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      	  Coda: Men Who Talk 
 by Evans  

 Disclaimer: See beginning of series.

 Author's Notes: When I first posted the A to Z series on the Benny and
Ray list there were some comments that perhaps Benton had gotten off
lightly for what he'd done. And some readers who fed back like Tyz really
liked the OMC. So even though I thought I was done, the ideas started to
come again and this is the result.

 Story Notes: The Mountie suffers a lot in this one. There's wasn't really
anything I could do about it. Since the other parts of this series were
all told in Ray's POV this one is in Benny's and OMC Jersey's POVs 
This could be considered an extension of the A to Z alternate ending.

 

 

 We are sitting outside on the patio of one of the neighborhood
restaurants. Ray loves sit to outside. There is always an eclectic mix on
Sunday mornings. Of course it leans heavilytoward same sex couples. Ray
explained to me that in the year we were apart, he wouldcome here to soak
up the sense of community, the sense of belonging. And I have witnessed
that community in the Sunday mornings that I have been here. He wants to
share that with me. This with me. He reads the sports section of the Los
Angeles Times and drinks his coffee while I sip my herbal tea and watch
him.

 What's left of his graying hair is shower damp as is mine. We made love
this morning before taking our showers separately. He had phone calls to
make. It did cross my mind that maybe one of the calls was of a personal
and not professional nature but I don't know that I am allowed have those
thoughts. Living in West Hollywood certainly agrees with him. I don't know
if it's the sun or the neighborhood but my husband glows. He's thrived
here. I can not help but still refer to Ray as my husband though we have
not had another ceremony. It doesn't seem to bother him.

 When I returned from Arizona, from mourning Stan in the way I could not
when he died, Ray handed me the ring box I left behind. My heart
constricted for a moment. I thought that he was giving it back, that he
was sending me on my way. Instead he extended his hand and I placed the
ring on his finger where it belonged. The sun glints off the band as he
turns the pages of the paper. 

 I have learned in the last year that I can't live without him. Not
really. Like Stan I think my self-destruction was always...is always...
was always a near thing. Certainly I am able to breathe and to eat and to
perform my work duties, but those things are not truly living. I existed
in the year that we were separated. In that same time, Ray found places
where he liked to eat regularly, like this one. He made friends. He had a
regular basketball night. He...met someone. Someone who is fond of him.
Someone who is in love with him. 

 We, Ray and I, in the wake of the divorce and my talks with the Sister,
have become men who admit our feelings. Who talk about things `straight
up' as Ray says. We both agree that not talking about what happened to us
individually, while he was in Las Vegas, has done damage to our
relationship, to each other, damage to others that might never be
repaired. I believe that Stan was a casualty of that as much as he was a
casualty of Stella's selfishness. As men who now talk, Ray told me
everything about Joseph Alta including the fact that he suspected Alta was
in love with him. He assures me that those feelings are not reciprocated.

 I am certain that Joseph Alta is in love with him. It was there in his
eyes for me to see that day at the restaurant. His affection for Ray, was
badly hidden behind the protective fire in his eyes.

 "He tells me that you don't fuck people over just cause you're wrapped in
a package that could get away with murder. But we both know he isn't
exactly objective. If you're playing him, I will show you what it means to
really fuck someone over."

 I can see why Ray would be attracted to someone like Joseph Alta. Not
someone like, to Joseph Alta. Obviously the shared culture, family
background. Alta speaks his mind, he's passionate. It takes passion to
start your own business, especially a restaurant. Especially in this area,
from what I have read recently, restaurant success can be a bit elusive in
Southern California. I sought out several reviews in various local
publications and they each give the food at the Trattoria high marks. The
atmosphere is described as romantic, intimate without being cloying. Ray
and I concluded our evening after dinner there in bed, the same as he and
Joseph. The reviewer may be more correct than he knows. Ray is with me,
and after what I've done I should be happy. I can not say that I am
unhappy, perhaps a bit unsettled. He hasn't been to the Trattoria since I
returned. I know that it's out of respect for me but I feel .....he
glances up from the paper and smiles at me. That blinding, almost shy
smile.

 "Perhaps Ray we should invite your friend Joseph to have dinner with us."
His smile falters and then fades. Very methodically, he folds the sports
section and places it beside his plate. His eyes have gone a deep, deep
forest green. Oh dear, this is not quite the reaction I was expecting.

 "Why would we do that?"

 "Well, he is your friend and ..."

 "Let me get this straight. You want to break bread with Jer...Joseph
Alta?

 "I...he's your friend Ray and I would be remiss if I did not acknowledge
that truth."

 "Okay, okay. You understand right, that if...that if Stan were here, if
Stan had survived I wouldn't be okay with sitting across the table from
him having dinner."

 I am immediately sorry I brought this up in a public place. I didn't
realize that it was perhaps something to be discussed in the privacy of
Ray's apartment. In my periphery, I can see a gentleman lean toward us,
nearly imperceptibly. It is certainly not my intention to become this
morning's entertainment. Ray leans in and drops his voice several octaves.
I can hear him well, I doubt our eavesdropping friend can.

 "What's this about Benny?"

 "It was not my intention to disrupt your life, your routine."

 "I was single before, but I'm not now." He waves his left hand at me.
"You already marked me baby." And he adds even more quietly, "I'm not
gonna hurt him like that." He opens the sports section and starts reading.
The gentleman that found our conversation so interesting has rejoined his
friends' conversation. I guess the matter is closed.

 There are some things that are harder than I thought they would be. Or
are as hard as they should be. I still mourn Stan. Now that I've left most
of the numbness of last year behind, that grief is sometimes overwhelming.
The magnitude of the situation. Stan is gone and Ray was for a time. May
be again. 

