"On the diagram below, circle the area of your body which is causing you discomfort."
Michael stared down at the line drawing of a human body. He briefly considered circling the entire diagram, but decided to take the question as it was intended, and drew a circle around the left side of the neck. Even the slight movement of his arm as he directed the pen caused another spasm to jab through his neck and shoulder. Why does a chiropractor need all this information, anyway? he fumed to himself. Why do they make waiting room chairs so uncomfortable? Michael tried to adjust his position, causing another painful twinge. He winced and made a muffled sound at the shooting pain, causing the man waiting in a nearby seat to look up from his book.
"Mrs. Vogel?" The receptionist nodded to the woman sitting near the door of the waiting room,leading her down the hall to the examining room. Michael sighed, hoping his turn was soon.
"Have you ever visited a chiropractor before?"
Michael checked 'no' and stood up to return the completed form to the receptionist. The cold, heartless receptionist who was completely unmoved by his suffering. He returned to his seat, trying unsuccessfully to sit down without moving anything that hurt. He gingerly rubbed his neck, staring resentfully at the only remaining patient who sat without any sign of distress, calmly reading a book. Who the hell brings a book to the doctor's? Michael thought, looking for something to take his annoyance out on. What's the matter? Old copies of Redbook not good enough for you? He was embarrassed when the stranger unexpectedly looked up and caught his eye. The man smiled sympathetically.
"You look like you're having a hard time," he said.
Michael started to nod, causing another jolt of pain. He winced and answered, "You could say that."
"What happened?"
"I fell off a ladder at work." The other man nodded. "Pretty stupid," Michael added, feeling foolish.
"Not really. I gather it happened to Michaelangelo all the time."
Michael's laugh quickly turned into a yelp of pain.
"Sorry,I didn't mean to make you feel worse," the stranger said apologetically.
"You didn't," Michael assured him, realizing that he felt a little better now that he wasn't focusing on his injury. He looked at the stranger to tell him so, and for the first time fully took in the other man's appearance. He was beautiful. Deep blue eyes in a handsome, expressive face; a hard,well-shaped body that his clothing accentuated, rather than disguised. Big hands and feet, Michael couldn't help but notice. He tried not to blush. He was suddenly aware of how long it had been since he had...
"Actually, you helped take my mind off it," Michael concluded.
"Good", the man said. "I'm Ben, by the way".
"Michael".
"Nice to meet you, Michael".
"So what are you in for?"
Ben laughed. "You make it sound like a prison sentence. I'm just here for my bi-monthly adjustment."
"You come here every two months? Even if you're okay?"
"Yes, it's part of staying healthy."
"Oh. So, does it hurt much?" Michael asked nervously.
"You haven't been to a chiropractor before?"
"No, never."
"Well, it doesn't hurt at all. There's nothing to be afraid of."
"I wasn't really afraid", said Michael. "I just wondered."
"I'm sure it'll help. You'll at least feel better than you do now."
"That's good," Michael laughed.
"So why were you on a ladder in the first place? Assuming you weren't painting a cathedral ceiling."
"Um, restocking shelves at the Q Mart."
"You say it like it's something to be ashamed of."
"No, but it's not exactly an impressive job. Not what I'd like to be doing."
"Oh? What would you like to be doing?"
Michael was surprised by the question. "I'm not sure."
"Well, what are you most interested in?"
Michael hesitated for several seconds before answering, "Comic books."
"Comic books?"
"Yeah. I collect them."
"Interesting."
Michael burst out laughing. "No it's not!"
Ben couldn't help but laugh in return. "It's not?" he said. "Then why do you do it?"
"Well...sure, I think it's interesting, but other people don't. I mean, other people who are..."
"Who are what?" Ben asked.
Michael felt himself turning red. "Well, do you collect anything?" he asked, in a clumsy attempt to change the subject.
Ben smiled at the sudden change of direction, but answered obligingly, "Yes, I collect Buddhas."
Michael raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Buddhas? Like, little statues of him?"
"Right."
Michael felt a spark of mischief. "Interesting!"
To his relief Ben was not offended; he grinned in amusement.
"Mr. Bruckner?"
Michael was startled by the sound of the receptionist's voice. He had forgotten where he was.
With a smile at Michael, Ben stood and headed toward the corridor. He turned back at the door. "It was nice talking with you," he called back to Michael.
"You too," Michael responded. He watched the doorway for several seconds after Ben had left the room, finally pulling his attention away. He felt better than he had since his injury. In fact, he realized, he felt better than he had for months. With a sigh, he turned his attention to a handy copy of Redbook.
It was about twenty minutes later when Michael heard footsteps. He looked up to see Ben re-enter the waiting room and retrieve his leather jacket from the coat-hook. He turned to Michael as he pulled on his coat and gloves. "Good luck with the doctor. I'm sure you'll be fine. He's very good."
"Thanks."
"Maybe we'll see each other again."
"Um...maybe."
Ben paused a moment, then nodded goodbye to Michael and left the building. It was several minutes before it occurred to Michael that he may have been offered an invitation of sorts.
"Mr. Novotny?"
He looked up.
"Doctor Cameron will see you now."
He rose, his nervousness returning as he followed the woman to a vacant examining room.
"Please remove your shirt and have a seat on the table. The doctor will be with you in just a moment." She left, closing the door.
Michael took off his necktie and shirt; seeing no hook for his clothes, he draped them over a life-sized plastic skeleton in a corner of the room and climbed onto the table, the pain in his neck beginning to trouble him again. Seconds later, the door opened.
"Good morning. I'm Doctor Cameron."
Michael turned in the direction of the quiet voice and found himself staring at the tall, conservatively dressed figure. A collection of forgotten adolescent fantasies began unexpectedly to revive and dance through his head. All those strong, mature, confident, well-dressed authority figure fantasies: the good-looking teacher, the hot cop, even the handsome parish priest, there they were, come to life and standing there wishing him good morning. The man looked at him quizzically.
"Is anything wrong?"
Michael realized that he had been staring without answering the doctor's greeting. He quickly tried to collect himself and cover up his absent-mindedness. "Uh...nothing, nothing at all. I'm fine."
The doctor looked at him thoughtfully. Clearly the patient wasn't fine; he held himself stiffly, like someone in pain. Rather than press the young man, he glanced over the chart. Neck injury, left side, pain and stiffness since yesterday. He approached his patient. "How'd you hurt your neck?" he asked, his fingers carefully feeling their way down Michael's neck and across the tense muscles of his shoulders. C2, C3...David frowned. The poor man was a mass of tight, tense muscle knots!
Michael hardly knew what he was replying. He was distracted by the doctor's examination, by the deep voice and the almost tangible sense of confidence he gave off. Everything he did seemed to convey, "I'm in charge". He heard the doctor ask him to lie down on his back. "Sure," he replied, "That's my favourite position," using the feeble joke to try and lighten the mood. He gave a startled grunt when he felt his neck suddenly pop. It didn't exactly hurt, but it was certainly an unusual sensation!
Dr. Cameron continued to work on his injury, moving quickly and giving instructions in a firm but gentle manner. Michael found himself enjoying his treatment far more than he'd expected. The doctor placed one knee on the table. "Just a little stretch", he explained, manipulating Michael's body, working the shoulder muscles. It felt wonderful. Michael moaned softly without realizing it. The doctor looked concerned. "Am I hurting you?" he asked
"Not at all!" Michael replied emphatically, looking up at the older man, who was bent over him, their faces inches apart.
Their eyes met and David stopped his work, momentarily frozen in one position. He looked down, mesmerized by big, brown eyes that showed him openness, trust, total vulnerability, that seemed to plead with him, "Take care of me! Make everything okay!" David's lips parted as a long-unfamiliar shock ran through his body. He recalled where he was, and quickly moved away, reminding himself that he was treating a patient.
Michael was rather brusquely asked to turn over on the table; to his surprise the doctor climbed up onto the table, straddling him to better reach his neck and shoulders. The man's closeness and the suggestiveness of their position became difficult to ignore. He loved the feeling of being managed, of having nothing to do, no decisions to make, no actions required of him, not even movement, as his pain and tension were pressed and kneaded away by strong, sure hands. Finally the doctor stepped back down from the examining table.
Doctor Cameron was explaining what had been done and why, and giving Michael advice for dealing with his injury, but his words barely registered. Michael was horrified to realize that the treatment had had an unexpected side effect: he was hard as a railway spike! He replied to the doctor in monosyllables, wondering how he was to get up and face the man in this condition. Dr. Cameron looked at him questioningly. "You can get up now," he said.
"Um..." Michael hesitated, wracked with embarrassment. "Would it be okay if I just lay here for a few minutes?"
The doctor looked concerned. "Is something wrong? Something I should look at?"
"No!" Michael replied hurriedly. "No. I feel fine." He couldn't look the other man in the face. "Too fine," he admitted at last.
There was a silence. The connotations of this confession struck David in a not unpleasant way. He tried to suppress a smile. "Don't be embarrassed," he told Michael kindly, wanting to put him at ease. "It happens all the time." He walked quickly toward the door. "Even to football players." He left the room, closing the door behind him.
Michael sat up on the table after he'd left, his face burning, feeling like a fool. As soon as he was able, he dressed and left the office, relieved to find that Dr. Cameron was not to be seen.
The atmosphere at Woody's had passed the height-of-the-evening stage and was just beginning to lapse into early one-last-drink-and-I'm-going. Everyone was in their assigned places. Emmett was leaning against the bar, critiquing the talent. Brian was indifferently accepting approving stares and phone numbers like an emperor receiving tribute. Michael was chatting and joking with his friends, while keeping an envious eye on Brian. Ted stood by the bar, clothes neat and posture perfect, smile frozen on his lips, periodically working up the courage to catch the eye of an attractive man.
"Hi! How's it going?"
The man passed Ted as though he were invisible. They all did, and Ted never seemed the least bit surprised.
Emmett pointed into the crowd. "Check this one out!"
They obediently looked. "Which one?" Michael asked.
"Him!" Emmett said, gesturing just left of the center of the continuously moving mass of bodies. "With the blue and white shirt-- see?"
The others focused on the man Emmett was admiring. "Tom Cruise wannabe," Brian said dismissively.
"He's coming this way," Emmett pointed out.
"Go for it, Theodore," Brian suggested jokingly.
Ted just glared morosely at Brian. "Thanks, I provide you with enough entertainment as it is."
"Can't hurt to just talk to him."
"Oh, can't it?"
"What's the worst he can do? Turn you down like everybody else?" Brian watched Ted, as if waiting for a stronger reaction.
The beautiful stranger was walking past the bar. With a last angry look at Brian, as if to say 'fine, have it your way', Ted straightened up and looked directly at the man as he came nearer. The stranger looked in Ted's direction. "Hi! How's it going?" Ted called out dutifully. The man turned toward Ted just long enough to give him a smirk of amused contempt before walking on.
Michael moved closer to Brian. "That was mean!" he whispered to his friend. "Why do you have to treat Ted like that?" Brian just shook his head, smiling sardonically.
Michael turned back to Ted, who was leaning on the bar, dejectedly swirling his drink. "Don't feel bad," Michael told him, putting an affectionate arm around his friend's shoulders. Ted shrugged. "At least you had the nerve to say hello to him. That's more than I would do!"
"For all the good it does me," Ted muttered. "I knew he wasn't going to talk to me before I ever said a word."
"Then why did you do it?" Brian interjected.
Ted stared at him in surprise and annoyance. "You told me to!"
"Since when do you do whatever I tell you?"
Ted turned away again. "You and your stupid mind games!"
"Mine?" Brian snorted with laughter. "What about yours?"
"Excuse me?"
"You say you know these guys are going to ignore you. And every fucking night you plant yourself there," Brian shoved Ted over and took up a position in front of the bar, "saying, 'Hi, how's it going?'" His imitation of Ted's pickup line captured the combination of desperation, false cheer, and hopelessness so perfectly, Emmett couldn't hold back a laugh. Ted glared at him.
"Sorry, Teddy. It just sounded so much like you!"
Ted tried to turn back to the bar but Brian went on relentlessly, "...saying 'Hi, how's it going?' as if you crave nothing more than for men to pass you by like a piece of furniture."
"Brian..." Michael tried to intervene. Brian ignored him.
"And we're supposed to feel sorry for you when they do."
"Nobody asked you to feel sorry for..." Ted objected angrily.
"If one of those men ever stopped and talked to you, you'd probably have a stroke," Brian persisted. "You don't even expect them to stop. I don't think you really want them to."
"What's that supposed to...?"
"If you wanted to pick up a guy, you'd just do it."
"Easy for you to say!"
Brian jerked his chin toward a fairly cute computer-nerd type who was holding up the wall not far away. "That guy's been checking you out for the last half hour at least. He's already interested. Why don't you go talk to him?"
Ted looked over at the man, nonplussed. "What? Him? I didn't even notice...I never..."
"Come on, Theodore. Get lucky for once."
"I don't think..."
"You don't think what? That you could actually bring yourself to go after someone who isn't sure to turn you down?"
Ted spent several furious seconds searching for the right response before slamming his glass down on the bar and stalking angrily out the door. Emmett sighed and followed him, giving Michael a kiss goodbye, and Brian an exasperated glance as he left.
"What was that for?" Michael asked Brian. "Poor Ted, he just..."
"'Poor Ted' needs a good kick in the ass," Brian responded shortly, trying to light a cigarette with an apparently defective book of matches. Michael frowned at him.
"To get him out of his fucking pathetic poor-me rut," Brian explained, throwing the matchbook across the room and searching his pockets for a lighter.
"You should take it easy on the poor guy. It's not that easy to find somebody, you know. Not for some of us, anyway," he added in an undertone.
Brian looked at him with an amused expression, then downed the rest of his drink. "Come on, let's go check out Babylon."
Michael shook his head. "It's late, and I've got work tomorrow."
Brian grabbed his wrist,dragging him to the door. "Come o-o-n, Mikey," he wheedled, "Just two dances."
He was already slurring his words, Michael noticed. He'd need to be driven home and put to bed. Again. He experienced the familiar combination of emotions--annoyed, yet somehow happy to be needed. Completely overlooking the blond in the red sweater trying to catch his eye, he followed Brian out into the crowded sidewalks of Liberty Avenue.
"I hope you're not going to need all of that!"
Michael turned, still holding Tracy's get-well basket, and was surprised to find himself face to face with Doctor Cameron. He even looked good under the Q-Mart's ugly fluorescent lighting.
"Oh! Hi!" he said, at a loss for words.
"Hi." He glanced toward Tracy.
Michael gathered his wits long enough to introduce them.
The doctor greeted her politely, but Tracy, feeling suddenly like a third wheel, excused herself and went back to work.
They chatted comfortably enough until Michael was suddenly stopped in his tracks by David asking him out to dinner. He gave the only reply that seemed to fit the situation.
"Huh?"
"Dinner? You, know where you sit at a table and..."
"You mean you're...?"
David nodded, seeming a little embarrassed at the question. "I hope you are too!" he joked.
The "little problem" on the doctor's examining table had made that clear enough. Michael realized he still hadn't given David an answer, but he could hardly absorb the fact that he was being asked out--on a date, a real date--by a nice, good-looking, seemingly normal and well-balanced man. It was a first, and he needed some time, maybe seven or eight weeks, to take it all in.
He suspected David might not want to wait that long.
"Sure," he said, trying to sound like he was asked out every day. David arranged to pick him up at 7:00, and left the store looking pleased and a little relieved.
Michael divided the rest of the day between feeling equally pleased, and regretting whatever mad impulse had led him to accept David's invitation.
"Shit!"
Michael had repeated this observation more times than he could count over the past hour, occasionally diverging into the more eloquent "Fuck!" or the subtly expressive "Dammit!" before returning to his original point.
"Shit! I'm such an asshole!"
His brain refused to stop replaying highlights from his date with David. Over and over, he watched himself make idiotic remarks, lame jokes, and inappropriate comments.
Wearing clothes he'd borrowed from Brian, dressed up like he was pretending to be somebody else, somebody who actually belonged there with David.
Talking to him about finding comic books on eBay! Shit!!
He watched his chances with David go down the drain, and, in his own mind, his chances of ever having a nice man take an interest in him again.
His brain took this moment to show him David, at the wheel of his car, saying unconvincingly "I'll call you," dropping him off, and driving away.
"Why did I say yes?" Michael raged to himself. "Why did he even ask me out in the first place?" He slammed the kitchen cupboard shut, so hard that it immediately bounced open again. He slammed it a second time. It flew open. After the fifth time, he finally pushed it gently closed. He stood still, weighed down for the moment by an image of himself growing older and never, never, never having someone of his own. It was an image he usually managed to keep locked in his subconscious, bravely labelled "who cares?" but not tonight.
He considered two options: stay home and cry, or go out to Babylon and drown his sorrows in alcohol and casual sex.
A minute later he was out the door.
"...so then he asked me, 'Is that Hugo Boss?' and like a jerk I go, 'Where?'"
"Mm." Brian flipped disinterestedly through a stack of comic books.
"I was completely pathetic. I don't blame him for taking off like a bat out of hell."
"Uh huh." Brian's attention had wandered to a young man in a baseball cap who was checking him out from across the comics store.
"...like a fucking idiot," Michael was going on, "all dressed up like some slick asshole..."
This caught Brian's attention. "Hey! That was my $1,200 leather jacket!"
"It wasn't me!"
Brian couldn't argue with that. He turned back to the ball-cap boy.
"Forget I said anything," Michael finished, realizing Brian wasn't interested. He was surprised when, a few minutes later, Brian returned briefly to the subject, advising him shortly, "Go back to the doctor. Tell him you want to give it another try."
