August 1990

I was in The Boiler Room on the corner of Second Avenue and 4th Street. I was last here the previous Friday afternoon when I had been the only customer. I asked the barman where to go on a Saturday night.

“Depends on your drug of choice,” he said, pouring me a beer. “If Greenwich Village is dope then the East Village is crystal meths.”

The Boiler Room was only a few blocks from the apartment I was renting on St Marks Place, but the main reason I had gone back was the jukebox. I’d checked it out the previous afternoon: Patti Smith, Dylan, Blondie, Bowie, the Stones. When I arrived around midnight, it was four deep at the bar. The opening riff to Jumpin’ Jack Flash was kicking in. I knew I had come to the right place.

I found a spot where I could stand and watch the crowd. The bar was packed. Groups of friends, couples, guys cruising. All of them giving off the kind of energy you only find in the big cities. As I turned to buy another drink, I saw a young guy looking at me. He grinned and beckoned me over.

“Hi, I’m Tom.”

“Burto,” he said, gently squeezing my hand. “Are you Australian?”

“English. Here on vacation. Great bar.”

”Yeah. I like the East Village and this is a good place to come if you want to see some nice tattoos.” He pointed at the one on my left arm. “I was on my way home from doing a gig. I wasn’t gonna come out. I’m glad I did now.”

“What d’you do?”

“I work for a look-alike agency.”

“Who…?”

Burto ran his hand through his hair and gave me the look that was supposed to answer the question.



As we left the bar, I headed west towards Second Avenue.
“Where are you going?” Burto asked
“To get a taxi.”

“We’ll walk.”

“Where do you live?”

“Alphabet city. My apartment’s on Avenue A. It’s not far from here. We can stop for a coffee.”



“Nice shirt, honey,” the drag queen placed the espresso in front of me. “I wouldn’t mind seeing it hanging over the back of the chair in my bedroom.”

The woman behind the counter shouted another order. “Skinny latte, no caffeine, no sugar.”

“Oh why bother?” the drag queen called back. He smiled at us. “You two have fun tonight.”

As the server walked back towards the counter, I tapped Burto’s hand. “Penny for them.”

“What?”

“What are you thinking?” I asked.

“I know what’s gonna happen next. I hate this part.” Burto pushed his cup across the table spilling most of the coffee. He leaned back in his chair and wiped his hand across his face.

“Go on,” I said, using the paper napkins to mop up the mess Burto had made.

“You should go home, Tom.”

“Why?”

“I’d rather be the one telling you to go than have you walk off, that’s why.”

“Why would I walk off?”

“Because they always do.”

I grabbed Burto’s hand as he walked past. “I really want to come back with you tonight.”

“I know and I really want you to. That’s the problem.”

“Doesn’t seem like a problem to me.”

“Come on, Tom. I’ll get you a taxi.”



We stood on the corner of Avenue B and 2nd Street. Burto raised his hand, hailing the taxi that was heading towards us.

“I really like you, Burto. I was hoping you’d show me around New York. I’m here for a while yet.”

“I’m HIV positive, Tom.”

“Is that what this has been about?”

“Guys don’t stick around very long once I’ve told them.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Burto.” As the taxi slowed down, I shook my head at the driver and waved it past. “Okay?”

Burto rested his head against my arm. “Okay.”



“Nice apartment.”

”Thanks.” Burto handed me a glass of water. “Usually guys look at me, see a cute nineteen year old and, assuming they stick around, which not many do, they just wanna fuck me. They figure I’ve got nothing to lose if I’m HIV positive. There’s a different vibe coming from you, though. Do you do fantasies?”

“Sure.”

“Okay. Let me get ready.”

Burto gathered some candles and went into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. When he came out again he was wearing just a pair of white Y-fronts. He picked out a Billie Holiday CD. He was standing over me.

“Come on,” Burto smiled and held out his hand. I grabbed hold if it and he pulled me up from the sofa.

The candles formed a circle around the bed. Burto crouched down, lighting each one. He pointed the remote at the CD player. “It has to be the right track.”

Burto sat on the bed looking at me, one leg curled underneath him. The sound of Billie Holiday filled the room.

“And the fantasy is…?” I asked

“I’ve always wanted to meet a guy like you and not have to perform, you know? I want a guy that’s as cute as you are to be happy to hold me. So I can fall asleep in his arms. Will you let me do that, Tom?”

“Come on,” I said and held out my arms.

“You can’t go to sleep before me. You’ve gotta stay awake. That’s the important part. Promise you’ll wait for me to go to sleep first.”

“I promise.”