 I've begun running in the mornings. Sometimes, that's when I allow myself
to feel the sadness, the loss. The strangeness of this life as a divorced
man who while apparently reconciled is still not married. The first time
we were married, I thought of the ceremony as primarily for Ray. A
fulfillment of a cultural need perhaps. I did not need that particular
ritual. We were together, I understood his commitment to me, the depth of
his love for me. The joy and excitement that suffused him during the
preparation was beautiful to watch. Yes, some of it was tempered by the
difficulty with Francesca, but overall in planning our wedding Ray was in
his element. And I felt cared for in a way I never had before. I find now
that even though we are wearing the rings, I long for the ceremony. I long
to stand in front of our family and friends and make my pledge. I can see
why he would not want to do that again. I understand that Ray wouldn't
want to stand in front of his God with me again and hear me make a promise
that I've broken so badly already. My understanding does not lessen my
desire to be married to my husband, legally. The irony does not escape me.
It is my fault. Not because of the adultery, that connection is obvious. I
am the one that brought the dissolution of marriage papers into our home.
I believe that on that awful night when Ray was so angry with me and I was
so locked inside myself that I couldn't make any attempt to quell his
anger, had he not been able to put his hands on the documents that I had
already signed, we might still be married. I think that he might have
simply gone to his mother's house to cool down, but eventually he would
have come back. 

 Despite the amount of time that's transpired, in some ways it feels as
though a lot of this is just happening. The conversations Ray and I are
having, are conversations we should have had the day, the week Stan died.
Conversations we should have had the minute he returned from Nevada. I'm
not very good at this, at being the bad guy. If this reconciliation fails,
it might not be a bad thing for Ray's friend to make good on his threat.

 **************************

 It's Tuesday night. The fourth Tuesday night that Ray and I haven't had
dinner together. I haven't spoken to him since his Pin-up ex came to town.
The next morning he did call me. I didn't think that he would, figured
that the male model would have chained him to the bed. That's what I
woulda done. But no, instead this guy had done some kind of wham bam thank
you sir. Ray said something about his ex having business to take care of
in Arizona. Ray's voice broke over the word 'business' and I wanted to
punch that stupid son of a bitch and shake some sense into Ray. I know he
has blinders on when it comes to this guy but geez. 

 It was weird. For someone that's as hung up on his ex as he seemed to be,
Ray very rarely talked about his husband. Not even one of those sentences
that started my ex and I use to....You'd think his marriage, even the name
of his husband was some kind of state secret. Ray could play things very
close to the vest. So I had to use my imagination. 

 Looking the way he does, I'm sure the ex has to beat them off with a 2 x
4. He probably just decided one day hey what the hell and had a little
taste. Maybe it had been happening all along and Ray just finally got the
goods on him. 

 Looking the way Ray does, his beauty, his style is not something everyone
can appreciate. The first time that I saw him in the dry cleaners, he was
giving them oh so detailed instructions about how to clean one of his
suits. I was a few people behind him in a line of people dropping off
their cleaning by 9 so they could get it by 5. And some of them were
getting impatient. Some of them were rolling their eyes and I could see
them thinking "fussy Queen." But I thought this man knows quality,
appreciates quality. Those are things I appreciate. Quality is important
to me in the service I provide at the restaurant, in the food that I
serve. When he was done explaining to the dry cleaner and turned to leave
there was this wall that came up right between him and the rest of us
standing in line. He barely looked at any of us. But I looked at him and
that was it for me. Yeah, the nose, that nose. Ray's nose is really like a
complex work of art. I could stare at his nose for hours. I can make him
blush just talking about how much I like his nose. Maybe some people get
stopped by that nose without giving the whole package a look. But the nose
is topped by eyes that are so much like emeralds and equally stunning and
followed by a mouth that smiles, the most breathtaking smile when he's
happy. He smiled a lot when we were together. 

 I don't think of myself as a romantic. I coulda been probably, but I
think that got squeezed out of me when I was kicked out of my house. A
sixteen year old on the street can't really afford romance. And back then
I still wasn't 100% sure of what I was. It didn't scare me that I had a
thing for guys. It scared me that I was alone.

 I didn't see it coming. I don't even think I knew what hit me until I'd
been on my own for months. One of my younger sisters busted me. I had a
friend. Neither of us really knew what we were, but because we were
friends it seemed normal. And we hadn't done anything, hadn't touched each
other. 

 I didn't think anyone was home that day. My sisters were supposed to be
at dance class or something. My brothers were at football practice I
think. Sebastian, we were on the baseball team together, everyone called
him Bats. I called Bats to ask about our math homework. He was always
better at geometry than I was. And we started talking about other things.
And we were so into it that neither of us heard the extension click.

 At dinner that night the whole family was around the table and my
thirteen year old sister opened her mouth. Mimicking one of the things I'd
said to Bats on the phone that afternoon. *Sometimes when we're alone, I
just want to kiss you.* Then she made these kissing sounds. I was trying
not to freak. My mother asked her what she was talking about, then told
her not to make fun of me. It was perfectly alright for me to want to kiss
a girl. Then my father asked me who the girl was. And I tried to catch my
sister's eye but she was too busy giggling and she blurted out that it
wasn't a girl on the phone. I guess I could have made up a lie, said that
I was rehearsing for some school play or that I was practicing what I was
going to say to a girl with one of my buddies. But I was so stunned that I
didn't say anything. My father made us both get up from the table. Made us
both go to our rooms. My father went to my sister's room first and I guess
had her tell him everything she heard. Bats' answer to me had been "Then
why don't you?" Other things were said but in a house where anything that
seemed slightly unmasculine was deemed faggish or queer, my wanting to
kiss another boy was enough. When my father came to my room, he gave me
five minutes to get my stuff together. Five minutes. I just took my
wallet. 