The hell I will! Michael thought. I've humiliated myself enough. No way am I ever going near the guy again!
And the only reason I'm coming here, Michael told himself as he approached Dr. Cameron's clinic, is to prove to myself just how big a disaster it all was. He probably won't even agree to talk to me. No, he'll talk to me, but he'll tell me how pathetic I am. No! He'll...
Just as Michael reached for the outer door, it opened from inside and another man left the building, almost walking straight into Michael.
"Oh!" Michael stopped in surprise.
"Hello! It's Michael, isn't it?" It was Ben, Michael's waiting-room companion.
"That's right." He was pleased Ben had remembered his name after such a brief meeting. "What brings you back here so soon?"
"Forgot my book in the waiting room," Ben explained, holding up a worn hardbound volume.
"'The Uses of Enchantment'," Michael read from the cover. "Uses of enchantment? What's it about? Magic?" Before Ben could answer he went on, "Sorry! It's none of my business. I just thought it was a neat title."
"I think so too," Ben answered, "and you don't have to apologize. Actually, it is about magic, in a way." He smiled. "If you're not busy, why don't we go get a cup of coffee, and I'll tell you about it."
Michael hesitated, remembering why he'd come here in the first place. Fuck it, he decided almost immediately; the guy dumped me once--why give him a chance to do it again?
"Sure," he told Ben, turning away from the clinic door.
The cup of coffee included a long, surprising conversation for both of them.
"It's just like in comic books," Michael was observing,characteristically.
"How so?"
"Well..." He scanned Ben's face for signs of amusement. He was finding it refreshing to be taken seriously. "There are all these things in the comics, you know, heroes with super powers, monsters, things like that. But they're not really just heroes and monsters. They're..." he checked again. Ben was still listening with apparent interest.
"They're something else, something that's in everyone's mind, even if we don't know it. They mean something important, and it's just easier to show those things as, you know, as super heroes and monsters." He wondered if he were making any sense at all.
Ben nodded thoughtfully. "That's exactly what Bettleheim says about folk stories. Witches and ogres aren't just witches and ogres, they stand for our darkest fears. At some level, everyone recognizes the image for what it is."
The waitress stopped to refill their cups for the fourth time, her irritated glance going unnoticed by either of the two men. They were using up valuable booth space drinking free refills, and she suspected neither of them would remember to tip her.
"Did you ever read any Claude Levi-Strauss?" Ben asked.
Michael shook his head.
"He believes that fantasy fiction, things like comic books, and in fact all myths and rituals, serve a special purpose. He says human beings make sense of the world by dividing it into categories, opposites--like, for example, sacred and profane, human and animal, male and female. Of course, these categories keep overlapping, getting confused. That's where stories resolve this confusion."
Michael thought for a long moment, vaguely taking in the fact that Ben waited without interrupting. "Well, comics and fairy tales are just full of mixtures like that. You know, vampires who are dead but still alive. Or Spiderman!"
"Spiderman?"
"Half human and half spider."
Ben nodded. "Yes, that's a good example."
The waitress dropped the check on the table. Ben looked at his watch. "It's almost 7:00!"
"What?!" Michael looked at his own watch in disbelief. "Shit, I'm sorry!"
Ben laughed quizzically. "Sorry for what?"
"I kept you here talking all this time..."
"You didn't keep me here, Michael, I wanted to be here. I invited you, remember?"
Michael shrugged, embarrassed. "Right."
"But considering the time, suppose we go get some dinner and finish the conversation."
Kleenex boxes are so beautiful.
It was at least the fifth time during the course of the day Michael had stopped to acknowledge the inherent beauty in mundane objects found on the shelves of the Q-Mart. Philips screwdrivers, Marley's plump face, plate glass windows, linoleum tile, and ice cream scoops had all taken their turns as the object of his admiration. Now he was stacking boxes of Kleenex. They were such a wonderful mixture of ordinary and colorful, practical and luxurious, the stacks themselves perfectly balanced, yet dangerously precarious. Even without the help of Bruno Bettleheim, he could have figured out that he wasn't just describing Kleenex boxes. His dinner with Ben had never been far from his mind. What a difference from his date with David! With Ben, he'd been relaxed, able to be himself, to talk freely. The evening had been absolutely perfect.
Yet dangerously precarious.
"Michael! Clean-up in Aisle 7." The voice barely registered. He wandered to Aisle 7, began to pick up the dozens of Beanie Babies some brat had scattered across the floor.
He and Ben had talked as if they'd been friends their whole lives. So is that what we're going to be? Friends? he asked himself. No--Ben didn't see him as just a friend. Did he?
I wish I had more experience with this kind of stuff, Michael thought. Or at least someone I could ask about it. I could ask Brian, but he'd just tell me to stop being pathetic, fuck the guy and get rid of him. And I can't really ask Ted, he decided, recalling uncomfortably the surprising evidence he'd found in Ted's wardrobe. But what about Emmett? That seemed like a plan. Emmett was a close friend, and had actually had some experience with boyfriends in the past. He wouldn't mind being Michael's Dear Abby. He might be able to tell Michael how, exactly, to proceed with this guy. With this gorgeous, sweet, interesting, entirely likeable guy.
Beanie Babies are so beautiful!
"I'd stay away from those onions, Honey, especially if you're planning on going at it later!"
Michael looked up in surprise. "Ma, what are you doing here?"
"Trying to pay my bills, if that's all right with you," she answered jovially. She examined the man sitting across the table from Michael. "Who's this?"
"Mom, this is Ben." Michael sighed to himself. He'd hoped to keep Ben out of Debbie's sights for a bit longer.
Ben raised his eyebrows in surprise. "This is your, ah, your..."
"Mother," Michael filled in drily.
"I'm Debbie." She offered her hand. "And you're...fucking gorgeous, that's what you are!"
Ben tried to smile; Michael's mother was something of a surprise.
"I thought this was your day off." Michael was saying.
"I had to fill in for Betty. She got food poisoning." Debbie prepared to question Michael's companion, but relented at his frantic gestures to cut it short. "Okay, I'd betting get crankin'. Lots of hungry boys to feed! Nice meeting you, Ben!"
"Likewise."
Debbie hoisted her loaded tray, muttering about her bad back as she moved toward the next table.
Michael raised his eyebrows at Ben, waiting for a reaction.
"That is some kind of mother you've got there!" he laughed.
"You don't know the half!"
"I'd like to," Ben told him, his voice lowered, warm. "I'd like to know all there is to know about you."
Michael looked down at the table, flustered but happy. Maybe he wouldn't need Em's advice, after all.
"Are you busy tonight?" Ben asked him.
"Tonight? Well, I have to work til 7:30, but I'm free after that. What did you have in mind?" he asked, hoping he didn't sound too desperate.
"Why don't you come by my place after work. I'll make dinner. Do you like Thai food?"
"Sure," Michael answered, prepared to eat wet sawdust on toast if it was being offered by Ben.
"Around 8:00, then." Ben smiled as he rose from the table. "I've got to get to work. See you tonight."
"Okay. Tonight." At your place, he added to himself, considering the possibilities. Only one thing had left him in doubt about Ben's feelings: he hadn't yet made a serious pass at Michael. Not for lack of opportunity; not, Michael still felt sure, because he didn't want to. Why, then? Maybe tonight would be a chance to solve the mystery.
"Babylon tonight, sweetie?" Emmett asked.
Michael shook his head. "I can't. I've got a...a thing I have to go to."
"Thing?" Ted repeated. "What thing? Something at work?"
"Honey, they keep you late at that dreary place far more often than they should. And now they want you to stay late on a Saturday night! You! A homosexual!"
Michael smiled. "No, not at work. It's...kind of a date."
"Oh!" Ted looked deeply into his cereal bowl.
"Michael!" Emmett's face lit up. "You've been holding out on us! Who's the lucky guy?"
"Someone I ran into in the doctor's waiting room."
"Well, that's an auspicious start," Ted remarked, not looking at Michael. "Especially after your marvelous good luck with the doctor himself!"
"So, what's he like?" Emmett asked, giving Ted's ankle a kick.
"I don't know. Smart. He teaches at Carnegie Mellon. He's a Buddhist or something. And...he's really nice." Michael's expression told his friends far more than his few words.
"First date?" Ted asked.
"No, not exactly. We've been out a few times before."
"And you haven't said a word?" Emmett exclaimed.
"No, I wasn't sure if...if there was anything to tell yet."
"And is there?" Emmett asked archly.
Michael just smiled, turning red. Ted took a angry spoonful of his cereal.
"What is it?" Michael asked warily.
"Those are called pham," Ben said, pointing to some unfamiliar cylindrical items arranged on a platter, "and that's just a Thai chicken recipe made with basil. Those are carrots," he concluded teasingly, offering Michael a plate of raw vegetables.
Michael grinned and accepted a carrot stick. "Where did you learn how to cook this stuff?"
"In Thailand."
"Seriously?"
"Yes, I spent a few months in Southeast Asia. I had some free time the summer before I started at Carnegie Mellon. It was something I'd always wanted to do."
"Wow! I've barely been outside Pittsburgh," Michael admitted. "What was it like?"
"Oh, amazing, but not always what I'd expected." Ben started moving serving dishes to the table. "It was much more westernized than I would have thought, but the traditional culture was always a factor. You'd find ancient Buddhist shrines right next door to the McDonalds." He put plates and cutlery in place, checked to make sure all was ready, and gestured Michael to a seat at the table.
"Is this the kind of food people actually eat there?" Michael asked, "Or do they mostly go to McDonalds?"
Ben laughed. "No, this really is the food that's eaten there." He place a pham on the plate in front of Michael, who eyed it cautiously. "One thing I thought was interesting were the little decorated plates of food and flowers you find everywhere, on the ground, along the road, all over the place."
"What for?" Michael took a small bite of his food.
Ben passed him the dish of chicken. "It's a sort of religious sacrifice, but it's done almost casually. I'd see a waitress step outside on her break, put a basket of food down by the side of the road, go back to work. The next minute, dogs would be eating it, but that didn't seem to matter."
"Is that a Buddhist thing?" Michael asked, bravely taking a forkful of chicken.
"Yes, the local form of Buddhism. It's practiced differently wherever you find it."
"Is it..." Michael hesitated.
"Is it what?"
"Well, is it a problem being a Buddhist and being, you know, gay?"
"A problem?"
"Yeah. I mean, I was brought up Catholic, and it was really..." He paused a long time. It was something he hadn't talked about in many years. Ben waited. "Well, let's just say I don't have anything to do with the church any more."
"Would you want to?"
Michael frowned thoughtfully. "I'm not sure. I guess I just put it out of my mind because...I don't know, because I decided I just don't belong there. But it's weird, my mother is..." He stopped. "This is pretty boring stuff."
Ben looked surprised. "Not to me! Come on, you can't stop there. Your mother is what?"
"I can't believe I'm talking about this. Okay, my mother is the president of the local PFLAG chapter. I'm gay, her brother is gay, she's the biggest fighter for gay rights you ever saw. She marches in the Pride parade every year. But she's still Catholic. She's actually pretty religious in her own way. It's important to her. But she never talks to me about it. It's like..." He stopped to gather his thoughts. "It's like one of those opposites you were talking about, that have to stay apart, it's too confusing if they overlap and mix. She has her beliefs about the church, and she has her beliefs about gay people and about me, and she keeps the two things apart from each other." He looked at Ben, embarrassed. "Sorry, I'm talking too much."
Ben shook his head. "No, you're not. You don't have to apologize for every word you say, you know," he told Michael with a smile. "And it's an interesting point. Maybe those really are two things your mother needs to keep separate. How about you?"
"Me?"
"Do you feel like you need to keep those parts of your life separate?"
Michael sat without speaking, confused by the question. Once again, he was grateful toward Ben for patiently waiting while he thought. "I don't know how to answer that," he said finally.
They ate in silence for a minute or two. Finally Michael broke in, "I mean, does it really matter? I haven't thought about...stuff like this since I was practically a kid!"
"Have some more," Ben offered, handing the dish across the table. "Well, I can't speak for others, but it matters to me. I didn't want to spend my life repressing a part of myself, the spiritual part. It can do just as much damage as repressing your sexuality, and it's just as pointless."
"Maybe I don't have a spiritual side to repress."
"Personally, I think everyone does. I found what I was looking for in Buddhist philosophy, but different people find it in different places. The important thing is to accept that you have a place in the world, that you aren't at odds with the universe. Otherwise, you never feel like you really belong, no matter where you are. You go through your whole life always feeling like a fatherless child."
Michael's eyes widened at that. Was the man psychic?
Ben noticed his reaction. "What is it?"
"Nothing," Michael replied. Ben had made him think about things he'd ignored for years, and he had enough to consider for now. "I mean-- maybe another time."
Ben smiled. "All right. Another time." His smile widened. "Ready for dessert?"
Dessert, Michael was relieved to discover, was nothing more exotic than apple pie. "I don't normally eat pastry," Ben explained, "but this is a special occasion." Their talk became lighter than their dinner-table conversation had been. They compared growing up in Pittsburgh to growing up on the Upper West Side. Ben talked about his position with the newly-formed Gay Studies Department. He asked Michael about his job, and laughed at Michael's vivid descriptions of the people and the minor crises at the Q Mart. At one point Michael asked again about Ben's trip to Asia.
"I kept a notebook while I was there, and wrote down everything that happened," Ben told him. "That was how I...oh, that reminds me--I have something for you." He stood up and left the room, returning a moment later carrying a book. He handed it to Michael.
"'RU12'," Michael read from the cover. "'Are You One Too?' Oh, I get it!" He examined the dust jacket closely. "You wrote this? You wrote a book?"
"Yes, yes, that is my one and, so far, only novel. It's just been published. I'm still waiting to hear from the reviewers."
"I never met anyone who's written a book before," Michael remarked.
Ben smiled at him, charmed by the sweet, straightforward quality Michael always demonstrated. He flipped the book's cover open to reveal a hand-written inscription on the flyleaf. Michael looked down at it.
"'To Michael, beneath whose mild-mannered appearance beats the heart of a super-hero. Ben'," he read. It was the nicest thing--no, it was the most right thing anyone had ever told him. It was as if Ben saw right inside him, past the surface to his real self; even past that, to the self he wanted to be. He didn't know if he wanted to laugh or to cry. He looked back up at Ben, who was looking at him with an expression he couldn't mistake.
"I don't know what to say!" he admitted. Without any reserve, he threw his arms around Ben's neck and hugged him. Ben returned the embrace warmly, burying his face in Michael's shoulder and holding him tightly for many seconds before moving away.
"No words required," he joked weakly, trying to smile, but clearly as moved as Michael by the exchange.
Michael had always preferred to let the other guy make the first move; it removed any risk of rejection. Now, he was surprised to find that he felt no reluctance, no fear. He was as sure of Ben's feelings as he was of his own. He moved toward Ben, tilting his head up and capturing Ben's mouth gently, letting his eyes close and waiting for Ben to return the kiss as he knew, without the slightest shadow of doubt, that he would. As their lips met, Michael heard the slight, sharp intake of breath; Ben let his hand move over Michael's shoulder, lightly stroke his hair. Kissing ravenously, they began to fumble with each other's clothing. Michael felt as if he'd been set free; there was no self-consciousness, no thinking 'Will he stay? Will he go? How am I doing? What am I doing?', only one thought: 'Ben is perfect, we're perfect together, I want him and he wants me and everything is absolutely perfect'...everything, that is, except that intruding voice saying, "Michael...stop a minute...wait, Michael...wait..."
Ben broke away from him with obvious reluctance. Michael looked back at him. "What for?"
"I have to tell you..." Ben began uncertainly, "I wanted you to know that...that I'm HIV positive."
Michael took his ringing cell phone out of its holder and snapped it open. "Hello?"
"Michael!" Emmett's voice came through the earpiece. "Ohmigod, it's finally my lunch break. You've kept me waiting all day!"
"Waiting for what?"
"To find out about your big date, what do you think? You were already in bed when I got home and you were gone before I got up this morning."
"Oh." Michael was concentrating on arranging kitchen utensils on their display rack.
"Oh? Is that all you can say? Tell me! How'd it go?"
"Well..." How had it gone? He wasn't completely sure himself. "It was really..."
"Really what, sweetie? What did he do? Kick you out? Take you home to meet his mother? WHAT?"
Michael glanced around to make sure no other employees with within hearing range, moving into a deserted corner of the hardware department. "It was...he's..." He stopped short and collected himself. "It was maybe the best time I've ever had. He's so nice, Em. He likes me, he really...he more than likes me. And I think he's perfect."
"Honey, that's so fantastic! But you know, there's no such thing as a perfect man," he joked.
"Well, he's perfect for me," Michael insisted. "But then he told me... hold on," he said, setting the phone aside to deal with a customer, leaving Emmett's imagination to deal with what Ben might have told him. "Em?" he said at last.
"I'm here, Michael! For crying out loud, what did he tell you?"
"He told me he's HIV positive," Michael said, his voice dropping in volume.
There was a short silence. "So what are you going to do?" Emmett asked.
"I don't know."
"Are you going to see him again?"
"I'm supposed to meet him after work." There was a short silence. "Look--don't tell anybody about this for now, okay?"
"Okay, but why?"
"I want to spend some time with Ben and see if...I don't know, if I think I can handle it."
"So why does it matter if Teddy or Vic or your mom know about it?"
Well..."
"This is about what a certain person is going to say, isn't it?" Michael was silent. "Well, Michael, I've known you for quite a while, and I think you can handle it better than just about anyone, and don't let any man, woman, or Brian tell you different."
