When Erez lifted his eyes from the black bar and saw the stranger standing at the entrance, the ground beneath him disappeared for one timeless second. The sensation was thrilling yet confusing, bringing back the smell of his childhood bedroom to his nostrils. He didn’t know why he felt so attracted to this man, but from that moment on, nothing and no one could distract Erez from him.

It seemed like forever before he crossed the wide hall. When he finally approached the bar and leaned on it, Erez responded immediately, ignoring the rest of the hot, impatient customers. “Your usual drink?” Erez was surprised at the odd question that slipped out of his mouth without thinking. What usual was I talking about? I had never seen this man in my life.

Erez didn’t hear the man’s answer. He wasn’t listening. Even in the darkness, between the columns of smoke that were being blown from side to side by the large fans, he couldn’t help noticing the light, greyish eyes, with a tint of green. Their depths were inviting, like an enchanted well, lit from the bottom. “I’d love a glass of wine,” said the man, “or anything else you recommend, since you obviously didn’t hear my request.”

 Erez came back to reality. Lucky it’s dark in here, he thought, since he was known for the scarlet that would spread over his cheeks to the tips of his ears when embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I was just trying to figure out where we have met before. I’m pretty sure that… Sorry, don’t mind me. Wait here while I fix your drink.”

“Take your time,” shouted the man, trying to overcome the music and the crowd. “I am not much of an alcohol fan, but noblesse oblige, n’est-ce pas?” Erez returned with the glass, fuller than usual, as a gesture of apology. The man took the glass, turned and disappeared into the crowd without a comment and without paying. From that moment on, Erez lost all concentration. The strong sensation that he knew the stranger gnawed constantly at his mind. Had he met this man, and if so, where and when? In his hometown Afula? No. In the army? Most definitely not. Maybe in the art academy? No place evoked memories of the man’s familiar eyes. Erez couldn’t wait for him to return to the bar and scanned the dark space relentlessly, but to no avail. After a few drinks and what seemed like an eternity, Erez began to think the man had left without paying. His frustration grew. It wasn’t every day he met a man who swept him off his feet right from the start. He loved that feeling and wanted the episode to go on, if only for that night.

“Why do you look so worried? Did something happen?” Erez found himself in front of the stranger again. The tenderness in his voice felt like an embrace. “The wine was not bad at all, but I certainly feel too old for this place. I think I’ll pay my bill now, before I do something rash.” Erez’s pulse was racing. He was angry with himself for thinking the mysterious man had left without paying or more importantly – without saying goodbye. “Thank you very much, sir,” said Erez. He took the money and turned around. “Wait a minute,” said the man. Erez froze. “When are you working again?” he asked. “On Saturday,” said Erez, his back turned, so the man couldn’t see his wide smile. “So, I guess I’ll be back on Saturday. We have some unfinished business. Don’t work too hard tonight.” By the time Erez turned back around, the man had already blended with the crowd and was on his way out. Erez knew he should say something, but his tongue failed him, like so many times before. Unfinished business? He thought. What the Fu**?

*

At least one light in his small studio always stayed on. He didn’t like the darkness, not even during sleep. Research he once read revealed that statistically, it’s the people who are afraid of the dark who choose to work nights. It seemed contradictory, but logical at the same time. He certainly preferred to fall asleep after the sun came out of its mountainous hiding place in the east.

Tonight he returned home while the night was still in its prime. He hung the keys on the nail to the right of the door. His cats, the white furry female and the orange male alley cat, ran to him, rubbing up between his legs and emitting a deep, loud purring. They looked for some love, and also their usual “guilt treat”. He took his shoes off and put them in the wide drawer at the bottom of a closet that stretched across one of the walls of the tiny apartment. Everything had its place. A mess would disorient him and bring on stress. He took his clothes off, folded them neatly and stood naked in front of the heavy wooden mirror hanging near the side of the bed, disproportional for the size of the apartment. He felt the need to look closer and re-evaluate himself. Rarely he liked what he saw, usually he was a ruthless self-critic. He touched his chest and abdomen; stretching, pulling, lifting, twitching his face. One moment he was smiling, and then he became serious. He preferred himself clothed, knowing he was too lazy to achieve the perfect ‘six-pack’ so many gays were slaves for.

