Jerry in slacks and dress shirt with a name badge. He squeezes by a cook frying fat noisy slivers of onion. Half the tables taken--a fairly busy night.

The hostess in cream white skirt has just sat two men at a center table. One has a small gray beard and mustache and is dressed in a long-sleeve pinstriped shirt. He opens the stiff, laminated cardboard menu. The other is young in a black motorcycle jacket. His hair is yellow in short spikes. He looks around at the people at other tables. Casino exiles in booths nursing melting cocktails, bored teenagers on dates, tough men snapping fingers at the waiters.

Jerry goes over to the two new men, nods and smiles. "Good evening, would you like to start with something to drink?"

"I'll have whiskey, straight," says the young man.

His older companion lowers the menu. "Dubonnet, please."

"Excuse me?" says Jerry. A pen poised above his writing pad.

"Dubonnet." Jerry doesn't speak, so the man continues, "it's an aperitif, very tasty."

"Sure, I'll check with the bar and see if we carry it."

"Shit, Donny," says the younger man, shaking his head. "Remember where you are, they don't have stuff like that here. Just get whiskey."

The older man looks at him, then back at Jerry. "I can ask at the bar," says Jerry.

"No, that's quite all right. A whiskey sour will be fine, thank you." Donny smiles.

"Okay, I'll give you some time to look at our menu and I'll be back with your drinks."

The younger man leans over the table to whisper to the other as Jerry's walking away.

February 10, 1996.
Dear Elise,
I don't know if you tried to get a hold of me the last few months. I guess I'm not sure why you would, but by now you probably heard that I left home. I'm in Aliento now. I know that's not much different from living on the farm, but it's enough for me right now. You see, back there I felt like everything I saw had a part of you attached to it. The football field where we used to hang out with beer, the movie theater with those two seats way in the back, our favorite burger place, our favorite pizza, every road was a road we drove down singing. I can remember all those songs. I started feeling like I didn't belong there anymore just because nothing was mine anymore, it was ours, but there wasn't any us anymore. Besides, working on my dad's farm was never something I really wanted to grow up doing, it was just something I could handle doing as long as I had you.
Don't worry, I won't ask you again why you broke things off. I know you got tired of explaining, and if I didn't understand then I'm never going to understand. It's just that I think I'm okay with not understanding now. I don't really know why I'm writing, and I don't expect you to write back. I guess I just feel that you were so much a part of me for five years that I can't get used to not sharing things with you. Especially since it was those five years from seventeen to twenty-two when I think a man grows more than he does at any other time of his life.
Hope everything's okay with you.
Love,
Jerry.

Jerry returns with a tray and two glasses, one floating with ice cubes and the other simply dark. "You seem like a pleasant young man," says Donny. He looks at the name badge. "Do you go by Jerry?"

"Yes."

"Let me introduce my friend Nathan to you." He gestures to the younger man, who doesn't smile but puts out his hand for a shake. "Nice to meet you."

"And my name is Donny, but people often call me Donatello." Jerry shakes his hand. "Funny how my real name is a diminutive of my nickname, isn't it?"

Jerry forces a chuckle. Nathan looks around at the other diners. A man in denim overalls is eating at a nearby table with a woman in a loose-fitting dress with her hair formed in a huge bun. The man glances at Donny, looks away and continues cutting fat off a steak while the woman picks at a baked potato.

"Have you heard of Donatello, the sculptor?" says Donny.

"No, I'm afraid not."

Nathan takes a long swallow of whiskey. He's tapping his fingers in quick succession on the menu.

"Well, he did a lot marvelous things. In particular a statue of David after he's cut off the head of Goliath. I've shown pictures of it to Nathan here."

"Don't talk about the David right now," says Nathan.

"And why not?"

"Look around you," he says. "People here."

Donny turns his back to Nathan to face Jerry. Nathan stamps his glass on the table, a loud thump. The man in overalls looks.

"Donatello depicts David as a nude youth with his foot placed on this enormous severed head. He's wearing an oh so fashionable helmet adorned with flowers and posed in such a way that you can tell he's in love with his own form, his own beauty." Donny holds one hand up and bends the other arm so the back of his wrist is against his hip.

"Okay, Donny, that's enough. Just order," says Nathan.

Donny looks at him, mock submission on his face. "You'll have to excuse Nathan, Jerry. His fear gives him reasons to act tough."

Nathan stares at the menu, silent. Donny holds his menu up. "Okay, I'll start with a salad."