Michael smiled into the phone. "Thanks, Em."
"Your welcome, sweetie. Now get back to work! That cheap, hideous plastic junk isn't going to arrange itself, you know!"
Ted scanned the crowded interior of the Liberty Diner, his eyes quickly picking out the familiar, dark-haired, tee-shirt clad figure seated at a booth near the back. He stood for a moment, just looking. The casual observer would see Ted as a man whose good looks were diminished by his bland clothing and defensive, worried expression. More than one person would have guessed he was an accountant. They could have no idea of the imagery that a romantic nature, fed by years of Italian opera, could produce. The prospect of eight hours at Wortschafter's firm was temporarily set aside as he indulged in a brief, florid fantasy. It was one of his favourites, and involved Ted making a magnificent declaration of his undying passion to a startled but delightfully receptive Michael. This time he varied the scene by setting it in the eighteenth century and putting himself in a flowing black cape. What the hell, it's my fantasy, he thought; it's not like it's ever going to actually come true. This admission brought him abruptly back to the real world. He started moving toward the booth where Michael and Emmett were sitting. Michael looked up at him with a wide smile. "Hey, Ted!" Emmett gave him a cheerful little wave.
"Hi," he answered, sliding into the booth next to Emmett. "What's new?"
"Well," Michael began, stopping short as Debbie arrived to take their breakfast orders. Ted interest was piqued; what was the news that he wouldn't mention in front of his mother?
"What'll it be, boys?" she asked, opening her notepad.
Emmett asked for pancakes. Michael ordered two eggs over easy, bacon, hash browns, and raisin toast. Ted smiled to himself. The boy eats like a horse, he thought, finding this oddly charming.
"Ted?" Debbie was looking at him.
"Oh! I'll have scrambled eggs, whole wheat toast, no butter."
"Bacon? Sausage?"
"Not today, thanks."
"Somebody's watching his weight," she muttered, walking to the counter to put in their breakfast orders. thirty-fourthirty-four As soon as she was out of earshot, Emmett turned to Michael. "Well? Are you going to tell him?"
"Tell me what?" Ted asked.
"Our Michael has a boyfriend."
"Really!" Ted commented. His fantasy shifted slightly. Under the cape he carried a sword. He issued a challenge. "By the river, at dawn. You have the choice of weapon." Himself, victorious but injured. Michael tending to his wounds. He cleared his throat, bringing his attention back to his friends and the diner. "Who?"
Michael started to speak but Emmett broke in ahead of him. "It's that professor he told you about. I haven't seen him yet but Michael tells me he's gorgeous. He's thirty-four, he can cook...what am I forgetting?"
"So this is the guy you were going out with the other night?" Ted asked, mentally counting off ten paces before turning and firing at will.
Michael nodded. "Yep. And I'm seeing him again tonight."
Ted observed, with mixed feelings, that Michael looked happy.
"So you decided you could deal with it?" Emmett put in.
"Yeah, I did. I mean, it's not as big a deal as it once was, right? I know what's involved, maybe better than most people, from being around Vic and all. And I know how to be safe. So what's the problem?"
Ted stared at him. "What...you mean this guy is, ah, is...?"
"He's positive. He told me last night."
Ted was trying to figure out how to respond when he was distracted by a slight pain in the side of his head. Brian had entered unnoticed and greeted Ted by flicking his finger against the man's temple. Ted gave him an angry look.
"'Morning, Theodore, Emmett. Hey, Mikey." He pushed in beside Michael and tried to catch Debbie's eye. "Deb? Coffee?"
"Does Brian know about this?" Ted demanded.
"About what?" Brian looked at Michael.
"This guy I've been seeing, Ben."
"What about him?"
"He's HIV positive!" Ted burst in. "Would you talk some sense into your friend, please?"
Brian looked questioningly at Michael, who nodded."He told me last night."
Brian brushed some imaginary lint off his sleeve. "And what did you say?"
Michael shrugged. "I don't know, I asked him if he was okay, and..."
"And is he?"
"He's fine. He hasn't been sick or in the hospital. It's been just over a year that he's known about it."
There was a pause in the conversation while Debbie brought their plates to the table. She looked around the silent table. "Why so quiet all of a sudden? Are you boys talking about me? Or are you talking about sex?"
"Or both at the same time," suggested Emmett.
"If it's sex," she went on, "don't mind me. I don't have a problem with hearing about man to man sexual encounters."
"Yes, we know!" sighed Michael.
With a brief parting slap to Michael's head, she moved on to the next table. Brian studied Michael without expression. "Are you sure you know what you're getting into?"
"Of course I do!" Michael took a huge bite of his toast.
"It's not like you've had a lot of experience dealing with crisis situations."
"I've helped take care of Vic since he left the hospital," Michael pointed out.
"Not by yourself. In fact, when have you ever done anything really difficult all by yourself?"
"He has a point, Michael," Ted interjected. "You may be getting in over your head."
Michael slammed down his fork. "Fuck you!" he said emphatically. "Both of you! I thought you were just worried, but you think..." He broke off and returned to his breakfast. His friends waited. "You just think I'm too lame and pathetic to do anything remotely difficult. Well, thanks for the vote of confidence."
"Michael," Ted began, but Emmett interrupted him.
"I think you're underestimating our Michael," he said, giving his roommate's hand an affectionate squeeze. "I think he's capable of more than you give him credit for, and if he and Ben like each other, they shouldn't let something like HIV status come between them. After all, a lot of guys have boyfriends who are positive."
"Whose boyfriend's positive?" asked Debbie, who had approached without their noticing and was topping up coffee cups.
"Michael's," Ted replied immediately, meeting Michael's angry stare.
She chuckled. "Ted, honey, Michael doesn't have a boyfriend. Michael's never had a boyfriend! He's never even been on a real date. He's been too busy chasing around with Brian to give the guys a chance."
"Well, somebody's managed to catch up with him," Brian observed drily, sipping his coffee.
She stopped what she was doing and turned on Michael "What's this?"
Surrendering to the inevitable, he answered, "His name's Ben. You remember, you met him at the diner the other day. We've only gone out a few times, but..."
"And you haven't said a word to me about it?"
"I'm telling you now."
"Well, it's about time! When are you bringing him over to dinner?" Her joyful expression suddenly faded as she remembered what had started this discussion. "Wait a minute. Did Emmett say something about him being positive?"
"That's right, and don't you start in on me too!"
She started to speak, then seemed to think the better of it. "Fine," she said tensely. "More coffee, anybody? No?" She moved on, but her parting look at Michael let him know that he'd be hearing more about this later.
The table was quiet. Michael went on grimly eating, ignoring the others. Finally, Ted couldn't stand it any longer.
"Michael," he began, and winced inwardly at his friend's expression. "Listen, I'm not trying to put you down. It's not a matter of whether you're up to the challenge or not. It's that you're putting yourself in danger. There are other guys around, you know, nice guys who don't happen to be carrying a lethal virus around inside them!" Something occurred to him. "What about that doctor you went out with a while ago? Rich, good looking, no ticking time bomb in his bloodstream."
"What about him?" Michael answered dully.
"I'm just saying, you have other options. You don't have to endanger yourself in order to have a boyfriend."
Debbie dropped four checks on the table in pregnant silence. Michael grabbed his and gestured to Brian to let him out of the booth. "I've got to get to work. I'll see you guys later."
The weather had turned cold for the time of year, but the two men strolled through the park together as if it were a pleasant, sunny day in June, completely wrapped up in their conversation.
"I can't believe your mom is a PFLAG president too! That's a hell of a coincidence."
"Yes, it is. And not only that, for the last five years my dad's been the chapter treasurer."
"Your dad!" Michael echoed. "I forgot you had a dad."
Ben laughed. "You did?"
Michael looked uncomfortable. "Well, I never actually had a dad, so sometimes I forget that other people..."
"You didn't? What happened to him?"
Michael hesitated before answering. "I never knew him. He was killed in Viet Nam when I was just a baby. He was awarded a posthumous Purple Heart."
Ben frowned. "You know, it sounds like..." He stopped.
"Like what?"
"No offense, it just sounded like you were reading that from a book."
Michael was silent for so long, Ben added, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."
"No, it's okay. It's just that...that's what it feels like to me, too. I'm just repeating what my mom told me about him. All I know about my dad is what she told me, and it isn't that much."
"Did it bother you, growing up without a father?"
Michael nodded. "When I was a kid, it bothered me a lot. I didn't want to tell Mom that. It would only make her feel bad, and for what? But I used to..." He stopped, turning red.
"Go on," Ben urged him.
"Well, I used to make up all these fantasies about meeting my dad, that he wasn't really killed and he makes it back to America and finds me. You know, like kids do."
"Sure."
"But later on, when I realized that I was gay, I figured it was for the best. If I actually had a father, and he found out, he might...well, he might not be too happy about it. I might have lost him in another way."
"Not necessarily. Your mother accepts who you are, right? And so do a lot of fathers. Why assume he would have rejected you?"
They walked on for a minute or two. Once again, Michael was grateful for Ben's patience. He always gave Michael the time he needed to think, never breaking in or answering for him. Finally he spoke. "When I was about seventeen, my Aunt Connie found out I was gay. First she gave my mom a hard time, said she'd brought it on by babying me too much. Then she told me I wasn't allowed to be around my cousins any more. And she said that maybe it was a good thing I didn't have a father around, because imagine how he'd feel, finding out his son's queer."
Ben whistled softly. "Rough," he commented. "What then?"
"Oh, then she went and told the parish priest and he decided to have a talk with me. He said a boy without a father's influence sometimes gets confused and he was sure I'd snap out of it. Words to that effect, anyway. And he said that, until I did, it would be better if I didn't bother coming to church. So I didn't."
"I see. And you haven't been back since?"
"Nope. My mom got really mad and said she wasn't going any more either. Actually, I think she does go sometimes, but she tries to keep it a secret from me." He smiled wryly.
Ben returned his smile. "Memories like that really stay with you, don't they?"
"I guess they do. I felt really nervous about letting anybody know, for a long time. Well, maybe even now. I'm still not out at work," he admitted, "not even with...um, with anybody."
Ben shrugged. "That's a personal decision. You have to show up there every day, after all. If the people you work with wouldn't accept you, well, you do what you have to."
Michael nodded, still embarassed. "Well, thanks for saying that, but I bet you would never keep it a secret at work, right?"
Ben laughed. "Michael, I work in the Gay Studies Department, remember?"
"Right!" Michael laughed as well. "I forgot about that! So it's not really an issue for you."
"Not at work, anyway." They were coming to the park entrance. Ben looked around. "It's getting chilly. Why don't we stop and get something hot to drink?"
They went into a coffee shop and found a seat. Once Michael had his coffee and Ben his herbal tea, the conversation took up where it had left off.
"I hope you don't mind my asking this," Ben began.
"What?"
"When you were talking about work, you said you weren't out even to... someone. Who were you thinking of?"
Michael kept his eyes on his coffee cup. "I didn't think you'd noticed that. It's this girl I work with, Tracy. We've gotten to be really good friends, but I think she..."
"She thinks it's a little more than that?" Ben suggested.
"Yeah. I think she, you know, likes me."
"Can't say I blame her."
Michael smiled at that. "Maybe I should say something, but if she passed it on to the others, well, it would get uncomfortable. Worse than uncomfortable."
Ben sipped his tea thoughtfully. "Would she keep your secret if you asked her to?"
"That's the thing, I can't know for sure unless I tell her, and then..."
"Then it'd be too late."
"Right." Ben sat quietly until Michael added, "I'm sorry, I've been dumping all my problems on you for the past half hour."
"You don't have to keep apologizing for everything," Ben told him. "And it's not dumping problems. It's a discussion. I learn a little more about you. You learn more about me. Isn't that what we're supposed to be doing here?"
"Well, when you put it like that..."
"So tell me about this Tracy."
"I got you an extra box of penne. They were on sale." Michael methodically unpacked grocery bags and stowed the items in his mother's kitchen cupboards.
"Thanks, honey. Did you remember to get me a new cheese grater?"
"It's right here." He handed a copy of Saveur to his uncle.
"What's that?" Debbie snatched the magazine from Vic's hand to look it over. "Oh, cooking magazine."
"Which Michael picked up for me," he said pointedly, taking it back and peering sternly at Debbie over his glasses. She glared back.
"Why are you still reading those? You're not a pastry chef any more."
"That doesn't mean I couldn't be again!"
"Well, that's good! You should think positive. It's good for your immune system. Isn't that right, Michael?"
"Huh? Oh, sure."
She smiled and pinched Michael's cheek. "Where's your mind wandering to?"
He shrugged, but his expression made Vic look at him more closely. "Something new in your life, Michael?"
Michael glanced over his shoulder and saw that his mother had gone to the laundry area. He sat down at the table with Vic. "There's this guy..."
Vic smiled affectionately at his nephew. "I thought so," he chuckled. "And about time, too! So, tell me all."
"His name's Ben Bruckner. He's thirty-four, a college professor."
"Does he look like a professor?" Vic asked jokingly.
"No, he looks like Superman," Michael admitted. "I hope you can meet him soon, Uncle Vic. I think you'd really like him."
"I'm sure I would. But the important thing is, you like him."
Michael smiled, a little embarrassed. "Yeah, I do."
"Nice guy?"
"Oh, yeah. More than nice."
"And how," Vic asked, raising one eyebrow, "would you rate his super powers?"
Michael laughed. "I don't actually know yet," he confessed. "He's taking it kind of slow, I guess because he wants to make sure I'm okay with everything."
"'Everything'?"
"He's HIV positive."
"Oh." Vic nodded.
Debbie re-entered the kitchen. "So Michael has a boyfriend at last!" Vic called out to her, before Michael could stop him.
She placed the laundry basket on the counter with unneccessary force. "You still haven't stopped seeing this guy?"
Vic looked at her in surprise. "Why should Michael...?"
"Mom's upset that I'm seeing somebody who's positive," Michael explained.
"Fifteen years of running around with Brian and the first time you hook up with somebody for real, it has to be a pos guy!"
"Ma, I didn't set out to meet a pos guy, it just turned out that way. He's a really great guy..."
"Maybe he is. But he's not for you!"
"He is for me!" Michael insisted. "Can't you at least make an effort? What if I bring him over for dinner next Monday? You can get to know him and..."
I don't want to know him! I don't want you bringing him into my house!"
Vic looked away, putting on his glasses and pretending to read.
"I don't believe this," Michael shouted. "Since I was eighteen, every time a guy bought me a Coke or tried to sell me Amway products, you wanted me to bring him home to meet you. Now I finally find someone I can be serious about and you want nothing to do with him!"
"I just don't want you hurt, Michael!"
Michael bit off whatever he was going to respond. "I'm going home." He grabbed his coat. "Bye, Uncle Vic," he said, giving the older man a hug as he passed.
"Hold it right there!" Debbie roared at him. "You're not going anywhere until you hear me out!"
Michael was ready to yell back an angry reply, but suddenly the familiar shouting-match format felt depressing and wrong. Instead, he said quietly, "Ma, I'm a grown man. You don't get to tell me who I can date." He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said, and was out the door before she could speak.
"Captain Steubing, Gopher, or Doc?"
Ted looked at his friend in amusement. "Your choices are getting weirder all the time," he pointed out. "Okay, I'd have to say Gopher. He is the youngest, after all."
"Oh, I'd pick the captain. I think bald men can be sexy and you know I love a man in uniform!" Emmett took a sip of his Cosmopolitan. "Your turn, Teddy."
"Let's see...men in uniform, hmm? Captain Kirk or Captain Picard?"
Brian regarded the pair with a pained expression. "Do you two have any idea how completely fucking lame you sound?" His eye was suddenly caught by two men in the doorway. "Well, look who's finally making an appearance!" Michael and Ben had just entered Woody's.
Ted stared at them. "Is that the guy?"
"It must be." Emmett looked Ben over approvingly as they approached the table.
"Hey guys!" Michael greeted them cheerfully. "This is Ben. Ben, this is Ted, Emmett, and Brian."
"Hi." Ben nodded pleasantly at the three, taking in the varied expressions on their faces.
"Can I get you two a drink?" Emmett asked. Ted shot him an accusing look.
"Nothing for us, thanks." Michael took a seat at the table. "We're going to a play. I just wanted to stop in first and say hi and let you guys meet Ben."
"A play?" Brian remarked. "That's something new for you, Mikey."
"The drama department at Carnegie-Mellon is doing 'Into The Woods,'" Ben explained.
"And you convinced Mikey to go along?"
Mikey? he thought. "Well...it didn't take any convincing. We've been talking about imagery and symbolism in folk tales and how they compare to those in graphic novels, and the play just seemed to fit in with..." He broke off when Ted and Brian both started to snicker. "What's so funny?"
There was a brief silence, until Emmett cleared his throat. "You'll have to forgive these two, Ben. It's important to their self-image that Michael stay in the role of ingenue. He's the simple soul who doesn't even know words like 'symbolism.' After all, what kind of sidekick would he be if he was as smart as the leading man?" Emmett met Brian's eyes directly and Brian looked away first.
Ben's discomfort was far outweighed by his fascination as a writer. Obviously he'd walked into a situation with more subliminal conflict and multi-layered relationships than any novel ever written.
Brian took this moment to give a promising look to a man at the bar whom he'd been ignoring all evening.
"Much as I'd love to sit here and discuss Sondheim with you boys, I'm afraid duty calls. See ya, Mikey." He gave Michael a firm kiss on the lips, catching Ben's eye as he did so. "Nice to meet you, Professor. Enjoy your amateur dramatics." He moved off, the man he was approaching fixed on his movements like a deer caught in the headlights.
