little t&a

she said she liked the way i held the microphone

It was pretty outside, warm and sunny, with a slight breeze wafting through. Nature had always been a novelty at best for Gene; he'd been stuck on enough tour buses through rural two-lane highways and woodsy areas to be spooked by anything that wasn't curated. Still, Central Park was a refreshing contrast to the cloistered, dingily glitzy feel of CBGB and Studio 54.

It wasn't quite tourist season—as if New York had a tourist season anymore—and right at spring finals for the college kids. The only ones really out, for the most part, seemed to be natives. Mothers with their schoolkids, retirees getting some sun, that kind of thing. So Gene had slight misgivings about going out unmasked in the park, but Paul just tossed him his sunglasses again and dug out a wide-brimmed sunhat from the trunk for himself.

"But nobody's going to recognize you," Gene protested. Paul winced.

"I know. But I like the hat."

It turned out Paul had enough change left for parking and a rowboat. Gene had fully expected Paul to toss him both oars, but Paul seemed keen on propelling the boat himself, despite his griping.

"I can't believe they didn't have one with the pedals," he groused.

"Have you ever done this before?"

"It can't be that hard." Paul's look of concentration made Gene tempted to smile. Why Paul was trying to impress him, he didn't exactly know. He'd watched from a wry distance as Paul had attempted to win over girlfriend after girlfriend. He'd try to be cultured. He'd try to be romantic. He invested more in the girls he was serious about than had ever seemed to pay out for him, and he hung onto those girls until they yanked him off like a tick. God, Paul had even kept trying to make a go again with the girl who'd fucked Joe Namath behind his back. He was funny about it all, really. Once he had somebody, he didn't want to give them up.

"Paul?"

"Yeah?"

"You're doing it backwards."

"This is how they did it in the gondolas, right?"

"You're not in a gondola." It was hard not to laugh. Paul was rowing determinedly, moving the oars in the same direction he was facing, like he thought he was swimming. "You've got to go the other way with them."

"Like this?"

"Yeah. There you go."

There weren't many people out on the lake in rowboats and paddleboats, but Gene still caught sight of the occasional glance his way. He didn't think they knew who he was; they were just judging him for sitting back while Paul did all the work. Paul's cheeks were going slightly red, even though he was slowly getting hang of it, oars starting to lap the water instead of just shoving into it like a pair of spoons. The brim of his sunhat kept flipping up whenever a good breeze started up on the water.

"And on your right," Paul said, in as dry an imitation of a tour guide as he could manage, "we've got... some trees. And on your left is another dock."

"No kidding."

"I can keep going. We're coming up on what's known as a bridge..."

"Five-star narration there, Paul."

Paul laughed.

"Hey, I dunno any poetry to woo you with. Wait, maybe..." Paul scrunched up his face as he kept rowing towards the bridge. It looked deserted, for now. "'In 1492, Columbus sailed the ocean blue.'"

"Well, it's not exactly Keats..." Gene crooked a smile.

"It's twelve years of education. Your tax dollars at work."