February 23, 1996.
Dear Elise,
I was really glad to hear from you and happy that we can stay friends. I hope you like going to school. You're the kind that can really get somewhere with some education. There's a junior college in town somewhere and I'm thinking of taking some classes. So, I guess I'll tell you a bit about Aliento. I work in a diner called Starvin' Marvin's. It's not the nicest place, but it's better than driving the tractor back home. I'm hoping I can move on to a steakhouse in the area where I hear the tips are a lot better. I'm living in a really small apartment in this place called the Jinx Quarter. I don't know if they call it that because it's bad luck, but there is a casino nearby. I don't do much with my time except work. I'll go to bars now and then. I hear some are really rough but some are okay. I'll talk to people sometimes, but I haven't really met that many yet. Most of them don't seem too friendly, but I guess you have to get to know them better. . . .

Jerry returns with a plate of salad. Nathan has finished his drink. Donny is still holding his. Jerry puts the salad down and Donny says, "Would you like to know why I'm called Donatello?"

"Sure." Jerry glances quickly at Nathan.

"Well, it's because I'm an artist myself. I do some sketches, but mostly I'm a photographer. I do figure studies at a studio in the Gallery Quarter."

Nathan keeps looking around, especially watching the man in overalls. "We don't need to hear about your pictures," he says.

Donny turns to him, pauses before speaking. "Do you mind, Nathan, I am speaking to somebody here."

"Actually, I need to check another table," says Jerry. He goes to the other side of the room with his pad out. Once he's gone, Nathan leans over to speak softly in Donny's ear: "They kill faggots in Jinx."

Jerry's finished writing an order. He steps into the kitchen where another young waiter stops beside him. "I see you're making friends out there," he says, then laughs and walks away.

December 17, 1996.
Dear Elise,
I'm really glad you met somebody. It sounds like your life's coming along just fine and I'm happy you feel okay with telling me about it and I hope you know I'm okay with hearing it. I wish I could say the same thing for me. It's really not easy to meet people in this town. I use booze to ease me a bit and I try to go up to people, women usually, but I could also use more guy friends. But I feel like I don't know what to say, and sometimes I think about you and me, some of the times we were really close, and I look at the drink sitting in front of me and hear the people around me laughing and talking and I feel like I really lost something. Like I don't know who I am and I don't really want to be myself anymore, whatever that is. I think mostly I just feel kind of alone, walking home after drinking, every alley dark, people moving around, looking at me like they're just waiting for me to pass by before they go back to doing whatever they didn't want me to see. And my steps, and my door, and my bed. I put the radio on to help me fall asleep and it's still on in the morning. If I can make you see how sad that makes me, that radio playing all night to nobody, then maybe you can get how I feel. Sometimes I think if I could just reach somebody, anyone, maybe that could make some difference. . . .

Nathan and Donny are quiet when Jerry returns. The plate is sitting empty with bits of chopped radish in streaks of creamy dressing. "I'll bring your dinner out shortly," says Jerry. "Can I take your plate?" Donny nods.

"I was wondering, Jerry, have you done any modeling?" says Donny.

"Excuse me?"

"Don't ask him that," says Nathan.

"I think you have a fine form and I wondered if you would be willing to model for some of my work."

"Now that's enough," says Nathan, louder now. "He's not interested." He looks at Jerry. "Just tell him you're not interested, okay?"

"I admit, I can't pay you much," says Donny.

"Well, I'm really not sure," says Jerry.

Nathan looks at the man in overalls, whose fork and knife are resting on strips of fat on his plate and who is looking in their direction. "What the hell are you staring at?" says Nathan.

"What?" says the man, startled. The woman next to him pauses a spoon before dipping it into ice cream.

Nathan stands up. "You heard me."

"Why don't you just quiet down, kid, I don't even know who you are." The man is standing now also. Other diners have stopped eating and are watching. A man in a bowtie is stopped holding the kitchen swing-door half open.

Nathan steps forward. "Just keep your eyes on your own damn business." He lunges and pushes the man with both hands. The man stumbles backwards against the table. The woman drops her spoon. Donny has stood up. Two waiters put down trays. The manager in the bowtie is moving towards the scene.

"You little shit," says the man, straightening himself. Donny's facing Nathan, hands on the younger man's shoulders. The manager holds his palm up at the man in overalls. "Hold on a minute, sir," he says. "Jerry, what's going on here?"