Emmett moved his chair closer to Ben's. "It's so nice to meet you at last, Ben. Michael's been praising you to the skies!"
"Is that so?" Ben gave Michael a smile. "Good to hear."
"Yes, he's told us a lot about you," Ted commented significantly. "Like the fact that you're..."
"I'm sure you understand," Emmett put in quickly, "that Michael's friends tend to be just a tiny bit protective with him. He's a very special person."
"I know," Ben answered seriously. Ted took a huge gulp of Scotch. "And I appreciate how you must feel about...what he's told you." He glanced at Ted, who pretended to ignore him.
"We should get going," Michael said, looking at his watch.
"Right." He stood up. "It's been nice meeting you, Emmett, Ted." Ted nodded to him.
"You too, Ben," Emmett said, standing up as well. "Maybe I'll see you if you come by the apartment some time."
"Maybe so." Michael kissed Emmett and Ted goodbye, Ben gave them a friendly wave, which Emmett returned and Ted did not, and they moved through the crowd to the exit.
"He was okay," Brian said casually in response to Ted's question. "He gave seriously substandard head, though."
"You should've had me come over instead," Justin remarked as he set out coffee cups.
"So you could give him lessons?"
"Can you think of anyone better qualified?" Justin gave Brian a mischievous grin.
Michael was surprised to see Brian smile back. The little brat was getting awfully cozy with Brian; what was going on with them?
"Speaking of lessons," Brian said, turning to Michael, "how was the night out with your teacher?"
"He's a professor."
"Whatever."
"It was great, actually."
"'Great,'" Ted repeated. "Meaning, no vomiting, siezures, periods of unconsciousness? Nothing like that?"
Michael gave him a resentful look. "I told you, he's fine!"
"For now."
"Like all of us!" Michael stopped talking as Debbie came by to take their orders. She pointedly avoided looking at or speaking to Michael. Finally he burst out, "Mom! Will you stop ignoring me, please?"
"Oh, sorry, honey!" she said, in a voice dripping with sarcasm. "I didn't want to risk getting into anything that was none of my business. Like my son's life, for example."
"She's the ideal all drama queens strive to live up to," Brian remarked.
"Ma, you're over-reacting to all this."
"Over-reacting? To you putting your life in danger?"
"You could say I've been doing that for years. You're supposedly fine with me going out and taking home strangers. Just 'supporting my life-style', right?" His voice took on some sarcasm as well. "How many of those guys do you suppose have been positive and didn't tell me, maybe didn't even know it themselves?"
Brian rolled his eyes. "You realize you've just given her something new to worry about, right?"
Michael gave his friend a quelling look. "At least with Ben, we both know we have to be careful. And we will be, Mom."
"Fine. It's none of my business."
"That definitely has some fine print attached," Brian murmured, wondering if he was ever going to get his meal.
"Why should you listen to me? What do I have to do with how you live your life? I'm just your mother, who raised you and cared for you and worried about you."
"...and changed your diapers and wiped your ass," Brian added under his breath.
"Mom..."
"I'd better get your food. I can't stand here chatting all day." She strode off toward the serving window, Michael watching her go with an exasperated sigh.
"So," Emmett said, into the silence which followed, "anybody catch 'Ally McBeal' last night?"
"By the way, I finished your book."
"So what did you think?...the insecure writer asked, trying desperately to sound unconcerned."
Michael laughed. "I loved it."
Ben looked relieved. "Let's hope the critics feel the same way."
"I especially loved the part about your trip to Thailand. It must've been pretty scary, though, all the trouble you had with the customs officials and stuff."
"There were some bad days, definitely, but I wouldn't have missed that trip for anything."
Michael shook his head. "I would never have had the nerve. Not if I knew what was coming."
"Want another beer?"
"No thanks, I'm fine."
Ben leaned back on the sofa. "That trip was something I've always wanted. I knew there could be problems travelling in my condition, bringing my meds through border crossings, but I didn't want fear controlling what I did with my life."
"Not everyone is that brave," Michael commented, looking at Ben admiringly. Ben responded to the look by leaning forward, taking Michael's chin in his hand and letting his lips move over Michael's face, stroking his forehead, the line of his jaw. Michael's eyes drifted shut as he delighted in the touch, giving a tiny moan when their mouths met. He moved closer, wanting as much of their bodies to be touching as possible. He felt a shiver of fear as various thoughts ran through his mind: wondering whether he'd make a lousy boyfriend; mingled relief and regret at giving up his dream of being with Brian; a fleeting worry about whether he was wearing decent underwear. Then he felt Ben working to unfasten his shirt buttons, and changed position to make it easier for him. When the phone rang, it took him several seconds to register the sound and recognize what it was. Ben pulled away regretfully. "I'd better answer that."
Michael watched him speak to the caller for several minutes, finally gesturing to Michael apologetically that it was something that had to be dealt with. Michael nodded "no problem," distracting himself by wandering about the apartment, looking at Ben's collection of Asian artifacts, the sketches on the wall. He wandered into the kitchen, noticing a small collection of prescription pill bottles and some printed instructions on the counter beside the toaster. His mood growing more somber, he picked up one of the papers and began reading through it. Snatches of conversation from the last few days started coming back to him.
'Are you sure you can handle this?'
'Aren't you getting in over your head?'
'You've never dealt with something like this on your own.'
It occurred to him that Ben would also have something to lose if Michael couldn't handle the situation. Suppose Ben got sick, he thought, and I can't deal with it. Suppose I handle it wrong and just make him feel even worse. Suppose I'm such a jerk about it he wishes he'd never...
Ben walked into the kitchen. "Sorry about that. Something from work."
Michael nodded, putting the literature back in place on the counter. Ben moved closer, embracing him from behind, nuzzling his ear. Michael closed his eyes and leaned back against him. For a moment he felt sure everything would be fine. Then he heard a familiar voice in his head:
"You're so pathetic!"
His eyes flew open. How was it that his best friend, the person who knew him better than anyone on earth, would choose that particular word to be his signature adjective? Brian used 'pathetic' jokingly, as an affectionate pet name, nothing more. But suddenly it struck Michael just how apt it was. It's true, he thought. My mother's right; they're all right about me. Ben doesn't know what he's letting himself in for. With a sense of dread, Michael turned to face him.
"I can't," he began.
"Hmm? Can't what?" Ben looked at him, not understanding, still caressing him.
Michael braced himself. "I can't...I can't do this."
Ben stood still, taking his meaning at last.
"I thought I could, you know, could handle it, but I guess I was just fooling myself."
"I see." Ben was expressionless.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize," Ben said in a flat voice. "It's better we know now. Before anyone gets hurt." Abruptly he turned and left the room.
Michael was barely aware of the few parting words they exchanged, of how he left the apartment, the building, made his way down the street. He concentrated on finding his way home, on the unpleasant sound his shoes made on the concrete, the traffic noises. He passed the entrance of the park he and Ben had walked through together, looking with loathing at the nodding red and bronze chrysanthemums bordering the gravel path. Flowers are so fucking ugly!
"So he says, 'Orgasm? I'm still trying to tie my shoes!'"
Everyone laughed, except the one person the joke was intended for. Michael continued to poke listlessly at the double stack of pancakes his mother had pressed on him. Ted and Emmett looked at each other helplessly. It had been weeks since the breakup. Michael wasn't usually this hard to cheer up.
"So," Ted attempted, "how are things at the old Big Q?"
"Mm?" Michael looked up. "They're okay."
Brian watched Michael quietly. Formerly, a question about the Big Q would elicit a lively story about catching Marley buying red satin undies in extra-large, at the very least. Now, he was like a balloon with most of the air let out.
"You all remember the White Party's coming up in three weeks," he commented.
"I'm there!" said Ted.
"How about you, Mikey?" Brian asked casually.
"Nope."
"Oh, come on, honey," Emmett exclaimed, "it'll do you good to get out!"
"I said I'm not interested!" he snapped.
"More coffee, anybody?" Debbie called out as she passed. Brian held up his cup for a refill. She started to clear the table; Michael handed over his plate. "Michael! You've hardly touched your food."
"Not hungry," he said, without looking up.
Debbie looked questioningly at the others. Emmett mouthed the word "Ben!". She nodded and squeezed into the booth across from her son.
"Honey, I know you're upset now, but it's for the best. The right guy for you will come along, you'll see!"
He scowled back at her. "The right guy for me did come along, and I dumped him. Because my mother told me to!" He dug in his pocket, threw bills onto the table. "Could anything be more pathetic? You guys were right. I don't even deserve a boyfriend. I don't know what I was thinking."
"Michael," Debbie began again.
"I've got to get to work," he said, and left without saying goodbye to anyone.
Michael worked doggedly at changing the price codes on a stack of dishracks. He glanced at his watch: 7:25. Only a few more minutes to go. And then what? he asked himself. Back home, eat, sleep, get up tomorrow and do it again. Or he could have a fun evening out, he thought sourly; a fun evening trying to pick up some stranger he didn't care shit about and either failing and going home alone, or succeeding and ending up in another depressing, meaningless...
"Hi." A familiar deep voice came from behind Michael. He turned and was astonished to see David.
"Oh...hi!"
"How've you been?"
"Okay." He straightened the merchandise he'd been working on. "I didn't expect to see you again."
David smiled uncertainly. "I was in the neighborhood and I thought I'd stop in and see how you were doing."
"Oh. Well, I'm fine." Sure I am, he thought.
"I've been thinking about you."
"You have?"
"I wondered if you'd be interested in giving it another try."
"If I'd...?"
"We may have got off to a bad start last time," David explained. "How would you feel about going out again?"
Michael had no idea what to say. "I don't know," he said doubtfully. "I mean, I can't believe you're asking me out again, after I was such a jerk the last time."
"You weren't a jerk!" David protested. "I think we just had a...communication breakdown, that's all."
"I guess you could say that." Michael was still trying to figure out how to react.
"When do you get off work?"
"In a few minutes."
"Okay, tell you what: let me buy you a cup of coffee, and we can talk about it."
"Well..."
"Not a date. Just a conversation. What do you say?"
Michael couldn't think of a good reason to refuse. "Sure. Just let me get my coat from my locker. How about I meet you at the exit, over there."
"Fine. See you in a few minutes." With a parting smile, David walked toward the doorway. Michael hurried to gather his belongings and clock out for the day. He took a quick look around to make sure none of his co-workers would see him leaving with David before heading for the door.
"Mike!" Shit. He turned around to face Tracy.
"Hey!"
"You done for the day?"
"Yeah, I was just leaving."
"Doing anything tonight?"
"Oh, you know. Hanging out with the guys."
"Okay. I was thinking we could catch a movie some time."
Shit! "Uh...sure, maybe."
"Great!" She stood waiting hopefully for a moment. "Well, I don't want to keep you."
"See you tomorrow, Trace."
"See you."
He hurried to the door, relieved to find that David had stepped through the doorway, out of sight. "All set?"
"Yeah." They started walking toward the parking lot.
"Wasn't that the person I met at the store last time I was here? The one who sent you to see me in the first place?"
"That's her. Tracy."
"Tracy, that's right." David smiled at him. "That girl has a crush on you, you know."
"No she doesn't!" Michael protested. He caught David's eye. "Well, maybe."
"Does she know?"
"Know what?" David just looked at him. "No."
"Don't you think you ought to say something?" He unlocked his car door and Michael got in the passenger side.
The phrase 'mind your own business' came to his mind, and was quickly repressed, but David noticed his irritation. "Sorry, I just think it's a bit unfair to her."
"Well, you don't have to work at the Big Q," Michael shot back.
David decided it was wise to let the matter go. He drove the Jaguar to a nearby cafe which he knew to have secluded booths ideal for a private discussion. On the way he managed to bring the conversation around to more pleasant topics and by the time they'd arrived, Michael was in a more positive frame of mind. They entered the cafe and found a seat.
At David's suggestion, Michael ordered the house special, a flavoured cappuccino. He regarded David warily across the table.
"Don't look so nervous!" David laughed. "What do you think I'm going to do? Bite?"
"I'm not nervous," Michael said defensively. "I'm just...confused, I guess."
"About what?"
"Why you decided to come and see me." He checked furtively to see if he had foam on his upper lip. "I mean, the last time we went out, I made such a mess of things."
"Is that how you remember it?"
"Well...yeah. I kept making all these stupid jokes and talking about stuff like comic books, and I could hear myself being an idiot and couldn't seem to stop."
"That wasn't my impression," David told him. "I thought you were adorable."
Michael's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You've got to be kidding!"
"Not in the least. I just wasn't entirely sure if you were...available."
Michael was even more surprised. That seemed like an odd thing to say.
"So, maybe we could start over," David suggested. "If you're not seeing anyone." He looked at Michael questioningly.
Michael looked at the floor, his depression creeping back. "No," he answered. "I'm not seeing anyone. That is, I was for a while, but we broke up."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
David could see Michael wasn't ready to give him an answer and led the conversation in other directons. He drove Michael home and, once again, dropped him off in front of his building. "I'll tell you what," he said, taking out his wallet. "Think it over. If you're interested, give me a call." He wrote something on the back of a business card. "That's my home number." He handed the card over.
Michael took it. "Thanks," he said, staring down at the card. "Okay, I will. Think it over, I mean."
"Good." David returned his wallet to his pocket. "Maybe I'll hear from you, then." Michael climbed out of the car and slammed the door shut. With a quick wave, David was gone.
Michael stood a moment, watching him walk away. How about that, he thought. After I was such a pathetic asshole, he still wants to see me again! In fact, he thinks I'm adorable! He felt a little more positive than he had for the past few weeks.
Days passed, and by Friday night Emmett had managed to convince Michael to join the others for a night out. They all met at Woody's, where it soon became clear that, whatever may have been happening in Michael's life, little had changed for his friends.
"Hi! How's it going?"
Michael glanced at Brian, remembering the way he'd attacked Ted for his self-sabotage. It might never have happened. Ted was still throwing out greetings to men who obviously had no interest in him. Michael began to think it had been a mistake to go out tonight. Looking up, he noticed a fairly hot, slightly older man watching him. Brian noticed as well.
"Mi-i-i-key," he called, "I think you've made a conquest."
Michael looked away, annoyed. "Cut it out."
"Go talk to him," Brian insisted, nudging his friend toward the stranger.
"No!"
Brian gave him a playful shove. "I wouldn't be turning him down without a second thought. Not if I'd gone as long as you have without..."
"I know you wouldn't. But I'm not you!"
"One of your finest qualities!" Ted remarked.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Brian asked. "That you're suddenly not interested in fucking?"
"I'm tired of going home with strangers!" Michael exclaimed, getting angry. "It's depressing!"
"So are long periods of celibacy," Brian retorted. "Right, Theodore?" Ted sent invisible hate rays in Brian's direction.
"Michael, sweetheart, you need a new boyfriend," Emmett suggested.
"Right, I'll just pick one off the boyfriend tree." He suddenly covered his face with his hands. "Oh, shit!"
"What?" Ted followed the direction of his gaze. "Oh." Debbie and Vic had just entered the bar.
Michael shook his head. "Sometimes I feel like I'm being stalked."
"Michael!" They'd been spotted. Debbie moved through the crowd toward where they were standing, Vic following more slowly.
"Hi, baby!" Debbie gave Michael a big kiss, leaving him wiping Jungle Red lipstick off the side of his face, and greeted the others almost as warmly.
"Hi, Ma. Hi, Uncle Vic."
"Hey, boys!" Debbie beamed at them. "What's on for tonight?"
"Not much," Michael answered, picking up his beer. "I was just going to finish this off and go home."
Brian looked at him disbelievingly. "It's only 10:30!"
"I've had enough." Michael rummaged through his pocket for bus fare.
"Stick around. I'll drive you home," Brian offered.
"Who are you kidding? If I stick around, I'll be driving you home. Let someone else be designated driver for once." Several coins and a business card fell out of his wallet. Debbie picked up the card.
"What's this? I didn't know you went to a chiropractor."
"Mikey's big date," Brian explained helpfully.
Michael threw up his hands. "Thanks a lot!"
"Date?" Debbie asked. "You were dating a doctor? A DOCTOR?!" Several heads turned in their direction. "Why didn't you say anything to me?"
"It was just the once."
"And he gave you his business card?" Ted asked. "How romantic!"
"I got that a couple days ago," Michael explained testily, trying to snatch the card back from his mother.
"A couple days?" Emmett repeated. "So you've seen him again."
Michael rolled his eyes to the ceiling. It was no use. "He came by the store, okay? We just went out for coffee and talked for maybe half an hour and that was it. No big deal." He succeeded in getting David's card back and quickly stashed it in his hip pocket.
"Well, if he came by the store just to see you, he must still be interested," Debbie said hopefully. "Did he ask you out again? Or maybe you could ask him out. Or else..."
"Will you stop plotting! I'm not seeing him again, so just drop it!"
"So who is this doctor? What's he like?" Debbie pushed on.
"Fine, don't take the hint. I'm leaving anyway." With a quick wave to his friends, Michael was heading for the door.
"What's his problem?" Debbie turned to Emmett. "What do you know about this man? When did they go out?"
"It was a little while back, Deb."
"Before he started seeing this Ben?"
"Yes. And I don't know much about the guy, honest. Just that he's older than Michael, rich, nice looking..."
"...and a doctor!" Debbie finished. "At least I know this is someone stable, someone Michael could count on, who'd be good to him..."
"That wouldn't last," Brian said firmly.
Ted gave him an odd look. "You don't think so?"
"What do you know?" Debbie answered indignantly. "I'd like to see my son with someone who'll take good care of him. For a change," she added with an accusing look at Brian.
