pines' outdoor gym. They both wanted to get a quick workout before nightfall, Daniel even more adamant about it than his friend. He'd only been here an afternoon, yet already admired on the beach and catcalled to as he walked along the wooden roads that connected each shrub-hidden house. Shirtless, in butch-looking Timberlands that were far too warm for June, Daniel felt like he'd arrived in a magic kingdom. Tanned men in draw-stringed bathing suits smiled at him from behind Ray-Ban sunglasses. Everything here was meant for pleasure-his pleasure-the sun on his back, the chlorine-scented pools against naked skin, the cube-clinking drinks, and the men with chiseled faces and heated eyes. They were the same men from high school, peeling their shorts off in the locker room, slapping ripe butts with towels and turning around to show off erections. The same men, but free, in a world that would defy gravity should it dare get in their way.

"Danny?" Anthony called again. He'd adopted this nickname for his friend as soon as they'd arrived. "We need to get there early so we can sit on the ledge. That way all the boys can see us."

"I'm coming," Daniel said, turning around to confirm that no fat hung over his shorts. "I just wish I had a better butt."

They walked along the road toward Anthony's house and greeted everyone who passed. Men carting groceries in red wagons, body-building couples in matching Speedos, the occasional solo guy in a tank top and cut-offs. "Heading for the Meat Rack," Anthony would whisper after they passed. Daniel only recognized a handful of people from his gym in Chelsea, and he was happy to let Anthony play host. Besides, Anthony was thirty-four, dark-haired and handsome, and had a full share with a pool. When anyone stopped and kissed him, they turned to Daniel next like he was the younger, just-blossoming sister, someone whom they had a full weekend to court and make their own. Daniel knew he'd been rewarded when Anthony invited him, he just hadn't realized how much of a prize he'd be.

"Anthony, what do you wear to Tea?" he said, as they turned the corner onto Beach End Walk.

"No eyeglasses. If you trip over someone, all the better."

They stepped up to the gate in front of the share. Daniel spotted a deer.

"Anthony, look!" Daniel leaned over the fence and his friend grabbed him by the shorts.

"Don't get near it."

"What do you mean? It's beautiful. It's not even scared."

"God, you are new." Anthony shrugged his shoulders and walked toward the house. "You can't touch them. They have ticks."

Daniel followed, then turned around and looked at the deer. He walked back to the gate and leaned over the fence. The deer looked up and met Daniel's eyes. Daniel checked to make sure no one was watching, then leaned over and patted the deer on the forehead. The animal pulled back, and, startled, Daniel jumped. He ran toward the house and into the shower.

The sun spotlighted Daniel and Anthony. Their beach chairs were laid out on the sand, and Anthony brought along a martini shaker and two glasses, perfect for three o'clock cocktails. Neither of them had gotten up till noon, and after a quick cup of coffee, they set out to claim their territory. Anthony winced at Daniel's suggestion that they stay by the pool.

"Daniel, it's a perfect eighty-degree cloudless day. The boys will all be flocked near the water."

"So what time did you get home last night?" Daniel asked, applying a dab more Coppertone number four to his shoulders.

"Three. And you?"

"I don't remember, I was so drunk."

"Last I saw you, you were lip-locked with that kid from California. He looked all of seventeen."

"Do you blame me? He was so fucking cute."

"Did you have sex?"

Daniel looked at the water. Several men had jumped in and wrapped bathing suits around their necks.

"Yeah. It was great. On the beach."

"Oh God," Anthony laughed. "I knew you'd be a slut. And with a minor, no less. It's a good thing they don't have any rules out here."

They laughed even harder, knowing that fear would creep into silence. Momentary, slicing fear that could drown out the loudest beach radio. It sat between them, the uninvited guest, waiting introduction. Anthony addressed it first.

"Were you careful?"

"Oh…yes. Of course. Condoms all the way." Once he spoke, he couldn't brush the guest away.

"Do you ever worry about the other guys? You know, the ones who didn't know."

Anthony turned over on his stomach. His back was red.

"Things are better now. Why?"

"I was thinking about this guy. He was so beautiful. And he was here from the beginning. I don't know how anyone like that could be okay."

"Have you tried to contact him?"

"I don't even know his last name."

"Cheer up, Danny. Maybe he'll show up one day, walking along the beach. Healthy, happy, and madly in love with you."

"That's my dream. By the way, Anthony, those condoms I mentioned…"

"Yes?"

"Extra large."

They laughed again. Anthony poured two more drinks into oversize glasses and toasted their paradise. The uninvited guest flew off into the sea.


Daniel wasn't enjoying the party, but even at three a.m. he refused to leave. Tomorrow meant going home to New York, where there'd be rules and time frames and even secrets he'd have to keep. He ordered another rum punch from the shirtless bartender and walked out to the pool area overlooking the ocean. He stepped up to the railing and looked out at the moonlit ocean. The waves were crashing violently on the shore, and the drone of partyers behind him sounded disconnected from the night. As he took a few more sips, it became all one male voice, a hostile, cold voice that grew both louder and farther away at the same time. Daniel placed his drink on the railing and kept looking at the ocean. He realized he had no idea what lay beyond. Long Island jutted out from the city at a right angle, and he wasn't sure if he was looking toward Europe or South America. He wished he'd brought a map.