 Ray wasn't smiling the night he and the ex were at my restaurant. I was
stunned at how good looking the ex was. Not because I didn't think that
Ray could get someone like that, I just... I don't know. I think I always
imagined the ex was more like Ray, looked more like Ray. But this guy,
goddamn. 

 "I'm afraid to be alone with him." Wow, I'd never figured that. I mean I
know it happens. When I was a waiter, I worked with a guy once whose
boyfriend used him as a regular punching bag. I let him stay with me when
he was trying to give his boyfriend space to cool out. I tried to talk to
him but you can't make people hear what they aren't ready to hear. I guess
Ray read what I was thinking.

 "Oh, no, no man it's nothing like that. Not exactly. Yeah when I left, I
wanted to clean his clock, but I never laid a finger on him while we were
married. He never laid a hand on me either. I just...It's gonna be intense
you know and I need some neutral ground, a public place maybe." I offered
the restaurant. Sure not exactly neutral, but I think Ray mighta needed
someone to get his back in case it went sour. And of course I had my own
reasons. 

 They'd already been at the table for about an hour when I popped my head
into the dining room to get a look. Ray had his arm around the Pin-up's
shoulders and appeared to be whispering in his ear. 

 The Pin-up nodded a couple of times and looked like he'd been crying. Oh
yeah, he was giving the one two punch, gorgeous and distraught. The ex
certainly knew how to play the game. I knew then that Ray was going back.
Even before he came to the office to tell me. But I think that if I play
it right, I can get Ray back. He put thousands of miles between himself
and the man he married. There have to be reasons for that, good reasons.
History or not, one sobbing apology can't possibly overcome that much
pain.

 At first I think I'm seeing things, but no, Ray is walking through the
front door. He smiles at me and butterflies start doing the happy dance in
my stomach.

 "Hey Jersey." 

 "Hey stranger." I'm gonna play this cool. He looks so sharp. We always
dress for dinner and Ray is wearing an olive drab colored suit with a
crisp white shirt and a tie that picks up both the green of his eyes and
the suits darker hue. He greets me as always with a kiss on each cheek.
And then suddenly his hand is at the nape of my neck, his fingers tangled
in my hair.

 "You cut your hair."

 "Yeah." His fingers caress my hairline.

 "It looks good on you." Ray pulls his fingers out of my hair and strokes
my cheek. "I'm sorry," he says before pulling his hand completely away. He
sweeps his left hand down his tie. I startle a couple steps backwards. 

 "Jersey, you okay." He reaches for me and I flinch. "Jeez, you could warn
a guy Ray." His hand hovers in the distance between us. Confusion skirts
across his face. Then he looks at his hand and his face turns red."

 "I...it's not what." He snatches his hand back. I try to recover, get
back to playing it cool. "So the Pin-up finally decided to make an honest
man out of you?" I want him to smile, to laugh but he doesn't. He just
reaches for me again with the hand that doesn't have his wedding band on
it. I meet him half way and let him pull me into an easy hug. "We need to
talk," he whispers close to my ear. 

 For the last four Tuesday nights I've kept our table reserved. When I
lead us to the table and take away the reserved sign, Ray just looks at me
for a long moment before he finally sits down.

 "So, I'm that predictable." He grins at me. "No I am," I say as I motion
one of my waiters to come to the table. "Does he know where you are?"

 "Yeah, this was sort of his idea."

 "Oh yeah?"

 "Well a compromise. He wanted to invite you to dinner."

 "When?" I'm thinking bring him on. I'd like him to see how Ray and I are
together.

 "What is the matter with the both of you? There isn't going to be any
dinner except this. This is the dinner."

 Ray's telling me a story that I don't understand. I mean I get the
basics. Apparently the Pin-up's got a crazy ass ex who robs banks and
frames cops for murder. Yeah I'm still trying to wrap my head around the
fact Ray's a cop. Shit, his ex is a cop. 

 The only cop I really knew was my Uncle Richie. And he was one of those
old school head- busting NYPD cops. When you heard that some cop had
caused trouble, we always held our breath waiting to see if Uncle Richie's
name was gonna be mentioned. But I have to put that aside because of this
thing Ray is telling me. Yeah, I understand the story, but I guess I don't
understand what it means, why he's telling it to me like this. He should
be telling it to me like this story is about the first time his asshole ex
, and there are no two ways about it, this man, this gorgeous asshole,
hurt him. But no, Ray's tone is all wrong. His words are burying the
asshole, but Ray looks like the one covered in shit. If his sorry ex had
done to me what he did to Ray at the train station, he'd be six feet in
the ground. 

 And Ray looks at me with fear. I can see that he's waiting for me to
acknowledge that I understand. But I don't, I can't. At least not the way
he wants me to. I'm pissed.

 I'd been holding his hand since somewhere in the middle of the story and
he's only just now realizing. He starts to pull it away, but I apply
enough pressure so that he knows I don't want him to do that.

 "Gimme a minute Ray."

 "Okay." His answer is so quiet like he's waiting for me to come down on
him. And I wish I didn't need the minute to get it together. If I didn't.
I could tell him right now that I don't think he was wrong to shoot. The
only thing wrong about what he did was the intent. He shot with the wrong
intent. 