The image of the stranger, his soft voice and the spicy scent of his cologne, wouldn’t leave him, re-igniting his imagination. He wondered if his thoughts were sexual. Was this just a physical attraction? Was it mutual? He touched himself again, this time in a tender, less judgmental way, but immediately stopped, snickering absurdly at himself. Fantasizing erotically about this man was cheap and inappropriate. Maybe because of that, it is sexual, he thought. The few times he had fallen in love, he fantasized about the moment of first touch. That was the real turn-on. There was magic in the first time holding hands, the feeling of warm breath caressing the face before the first electric contact of the lips. This was the real deal, not the sex, not the animal breaking loose. That was fun, but it came much later for Erez.

He took a bottle of water from the fridge and got into bed. He always had a cold bottle of water waiting for him on the small dresser packed with books beside his low bed. He would finish this bottle during his sleep without even noticing. Cold water flowing down his throat, cleansing his inner parts, made him feel pure, as if the water was washing away the squalor of the night.

Tel Aviv is a perfect place for the creatures of the night. It is a city that attracts huge numbers of people from all over the country and the world. There is a never-ending party taking place. In good times and bad times; In war or peace. The city constantly rocked to a bass drum beat that sent waves from the clubs to the streets of this urban beehive. Erez liked working in clubs, to be part of this wild nightlife, to cross paths with people who were out to have fun and to forget theire day’s worries. At the same time, though, he felt the filth, the impulses, the burdens, and the pain behind the drunken, seeking eyes.

Sometimes Tel Aviv seemed to be a metropolis of aging bachelors and bachelorettes constantly looking for one more false night of love. He was satisfied to look at them, sharing vicariously their visible and hidden feelings. He felt more comfortable to be behind the counter, an outsider, not fully belonging. His favorite hobby was to watch. In the night everything was sharper, more extreme, more fascinating and thrilling, without the phony, “everything is great” masks of the day.

The humid heat was unbearable. The noisy old air conditioner had seen better days, and it took some time to cool even his small apartment. His two cats settled down to sleep close to his body, and the thin summer blanket just seemed to trap the heat in. He couldn’t fall asleep and slipped softly out of bed, not wanting to disturb the sleeping cats. He went to the stereo and put on Edith Piaf’s À quoi ça sert l’amour? Erez was addicted to kitsch in general, and to French chansons particularly. The larger than life voices, the drama, the melody penetrating his veins, made him happy because they made him feel a strong, wide range of different feelings. They made him feel alive.

A loud knock on the door woke Erez. He got up, swaying from sleep, feeling his way, blinded by the sun shining through the window, looking for some underwear and a shirt. Another knock sounded, less amicable. “I’m coming!” Erez tried to yell, his voice, husky from the night of alcohol and smoke, coiled around his throat, refusing to let go. It took some time, but in the end he reached the door. He had hardly turned the key when the door burst open.

“Good morning, or in fact good afternoon to you, girlfriend. Had you forgotten we planned to have breakfast this morning, before my trip up north?” Erez scratched his head, feeling like a kid scolded by his mother. Mickey, or Michel as she preferred to be called recently, stormed in, smelling as fragrant and fresh as a new spring day. “Mickey, I’m sorry, I completely forgot. Didn’t we say we’d talk in the morning to plan for a precise time?” Mickey, his best friend from Bezal’el Academy, a talented photographer and rising star in the Israeli fashion industry, was definitely the dominant one in their long relationship. She was surprisingly short, but compensated with her confident posture. She had dark, mocha skin and long wavy black hair that framed a strong Mediterranean face. Furthermore, she was a real spitfire, always full of the energy Erez lacked. “No,” she said impatiently. “We said that if there was a change of plans, we’d talk in the morning.” It wasn’t difficult to notice the dissatisfaction in her twitching lips. “You have five minutes to get yourself organized. Your face looks like one of Picasso’s Cubist women. Did you drink like a fish last night? Again? And for the millionth time, for God’s sake, calling me Michel applies to you too. Are we clear?”