Ted stood quietly, sipping his drink, lost in thought.
Lana Turner was trying to have a heartfelt discussion with her friend and housemaid, Annie, but their conversation was drowned out by laughter and a pair of amateur voice-overs.
"That doormat routine doesn't fool me! You're just waiting for the chance to put rat poison in my coffee and steal all my jewelry!"
"Damn right I am, white lady! And I'll donate the money to the Black Panthers!"
There was a knock at the door.
"And you can make your own damn martinis from now on!"
"You'll never scrub floors in this town again, bitch!"
There was another, louder knock.
"I'll get it." Emmett hurried to open the door. "Teddy! Hi!"
"Hi, Em." Ted entered the apartment. "What are you guys up to?"
"We're watching 'Imitation Of Life.'"
"And I put the Internal Revenue on your ass. No way you pay for this place working twelve hours a week!" Michael was saying from the sofa. "Hi, Ted. Come join us."
"Sure."
"Want a beer?" Emmett asked, moving toward the kitchen.
"Thanks." He focused on the TV screen. Lana reappeared wearing mink. "Annie! Are those PETA people waiting out front again?"
"I can just hear them--'How many innocent minks died so you could...'."
"Here you go, Teddy." Emmett handed Ted a beer and curled up on the sofa next to the others.
Ted accepted the bottle. "Lana's about to have fake blood thrown on her by activists," he explained matter-of-factly.
"Okey-doke."
Ted frowned at the movie. "Is this the one with the daughter who's trying to pass for white?"
"That's it." Michael giggled. "Wouldn't it be more fun if Sandra Dee were trying to pass for black?"
"Certainly more challenging," Ted replied. He looked at Michael. "You seem to be in a better mood."
"Better than what?"
"Than last time I saw you."
"Oh. Well...yeah."
"I was thinking about what your mom said the other night."
"What she said?"
"You mean about Michael needing to eat more?" Emmett asked, watching as Sandra Dee entered and cheerily greeted her fabulously blonde mother.
"Mama, I'm moving to Harlem, to be with people who understand me!" Michael interpreted for Sandra.
"No, not that he needs to eat more! I mean, what she said about David."
Michael looked away from the TV screen. "What? What are you talking about?"
"He made a point of coming back to talk to you. He must be interested."
"So?"
"So maybe you should give him another chance. You said yourself he seemed nice, right?"
"Yeah. I guess."
"Did he say he was going to call you again? Anything?"
Michael shrugged. "He gave me his phone number, said I should call him if I wanted to get together."
"You didn't tell me that part!" Emmett exclaimed. "Are you going to?"
"I don't know."
"You should.You definitely should," Ted said emphatically.
"Why?"
"You said you were tired of going home with strangers. So, like Emmett said, you need a boyfriend."
"It's not a bad idea, Michael," Emmett told him. "I mean, it couldn't hurt to go out with him once more, see if you hit it off."
"Exactly," Ted agreed quickly. "He seems like quite a catch. At least he can take you to nice places."
Michael looked undecided. "Places I'm not used to, mostly. He's older than me, he has money--I don't even know what he sees in me."
Ted's expression became gentle and sad as he looked at Michael, for just a moment. Then he added brusquely, "Well, here's your chance to find out. Come on, Michael--it's got to be better than going home alone every night."
"Thanks a lot!" Michael said indignantly. "You know very well I don't always..."
"You know what I mean."
"It's worth a try, honey," Emmett told him. "And I can certainly understand what the man sees in our Michael. It's time he knew it, too."
Michael gave his friend a quick hug. "Thanks, Em."
"You deserve a boyfriend if anyone does. You should go get what you want. Right, Teddy?"
"Of course." Ted sat back and took a long, satisfied pull at his beer.
John Gavin came on the scene. "Here's trouble," observed Emmett. They turned their attention back to the movie.
"So I was thinking maybe I'd do it."
"Fine." Brian switched on the windshield wipers as raindrops began to spatter down on the Jeep.
"But then, I was thinking, the first date was such a fucking mess, why would I go back for more? I mean, I don't have to call every guy who gives me his number, right?"
"Right."
"So maybe I shouldn't call him."
"Fine. Don't call him."
"But he's a nice guy. Nicer than most of the guys I meet, that's for sure. And he really seems to like me. And Ted and Emmett said I should give it a try."
"For fuck's sake! Call him, don't call him, just stop agonizing about it!"
Michael gave him a hurt look. "Sure, it's no big deal for you! You can have any guy you want, any time you want. But how often do I have an opportunity like this?"
"What opportunity? To waste your Saturday night going over wine lists and listening to anecdotes from his days in chiropractic college?"
"And how should I waste my Saturday night? Watching you pick up guys? Staying sober so I can drive you back home when you're done?" He stared at the pattern of raindrops on the side window. "At least I'd be with someone who gives a shit about me."
Brian looked at him in surprise. "Mikey..."
"Okay, I didn't really mean it like that, but it gets...lonely sometimes, never having someone who's just mine, you know. Someone who..." He broke off and went back to staring out the window.
Brian frowned at his friend's profile. Silently cursing to himself, he asked, "Where's this guy's phone number?"
"Why?"
"Just give it to me."
Michael pulled the crumpled card out of his pocket and handed it over. Without a word, Brian reached across the front seat and grabbed Michael's cell phone.
"What are you doing?" Brian dialled a number. "He's not even going to be at home, Brian, not this time of day. He's probably in his office." He tried to grab the phone back.
"Sit still." Brian started dialling a second number.
"Brian!" Becoming alarmed, Michael began frantically trying to get the phone back. Brian eluded him easily.
"I'm calling for Mr. Michael Novotny. Is Dr. Cameron available?" He turned and grinned at Michael. "Thank you. I'll wait."
"Brian, you asshole!"
"You're on, Mikey." He handed the phone back.
Michael gave him a look of pure desperation before taking a deep breath and putting the phone to his ear. A second later, he heard a click and a "Hello?"
"Um...hi," he said weakly. "It's me, Michael. Novotny." He listened a moment. "I know. I didn't expect to call, either. I mean..."
Brian kept driving, listening to Michael's side of the conversation with combined pleasure and exasperation. So cute, he thought, and so damn pathetic!
"Anyway, you said to call if I wanted to get together some time, so I thought I would. Call, I mean. If you still want to..." He listened again. "Tonight? I guess...yeah, that would be fine. Where?" He looked at Brian for help. "Oh, I don't know. How about...there's this restaurant downtown, called the Red Flower or something like that...Yeah, that's the one! How about meeting me there?" He paused again, with a self-conscious glance at Brian. "Pick me up? No, you don't have to...Well, okay then. When? Um...7:00? Okay. Sure. I'll see you then. Bye." He clicked the phone shut emphatically and glared at Brian, who looked back at him innocently.
"So? Got your big date all sewed up?"
"Tonight." Michael replaced his phone in a daze.
"Are you sure you want to wear that?" Emmett examined Michael's ensemble with a critical eye.
"Why not?"
"It's a little plain for a date."
Choosing his words carefully, Michael answered, "It's more like me. The last time we went out, I felt like I was all dressed up in a costume. I just want to be myself."
Emmett nodded. "I understand."
Michael looked anxiously into a mirror. "Is it really that bad?"
"No, honey, you look adorable. You're right. We can't all have the same tastes." He made a minute adjustment to Michael's collar. "Stop worrying. Just go have a good time."
Michael checked his watch: 7:29. At the same moment, he heard a knock at the apartment door.
"Punctual! That's an important quality in a man," Emmett commented, running for the door before Michael could move and swinging it open with a flourish.
"Hi there! You must be David," Michael heard him say. "Come on in. I'm Emmett, his room-mate."
"Nice to meet you, Emmett."
"Michael should be ready in a second. Can I get you something to drink?"
Michael took a deep breath and a last look in the bedroom mirror, and walked out to greet David.
"Hi."
"Hi." From the way David's eyes moved over him lingeringly, Michael concluded that his appearance was at least acceptable. "Ready to go?"
"Sure." He turned to Emmett, who was putting his keys into his jacket pocket. "You going out too, Em?"
"Of course, I'm going out! What else would I be doing on a Saturday night?" he asked indignantly. "I'm meeting Ted at Woody's."
"Okay. Have a good time."
"You too, hon. Bye, David. Nice meeting you."
"You too."
"'Night, Em." Michael followed David out the apartment door. He was pleased but a little embarrassed at the way David held the door to let him exit the building first, opened the car door for him, even checked to make sure his seat belt was fastened before driving away. He'd forgotten how attentive David was, the way his eyes kept leaving the road to glance at him as they drove. He was enjoying the attention.
The night wore on, and at last Ted and Emmett admitted they needed a break and some sustenance. As they moved toward the exit they spotted Brian leaving the back room.
"Should we ask him to come along?" Emmett wondered aloud, standing still.
"I suppose we should," Ted said reluctantly, raising his hand to get Brian's attention. "Brian!" Brian, still tucking in his shirt, came toward them.
"What's up?"
"We're going over to the diner for something to eat. Want to come?"
"I just..."
"I know, I know!" Ted rolled his eyes. "Didn't anyone ever tell you that the pun is the lowest form of humour?"
"Break it up, boys. I'm hungry!" Emmett grabbed Ted's hand and pulled him toward the exit doors.
Picking up their jackets at the coat check, they left Babylon and wandered down Liberty Avenue toward the diner. It was just after 10:00 and the place was crowded. They managed to find seats at the counter. Debbie ran by with a tray of used dishes. "Be with you in a second!" she called out to them as she passed.
"Why does everyone come here to eat?" Brian wondered. "The food is lousy. They've had three cases of food poisoning this year alone, but it's always packed."
"Location, location, location," Ted answered. "It's a short walk from Babylon, from everything on Liberty Avenue, in fact. Why else are we here?"
"You don't get this kind of ambience at Burger King," Emmett observed, his eyes following a vision in jeans and cowboy boots.
Debbie returned to the counter, looking rushed and tired. "What'll it be, boys?" She took a second look at their group. "Where's Michael?"
Brian smirked. "On the town with his dream date."
"With what?"
"With that doctor he went out with before," Emmett explained.
"Chiropractor," Brian corrected tersely.
"No fucking way!" Debbie exulted. "That's the best news I've had in...I don't even know how long!" She put her notepad aside and leaned on the counter. "So have you boys met him yet? What's he like?"
"Emmett met him," Ted told her. She turned to Emmett eagerly.
"Well, Deb, I only talked to him for a second, but he seemed nice." She was obviously waiting for more. "Um...tall, dark, really nice upper body..." Maybe not what a mother wants to hear, he told himself. "Well-dressed, very polite..." He ran dry, but fortunately Debbie seemed satisfied.
"That's fantastic! You know how long I've been waiting for him to meet someone nice?" She stood thoughtfully, deaf to the cries of neglected diner patrons. "I wonder how it's going? He doesn't have much experience with dating, you know. Maybe I should phone him."
Emmett laughed outright; Ted covered his eyes at the thought. "Yeah," Brian replied, "All he needs to enhance the evening's magic is a phone call from his mother."
Debbie was too distracted to provide more than a quick smack to his forehead.
"Debbie!" A call came from a front booth. "Can we get our food any time soon?"
"And can we order ours?" Brian added.
"Sure, sure," she said, hastily gathering her pad and pencil. "Be right with you!" she yelled to the booth. "Shoot," she ordered the three friends, too preoccupied even to follow up with a filthy double-entendre. They gave their orders quickly, before their window of opportunity vanished.
"Have you been here before?" David smiled across the table; Michael was trying not to appear nervous, and he found the attempt adorable.
"No, but I go past it all the time," Michael replied, glancing around at the interior of the restaurant. "I thought it looked like a nice place."
"It is," David assured him. "I didn't know you liked Thai food."
"I never tried it until recently. This guy I was seeing made some for me." David nodded. "Actually," Michael went on, "he studied cooking in Thailand."
"Interesting," David agreed. "More tea?" Michael held out his cup to be refilled.
"He travelled all over Asia last year--something he always wanted to do. It started when he got interested in Buddhism in college and then it developed from there."
"I see."
"It's nice. He's really into spiritual things, but not in a preachy kind of way--know what I mean?"
"Sure."
"He collects Buddha statues, all kinds of them. He says he likes to have them around, like they're little friends keeping watch over him all the time." He smiled at the recollection. "He has this neat way of putting things sometimes. I guess it's because he's a writer. It's weird. I'm not usually too good with words, but when I was talking to him, it seemed like I always knew what to say. He'd just listen, and I'd somehow be able to figure things out and put them into words."
"Interesting." David remarked, a peculiar expression on his face.
"And that was true even if we were talking about things I didn't know shit about. It was like everything was interesting--books, or religion, or even stuff like concrete."
David raised an eyebrow. "Concrete?"
"Yeah, he was telling me about when he was a kid in New York, he'd put leaves and stuff on wet cement so it would make pretend fossil prints on the sidewalk." He laughed. "Well, I guess it was the way he told it."
"I guess it was," David said with a half smile.
"And then I told him all about when I was a kid. It's funny, I remembered things I hadn't even thought about for years and years, let alone talked about. It was like I could tell him anything, like we'd known each other for our whole lives, when we really only met a little while ago."
David cleared his throat uncomfortably. "And you don't see each other any more?"
The animated expression suddenly died out on Michael's face. "No, not any more," he answered briefly, turning his attention to his dinner.
David watched him a moment. "Why did you break up? If you don't mind my asking."
"Why? Well, he's positive."
"Positive? HIV positive?"
"Yeah." He was silent, toying with his food.
"I understand. That really would be a hard thing to take on."
"Too hard for me. At least, that's what everyone who knows me thinks."
"Maybe they..."
"Look, do you think we could talk about something else?"
David wasn't sure whether to laugh or smash something. "Of course," he said as calmly as he could. "Do you follow football?"
"Brian!" Emmett said for the third time, finally getting his attention. "I said, we're leaving."
"So leave." Brian finished off his drink and looked vaguely around for the bartender.
"You should come with us."
"Why the fuck would I want to do that?"
"You can't drive yourself home in this condition."
"Then Mikey can..."
"Michael's not here, remember?"
A voice came from behind Ted. "I'll drive him." They turned to find Justin standing nearby, resplendent in cargo pants and a sky-blue tank.
"How do you manage to get in here?" Ted demanded. "I see them turning away underage customers all the time, yet they always let you through."
Justin smiled sweetly. "I have incredible powers of persuasion," he said, meeting Brian's eyes. Brian couldn't help but smile back.
"These stalkers can be useful at times," he commented, handing Justin his car keys. "There you are, boys. Your obligation to the safety of Pittsburgh's roads has been fulfilled."
Ted snorted. "Just once I'd like to see you stuck for a ride home."
"You drive carefully, sweetie," Emmett told Justin. He gave Brian a quick wave goodbye and he and Ted left.
"So it looks like I'll be driving you for a change ," Justin commented innocently.
"That'll be the day." Brian rose unsteadily to his feet and headed for the door, slinging an arm around Justin's shoulders. "But maybe we could take a little ride, if we're going the same way."
"Absolutely," Justin agreed. "Friends don't let friends go to bed horny."
Brian eyed him sternly. "It's not like I'd be stuck for company if you hadn't shown up."
"Neither would I," Justin answered calmly. "But you'd rather be with me than someone else."
"Oh, is that right? And what makes you so fucking sure of that?" It was a genuine question.
"Because you always do exactly what you want. If you didn't want to spend time with me, then you wouldn't."
Brian glared wordlessly, unable to argue. Justin gave him a tiny, Mona Lisa smile. Damn his pretty blue eyes, Brian thought, feeling his lips form a smile in return; and damn the way they see right through me without even fucking trying.
"And I'd rather be with you than someone else, too," Justin concluded. They'd reached Brian's Jeep; Justin unlocked the passenger door and opened it. Feeling as if he'd just lost a bet, Brian climbed in.
"I've never seen so many comic books!" David looked through the endless stacks in amazement.
Michael answered him absently. He was focusing on the fact that he'd finally got David back to his apartment, that he wouldn't be spending another night alone, that this was conclusive proof he wasn't a pathetic loser, all evidence to the contrary. And proof, also, that he was finally over Ben Bruckner. Pushing aside the idea of Ben, he joined David beside the bookshelves.
"Can I get you something to drink? I've got beer, juice..." He looked through the refrigerator.
"A beer, thanks." David accepted the drink, his eyes skimming Michael's body in a promising manner. "How long have you been collecting these things?"
"Since I was a kid." He waited for David to make the first move.
"Do you know how many you have?"
Michael frowned. Listen, big fella, I didn't bring you up here to talk comics. "I'm not sure. I never counted them." He moved closer.
David seemed uneasy. "Some of the older ones are valuable, aren't they? I've heard of old comics selling for..." He turned as Michael touched his shoulder.
Raising himself on his toes to allow for David's height, he kissed him firmly, a little uncertain about being the aggressor, but unwilling to be put off another second. David momentarily returned his kiss, then pulled away.
"Michael..." He set his beer down on the dining table.
"We'll talk later," Michael promised, trying to sound jovial. He slid his arms around David's waist, running his hands over his back, kissing his neck and ear, trying to elicit a response.
David looked down at him; Michael's face didn't reveal passion so much as grim determination. He started to move away once again, putting his hands on Michael's shoulders to set him at a distance.
His gesture caused Michael to feel unexpectedly furious. Come on, he thought, is it that much of a chore to fuck me once? He wanted to show David, show him that he may be pathetic, but at least he was one of the best little cocksuckers in Pittsburgh.
He looked at David with an expression that made him take a step back. "Michael," he said again.