 But I think the next thing that comes out of my mouth is really
important. He told me that story for a reason. I think he wanted to scare
me. Maybe back me off more. I am scared but it doesn't stop me. I stroke
my thumb across the back of his hand. "I want to tell you something too."

 "Okay."

 I have his complete attention. Such beautiful eyes. "I've been seeing
someone for about six months now."

 There is a quick flash of what looks like anger in his eyes. That gives
me the stones to continue. "This guy, he's coming off a bad break up so I
think it's easier for him to think we're just hanging out. You know, just
friends, but it's more than that to me. To him, if he's honest."

 Ray opens his mouth to say something, but I hold my hand up to stop him.
"I didn't interrupt your story Ray." He closes his mouth, but his eyes are
wide.

 "Yeah, this guy thinks that I'm dating half the town, but the funny thing
is ... I hang out with a few guys and I let him think that I'm dating 'em
but it's mostly just hanging out. Shooting the shit, some of them I know
from when I was coming up in the restaurant biz so it's a lot of shop
talk. But it's nothing serious. It's nothing horizontal. I haven't slept
with anyone since the night he and I were together. I haven't wanted to be
with anyone else."

 I continue to watch Ray's eyes. Watch all of what I've said find it's
home. "Christ, Jersey," he says quietly and squeezes my hand. I have one
more thing to say. I hope it will seal a deal between us. 

 I really love Ray and I am not just going to give him to the asshole.
When people get caught doing something they know they shouldn't, they say
one thing just led to another. As though they aren't to blame. The truth I
think is more like they made a series of choices that led to a consequence
that makes them other than who they thought they were. Sometimes it makes
them the bad guy. Ray told me a story and I've made a choice. 

 "I know I can't touch the cop thing. You rely on each other to stay
alive, save each others' lives. I can't imagine what it's like to have to
rely on another person like that everyday. I can't imagine what that must
be like when that person is also your husband. I...I'm not gonna ask you
to leave him ...I...you..."

 "It's okay Jersey." 

 "I...if you want me Ray, you can have me too. When you need to, when you
want to, you can come to me. Anytime."

 His hand suddenly jerks out of mine and Ray is up and moving away from
the table toward the back of the restaurant, through the kitchen to my
office. I'm right behind him and get my hand out to stop the door just as
it almost slams in my face.

 Ray's back is to me. His hands are braced against the wall. I shut the
door quietly and wait. He whirls on me. "What the fuck Joseph? I don't say
anything. I just hope that the kitchen noise will drown out the shouting.
"You don't want," Ray starts, "You don't want to be anyone's bitch. Why
would you do that Joseph, why would you say that?"

 I close the distance between us so that I am close enough for him to
touch me if he wants to. "You're right, I don't want to be anyone's
bitch." And Ray understands what I don't say. I think he already
understood but didn't want to, wasn't ready to. He pulls me into his arms
and holds me for a long time. He says "Oh God, Jersey, I really fell off
the roof," quietly a couple of times and then doesn't say anything for a
while. His hands move through my hair gently as I hold on to him tightly.
His lean body trembles against mine. "Let me Ray," I whisper against his
ear. "Let me take care of you. I promise if you let me I'll take really
good care of you. Let me carry the weight." 

 **********************************

 "I think I fucked up Benny." I had heard my husband come into the
apartment and waited for him to come to bed. When he didn't, I came here
to the dining room. He's sitting at the table in the dark. I've grown
accustomed to the fact that he drinks. Usually only wine with dinner. But
still it was a little bit of an adjustment. A Cabernet is the only alcohol
that Ray keeps in the apartment, but there is a bottle of Absolut Vodka on
the table. He must have picked it up on the way home. He can't have had
time to pour more than the single glass in front of him now. My fingers
itch to take the bottle away, except I'm not sure what I would do with it.
I think that I might simply pour my own glass. Without bothering to turn
on the light, I sit opposite him. When my eyes fully adjust, I see the
glisten of tears on his cheeks.

 "Jersey's in love with me." There is a kind of wonder in his voice. He
doesn't bother to use the distancing first name of Joe or Joseph. I
suspect that whatever happened between them tonight makes it impossible
for him to do so. "I know." He laughs but there's no mirth to it. He takes
a sip from his glass. "No, I mean really down deep in love with me. He'd
let me...I don't even know what you call it when it's guys. He'd let me
ruin his life, make him less a man. Make him my bitch." 

 He takes a gulp from his glass and manages to get it down without
choking. I'm not sure exactly what Ray meant by the last part. I could
hazard a guess but as my nieces say, 'I do not wish to go there.' It does
flicker in my mind that Joseph Alta loves the way Ray Vecchio does. 

 Marriage is important, the vow sacred to my husband. I believe that
despite the legal dissolution of our marriage, he still felt married to
me. I believe that is what makes it so hard for him to fully acknowledge
his feelings for his friend. He does not want to cheat on me, the way I
cheated on him. Maybe I counted on his feelings about marriage to ease my
way when I sought him out. Again, I have been selfish and caused
additional pain to a man I love more than my own life. 

 "I release you Ray."

 "What Benny?"

 "I release you. From your promise to me, from our marriage vow."

 "Benny...."

 I pull my wedding band off my finger for only the second time since we
were married. The ring makes a small sound when I place it on the table. I
swallow and clench my hands into fists so that I do not reach for the
bottle, so that I do not reach for my husband, my former husband. 

 "We are divorced Ray. I am your ex-husband. We...you..."

 I do not want to be the bad guy, so I shall hold fast to being some
semblance of the opposite. "I believe there is a flight to Chicago in the
afternoon. I should have no trouble gaining a seat."