Erez preferred to ignore the comments and got into the shower. He washed himself quickly with cold water, and within five minutes he was ready. He knew it was in his best interest not to contradict an angry woman, especially not Mickey.

 They sat in a café at the shared corner of both their streets. Every Tel Avivian has his own ‘home café’ and a ‘home falafel stand’, chosen from the thousands that are spread all over the city, one exactly like the other. “You know,” Mickey said, “we don’t appreciate how good we have it right now. We can sit in our café without worrying that some suicidal maniac will blow himself up and us along with him.” Erez just nodded without saying a word. He agreed with her, but he had no desire for political conversations. He was too excited about the events of the previous night.

Mickey took off the trendy aviator sunglasses that covered half her face. Erez was taken aback, seeing dark circles around her eyes. “What happened to you?” he asked worriedly. “It looks like you haven’t slept in weeks, and we only saw each other two days ago.” “Forget it. I don’t want to get into that,” she said. “The doctors suspect he may be having a relapse. Today they’re examining him and a final diagnosis will be given on Sunday.” She blew a frustrated gush of air out of her small body. “And I thought I was going to my parents’ to calm down from the exhausting week I’ve had.” She sighed. “How long will the poor old guy have to live with the axe of death hanging above him?” Erez knew her father very well. Their parents had been friends before they were born. Mickey was five years older than him, so during their childhood they didn’t hang out with the same crowd in Afula. Only years later after she left the north, when by chance they met again in Bezal’el art academy, did they become close. Sometimes they were great friends, and other times they were like a sexless married couple. Mickey went in and out of short relationships, mainly with women, while Erez remained mainly alone, afraid to take chances. “I’m so sorry. I’ll keep my fingers crossed.” He took her hand and she immediately withdrew, sitting upright on the straw chair, fixing her hair. She had a wide, loving, understanding shoulder to lean on and cry. But she couldn’t let herself be vulnerable, not even with Erez.

“I’ll be alright. Please, let’s change the fucking subject. Tell me something new that will get me excited and help me forget.” Erez hesitated. He couldn’t wait to tell her, but it didn’t seem appropriate at the moment.

“Will you please say something already?” She pushed his shoulder tenderly. “We are not going to sit here for two hours lamenting his fate, nor mine. It won’t do us any good. I can see you have something to say.” She leaned back and crossed her arms, waiting.

“Okay, so it’s like this,” began Erez. “You know that odd feeling when you meet someone for the first time, and it feels like you have known him your entire life?”

“Oh my, he’s starting the drama again,” laughed Mickey. “Let me guess. You met a hunk, but because you’ve been celibate for so long, you’re reading your hormones like a Jane Austin novel.” She leaned over with her arms on the table, leaned even closer to his face, and winked. “So what does he look like? Did you meet him at the bar? Please tell me you had sex…”

Erez became irritated. Her curt directness often raised his blood pressure. “It’s really not like that. Will you listen to me? It’s on another level altogether. Not everything has to do with sex, Mickey, and besides,” he whispered, “I’m quite sure he’s not into men. Believe me, it’s something else, more thrilling than a momentary lover, though God knows I need one of those too.”

“So, my righteous friend, why do you sound so sad when you say he’s not gay?” Mickey asked. Erez sighed. “I don’t know, but I feel he’s here to stay. I just don’t know what role he’ll play in this under budget production known as my life.” Erez knew he automatically painted a lot of emotions, usually dark ones, on every small aspect, but it was who he was. He just couldn’t help it.

He changed the subject to avoid being immersed prematurely. An hour later, outside the café, they hurriedly kissed goodbye by Mickey’s car. “Are you sure you don’t want a lift?” “No, I’m happy to walk a little. I’ve begun to look like your Volkswagen Beetle – too old and slow to climb a hill without choking. Give my love to your mother and tell your father to be strong and that I love him. He is a strong man. He will win this battle too, you’ll see.”