"What?" It was said more harshly than was intended.
David sighed and threw up his hands helplessly. He sat down at the table. "Michael, is every date we have going to end up this way?"
"How? With you turning me down?" Michael was pacing restlessly across the kitchen doorway.
"No, with you wishing you were with another man."
Michael whirled to face him. "What? What are you talking about?"
"Come and sit down."
"I don't want to sit down. I want to..."
"Come on." He pushed a chair out. Grumbling, Michael sat.
"Well?"
"On our first date, you couldn't stop talking about Brian. How great he was, how hot he looked. That's why I wondered if you were available."
"Brian's not...we're just friends!" Michael protested.
"Then tonight," David went on, ignoring him, "all you could talk about was this Ben and how wonderful he is. It looks like Brian's been replaced."
Michael didn't answer, but the comment about Brian being replaced seemed to strike him.
"Unfortunately," David said lightly, "I didn't manage to arrive between one and the other."
"Look, I told you, Brian's my best friend. And Ben and I haven't seen each other for weeks."
"Maybe you haven't seen him, but he hasn't been out of your thoughts, judging from the way you talk about him." David looked at him sympathetically. "The only question is, why are you with me when you obviously want to be with him?"
"I told you, I couldn't deal with the HIV thing."
David shrugged. "I don't know you very well, Michael, but I get the feeling you could deal with it if you needed to."
"What do you know about it?" he muttered. When there was no response, he looked up at David, and was surprised at the strange, sad expression on his face.
"Actually, I know quite a bit about it. I was with a man for...let's see, until a month before our sixth anniversary."
"Six years!" Michael echoed, not sure where this was going. "And then you broke up?"
"No, then he died. About two years ago now."
"Oh!" Michael said, startled. "I'm sorry--that's awful!"
"As a matter of fact, it was awful. It took almost a year for him to die. He kept getting weaker, losing weight, being able to do less and less for himself. The last couple of months, I had to take a leave from work because he needed full-time care. Then I had to watch him die." David looked at Michael, who was listening wide-eyed. "And then deal with the funeral arrangements and everything that goes with it. And of course deal with accepting the fact that he was gone and never coming back. It was the worst time of my life. I can hardly believe, even now, that I got through it."
Michael looked horrified. "That's so...I don't know what to say," he said in a subdued voice.
"And if I could go back in time and meet Mac, knowing exactly what would happen six years in the future, I'd do it all over again."
"You would?"
"Without the slightest hesitation. I can't imagine passing up the time I spent with him and everything he meant to me--that we meant to each other--just to avoid the pain of that last year." He shrugged. "Of course, I'd rather he'd stayed healthy and I'd rather have had much more time with him than I did, but I've never had a second's regret about being with him. About a lot of other things, maybe, but not that." He looked Michael in the eye. "Do you want to know why?"
Michael nodded.
"Because from the time I met him, I felt--we both felt--as if we'd known each other our whole lives. Because I could tell him anything, even things I hardly knew I felt before I spoke the words to him." Michael dropped his eyes to the tabletop. "Because when we were together, everything seemed interesting and new."
Michael listened, frozen in place, his lips parted and his eyes focused on something far away.
"Because he seemed like something precious and amazing that had been miraculously dropped in my lap, that I wanted nothing more than to cherish and care for the rest of my life. Because," he concluded, his voice barely above a whisper, "when I was with him, I felt like a better person."
He stopped speaking, and Michael finally looked up at him. "Sound familiar?" David asked him gently.
Michael gave him a guilty look. "I'm sorry. I..."
"You haven't done anything you need to apologize for, Michael. I told you all this because I wouldn't want to see you make a decision you'll regret later."
Michael felt unsure about discussing all this with David, but it was such a relief to talk openly about his concerns with someone who understood, he plunged ahead. "But what if I can't do it? What if he gets sick or something and I can't handle it and end up making him miserable?"
"I have no idea if that'll happen or not," David answered. "Personally, I don't think it will. If you feel strongly enough about this man, you'll come through for him when it really matters. People just do. Look at me. I did what Mac needed and it seems to me you'd be better at taking care of people you love than I would."
Michael had no idea why David would think so, but there was conviction in his voice. "Maybe," Michael mused, "but it might be too late. I don't know if he'd even take me back after the way I..." He broke off.
"All you can do is try." David smiled sadly. "From the way you talk about him, it's important enough to make the attempt."
Michael nodded. He smiled apologetically at David. "I'm a memorable date, wouldn't you say?"
David laughed. "Not the way I'd originally hoped things would go, I must admit. But when you started talking about Ben, I could see I was out of luck."
"Then why'd you come back to my place with me?" Michael asked. He meant it jokingly, but to his surprise David looked away evasively.
"Well," he said, "let's just say I hadn't completely dismissed the possibility." He bit his lip and looked at Michael sidewise. They both laughed this time, dispelling much of the tension in the air.
"You know," David told him, "you're the first person I've asked out since Mac died."
"I am?" Michael rolled his eyes. "And you really hit the jackpot the first time out, didn't you?"
David chuckled. "At least it let me know I'm ready. For a long time, I thought I'd never be interested in another man."
"So I was your practice swing."
"I suppose you could put it that way." David sighed and rose from the table. "I should go."
Michael stood at the same time. Suddenly liking the man enormously, he blurted out, "You know what I'd like to do?"
"What?" David asked cautiously.
"I hardly ate anything at the restaurant, and I don't think you did either. You want to go get a burger?"
"Deb! That's all I know, I swear! Now will you let me have my breakfast?"
Debbie refused to relinquish the two eggs over easy, side of white toast, and decaf she was holding hostage. "Who else saw them? What time was this, anyway?"
"About 10:30 or 11:00."
"Dammit! I must've left just before they came in." She stood, tapping her foot in agitation.
"Debbie!"
"Oh, fine. Here you go." She placed the food in front of the young man, but remained standing at his booth. "What did he look like? Did they seem to be having a good time?"
"He looked good," the customer said around a mouthful of toast. "Great body. Dresses like a freakin' Republican, but nice looking. And yeah, they seemed to be getting along." She stood waiting. "Debbie, that's all I can tell you. I didn't eavesdrop on their conversation. They just ate their burgers, talked, left. Why don't you ask Michael if you want to know about his date?"
"I will. Okay, honey, enjoy your breakfast." She returned at last to the kitchen for her next order. She was handing out food and friendly advice to the next booth when Emmett and Ted entered the diner.
"Hi boys! Be right with you!" She was approaching with the coffee pot when Brian and Justin entered the diner together, and joined them at the counter. "Hi, Sunshine!" Debbie exclaimed, giving him a quick but painful pinch on the cheek. She took their orders and began pouring out hot coffee. "Sunshine," Brian whispered mockingly into Justin's ear.
"Cut it out!" Justin protested, obviously pleased.
"So where's Michael?" She turned to her son's room-mate.
Emmett shrugged. "He just had coffee at home and left early today, Deb."
"Shit! I wanted to ask him about his date." She placed cream and sugar in front of them and turned back to Emmett. "But you must know something about it. Didn't he talk to you after he got home last night? Or did he come home last night?"
"Would he stay over at a guy's place without calling first to tell you?" Brian asked sarcastically, bracing himself for the inevitable slap.
Justin turned to Brian. "Michael had a date?"
Emmett shook his head. "When I got home, he was already in bed, asleep." Debbie looked at him inquisitively. "Alone," he added.
She pondered the significance of this. "They were here last night, you know."
Brian laughed. "Here? I don't think so."
"They were!"
"Deb, I heard Mikey making the date. They went to some Asian place downtown."
"Todd was here late last night and he saw them eating burgers." They absorbed this information in silence, turning their attention toward their breakfasts. "Well, what do you think it means?" she demanded.
Brian sighed. "I think it means you should loosen the leash, Debbie. He's almost thirty. Let him manage his social life by himself."
"A fat lot of help you are!" Brian kept eating. Seeing she was without support from any of them, she turned indignantly and went back to serving the last of the morning rush.
Once she was out of earshot, Ted added, "I'll phone him when I get to work."
"Doesn't sound like there's much to tell," Brian said.
The simulated leather handbags with patterns of traffic signs printed on them seemed incredibly ugly to Michael, but this time he felt pretty sure it was a reasonable aesthetic judgement, not an emotional projection. The things were hideous. He arranged them on a display rack with detachment; he didn't take their ugliness personally. He'd spent the morning working quickly and methodically; the work helped him to think. David had given him a lot to consider.
"Hi Mike!" He turned to find Tracy approaching him.
"Hey, Tracy," he greeted her with a friendly smile. "Check it out: don't these bags make you want to puke?"
"Believe it or not, I've already sold two of them today just at my checkout alone," she laughed.
"I can only hope people are buying them just to take them home and burn them."
"Or to carry on Hallowe'en," she agreed. "Or to give them as gifts to people they really hate!"
"Where do they get his stuff, anyway?" He continued hanging the bags in a neat row.
Tracy watched him a moment. "Have a good weekend?"
"Me? Oh--yeah, pretty good. How about you?"
"Not bad. Went to the movies with Jill. You know Jill, right? She's been here about a month."
"Sure, I know her."
"She and her boyfriend were going to go see 'Spiderman' next Friday. I was wondering," she said, her words suddenly rushed, "if maybe the four of us could go. I mean, you're into comic book stuff, right?"
"Right," he answered, searching for an excuse.
"So maybe..."
Even as he scrambled for a way out, images came into Michael's mind. All in an instant he thought of Ben, of his talk with David, of the countless times he himself had hidden or withdrawn or copped out of something out of fear; and he thought of how much he genuinely liked Tracy and pictured her turning down dates with other men because she was waiting for him to finally ask her out. "Trace," he said, hanging up the last handbag and turning toward her, "when's your next break?"
"In about ten minutes. Why?"
"It's nice out. Want to get some coffee and go outside for a while?"
She beamed. "Sure! I'll meet you at the back entrance, okay?"
"Okay." He watched her return to her post, a bounce in her step. I've been such a shit to her, he thought; she's so nice, why would I let her go on thinking...stuff? Because I was scared, that's why. That's why I do a lot of stupid things. He went to the Big Q lunch counter and ordered two coffees to go.
Tracy approached the employee entrance with a smile that lit up her entire face. Watching her, Michael felt a pang of guilt for being so dishonest with her and for the pain he was about to give her.
"Hi!" she greeted him cheerfully.
"Hi. You take cream and sugar, right?" He offered her one of the cardboard cups he was holding.
"Thanks."
He pushed open the exit door. "Let's sit outside, okay?"
They sat on a rickety picnic table the staff sometimes used for lunch breaks. They chatted randomly about the store and the weather. Finally Tracy put in, "So, about the movie this weekend..."
"That would be fine." He swallowed nervously. "Actually, I was out last night."
"Oh, you were? On a date?" she asked, deliberately casual.
"Yeah." He noticed how her face fell. "Actually, you know the guy. David Cameron, the chiropractor you sent me to. Remember?"
She looked at him, uncomprehending. "Doctor Cameron?"
"It doesn't look like it's going to develop into anything serious, though. But I hope we can still be friends." He watched her start to take it in. "He's a great guy, but the truth is, I'm in love with someone else." She was staring at him as if he'd just grown a second head. "A man named Ben. We broke up a little while back, but I'm hoping we can get back together."
"A man..."
"I'd really like you to meet him, Trace, assuming things work out. You'd like him and...and I know he'd like you too." He broke off, waiting for her reaction.
Her face was going through the sad and comical changes which occur when a hurt, naive person is trying to appear cool and unaffected. "I see," she said, nodding in an imitation of unconcern. "So you're...so you're..." She stopped short. "I see," she said again.
"Tracy, I really should've told you about this before..."
"No, no..." She swirled her coffee in an agitated motion, causing it to spill over the top and onto her hand. Michael handed her a paper napkin, but she abruptly set her cup down and stood up. "I should get back inside. Thanks for the coffee." Without another word she turned and walked quickly back into the store.
Michael sat and waited until he was sure Tracy would be at her post before going back inside. As he went through the employee entrance, his phone rang. It was Ted.
"Michael!" He sounded cheerful, for Ted. "I wanted to catch up on your big date with the podiatrist."
"Chiropractor!"
"Right. So tell me how it went!"
"It was okay. Only...don't get your hopes up. It's not exactly a match made in heaven."
"Oh. That's too bad," Ted lied, leaning back comfortably in his chair. "Still, he's someone to go places with, right? Better than nothing."
"I don't need someone to go places with. I go out with you guys."
"Oh sure, but that's not the same thing..."
"I really don't think we'll be seeing each other again."
That was quick, Ted thought. "Well, I'm sorry to hear that. So will Debbie."
"Shit! She's going to give me such a hard time about this!"
"You know how mothers are. They all dream of having their kids marry doctors."
"Well, she's just going to have to adjust her dreams," Michael replied. "I can't spend my whole life trying to do what other people expect."
Ted frowned at the telephone in surprise. Michael sounded different in a way he couldn't put his finger on. He changed the subject. "You coming with us to Woody's tonight?" he asked.
"No, not tonight."
"No?" It had been a rhetorical question.
"I've got something I need to do."
No further explanation was offered. That wasn't like Michael, either. "Okay, then. I guess I'll see you around," he said, sounding a little offended.
"Ted--I'm not blowing you off, honest. I just have some weird stuff going on right now."
"At work?"
"Partly at work," he answered, peering across the store at Tracy, standing at her cash register. "I'll tell you all about it next time I see you. Okay?"
"Okay," Ted said. "Bye, Michael. Don't work too hard."
"Bye."
Ted clicked his phone shut with a snap, feeling relieved. Michael had had a chance with his dream date, had enjoyed it, and it had ended without his being badly hurt. Now he was single and unattached once again, and Ted was free to plan and fantasize about the time he'd finally reveal his true feelings to Michael and attempt to win him over. Without, of course, ever actually doing anything about it. Smiling to himself, Ted returned to his computer screen. How could life be any better?
Another grey squirrel. That made twenty-seven. Michael paced again across the sidewalk in front of Ben's apartment building. Happy, busy little grey squirrels, gathering their nuts, planning for the winter, but never knowing if they were going to spend a comfortable, nut-laden winter in their nests, or be squashed by a passing bus the next time they crossed the road. Michael empathized with their uncertainty. He turned and began to pace the opposite way, when he heard a sound. Looking up, he came face to face with Ben, approaching on his bicycle.
"Michael!" He stopped and swung himself off the bike, walking it toward his front door.
"Ben...hi! What a coincidence, running into you here!"
"Not really. I live here."
"Right." Michael mentally kicked himself. While he was trying to find the right words, Ben nodded to him and said, "Well, see you around."
The hell with the right words. "The truth is," Michael said hastily, following Ben to his front door, "I've been walking around out here for about an hour, waiting for you."
Ben took this in. "Would you like to come up?" he asked, without much enthusiasm. Michael nodded, noting that he might have his work cut out for him.
In the apartment, Ben remained cool and reserved, politely offering Michael a drink, responding to his warm-up conversation with brief, one or two word answers. Finally, Michael decided he had to come to the point.
"I've been thinking about you. A lot."
"I've thought about you, too," Ben admitted.
"The thing is, I think I may have made a mistake when I said I couldn't, you know, couldn't handle it."
Ben listened without expression. "Oh?"
"Yeah. The thing is, I listened to what other people were telling me, when I should've listened to myself." He stopped and took a deep breath, a little unnerved by Ben's indifference. "So I was hoping that you might be willing to give me another chance."
"Michael...it's not a question of giving you a chance. I don't want you to force yourself to get involved in something you don't feel you can handle."
"That's not..."
"Look, I appreciate what you're saying, but I want to be honest with you: I don't want to be with someone and have to wonder if he's always ready to jump ship if things get bad. I need to know he'll be there for me, no matter what other people are telling him. Understand?"
Michael nodded. "I understand." He felt deflated, embarrassed, scared. Long ingrained habit told him that this was his cue to give up. Looking at Ben, thinking about how graciously he accepted his condition, how kind and respectful he'd always behaved toward Michael, his recognition of Michael's inner Super Hero, he felt a new and less familiar impulse: to prove himself, to be the hero Ben thought he was.
Ben caught a change in Michael's expression, one that surprised him. Instead of looking dejected, his face took on a strength and resolve that seemed out of place under the circumstances. While he wondered what it all meant, Michael said simply, "I'd better be going. I'll be talking to you," kissed him briefly on the cheek, and walked out of the apartment without another word, leaving Ben blinking in confusion.
Brian's cell phone rang just as he was walking out his office door. He kept walking as he flipped it open. "Kinney."
"Brian!"
"Hey, Deb. What's up?" he asked, grabbing his coat and heading for the employee parking lot.
"That's what I'm trying to find out! I called Michael like 8 times this afternoon, and can't get through."
"Probably has his phone switched off." Brian groped for his car keys.
"Why would he do that?" she demanded.
"Uh...maybe because he doesn't want any phone calls right now?"
"Well, how am I supposed to reach him if he doesn't keep his phone on?" she retorted, clearly outraged at the idea.
"If it's urgent, I guess you could reach him through store security. But I think he's already left for the day." Something occurred to him. "Is anything wrong? Vic...?"
"No, Vic's fine. I've been waiting to find out how his date with the doctor went. He hasn't said a word to me about it yet, not one word!"
Brian reminded himself that clingy and overprotective aren't the worst things a mother can be. "He should be home by now. You can call him there," he suggested.
"Right! I suppose," she went on in an accusing tone, "he's told you every detail."
"Don't know a thing about it, Deb, and don't want to. If Michael wants to play breeder, he'll have to do it without me as a cheerleader."