 My husband, my former husband, my ex-husband extends his hand to the
center of the table. I extend mine until the tips of my fingers touch his.


 "I still love you Benny. When I...when I left, it wasn't because I wanted
to find someone else. This is not what I, I didn't know this would
happen."

 "Understood. Joseph is lucky to have you Ray."

 "He...he really loves me Benny."

 And apparently the converse is true although Ray is still unable to admit
it outright. "As would anyone that has had the privilege to know you Ray."
The words are like glass in my mouth. I don't think I'll ever stop
bleeding.

 ******

 One year later

 Francesca Vecchio is getting married. And we, each of us in the family
have our tasks. I am as surprised as anyone that I am still in Chicago,
that I am still called family. I considered the year after Ray and I were
divorced as perhaps charity. And a display of the remnant of hope that my
husband and I would reconcile. When I returned from California, Ray's
mother was the first person I saw. We had a quiet meal in the middle of
the day. I explained what happened in West Hollywood. Before I could tell
her that I would resign the Task Force and sell our house, she interrupted
me.

 "Benton, you were my son before you married my son. You were my son when
my son was gone. One Raymond is so far away, another is lost to us
entirely." She crossed herself. "Must I lose one more son?"

 I had never considered what it must have felt like in the last two years
to lose the three of us. I put aside all thoughts of leaving the Vecchio
fold.

 It's been slightly more than a year since that afternoon in my former
mother-in -law's kitchen. I have already begun to lay the framework for a
transition that is now inevitable.

 Ray and Joseph have a child. A twelve year old boy. As I've put together
from conversations that are always hastily ended when I enter a room.
Joseph has a godson whose parents were recently killed in a car accident. 

 Ray told his mother that they'd talked about Ray adopting him and I
translate that to mean Ray and Joseph are getting married. Ray would want
the parents of his child to be properly married. I am at once happy for
him and saddened that this is perhaps another area where, in the years we
were married, I hurt him unintentionally. We never talked about a family
of our own. Each child that called me Uncle when were married and still
calls me Uncle today, I love intensely. I feel immeasurable pride when I
see Tony, Jr. excelling at the things I've taught him. But the truth of
these relationships is that they overwhelm me. I love the children, but I
could not be with them all the time. I could not parent, I am fit only for
avuncular role.

 As the nature of my relationship with Ray became more transparent. Angela
Vecchio's visits and participation in family events lessened. By the day
of our wedding, the ceremony was the first time we'd seen her in nearly a
year. There was no animosity or hostility, simply a changing of the guard.
Joseph Alta deserves a chance to be loved by this family the way that I
was, the way that I am, without having to do so in my shadow. I have
already made arrangements with a realtor to begin showing the house. I
have two tasks for Francesca's wedding. 

 During the wedding, I will play the guitar as Ray escorts her down the
aisle. My pre-wedding task is to fetch Ray and his family from the
airport. More than a few of the Chicago Vecchios have tried to take this
particular job off of my hands, but I feel this way is best. It is better
for the three of us to know immediately if this will work. If we can
survive the close proximity of the car ride from the airport, then we
should be able to get through the wedding festivities where there will be
many opportunities to put others between us.

 They are standing next to the baggage claim carousel. Ray's back is to
me. His hand rests lightly on the shoulders of a brown skinned boy, their
son. Joseph is facing me, but his head is low as he listens to something
Ray is saying. They are so deep into each other's personal space that
there is no mistaking who they are to each other. I feel a tightening in
my chest that I was expecting. I knew that this would not be easy. As I
school my features into a pleasant nonchalance, Joseph looks up at Ray and
then his eyes catch mine. I recognize his look immediately. It is cousin
to the way he looked the night he threatened me. I see his love for Ray
and the protectiveness. What is missing this time is the hostility. Ray
catches Joseph's gaze and turns around. I have only a split second to make
certain that my eyes reflect nothing more than happiness at seeing an old,
dear friend.

 A huge grin breaks out on his face that lights his eyes. Those eyes. Ray
is genuinely happy and his smile is contagious. I can feel myself breaking
into an answering grin, though it's the last thing I want to do.

 He takes one long stride to close the distance between us as he extends
his hand. "Hey, Benny it's good to see you."

 "You too Ray." He reaches behind him. "Come on guys." The boy comes up
smiling shyly with Joseph behind him. 

 "Oscar this is my friend Benton Fraser, Benton this is Oscar."

 Oscar extends his hand. "It's nice to meet you Mr. Fraser." 

 I shake his hand then he takes a step back behind Ray. Ray turns toward
his partner and the quality of his smile changes. It's for this man alone.
A smile, that I never saw in five years of our marriage or in the time
before our marriage. A brand new smile. It strikes me that I may not be
able to do this. I should have allowed one of Ray's cousins to perform
this task. 

 Perhaps for Ray's sake Joseph Alta and I elect to behave as though this
is our first meeting. Or maybe it is that Joseph is as able to be a
graceful winner as I am a graceful loser. I extend my hand to him. "Benton
Fraser." He grasps my hand firmly. "Joseph Alta, come on Oscar let's get
the other bag." And Ray and I are left alone. 

 "What, did you get the short straw, nobody else wanted to do the airport
run?"

 "On the contrary, quite a few members of the family volunteered to do
this in my place."

 "Yeah?"

 "Yes."

 *********************************

 I wait with Oscar for our other bag to come off the carousel. Ray looks
okay. His body language is fine. I'm half listening to Oscar while I watch
Ray over the top of our son's head. He's smiling at the Mountie and the
Mountie is smiling back at him. From any distance, if you didn't know
them, you would think it was just two friends shooting the shit. Yeah, the
Mountie. That's what Ray calls him when he talks about him now. But, he
hardly talks about him at all. 