"Hey there." A man had walked up beside him and leaned against the railing. He was handsome, with dark hair, wearing tight shorts and no shirt. "You're awfully quiet. Aren't you having fun?"

"I'm just a little disoriented."

"Oh God, what did they put in your drink?"

"No. I was trying to figure out if we're looking east or south."

"In that case, maybe you should have another one."

"Seriously. Do you know?"

"I know that you're about the hottest guy at this party. God I'd love to take you somewhere and just nail you."

Daniel stared at the water.

"You there?"

Daniel turned toward him. "I'm sorry. I was thinking about someone."

"Uh-oh. Another broken heart on Fire Island. Should I leave?"

"No. It's not important."

"That's good. I'd hate to think you were cute and deep."

Daniel laughed. "Thanks. You're pretty hot too."

"My name's Tony, by the way."

"Daniel. Nice to meet you."

"Is this guy you're thinking about your lover? Not that I care; I just need to know if you'll want breakfast."

"No. Just a guy I used to know. I was wondering if he was around tonight." He took a sip and realized he'd picked up the wrong glass. "I'm sorry. I just took your drink."

Tony laughed. "That means you've already gotten a taste of me." He pressed his leg against Daniel's. "Have another sip."

Daniel obliged, then looked back at the ocean and saw him. He was walking alone at the edge of the water, barefoot and wearing only shorts. He held sandals in one hand and a blanket and a bottle of wine in the other, like he'd just gotten up from a day at the beach. Daniel leaned over to try and get a better look. In the moonlight he could see his still-perfect form. Even after all these years he felt acute longing, seeing Bradley. But his shyness returned and he felt all too sober. He drained his own glass, leaned over the railing, and called out hello.

The man stopped. He turned to look at Daniel, and smiled broadly. "Hey, Beautiful. Nice to see you again. Come down here and join me."

Daniel turned around to excuse himself, but Tony had vanished. He turned back around and Bradley was gone.

Daniel jumped over the railing. He looked around and saw no one. There were stairways lined up along the beach, each leading up to tiny roads that looked exactly the same.

"Bradley!" he called, then yelled with his hands cupped to the sides of his mouth. But only the slosh of the ocean answered him. Daniel tripped, running in the sand. The beach was deserted and the music got louder, so he picked himself up and headed back to the house. Tony's drink was still on the railing. He guzzled it and joined the party.

*** Danny packed his bag, hung-over from the night before, and headed for the six o'clock ferry. The housemates were still asleep, so he stepped out quietly, patting two poodles that whimpered on the deck chairs. They looked ill, the whites of their eyes lined by red, sticky liquid dripping from the lids.

He closed the gate behind him, walked down the path to the road, headed for the dock. It was muggy and overcast, and he was glad to be leaving. He felt like something was pulling him back, like he was moving through a film of humidity but not getting closer to the ferry. He wanted to run. There were tall green weeds on either sideof him that hid each house. No one talked about the shrubs, and Danny hadn't a clue as to what they were. They seemed indigenous to the island, hiding excess without the slightest bloom or color to disguise the ugliness behind them. A deer appeared out of the woods.

Danny stared at her, unable to avert his eyes. Somewhere opera music wafted from a phonograph. It was five o'clock in the morning, and the only other sound was the thumping beat from the disco, which would continue till daylight. Down Harbor Walk, a drunk stumbled home, rejected no doubt, in a night that held off dawn like the enemy.

This was Daniel's last day on the island, the end of what seemed an endless summer of tanning on the beach, barbecues at his friend's share, and cocktails and boy- watching at High Tea. He'd been to Fire Island Pines only once before, and in the past several years had refused all invitations. He'd been told by friends that he thought himself superior to the party crowds who visited. But no one seemed to suspect his fear that just by stepping off the ferry and coming to this land, he'd become one of them-- and hadn't it been true?

The ferry seats were puddled with dirty rainwater. The older man next to Danny wore leather pants with a leather, sleeveless top, as well as a studded black belt and a dog collar around his neck. His muscular arms were blotched with green tattoos that matched the Formica tables, rooting him to the boat. He smelled like cum and grease. Danny tried to imagine what he did in the city, yet nothing came to mind. This man belonged to the island, probably always had, and Danny noticed that his gaze was firmly ahead, never wandering out the window to the other world.

The only other person to board was a slight woman of about fifty, with peroxide-blond hair, a creased face and a heavily tanned, freckled body. She wore cut-offs and a red bikini top, her small breasts sunken in like rotten fruit. Two German Shepherds leashed at her side fell asleep as soon as she sat down. She put on black sunglasses and turned to face the window.

Danny looked through his worn knapsack for something to read. He noticed a piece of paper crumpled at the bottom. He fished it out, unfolded it, and held up the old Brooke Shields Calvin Klein ad. He felt a visceral jab of pain and through the glossy paper, realized there was handwriting on the back. He turned the ad over, and read the words scribbled in black felt pen. "Bradley Daniels, 85 Beach End Walk. Fire Island. Hope to see you there."

