Chapter 1

1

Mirrors were Ian’s enemy. He didn’t care for them one bit, and from what he could see reflected back at him whenever he looked into one, the feeling was mutual.

If ever he were to look in one and see what Cheyenne Jackson or Matt Bomer saw, he would easily and gladly give up his aversion to mirrors. Alas, when he looked into one, he saw a narrow face. He saw teeth that weren’t bright white. He saw teeth that were crooked. He noticed the weak chin and even the large pores on either side of an oversized, hooked nose.

Were he to step further back from the mirror, he’d see arms and legs that were too skinny to belong to a belly that pronounced. There would be no trace of muscle tone in his arms, and if he looked closely enough, he’d spot the beginning of moobs. The small patch of dark hair in the centre of his chest would seem to enhance his Arctic-white complexion. There would be no trace of a backside. Just a back with a hole in it, as someone once described it. And from his navel down, he would see enough body hair to make someone looking at him from a distance think he was wearing tights. Woollen ones.

The only mirror in his house was in the bathroom. He didn’t look into it when he brushed his teeth, and, after a shower or bath, he tended to dry himself with his back to it. Only when he was dressed did he look at it to do his hair.

His best friend, and technically his only friend, was Zack. Zack had no such low opinions of himself. Why would he? He was possessed of perfect skin, a perfect nose, perfect teeth, blue eyes, and black hair. He was slim but toned. He had an olive complexion that darkened to a nice even brown in the summer.

Ian often found himself wondering how they had ever come to be friends.

It was a ritual that every Saturday, Zack would meet Ian at his house for pre-club drinks. That Saturday was no exception and Zack arrived at Ian’s showered, dressed, and smelling of expensive cologne. His hair was immaculate and his skin seemed to glow. He held a packet of cigarettes in one hand and a bottle of champagne in the other.

“It’s gonna be a good night,” he sang as he danced past Ian.

Their Saturday evenings followed the same routine almost every week. Zack would arrive at about eight o’clock. They would sit in Ian’s lounge room, drinking copious amounts of champagne and white wine, and listening to dance music as the anticipation of the night’s adventures increased.

“Robert called me again,” said Zack, lighting a cigarette.

Ian sipped his champagne and tried not to grimace. He hated champagne, but it was Zack’s favourite poison and so he endured it until finally he could get onto the wine. “What did he want?”

Zack exhaled and took a sip of his drink. “The usual. Wants me to take him back, but no.”

“Why not? What did he do that was so bad?”

“He slept around on me. You’re the one who told me.”

Ian sighed. He had found out purely by chance that his best friend’s partner had been sleeping with another man, one Ian had met through an online dating app. The date had gone nowhere, quelle surprise, but the information had caused Ian a couple of sleepless nights.Should I tell him or not?Finally, he had decided to reveal what he had learnt to Zack based on the fact that if he were ever fortunate enough to get himself a partner, he would prefer to be told if his boyfriend was playing around on him.

Ian took a great gulp of champagne and nearly retched. “But you sleep around on him.”

Zack cocked an eyebrow. “Yes, but hedoesn’t know that.”

Ian didn’t know how to respond. Zack’s logic defied interpretation at the best of times.

“Oh, man. I love this song,” said Zack, leaping up from the sofa. “Come on.”

Ian put down his glass of champagne and joined Zack in the middle of the lounge room floor to dance, and he was just tiddly enough to enjoy it.

By ten o’clock, a cloud of cigarette smoke hovered like smog immediately below the ceiling. There was an empty champagne bottle and two empty wine bottles on the carpet by the sofa, and the ashtray was full.

“Okay,” said Zack, extinguishing his umpteenth cigarette. “Time to go.”

While Ian went to the toilet, Zack brushed his teeth and reapplied cologne.

“I hope that guy with the muscle shirt and the tattoo’s there tonight,” said Zack, checking himself in the mirror.