 If I hadn't already known that his name was Benton Fraser, today I would
have found that out for the first time. As it is, this is the first time I
think that Ray has actually said his ex's entire name out loud in my
presence. 

 The night that I offered to be Ray's piece on the side, after he left the
restaurant, I still wasn't sure if I would see him again. After closing
for the night, I distracted myself with doing my online supply orders then
I popped Ray's name and Chicago into a search engine. I didn't know what
to expect or even really what I wanted. I guess I just wanted to know more
about the things Ray couldn't seem to tell me. I wanted to know more about
the asshole. I only really had the assholes first name but I had the fact
that Ray was a cop, the ex was a cop. 

 Holy God. The hits on Vecchio and the Chicago PD kept coming. The first
link to an article in the ChicagoTribune gave me more than enough to work
with. I was online for at least four hours, maybe longer. Reading
everything on both of them from the Chicago news links. And then on the
ex, Benton Fraser, in the Canadian paper archive links. The man was like
some kind of RCMP superhero. Tragic superhero, both parents murdered.
Shit. A Canadian Batman. But the more I read the more I was convinced that
I had done the right thing.

 Benton Fraser wasn't capable of taking care of Ray. In all those years,
in all those stories, he continually put Ray's life on the line when he
didn't have to. Ray, who was the sole support of his mother and sisters
back then, whose death would have left them to fend for themselves. What
the hell could Benton Fraser have been thinking? I felt better after the
reading. I had always believed it, but then I knew it as a fact. I could
offer Ray something his ex never could. Stability. Security. He needed me.
Needs me. 

 I'm not worried about him seeing the Mountie on this trip. I trust Ray
and strangely I think I trust the Mountie. He seems to be a man of some
weird kind of honor. Ray is no longer his and I believe he'll respect
those boundaries. I am a little concerned about Ray's family. I know
friends who have been in similar situations. You split up, your family
still loves your ex. I guess I'm worried that once they meet me they'll
try to convince Ray to come back to Chicago. To go back to the Mountie.
I'm a good person, I know that. I've just never had to meet anyone's
parents before. Obviously, I know from experience that families don't
always know the best thing to do, that they don't always do the right
thing. I'll take them on if I have to, but I hope it doesn't come to that.


 ****************************************************

 It took us, Raymond Vecchio and I some time to finally get together as a
couple. It's only fitting that complete dissolution of our marriage would
take three years. 

 I try to watch Ray as though we are strangers. As though I don't know
what it's like to have those long muscular legs wrapped around me. As
though I have never seen the flex of muscle and tendon in his arms as my
arms are held over my head and his anchoring weight presses me into a
sleeping bag for two. As though there was never a first time when he
whispered to me, in the moonlit night, You know me and the outdoors ain't
exactly kissing cousins baby, but I've fantasized about taking you like
this... under the stars, in the open. About loving you for the rest of my
life." 

 Given that Francesca has just been married and that Ray is about to be
married again, I suppose it is fitting that I would dream about my
honeymoon. The dream made somewhat flesh again with the appearance of Ray.

 As I watch him shamble toward me, in a suit I don't recognize, I feel a
sense of finality that I didn't feel when I received our divorce decree in
the mail. It tore me apart to leave him in Los Angeles a year and some
months ago but even then it didn't feel like a file marked 100% done.
Perhaps because I was still embraced as a member of this family. But now
as Raymond Vecchio comes toward me, I no longer see any traces of me on
him. 

 The suit is a superficial indicator. He moves differently, smiles
differently. There were nuanced differences in his speech pattern as he
gave the wedding toast. 

 "I tried to call but the voice mail kept picking up." Ray says to me as
he steps onto the porch. Ah yes, I have been out here on the porch swing
for about forty-five minutes. My ex-husband leans against the porch rail
opposite me. His arms fold across his chest and he crosses his legs at the
ankles revealing socks that so perfectly match the suit and are so Ray for
just a moment I think about asking him to leave. 

 "Sorry for just dropping by."

 "That's fine Ray. I have been sitting here for a bit. I wouldn't have
heard the phone."

 "I can't believe it Benny, Frannie...our Frannie is married." We both
laugh.

 "Yes, it is quite remarkable. I believe that she's truly found the right
man."

 "Yeah, well...we'll see about that." Ray runs his hand across his scalp
and I brace myself. I know what's coming. I wish there were some way I
could delay this inevitableness. 

 "Benny....Jersey and I -"

 "Are getting married." I interrupt. Not polite, but it seems I do not
actually wish or need him to say the words.

 "How do you know that Benny. I haven't told anyone."

 "You have a child."

 "Oh, oh yeah. He's a good kid, been through a lot. He needs a stable
family."

 "Indeed." 

 I plaster what I hope is a genuinely congratulatory smile on my face. The
mask would be helpful were it not for the fact that Ray can see through
it. 

 "What about you Benny, you seeing anyone?" Oh, oh. I hadn't expected
that. And therefore I have no time to blank my face. I know that I am too
late to keep him from seeing some of it. I hope all he sees is the yes.
Yes, I have met someone in a manner of speaking. Another RCMP officer, a
Toronto task force liaison. 

 As part of my task force responsibilities, I attend regular briefings on
efforts to secure the Canadian/USborder as well as other anti-terrorism
measures. The conclusion of my business in Toronto coincided with a
reception that I was unable to bow out of gracefully. 

 We both found ourselves on the balcony, in the middle of the evening,
attempting to escape the maddening crowd. He was the first to break the
silence with the quiet reflection, "My husband loved to dance." 