"Michael isn't playing anything! He needs someone who'll love him and take care of him."
"Besides you."
"Yes, besides me! And I would've thought that someone who claims to be his best friend would care more about his happiness!" With a parting "Asshole!" she hung up, leaving Brian staring at his cell phone and feeling vaguely uncomfortable.
Ben checked his watch; no, not late. His yoga class didn't start for a few minutes yet. He approached the doorway and was stunned to find Michael standing there--not just his imagination this time, but the real Michael. "What are you doing here?"
"You told me such great stuff about yoga, I thought I'd check it out. I asked, and they said I could watch a class."
"And it just happens to be the class I attend," Ben said, not sure whether to be angry or amused. "What a coincidence!"
"Not really. You told me what time your class is, remember?"
Ben had no idea how to react. He had mixed feelings about Michael turning up again; in spite of what he'd said earlier, he missed Michael, and was not displeased at being pursued. He was a little surprised at Michael's manner: for once, Michael wasn't pleading, he wasn't apologizing, he was just confidently taking action. Ben decided to wait and see. Without another word, he entered the yoga studio, keenly aware of Michael following him.
The phone was ringing as Michael came through the door. He hurried to the kitchen to answer it. Before he could even speak, his mother's angry voice came through the earpiece. "There you are! Where the fuck have you been? I've been trying to call you all afternoon!"
"Why? What's wrong?" he asked, worried.
"Nothing's wrong, except that I can't reach you for hours at a time."
"Well, I was busy. Jeez, Ma, I talk to you two or three times a day. Can't I have any time to myself at all?" He leaned wearily against the wall. "What are you calling about, anyway?"
Choosing to overlook his inappropriate references to "time to myself" --for now--Debbie asked eagerly, "What about your date with that chiropodist?"
"Chiropractor."
"Whatever! It was, what, your second date?"
"More or less."
"Well, how'd it go? Are you going to see him again? When am I going to meet him?"
"I don't know if you are, mom. It's not going to work out."
"What, just like that? You haven't even given it a real try!" Michael held the receiver away from his ear a bit. "At least get to know him a while, see how it works out."
"Mom, we're just not right for each other. Let it go, okay?"
"Let it go? How often do you get a chance with someone nice? Not very! You know, in a couple of days you're going to be thirty, do you realize that? You're not a kid any more, running around with Brian! You have to think about..."
"Mom, I know that, and I am thinking about it. Trust me, I know what I'm doing. Okay?" He steered the conversation in other directions until his mother finally gave up, contenting herself with merely reviewing his food intake for the day, confirming that he would be at her place for dinner the following Monday, and reminding him to keep his fucking cell phone turned on in future.
She hung up the phone, far from satisfied. She knew this was her son's big chance and she knew he was making the wrong decision. Moreover, she knew who was responsible. She picked up the phone again, then changed her mind, hung up, and grabbed her coat. This would be better done in person. "Vic, I'm going out for a while!" she called to her brother as she went out the front door.
Minutes later, Brian's quiet evening at home was interrupted by a violent knock on his loft door, almost immediately followed by another, louder one. He pulled open the sliding door, stepping hastily back as Debbie burst in, her face a picture of righteous indignation. She turned on Brian. "You've ruined my son's life!"
Michael opened his locker and hung up his jacket, simultaneously planning what he would say to Tracy, to Ben, to his mother. So many people to win over! As he slammed the locker shut and headed out to work, Tracy walked by. "Tracy! Hey!"
"Good morning, Mr. Novotny," she said, striding by without looking at him.
He hurried after her. "Trace, wait up." She turned and looked at him, expressionless. "Won't you at least talk to me?"
"About what?"
"You know damn well about what! Look, I'm sorry I let you think...but I didn't feel like I had a choice, you know?"
"Mr. Novotny, I have to get to work. Excuse me."
He sighed in frustration. He couldn't blame her for being angry, but he was starting to realize how much he counted on her friendship, and hope he hadn't screwed that up for good.
Tracy continued to avoid him as the morning wore on. He had just finished chasing away a group of twelve-year-olds who were trying to set fire to the men's room wastebasket, when his cell phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Mikey! What's new at the Big Q?"
"Not much." He wiped soot from his plastic name tag. "I just caught these three brats trying to set the bathroom on fire."
"Some kind of political statement, no doubt."
"And they're talking about increasing the employee discount by one percent."
"I'll check today's 'Wall Street Journal.'"
"Smartass!"
"Mikey, what are you doing Saturday night?"
"Saturday? I'm not sure. Why?" He remembered the date. "Brian! You're not going to put on some stupid birthday thing, are you?"
"Hardly. Just you, me, and the guys. We'll eat out somewhere other than the diner, then hit Babylon. Fair enough?"
"I don't know if I'll be free."
"Mikey, if you don't come with us, it'll be your mother's place, a Betty Crocker cake mix, and stories about how many hours she was in labour with you. What kind of choice is that?"
Michael had to laugh. "Okay, I guess so."
"Good. We'll meet at the loft, 8:00."
"Unless something better comes along."
Brian didn't even bother to take that seriously. "Yeah. Unless that."
"So how are things at work?"
"I'm designing a campaign for a company that makes steel-toed work boots."
"Let me guess. You're going to use sex to sell them."
"What else is there?"
The phone call was cut short when Brian was called away.
During the lunch break, Michael made a point of joining Tracy and a few co-workers who were gathered outside the delivery entrance, smoking and chatting. She ignored him completely. The staff were exchanging jokes.
"I've got one!" offered one of the stockroom employees. "What's the difference between a faggot and a pothole?"
Michael felt Tracy tense beside him.
"You'd swerve to miss the pothole!" The punch line was greeted with gales of laughter, followed by a prolonged hacking cough from one of the smokers. Michael began edging away from the crowd, preparing to slip back inside.
"What's the matter, Tracy? Don't you think it's funny?" asked Marley, still chuckling.
"No, actually, I don't." Michael turned to look at her, catching her eye as she glanced at him for an instant. "I don't think jokes about wanting to run certain people over are funny. They're just mean."
"What's with her?" Marley asked the rest of the assembly. Michael quietly left the group and returned to the store, feeling a little more hopeful.
It was mid-afternoon before he had a chance to talk to Tracy alone. He approached her counter; when she pretended not to see him, he finally blurted out, "Trace, I just wanted to say thanks for, you know, for what you said to Marley before."
"I didn't say it for your sake," she replied, not looking at him.
"Well..."
"I think jokes like that are awful and I wanted to say so," she went on, "but that doesn't mean I want to talk to you or have anything to do with you."
"Tracy..."
"Because I don't like dishonest people, either." She turned away.
Michael gave up and left her to her work.
"Torso. Emmett speaking."
"Why the fuck haven't you called back?"
"About what?"
"You said you'd take care of the food and the fucking decorations! The party's tomorrow night! What the..."
"Brian, will you please calm down! Everything's under control. I didn't call because there was no problem." Emmett artfully arranged a selection of leather pants on a display stand. "What are you so worked up about? It's just a birthday party."
"I have no intention of getting a reputation for giving shitty parties, just because you can't carry out a simple..."
"Stop right there before you say something you'll regret. Nobody tells me I can't plan a decent party! Everything is going to be exactly the way you wanted it. Now stop worrying and just take care of your part of the arrangements, all right?"
"Don't worry about me!"
"What did you tell Michael?"
"That you, Ted, and I are taking him out for dinner and then Babylon. He's supposed to be there at 8:00, so you and Ted make sure he's there and make sure you don't show up early!"
"Consider it done. Does he suspect anything?"
Brian snorted. "Mikey?"
"He's not stupid, Brian, whatever you might like to think."
"I never said he was stupid. He's just gullible."
"Hmm." Emmett stood back and studied the overall effect. "See you at Woody's tonight?"
"Sure."
"Later." Emmett clicked off the phone and took a second look at the new items. Were orange leather pants right for him? For a fleeting moment he pondered whether they were right for anyone, then pushed the thought aside and moved forward to check the price tag.
A few minutes after hanging up on Emmett, Brian received another phone call.
"Is this Brian Kinney?"
"Yes, who's this?"
"David Cameron. We haven't met, but you left me a message about a party on Saturday..."
"Yeah, thanks for calling back. You'll be there, right?"
"Well, if it's a birthday party for Michael, maybe it would be..."
"Look, David, I know Michael gave you the old heave-ho, so don't start explaining it all to me."
"Listen, Michael is..."
"Take it from me, Mikey doesn't always know what's best for him."
Mikey? "I think I should explain..."
"Don't explain anything, Doc. Just be there. 7:30 sharp. You have the address?"
"Yes, but..."
"Fine. Just show up." Brian slammed the phone back down with a feeling of accomplishment.
"Tracy! Wait up!" Michael hurried out the back door of the Q Mart, struggling into his jacket as he tried to catch up with his friend. She turned and waited for him, but without any sign of welcome. He approached her hesitantly.
"Trace, come on. I know you're mad, but..."
"Why shouldn't I be mad? How could you lie to me like that?"
"You can go to work every day and listen to the daily fag jokes and still ask that question?"
This at least seemed to get through. "But I don't say things like that, Mike!"
"No, but the people we work with do."
"So what did you think? That I'd rush out and tell everyone?"
Michael shrugged. "To tell the truth, yeah, I did think that."
"Well, I wouldn't have!"
"I know, Tracy. But...I just didn't feel like I could take that chance. You know what it's like here. How would you like to be gay and working at the Big Q? Wouldn't you do the same thing?"
She seemed to relent a little. "I don't know. Maybe."
"It was still awful of me to lie to you, Trace, and I feel like a shit for hurting you like that, but I didn't think I had any choice!" Hoping for the best, he added, "Is there any way we can still be friends?"
To his relief she gave him a little smile. "Maybe we could be."
He beamed at her. "What about that Spiderman movie? Is that still on for tonight?"
"Movie? Oh, that. I already told Jill we wouldn't be going."
"I'm sorry."
"It doesn't matter."
"Well, what about next weekend? We can go see it together. If you still want to, that is."
When she smiled back he realized how much he'd missed her company. "I'd like that. I used to read 'Spiderman' all the time when I was a kid."
"You did?"
"Of course!"
"Wasn't he the greatest?"
"He was pretty terrific," she admitted, "but I still liked Wonder Woman the best."
Michael gave her a look of mock contempt and she laughed. "Next Friday?"
"You bet!" He moved off toward the bus stop. "Thanks, Tracy. See you tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow!" she called after him.
Although he was in no hurry, he broke into a trot as he rounded the corner, out of sheer exuberance. In some strange, alternate universe, he thought, that would be my future wife. In this universe, however, he still had another hurdle to overcome. He checked the time; Ben would be leaving the university in about twenty-five minutes.
Figuring out which exit door Ben would be leaving by took some doing. Since the weather was mild, Michael started with the assumption that he'd taken his bicycle to work. He'd seen Ben's bicycle the last time he'd visited the apartment and found it a beautiful machine-- beautiful and appealing and strangely erotic. On a less important note, it was also blue, with a black and yellow carrier which bore a 'Free Tibet' sticker. Moving slowly around the main building, Michael examined all the bicycle racks one by one until he spotted what was unquestionably Ben's bike. Noting for future reference that it was parked outside the north exit, he leaned against the opposite wall to wait.
He was none too soon. Less than three minutes later, Ben emerged from the doorway, carrying some books and a folder full of papers. Once again, he was startled to find himself facing Michael. "Ah--the ubiquitous Michael Novotny," he commented, but he was smiling as he said it.
"Hi." Michael stood, smiling back at him.
"There's no yoga class scheduled, if that's what you had in mind."
"That's fine. But it's such a nice day, I thought I'd walk you home."
"I brought my bike." Ben gestured toward the rack and began unfastening the lock.
"I could wheel the bike for you, if you want," Michael offered. "Or if you really want to ride, I could run along beside you."
Ben started to laugh in spite of himself.
"As long as you don't go too fast. Or through heavy traffic." With a sigh, Ben turned to face him. "Or," Michael went on, "I could carry the bike home, then come back here and..."
"Okay, okay Michael." Ben was laughing and shaking his head hopelessly. "Let's go for a walk."
Michael jumped up and reached for the bicycle. "That's okay. I'll take the bike," Ben told him, sliding his books into the carrier and wheeling it by the handlebars toward the sidewalk. Michael fell into step beside him.
"So how was your day?" Michael asked. "What do you teach in a Gay Studies class, anyway?"
"All kinds of things, but mostly I teach gay content and subtext in literature. Right now we're studying homoeroticism and gender roles in Shakespeare."
"You mean like women disguising themselves as men?"
"Things like that, yes." They left the university grounds and moved onto the public sidewalk. "What about you? How did your day go?"
"It was okay. I had to deal with a minor arson case."
"Arson?"
"Some kids setting fire to a wastepaper basket. Oh, and I came out to my friend Tracy."
Ben turned to look at him. "Seriously?" Michael nodded. "How did she take it?"
"Well, at first she was really mad. I didn't think she'd ever talk to me again. But we made up finally."
"Good." Ben studied him. "That took balls, considering what you told me about your co-workers."
Michael shrugged. "I should've done it a long time ago, really. I wasn't being fair to Tracy. I always knew that, of course."
"So what made you decide to tell her now?"
"I was just..." He remembered something Ben had said. "I was tired of letting fear control what I did with my life." He looked directly at Ben. "That's screwed things up for me badly in the past. I don't want to do that any more."
Ben looked back at him, nodding slowly. They walked in silence for a time.
"So," Michael said, "tell me about this homoeroticism in Shakespeare, 'cause I don't remember anything like that from high school English!"
They reached Ben's apartment building in what seemed like no time. He explained that he had an appointment early that evening, then papers to grade. Michael took that to mean he wouldn't be invited in, but to his surprise Ben went on, "but there's time for us to have dinner before I have to leave."
"Hi! How's it going?"
The passing gentleman made no sign that he even heard Ted's greeting. Michael watched his friend, finding himself wondering why he was so...like that. Ted must know that he was doing everything he could to ensure that he went home alone. Brian had even told him so to his face, but it hadn't made a dent. Didn't he want to actually find someone for real? What was holding him back? After all, Ted was thirty-four; he should have learned by now...Michael paused. He recalled that his own thirtieth birthday was tomorrow. Never mind Ted; what had held Michael himself back all this time? Although he couldn't bring himself to clearly form the answer, in his heart he knew the real reason. He'd been waiting for Brian, knowing full well that it was hopeless. And Ted...Ted was waiting for...
He didn't know if it was the rush of victory he still felt from knowing he was winning Ben back or from overcoming his fears and telling Tracy what she needed to know, but all at once Michael wanted to throw a wrench into the elaborate, self-defeating machinery that was Ted's social life. The next time Ted walked over to the bar to freshen his drink, Michael followed him.
"Dewars," Ted told the bartender.
Michael came up beside him. "Let me get that." He handed the bartender the price of a drink.
"Thanks." Ted raised his glass to Michael and took a sip. Michael took a deep breath.
"Ted..." How the hell do I say this? he wondered.
Ted turned to him. "What's up?"
"I was just noticing, there's that guy again."
"What guy?"
"You know, the one who's always checking you out whenever we come here."
"Is this an imaginary being we're talking about?"
"No--you know, Brian pointed him out to you that night he was giving you a hard time about..."
"Oh. Him." Ted glanced briefly at the man in question.
"Did you ever think about, say, buying him a drink?"
Ted shifted irritably. "Why does everyone want to tell me how to run my love life?"
"Well," Michael took a nervous swallow of his beer, "the thing is, sometimes we tend to think we want a boyfriend, a relationship, but we're too afraid to really try. We're scared to actually be loved."
"What are you talking about?"
"Let me finish," Michael said. "We're scared, so what we do is, we fall in love with someone we know we can never have, because it's just safer, you know?"
Ted's face began to take on a look of panic. He turned away from Michael and concentrated on the ice cubes in his glass instead.
"And we fantasize about the day that he finally realizes we're what he's been looking for, and all our dreams come true, only...only that day never comes, and time goes by, and eventually we turn thirty...or forty...and we're still alone."
Ted was still staring fixedly at his drink. Michael took his shoulders and turned him, looked him in the eye. "Don't let that happen to you, Teddy. You deserve to be loved for real." Ted looked so dismayed that Michael threw his arms around his neck and hugged him, hard. Ted hugged back, grateful to be able to hide his face, and grateful that Michael probably wouldn't expect him to say anything in response.
Brian woke and, without opening his eyes, reached across the bed to the pillow on the opposite side, expecting to encounter a mop of blond hair resting nearby. Instead he felt only the cool linen of the pillowcase. With a small grunt of disappointment, he opened his eyes at last, scanning the loft quickly, hoping Justin hadn't already left. It was Saturday; no work, no school, and that meant they were both free to spend the better part of the day in bed. His eyes found the boy at last, sitting on the arm of the sofa with his sketch pad on his lap, drawing furiously. Brian raised himself on one elbow to watch.
When Justin was drawing, he always looked like he was in another world. Brian followed the young artist's gaze, trying to determine what he was sketching. Justin looked down at his pad, stared intently toward the window, back down as his pencil danced across the page. then back to the window again. What does he see when he stares at something like that? Brian wondered. He was familiar with the experience of suddenly losing Justin's attention as his interest was caught by something--a fold of curtain, a bowl of green apples, a loaded ashtray--when he compulsively grabbed his sketchbook and rushed to get it down on paper. If his sketch pad wasn't at hand, anything would do; he'd draw on a take-out menu, a paper napkin, anything at all. He wasn't even drawing for practice or to show anyone what he'd drawn; he did it because he couldn't help it. He was an artist in the same ingrained way he was male or gay; it was part of who he was. Brian secretly enjoyed the way the young man accepted his own nature, neither flaunting it nor apologizing for it. It was astonishing in someone so young. Brian looked again at the south-facing window, wishing he could see it as Justin saw it. Justin could look at the most unimpressive objects and turn them into something extraordinary with a few moves of his pencil.
