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‘I tried,’ says Victor evenly. ‘But you know how they are. Once they think they have a story, they won’t let it go.’
‘What story do they think they have?’ I demand.
Victor gives me a stern look. ‘You know what story, Gabriel.’
Fear runs through me. It’s weird how similar adrenaline and fear feel to the body; my hands shake, my voice goes wobbly. My skin prickles. They’re hunting for confirmation of whether I’m gay or not; and it makes me feel sick.
‘I’m here to play tennis,’ I say. ‘That’s all. What I do in my private life is private. Thepeoplein my private life are private. You need to kill it, Victor.’
‘People are always going to ask questions about something like this,’ Victor replies. ‘It’s a part of this whole package. Until you do something, or say something, you’re never going to be free of it. What’s worse: dodging the question, or embracing it? Celebrating it?’
‘I . . .’ I swallow. ‘I can’t do that, Victor.’
And I don’t know why I can’t.
Bad gay, I think.You’re a bad gay.
NoAgenda:Congrats on the win! Glad you’re not leaving the country just yet.
Hungrygabriel73:Ilive to play another day.
NoAgenda:Dramatic much? Okay, SO I’ve cross-referenced my itinerary against TripAdvisor and it seems I’m doing a very bad job of giving you an authentic tourist experience.
Hungrygabriel73:Really?
NoAgenda:YES! so you must choose . . .
NoAgenda:Creepy tour around a maybe-haunted prison . . . ooorrrrrrr . . . cuddling a koala.
Hungrygabriel73:KOALA!!!!!
21
Noah
Public appearances have strict rules, according to Victor’s dating handbook, which he helpfully emailed me last night—all eighty-nine pages of it. The guide details the do’s and do-not’s of dating wonder child and tennis extraordinaire Gabriel Farid Madani. No hand-holding. No longing gazes, no ‘accidental’ brushing of the fingers and absolutely,absolutelyno kissing in public.
‘One tiny kiss,’ Gabriel badgers as we step off the train and approach Melbourne Zoo. The old red-brick gate still stands; it’s now a heritage building and a significant piece of Melbourne’s history. ‘In a dark alleyway.’
‘Absolutely not,’ I reply. ‘We’re just two dudes checking out the zoo together. Nothing gay about it.’
He lets out a huff as I pay for the tickets and grab a map.
‘You’re the navigator,’ I say, thrusting the pamphlet into his hands. ‘We gotta be at the koala enclosure by ten-thirty for the meet-and-greet.’
‘They havelemurs,’ Gabriel gasps as he unfolds the map. ‘And giraffes! And red pandas!’
I slide my sunglasses over my eyes. Aside from helping to keep our identities secret, it’s another bright day in Melbourne and it feels like the heat will never break. For eight days straight, the mercury has lingered at forty degrees, cooling in the evenings but returning with full force the following morning. With no chance of rain on the horizon, Melburnians can only stand the heat for so long before we melt,Wizard of Ozstyle.
I see a coffee stand on the other side of the entrance. ‘Coffee?’ I ask Gabriel, though I might as well have asked a fish if it likes water.
We grab two coffees from the cart and walk through the lush parkland. The zoo’s bigger than I expected, but Gabriel’s already charted a course that begins with the Tasmanian Devil and ends with something called a ‘collared peccary’.
‘I think it is a fancy pig,’ Gabriel surmises as we peer over the Tasmanian Devil enclosure. The animals are sleeping in the hollow of a large log, looking like little more than a pile of coarse black fur. Gabriel, however, is enthralled.
As we make our way past the lions and tigers (no bears), I notice that Gabriel’s limping. Not all the time, but sometimes. When I see it for the third or fourth time, I say, ‘Is your leg okay?’
He looks a little embarrassed. ‘Just a bit sore. It will be fine for tomorrow.’ He thrusts the map in my face. ‘Come on, I want to see the meerkats.’