 As it happened we had a lot in common. All the wrong things Sister Agnes
insists. She is quite disappointed with me. My new friend and I are both
loners, both fortunate enough to have had the loves of our lives for a
brief time, both responsible for destroying that love. He and I both live
on a daily diet of sorrow and regret. And although we have both reverted
to our natural solitary states, we have been conditioned to regular
affectionate touch, to comfort, to intercourse. We can both be as we were
before, alone, but there is an undeniable ache. The ache to touch and be
touched. These were the things we discussed the night we met. Our aching
so acute we were unable to censor our tongues in the presence of a fellow
traveler. He does not tell me that I will get over Ray. He understands
that I will not. I do not tell him that he will get over the loss of his
husband, who was killed in the line of duty, the morning after they'd had
a fight and spent the night apart. 

 Ray has seen more than a simple `yes' and he takes a step. I see his hand
stretch toward me. "Don't touch me." 

 I hadn't meant to say that so harshly. I hadn't meant to say it out loud.
Thank God for the grace granted by having known someone for a number of
years. Ray doesn't allow my outburst to ruin what are truly our last
moments together. What are the final strokes of the dissolution of our
marriage. His hand hovers for a second then disappears from the air. He
knows that I'm fucked up. Ah, well, so that's what it takes to get that
bon mot, if not actually out of my mouth, at least into my head. I suppose
there is no harm in thinking it again. I, Benton Fraser, am fairly fucked
up. 

 The front door to the house opens and startles Ray.

 "What the -, " I slide between the two of them. "Ray, this is Ana
Martinez. She's showing the house." Ray covers his shock like the
professional he is and extends his hand to her. Ms. Martinez in turn
introduces the couple she's been escorting through our house, my house. We
five chat amiably for a few moments, then she walks the prospective buyers
to their car and pantomimes that she will call me.

 As soon as he is certain they are out of earshot, Ray says quietly.
"You're selling the house."

 "Yes."

 "There's no sign in the yard."

 "No."

 "The family doesn't know yet."

 "I did not wish to overshadow your sister."

 I'd like to make an offer." Another thing I wasn't expecting.

 "Ray, really. I don't think..."

 "I'd like Frannie's kids, Oscar to have the chance to play in the tree
cabin. I'd like to keep the house in the family." I am utterly speechless.


 "When are you leaving?"

 "I had intended to go as soon as the house was sold. Ms. Martinez assured
me that it would go quickly."

 "Back to the Territories?"

 "Initially yes."

 "When Ms. Martinez calls tell her you've found a buyer for the house.
I'll take over paying for the upkeep, and the property taxes. Maybe we
could give it to Frannie as a late wedding present. I don't mind telling
you, I got a few concerns about the ability of this husband of hers to
provide."

 "I should have thought of that Ray." 

 "You're not the only brains in this family." An affectionate refrain from
our marriage. I give what use to be the standard rejoinder quietly and for
the last time. "Nor am I the only beauty." I am probably mere moments away
from prostrating myself in front of him and begging him to take me back,
but that is not something the good guy would do.

 Instead we enjoy a few moments of companionable silence. "Benny, this
thing, your thing with your friend..." I lift my head and look Ray in the
eye.

 "Yes, Ray."

 "...it's not like Victoria or Kowalski is it?" I take comfort in that I
am able to give Ray honest reassurance. 

 "No it's not like Victoria or Stan." This time the need is mutual as is
the fulfillment. I can not ruin his life because it's already ruined. And
he can't harm me because I have already inflicted the maximum harm
possible.

 "Okay, okay I'm glad. I should be getting back. Dinner and all."

 "Understood." Sunday dinners. Dinners I would attend no longer.

 "If you need -"

 "I won't. Thank you Ray. I'll post the deed to the house as quickly as
possible."

 "Goodbye Benny." He hesitates before offering his hand. Not a touch
really. 

 "Goodbye Ray." I clasp his hand quickly and let go.

 ********************** 

 I'm freaking out. Who wouldn't be. It's been a long time since I've been
a part of this kind of family weekend. Yeah over the years I've been a
guest at a lot of weddings and commitment ceremonies but none of those
were so close to the ones I went to as a kid. I know that at least one of
my sisters is married now and I wonder if her wedding was anything like
Frannie Vecchios. So yeah, now that everyone is asleep I can let it out a
little bit. This weekend I've met a couple hundred people who were in some
way related to Ray and for the most part they all seemed happy to meet me.
At the reception, it was easy for me not to cross paths with Benton
Fraser. A few times I caught him out of my periphery entertaining the
younger children. Once I saw him talking to Oscar, just the two of them.
It struck me how much the Mountie and my son had in common. I actually
said a little prayer that Ray and I wouldn't fail Oscar the way I think
the Mountie's guardians failed him. Seeing him with the children, with
Oscar I understand that Benton Fraser is a good man, but there's something
missing in him. Something that prevented him from loving Ray the right
way. I asked Oscar later what he and the Mountie talked about. "He doesn't
have a mom or dad either Joe." Hell, now I'm thankful to the Mountie for
two things, obviously that he let Ray go and that he reached out to Oscar.