He jumped from his seat, grabbed his knapsack and bag and ran to the front of the boat, jumped onto the dock and headed for the boardwalk. There was still no light, and the sound of the disco increased. He flew past white street signs-Ocean Walk, Bay Walk, Harbor Walk-the boardwalks identical on the surface, singularity identified only by the names printed on the signs, names for the graves piled within. He ran all the way to the edge of the Pines, where the woods took over, when he found it on the left.

Garbage cans and mailboxes were aligned on both sides and the slap of ocean waves grew louder. The salt air sprayed his face and the fog was as thick as thread. The disco beat turned into a steady thump in his heart. Signs for 81, 82, 83, and 84 moved by. 85 would be on his right. He approached the gate, stopped, and looked back. An antlered buck stared at him from the corner, then darted off. He pushed open the gate which led to several paths. It was impossible to know which one led to Bradley. He followed the sound of running water, bypassing a white wood house, searching beyond it.

The clearing was bordered by forest and shrouded in fog which shifted to reveal Bradley standing naked in the morning light under an outdoor shower, arms resting on his head. Bradley smiled as Danny walked into the clearing and stepped inside the circle of water, so close that their breathing interlocked. Bradley slowly undressed him. Danny was safe, naked and surrounded by fire. Bradley wrapped his arms around him as the water sheathed them from the heat. He touched Danny's lips.

"I knew you'd eventually find me," Bradley said. He took Danny's face in his hands and kissed him before he entered him.

"Fire."

Fire Island, 2001

Bradley woke up in a sweat. The covers were off and he realized he was still fully erect. It was five in the morning. Anthony was asleep next to him. He got up, put on a pair of boxers, and walked outside. It was dark out, but the sound of the disco thrummed through the night air.

"What are you doing up?" Anthony had followed him, and was standing next to the gate in his bathrobe. Bradley could already smell coffee being brewed.

"I'm sorry. I couldn't sleep. Go back to bed."

"Something wrong?"

"I was dreaming."

"What about?"

"Back in San Francisco, there was this guy. I remember telling him about this place. He was just a kid, but you could tell he'd be the type who'd end up here."

"So?"

"I dreamed he was on the island, and that he kept searching for me."

"I don't get it."

"It's my fault."

"What?"

"He's dead."

"What are you talking about?"

"About ten years ago, I was out really late at the disco. Drunk as hell. It was that weekend you and I almost broke up. I was so mad at you I ended up fucking around with someone."

"Bradley, we both…"

"It was him. I recognized him right away. I didn't even say anything. I just took him out to the beach and fucked him. Hard."

"You weren't safe?"

"He wouldn't even let me put a condom on. He was so seduced by the island, I could have done anything to him."

"So why is any of this your fault? You're not infected."

"Tony, he might have survived me, but there's no way he'd survive the rest of this place."

"That's still not your fault…"

"The next night, I was walking on the beach-I'd been out all day. I saw him up at one of the houses, at a party. I wanted to talk to him, to tell him to be careful."

"How come you didn't?"

"Because you were standing next to him. I was still mad at you, so I got pissed off and ran away."

"Bradley, come to bed."

"It's weird too because that part wasn't in the dream at all, and that's the only time I've seen him since."

"You probably blanked that whole weekend out of your head. Remember? I was fucking around with everyone too, and the next week I got the results of my test. God, who knows how many guys I nailed that weekend."

"Tony, I told him to come here. You should have seen the sparks in his eyes."

"Bradley, you have no idea what happened to this guy. He might be living happily ever after. Maybe someday you'll see him walking on the beach, healthy as anything."

"That's the dream."

"Come inside and have some coffee."

"In a minute."

Anthony kissed Bradley on the cheek and walked away. Bradley spotted a deer in front of him, staring directly into his eyes. Her coat looked golden brown and shiny, just washed from the night's rainfall. He thought about petting it, but knew Anthony would scream at him if he found out, like he did on his first trip to the island. He smiled as Anthony's Puccini floated from the bedroom. He heard a twig snap near him and saw a drunk stumbling home. Bradley was thankful that his partying days were over and that Anthony was still well; that morning was here and his head was clear. In a place that held off dawn like the enemy. He heard the coffee percolate and turned to look at the condominium he and Anthony had shared for twenty years on 85 Beach End Walk. The sun peered through the trees and the thump of the disco died. Bradley almost turned back to look at the deer, but knew instinctively that it was gone.

§ § §

David Toussaint is a freelance writer, director, actor, and producer living in New York City. His fiction has appeared in the e-zines "Outsider Ink," "The Prose Menagerie," as well as the literary journal "Snow Monkey."

Three years ago, he wrote and directed a one-act play, "Backstage Bitches," which ran for two consecutive summers in Manhattan. He's a contributing editor and travel writer for Conde Nast Publications, and is currently at work on a new play. He'd like to thank Beverly Jackson for her patience, faith, and endless "fire."

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