With a peculiar sensation, Brian remembered that Justin had drawn his portrait more than once. How did he see me then? Brian wondered. Just a collection of light and shadow, planes and angles? And how does he see me when he's not drawing me? He couldn't recall ever wondering such things about any other man. He shook off these unfamiliar thoughts and rolled out of bed, causing Justin to look up from his work.
"Hey, you're up!"
"Hey." Brian stood a second and took in the glowing smile he'd been favoured with. Sunshine. He wanted to take a look at the drawing, but turned toward the bathroom instead, giving Justin a chance to put his sketch away if he didn't want it seen. He returned to his bedroom, pulled on a pair of jeans, and padded across the loft. Justin was still drawing, more slowly now, adding the finishing touches. Brian looked over his shoulder. It was a simple sketch of the loft window, showing the corner of the neighbouring building through the glass pane. The view through the actual window seemed like nothing special, but in the sketch the window frame and the adjoining building made a pleasing pattern of angular shapes, softened by the flowing, semi-transparent curtains. Brian squinted and leaned closer to the page. Perched on the building's upper ledge was a starling, captured with just a few pencil strokes that brought out its alert stance, half-folded wings. Brian looked out the window again; the bird had flown after unknowingly posing for Justin's drawing. He was impressed. "Not bad," he offered casually.
"I know," Justin responded just as casually. He closed the sketchbook and stood up.
"What's on for today?" Brian asked, and grinned at the look of lustful speculation on his young lover's face.
"Well, it is Saturday, after all." Justin moved closer and slipped his hands into Brian's pockets. "So we have time for a nice, long, leisurely...breakfast."
Brian gave him an incredulous look. "Breakfast," he repeated.
"Mm-hmm. I need eggs, toast, cereal..."
Brian reached around him and let his hand cover one well-shaped buttock, giving it a gentle squeeze. Justin pretended to struggle out of his grasp. laughing. "...lots of hot coffee..." He gave a little shriek of laughter as Brian pushed him against the wall, pinning him loosely by the wrists.
"You're actually going to spend your free morning eating?"
"We've got all day," Justin pointed out.
"Afraid not. Emmett arrives in four hours to start working on the decorations. The caterers arrive thirty minutes later."
"Michael's party! I forgot!" Justin glanced around the loft. "You're going to an awful lot of trouble over this."
Brian released him and moved away toward the kitchen. "It's not every day your best friend turns thirty." He started filling the coffee maker with water.
"No, but..." Justin examined him, his head tilted to one side thoughtfully, "this is bigger than a party. You have something special planned. What is it?"
Brian frowned into the coffee pot. How does the little bugger pick up on these things? He prided himself on having the perfect poker face. It worked on clients; it even worked on his friends and relatives. Why didn't it work on Justin? He switched on the coffee maker and turned back to Justin. "You'll see."
"Tell me!"
"Don't want to spoil the surprise."
Justin rolled his eyes. "Fine. Have your little surprise ending." He opened the refrigerator and started taking out eggs and orange juice. Brian noticed for the first time that they were actually following Justin's suggestion and making a large hot breakfast. When did we decide that? he wondered.
He set out the dishes and cutlery needed for Justin's usual lumberjack's breakfast, while going over the plans for the birthday party in his mind. Everything had been timed perfectly for maximum effect, and he fully expected it to go off without a hitch. He had avoided thinking too much about the way it would inevitably end-- with Michael leaving the party, hurt and furious; maybe even with Brian losing him for good. He didn't want that; he wanted things to go on just they way they always had. He wanted to be able to go on counting on Michael forever. Why am I doing this? he asked himself.
He knew why: because it was what Mikey needed. He needed to let go and move on with his life, and there was only one way that would happen: Brian would have to make it happen. I should've done it years ago, he thought. Why didn't I? Why now?
"Scrambled okay?" Justin was cracking eggs into a bowl.
"Just one for me," he replied, setting the milk pitcher on the counter where Justin could reach it. A thought nagged at him, refused to be pushed away. You know why. It's because of him--because of Justin. Brian moved the breakfast dishes around unnecessarily, trying to distract himself from ideas he'd rather not face.
Justin place two glasses of orange juice on the table, letting his hand rest for just a second on Brian's forearm as he passed by. Brian reached out and snagged his wrist, holding onto it momentarily before letting him move on. Like five minutes is too long to go without touching him, he sneered at himself. His eyes followed Justin, watching the rumpled, partly dressed boy distribute food onto the two plates, every movement a little display of unconscious grace, every movement endlessly fascinating to him. Justin looked up and gestured that all was ready. Brian sat down as Justin poured out the coffee.
"Thanks." Brian took a sip, still watching Justin, who smiled at him. The smile was knowing, teasing; it implied as clearly as words, "you can't take your eyes off me, and I know it!" Damn the little twat anyway!
"So you'll be there for the party?"
"Wouldn't miss it," Justin assured him. "I have to be there when you unveil your big secret, after all."
Brian nodded, looking away. The real secret, his nagging other self reminded him, is that you're doing all this because Justin makes you want to do the right thing; because when you're with him, you feel like a better person. Kinney, he jeered to himself, you sound like a fucking Hallmark card. Brian took a quick gulp of coffee. "Fuck!" He grabbed the orange juice and swallowed most of it.
"Too hot for you?"
"Yeah."
Justin jumped up and filled a glass with cold water, and handed it to Brian. "Don't worry," he said soothingly, "we still have three hours and thirty-five minutes for me to help you feel better."
Tracy carefully slipped the gift wrap, bow and birthday card from her locker into her handbag, checking first to make sure that Michael wasn't nearby. She was looking forward to the birthday party, now that she and Mike were friends again. For a while, she'd considered calling that Brian guy and telling him she wouldn't be there. Now she couldn't wait to see Michael's face when he opened his gift. She'd found a 1968 Sub Mariner in good condition and had thrown in a Wonder Woman action figure as a joke. He'd love it! She wondered for a moment why she couldn't seem to meet a straight guy she could have as much fun being with as Mike; then her innate optimism kicked in and she assured herself that he was out there and she'd find him eventually.
"See you tonight," she called as she walked away.
"Tonight?" he asked, puzzled.
"I mean...tomorrow. See you tomorrow," she corrected quickly.
"Okay." He gave his friend a little wave and headed to the locker room. He gathered his belongings and was about to leave when he spotted a pink windbreaker draped across the back of a chair. He grabbed it and ran to the exit. "Tracy!"
She turned around and came back. "What's up?"
"Isn't this your jacket?"
"Oh! Yes, it is. Thanks." She accepted the jacket with a smile. "It's so nice out today, I didn't even think of it." She stopped and turned as she heard footsteps on the gravel behind her. Michael froze at the sight of the man approaching them.
"Ben!"
"Hi." Ben walked up to them.
"What are you doing here?"
"You've been turning up every time I walk outside. I thought it was my turn."
They stood and smiled idiotically at each other for several seconds before Michael remembered they weren't alone. "Oh--Tracy, this is Ben Bruckner."
"Right, the man you told me about!" Ben gave Michael a quick glance at that. "Nice to meet you."
"You too, Tracy."
"Well, I was just on my way home. See you tomorrow, Mike."
"Bye, Trace," Michael replied, but his attention was on Ben, not on her.
Ben turned toward the parking lot entrance. "Ready to go?"
"Sure," Michael replied, falling into step beside him. "Um...where are we going?"
"I thought I'd show you where I work. Okay?"
"Yeah, that's fine, but how come?"
"The fact is, I was hoping you could help me with something."
"Something to do with your work? I doubt it." Michael laughed.
"Why not?"
"I never got better than a C in English."
"But you know all about comic books."
"So? You don't study comic books at university." He looked questioningly at Ben. "Do you?"
"You can study anything at university. The thing is, my class got into a discussion about gay images in popular literature. I could discuss novels and short stories, but when they moved into things like graphic novels, I was clueless. I told them we'd continue the discussion Monday and, of course, that was just playing for time." He gave Michael an apologetic look. "I'm sorry to put you to work like this, but do you think you could give me a crash course? Just enough so I can talk about it with my students next week?"
"Of course I can! I never mind talking about comic books." Michael was delighted that Ben had felt free to ask him for help. It seemed like a step in the right direction.
The hallways were mostly empty when they arrived at Carnegie Mellon; classes were out for the afternoon and only a few students remained. Ben unlocked the door to his office and led the way inside. Michael looked around curiously. The room was lined with bookshelves, most of them filled to capacity, the overflow books stacked horizontally on top of the others. The large central desk was covered with more books, stacks of students' papers, pens and pencils. On one corner stood a small brass Buddha and two framed photographs. Michael tilted his head to examine the photos. "Who's this?" he asked.
Ben picked up one of the frames. "This one's my mom and dad and my sister. The other one is a picture I took in Thailand. I don't know why I keep it here. It just makes me happy to look at it."
"Makes sense to me," Michael offered, studying the photo. "Well, should we get to work?"
Ben was astonished with the sheer volume of information Michael had at his disposal. He answered all Ben's questions fully; found web sites to illustrate what he was saying; described examples of comic book characters which changed sex, were of two sexes simultaneously or of neither, and which bore gay characteristics in either an overt or a symbolic way. Ben took notes throughout.
"This is incredible!" he told Michael. "I could easily teach an entire class just on gay imagery in comic books!"
"Really? Would they really want you to do that?"
"It's a possibility. I'll give it some thought." Ben glanced at his watch. "Look at the time! We've been here for hours!" He looked at Michael apologetically. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to keep you working this long."
"It wasn't work," Michael insisted. "I enjoyed it."
"Even so, the least I can do is buy you dinner." Michael saw no reason to argue.
With very little discussion, they decided on picking up Chinese take-out and bringing it back to Ben's apartment. Again, Michael felt that things were moving in exactly the right direction.
They ate and talked, falling into easy, comfortable conversation, almost able to finish each other's sentences. Ben was showing off souvenirs of his travels when Michael decided the time was right. He felt Ben had forgiven his rejection, that they were feeling closer than ever. Without a word, he leaned over and covered Ben's mouth with his own. He was disappointed with the reaction: Ben accepted but didn't really return the kiss. After a moment he slowly moved away. Michael tried not to show his disappointment. "I'm sorry, I thought we were..."
"Michael, I don't mean to seem..." He glanced around the room as if searching for the words. "I just need to know that you're sure about this."
"I am sure!"
"Don't tell me that just because you think that's what I want to hear."
"I'm not! I know better than that. If I lie to you now, eventually it has to come out and make things worse than ever. Right?"
Ben nodded, listening carefully.
"Look, someone who didn't take this seriously might just tell you it's not important, that he didn't care that you were positive and it didn't bother him at all. But you know he'd be lying if he said that. Anyone'd be at least a little freaked out by it. Right?"
Ben blinked at the harsh honesty of the statement, but nodded again. It was true.
"Well, I'm not lying to you. I told you why I thought I couldn't handle it. I'm not used to trusting my own judgement. If my mom or my friends tell me something's too much for me, I tend to believe them. But this time they were wrong. I don't want to do something I'll regret just because I'm scared."
"But if you're really that afraid..."
"Of course I'm afraid! You should be too!" Michael said emphatically. "It's fucking scary! Being in love is scary, and having a boyfriend is scary, and not knowing how well I'll handle it if you get sick, that's fucking terrifying." He waited a moment. "Well, isn't it?"
"I suppose it is," Ben admitted.
"But you said you didn't want to run your life according to what you were afraid of and I don't either. I know we should be together. It's the right thing and you know it too." Again he waited for Ben to confirm it, but Ben merely watched him.
"I don't know what's going to happen with us in the future, but I do know that you're the man I'm going to be thinking about on my deathbed, and I'll either think about the time we had together, or else I'll think about what a dick I was for screwing up my chances with you because I was such a pathetic snivelling coward." Michael stopped. He'd run out of arguments and desperately racked his brain for the right words to say that would convince Ben. Then he looked up and saw the expression on the other man's face and realized he'd already said them.
"What the fuck do you mean, you can't find him?"
The party was well underway. The loft had been transformed into something resembling an orgy scene from a movie about the fall of the Roman empire. Nearly naked men danced on tabletops, the lighting was subdued, the music just a trifle loud, the liquor flowed freely, the scent of amyl nitrate filled the air. Balloons and streamers added an incongruous child's-birthday touch to the decorations. The only thing missing was the guest of honour, who was currently not to be seen.
"He didn't come home after work, and he didn't call," Emmett explained for the third time.
"Well, did you try to call him?"
"Of course we tried to call him!" Ted replied. "We've been calling him for the past hour! He's got his phone turned off."
Swearing quietly but intensely, Brian grabbed his own cell and punched an automatic dial number. He listened briefly. "Straight to voice mail," he reported. "Mikey? Where the hell are you? You're supposed to be meeting us at the loft, remember? Get your ass over here!" He clicked it shut. "Shit! All you assholes had to do was get him here on time. Was that too much for you?"
Emmett stared back at him. "Stop shouting at us, Brian! What were we expected to do, attach a tracking device to his ear?"
Brian looked around distractedly. Things were already starting to get behind schedule. The little motherfucker had better show up soon, or..."Fine," he told them. "If either of you get a call from him, tell him to get over here, now!" They moved off, Ted toward the bar, Emmett in search of a likely dance partner. Brian studied the crowd. Debbie was still talking to that David character, so she hadn't figured out yet that Mikey was running late. Maybe things would work out after all. He moved slowly through the room, unobtrusively checking to make sure the party was proceeding as it should. As he circled the room, he passed Debbie, who waved him over.
"What time was Michael supposed to get here?"
"Around 8:00," he answered nonchalantly.
"Well, it's almost 9:00 now!" she exclaimed.
"Yeah, he may be running a little late, Emmett says."
A thought occurred to her. "He didn't know David would be here, did he? Maybe he'd feel uncomfortable about..."
"He didn't know anyone would be here, Deb, except me, Ted, and Emmett. It's a surprise party, remember?"
David, who was still standing next to Debbie, interjected, "You know, it's possible he's with..."
"Let's not speculate about where he might be, Doc. Just be ready for when he does arrive."
"'Ready'?"
"To yell 'surprise'." He moved off again, taking out his phone and leaving a second, more threatening message. As he paced through the loft he passed David, who was now with Lindsay, discussing modern art. Pretentious asshole! He was putting his phone away when he heard the loft door sliding open to admit a late guest. He reached new levels in profanity when he saw Tracy walking through the door, carrying a bottle and a gaily wrapped gift. The main event was about to get underway, and that pathetic little bastard was still missing. It's okay, he told himself. I can adapt the plans. This can still work. Thinking quickly, he moved forward to greet Tracy before anyone else could get to her. "Tracy! How nice of you to come to Michael's surprise party." He took her arm and led her further into the room.
"I wouldn't miss it for anything!" she replied. "Where should I put this?" she asked, indicating her gift.
"Allow me." He added the present to the stack arranged on a side table, thanked her insincerely for the inexpensive liquor and added it to the well-stocked bar. "Now, why don't you let me introduce you around?" With a last, hopeful glance at the entrance--still no Mikey --he led the girl toward David, whose conversation with Lindsay had finally ended. "David!" he said, loudly enough to cause heads to turn in their direction, "This is Tracy."
"Tracy! Yes, we've met," he replied, taking her hand cordially.
"Oh, sure we have! You're Mike's chiropractor..."
Making sure they were being observed, Brian threw an arm around David's shoulders, startling the man somewhat, and added in a clear voice, "He's also his boyfriend!"
"Ex-boyfriend," Tracy corrected.
Brian froze. "What?"
"They're not dating any more, Brian. Michael's seeing a new guy."
"Ben," David added helpfully.
"That's right, Ben," she agreed. "Sorry, you don't mind my mentioning it, do you?" she asked David.
"Not at all, Tracy, but thanks for asking."
Alphonse and motherfucking Gaston, Brian thought. "What the fuck are you talking about?" he demanded.
"Haven't you met him yet, Brian? I thought Mike might be bringing him to the party. But he didn't know there was a party, did he?"
Brian was trying to string words together when he noticed the other two looking quizzically toward the loft door. He spun around, hoping to see Michael arriving, but instead saw a tall, muscular figure in a garish, form-fitting costume. He seemed to be trying to find his way. Approaching Brian, he asked tentatively, "Brian Kinney?"
"That's me," Brian replied, not feeling altogether certain.
"You requested a super hero?"
An assortment of Buddhas were arranged on the bedroom shelves, all different, all of them smiling down benevolently on the tired, happy couple curled up together in the middle of the bed. Michael's eyes wandered slowly from one to another: the big, fat one; the peaceful, meditating one; the pretty one who looked as if he were dancing. Why is he dancing? Michael wondered. I'll have to ask Ben some time.
The room had become almost dark and Michael realized he'd missed dinner with the guys. Oh well, he thought. They'll forgive me. I'll just tell Brian that something came up. He chuckled to himself. Ben shifted and murmured in his ear, "What's funny?"
"I'm thirty," he replied, letting his fingers run through Ben's hair.
"Hmm? You're what?" Ben asked, his voice muffled against Michael's shoulder.
"I'm thirty years old today."
Ben raised his head to look at him. "Is that right?" he asked. "So, did you get what you wanted for your birthday?"