 We danced to all of the slow songs. I was a little self-conscious. Once I
discovered West Hollywood at seventeen, I sort of never looked back. I
know that I'm part of a minority population, but in Los Angeles I make my
life where I am in the majority. At the reception I think we were the only
gay guys there, or at least the only couple. At least that's how it felt.
For the first few dances I kept expecting some guy that looked like my
father to ask us to leave. But that never happened. And so I'm trying to
get used to the fact that I have an extended family again. I'm marrying
into a family that won't turn away from me, that won't take everything
away from me. Ray's mother told me that I could call her Ma. And that left
me speechless and then I started to cry. I was grateful that Ray and Oscar
weren't at the house. Ray was at the Mountie's and Oscar was playing with
his new cousins. I was overwhelmed with the acceptance Mrs. Vecchio's
gesture implied but.... I know it's stupid but I already have a Ma. I
still hope someday to see my family again, to come to some sort of truce I
guess. I didn't mean any disrespect to Mrs. Vecchio but that was something
I couldn't do. I tried to explain it to her as I tried to stop crying. She
held me the way moms do, told me it was okay, that she understood, that I
was a good son. It's been at least sixteen years since anyone thought I
was a good son. In some weird way that made me more determined to see my
family again. Ray has asked me about it, said he'd go with me. Maybe it's
time. 

 I look up from my untouched coffee and Ray is standing in the kitchen
doorway smiling at me.

 "Can't sleep?"

 "I'm a little wired."

 "Why didn't you wake me up?"

 "Um, because we agreed that we wouldn't have sex in your mother's house.
And because I wanted some time to get my head together."

 He moves further into the kitchen and sits down beside me. He picks up my
cup and takes a sip.

 "You okay?"

 "Yeah, I just...." I reach for his hand and he gives it to me easily. "

 "Are you having second thoughts?"

 "About what, about marrying you? Hell no Ray." 

 I asked Ray to marry me about a month after the Mountie left California.
I suggested that we just get in the car and elope in Vegas. I can't even
describe the look on his face at that idea. He didn't go into detail, just
said, "I did a job in Vegas. I can't go back there." 

 We've had other moments like that. I follow Ray's lead about the cop
stuff. When he wants to talk about it I listen. When he doesn't I don't
push. It was obvious he didn't want to talk about Las Vegas so I didn't
push. He also didn't say yes to my proposal then either. 

 Oscar's parents were killed four months ago. I met his parents at the
first restaurant where I was a busboy. His father, Roberto, worked in the
kitchen and his mother, Marta, was a waitress. They taught me a great deal
about working in a restaurant. I owe them a lot. They looked out for me
and when the time came I agreed to be their newborn son's godfather. They
wanted to make sure he would always have a strong tie in this country. All
of their other family lived in the Dominican. I never thought anything
would happen to Roberto or Marta. Even now I can't believe that they're
dead. It hurts but I have a family now, boy do I have family, and that
makes it easier. Ray accepted my proposal the night I brought Oscar home.

 Ray has moved closer to me and his fingers are gently stroking my
forearm. You gonna come back to bed?"

 "I don't think I can sleep yet. Why don't you go back to bed. I'll be up
in a little bit." "Okay, my love." Ray leans toward me, his hand slips
behind my head, he kisses me on the forehead. "Don't stay down here to
long. You know I don't like to sleep by myself."

 "I know. I'll be up in a bit, I promise."

 "Okay, I'll check on Oscar."

 "Okay."

 He kisses me again on the mouth. "I love you."

 "I love you." 

 Bats was the first guy I said those words to. After I was kicked out of
the house, I went to him. He sneaked me into his room and let me hide out
there for two days. His mom worked a lot so it was easy to sneak into his
room. We were too nervous for me to stay any longer than a couple of days.
I didn't want to get him into any trouble. I didn't want what happened to
me to happen to him. The last night, we talked until just before sun up.
We talked about all the things we thought would be cool to do together. We
both knew there was no chance of them happening. As I was getting ready to
go Bats handed me a backpack with extra clothes, food, his allowance. We
tried to put a lifetime of kisses into our goodbye kiss. It was sweet and
good the way a first kiss should be. Instead of scaring me, it made me
sure. I whispered those three words to Bats and then I climbed out of his
window. 

 There are people who will pay for a boy to do certain things. I only did
them once and the money I made, along with what Bats gave me and what I
had in my wallet was enough for a greyhound ticket to Southern California.
I was lucky when I got there I met a guy who already had friends in the
city. About ten guys sharing one apartment, but they're the ones who got
me hooked up as a busboy. They're the ones who as I watched them
diligently attend the Adult School to learn English inspired to me to get
my GED. They helped me improve the Spanish I had only started taking
before I left school, a skill that has been invaluable in my business.
Miguel was in that group of guys. He was twenty-one. I don't know how he
knew about me but one night he sort of just shoved his tongue in my mouth.
You don't do that unless you're pretty sure you're not gonna get punched. 

 We were careful around the other guys but in the clubs and bars of West
Hollywood, Miguel took me to we were free. I could never go back to
hiding. We were together for three years. He left me because he wanted to
find a girl to marry so his family line would continue. He was the only
boy. And as fucked up as it was I understood that. He was the second
person I said those words to.

 I look around the Vecchio kitchen and it makes me shiver to know that Ray
is the last. I know it with certainty. I won't have to leave Ray to keep
him from getting into trouble and he won't leave me because he wants to
have kids. I have this sudden overwhelming urge to go to Mass. Except for
weddings along the way and commitment ceremonies, I haven'treally been to
church since I was sixteen. My family use to attend Mass regularly. I feel
like I should thank Someone for my life, for the good things in it.

 Ray sleepily appears in the doorway again. "Come to bed." I go to him,
wrap my arms tightly around him. "Thank you," I murmur in his ear. 

 "For what?" 

 "For coming to get me."

 "You're a nut, come on before the bed gets cold."

 I flip off the kitchen light and let him lead me upstairs.

 End

  
  

End Coda: Men Who Talk by Evans 

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