Jerry's put down the plate. "Nothing, Mr. Wincott." He nods at Donny and Nathan. "Everything's okay, right?"

Nathan is staring at the table. Donny nods. "I'll just escort these gentleman out," says Jerry.

"Yes," said Donny. "I think we're through for the evening." He takes Nathan by the shoulders and turns him towards the exit. Nathan walks. Donny and Jerry follow. The man in overalls is shaking his head, watching them leave.

Donny pauses at the door, opening his wallet. "Here Jerry," he says, offering bills.

Jerry counts the money. "You only had drinks and salad."

"It's okay, I want you to have it. Would you walk out with us, please?"

Outside, the front entrance is close to the sidewalk. Donny and Nathan continue walking and Jerry follows. "I'm really sorry about this, Jerry."

"Your fault," says Nathan. "You don't know when to shut up. We're not in fucking Gallery tonight."

A small alley separates the steakhouse from the next building. The three step into it and stop. Lights in the restaurant windows are misty orange spots.

"Maybe he's right," says Donny. "I'm used to a different venue. Nathan wanted to come here tonight."

"Food's better," says Nathan.

"Anyway, I really am sorry. We're both sorry, right?"

Nathan is silent. Then he nods. "Okay."

"But I want you to know I meant what I said in there. I really do find you an engaging person, and I would like to be friends."

"Sure," says Jerry. "You know where to find me."

"Why don't you come out to my area some time? I'm often at Tabla Manners or the Ashram."

"Ass ram," says Nathan.

"Excuse me, Nathan. Who needs to shut up now?"

"We all call it that. You know we do. And it's because you're such a perv."

August 20, 1997
Dear Elise,
I haven't been close to many people in my life. I think you already know that. I mean the kind of closeness when two people feel there's nothing between them because there's nothing separating their bodies from each other. There was you, of course. Then a woman named Marion I met at a bar in town. That didn't last very long. But there was somebody else before you, even though I know you thought I was a virgin, and I guess that's mostly true. I never told anyone about this, and I don't know why I'm telling you now. Maybe I'm just trying every way I can to reach out.
You and I weren't going out very long and it was the harvest season when my dad usually hires extra men to help out. There was a guy who was just passing through. He was older than me, probably about the same age I am now. One day one of the tractors broke down. He knew something about fixing cars so the two of us worked on it all morning and afternoon. The ignition timing was off, and we just couldn't seem to get it right. We got so tired we decided to have a break and drink some beers. So we sat in a corner of the garage sharing a six-pack, him telling me about the places he visited, hitch-hiking, doing odd jobs. I remember watching a fat ray of sun coming through and lighting up the dust in the air. Then for some reason I looked and noticed a bulge in his jeans. I could tell he had a hard-on. He saw me looking and nobody said anything for a while. Then he reached over to me, I can still see that arm shaking, the hair soft and thick, he reached over and started rubbing me between the legs. I looked down, didn't look at his face. He unzipped my pants and grabbed me in his fist. I still didn't look. Not even when he took my hand, pulled his pants down and had me hold him. We sat there stroking each other. But there was only one time when I looked up and saw his eyes and thought just for that moment that we knew about each other and felt each other the closest way any two people could and a way nobody else could understand. He got off before I did, but after I was done he just zipped himself up and went back to look at that tractor engine. I wasn't sure what to do so I left. And right then, walking back into that house, the smell of my mother's fresh bread from the kitchen, right then I felt the deepest shame of my life.
It wasn't more than two weeks after that when you and I were first really together. We were at your place after school when no one else was around. We started making out and never stopped until we were in your bedroom, in your bed. I felt a lot of things after I came inside you. But mostly I felt like I was a man, that I wasn't ashamed and staring at myself like that kid I was in that garage. That guy and me never really talked after that one day. I could tell he had the shame inside him too, and I thought that was the only way to feel about something like that. He didn't stay much longer. . . .

"Good-bye, Jerry, I hope I'll see you soon," says Donny. He offers his hand. When Jerry shakes it Donny leans forward and kisses him quickly on the cheek.

"Shit, Donatello," says Nathan. He looks around, then pushes Donny out of the way. Jerry steps back, but Nathan grasps him by the sides of his head and kisses him on the mouth. Jerry pulls himself away. Nathan pushes Jerry's chest hard enough to send him tripping back into a wall.

"For God's sake Nathan, come on," says Donny. He tries to take Jerry's arm but Jerry has turned and is walking down the alley. "It's okay," he says. "It's okay."