Monday, August 9th
11:00 PM
“I’m dead.” I know nothing about whatever kind of meditation uses mantras. Even so I’m pretty sure I was using those two words just like one. It’s quite a shock to hear a news reader tell you you’re dead.
A little bit of time helped. That and combining cranberry juice with the Stoli I found. Separately I find them disgusting but together they make the only mixed drink besides a screwdriver I can manage to make myself. They’re also the only reason I got past the initial shock at discovering I had been killed. Stabbed right through the heart, to be precise, as I learned the next time the all-news channel had cycled trough. Susan, a prudish stuck up bitch I have a loathe-loathe thing going on with, was the KA’s employee interviewed for the story. That part appealed to me. She had wished me dead and her feelings of guilt now must be incredible. If she’s videotaped on the nightly news I have to have a copy!
It was on the third cycle when I thought of Da-Sam’s message. Someone was
already calling my ‘loved ones’. I had to call Michael. Sure, Mom and my sisters were in my thoughts somewhere too but my once and future beau was top of my list. Unfortunately I had no clue how bad an idea I’d had. All I knew was someone, Kathy the assistant manager we all love and hate probably, was spreading the news of my death. If it was Kathy then she probably was making sure my family and friends didn’t have to hear about me dying when news crews contacted them. It would have been a fantastic thing to do if I were really the one dead. Now all I had to do was undo Kathy’s great intentions, starting with Mister Fuchs.
“Hello?” Michael picks up on the first ring. Did he know deep down I wasn’t dead? Has he been expecting this call? Maybe he doesn’t even know someone they’ve mistaken for me has a toe tag on in a refrigeration unit. “Mom?” Ah, the dreaded M word. Martha Fuchs gives controlling and domineering bitches a bad name. He has to have already been called about me. Michael always calls his mother when he hits bottom, no matter how much she makes him nuts. I’ve gotta save him from the months hard work extricating himself from whatever crap she pulls with this latest opening he’s given her.
“Not mom, Mikey. It’s me. It’s Simon.” Total silence. Michael may not even be breathing. I hate this kind of quiet. “It wasn’t me, Michael. They’re all gonna see that and I promise you’ll be my first stop as soon as the cops let me go. I promise you, dude.” I wait for his reaction, not expecting the one I get: A great big thump and the phone goes dead. Big he man just fainted.
Rapid redial does no good. His big ass broke the phone on the way down. Oh well. Michael knows I’m alive so I can move down my to do list. First is another drink. I like alcohol at times like these. I don’t do stress well, especially when it ambushes me. Maybe that’s why my memory gets a little fuzzy for a bit...
The next thing I know I’m face down, fully dressed on the suite’s way too big bed. It’s the talking that woke me. The fact one of the voices is totally unfamiliar is surreal.
“I’m not certain we should let him sleep. The events of tonight were stressful-” The woman speaking sounds very cultured. My mother’s best friend, Aunt Anne, sounds like this. I suspect with Aunt Anne it’s an affectation but this woman sounds like the real thing. I bet if I had a name to go with the voice I could find it in some kind of social registry.
“Miss Derwillion...” Dara starts. Robert interrupts her.
“She insisted we call her Margate, Dara.” The name from the caller ID. Robert has noticed I’m just faking sleep and for some reason it’s important he perform the exposition we find so funny in soap operas. I wasn’t that drunk, just tired from a day’s hard work, a long drive, and then being murdered but I immediately switch to totally sober. This has the feeling of something huge.
“Yes, dear. I can’t imagine you being here for my nephew after the horrible event you’ve just endured. There’s no need to stand on formalities on top of that.” You know, I really like this woman, what with how warm and loving that sounded. I wonder who her nephew is and decide he’s a very lucky man to have her. She must be old money. Their wealth is just background noise I’ve noticed, allowing them to just be a person outside of it. Admittedly, there’s still a high percentage of them that are assholes but that’s true of the population in general.
“Your Simon was so excited to meet ours. It’s obvious he started drinking when he heard the news. I just think if we let him sleep a little longer he’ll be a little more together when he wakes.” Her Simon? Oh my god! I missed the fact this Margate person has the same name as the company mentioned in the news, Derwillion Food. Her Simon must be Simon Douglas and then it dawns on me there was a body in KA’s parking lot and there was mention of a lookalike for Simon Douglas. Simon Douglas is the man who’s now dead and for some reason my friends are letting her think I’m him.
“See here, missy. I hardly think a short acquaintance makes you an expert on what the boy needs.” This is a new voice and male. He has the same accent as Margate so he could be either family or husband. I hope he’s family. The mental picture I had built for Margate would be shattered by an unpleasant mate.
“Mister Derwillion,” and I don’t hear this one rushing to have Robert call him anything else, “with all due respect, you weren’t here. You could be aunt and uncle of the year and still not get it. Your nephew met us hours ago and was eventually thrilled to have what could only be a brother out there. He was horrified to learn our friend was killed and insisted we come over as soon as the police were done with all of us.” Deciding I have enough to go on and to play along until my friends explain, I start to officially wake up. I think I’m doing an Oscar worthy performance but seeing Dara roll her eyes disabuses me of that notion.
“Oh, Simon!” is all that escapes from Margate’s mouth before she draws me into a hug. It’s a good one too. When this lady hugs someone, they stay hugged. Eventually she holds me at arm’s length. It’s like she’s looking for some physical evidence of psychic trauma. It gives me a chance to assess her as well. I pictured her beautiful and I am not disappointed. Fifty if she’s a day, Margate Derwillion will probably still be a knockout at one hundred. Reddish hair, green eyes, a round face, and a lovely mouth that appears to have smiling as its default setting all combine to make me relax. There’s just something so genuine about her, like an aura of sorts. From the black unadorned gown she’s wearing I’d say she and the weasel came here from some function. “Baby, you had me-us worried. Why didn’t you call me? Gamez was on the scene,” She drips ice and venom when saying that. I decide I should dislike this Gamez person because she wouldn’t act like that unless it was justified. “And he gleefully informed us that you’d been killed.” Tears well up in her eyes and I see them reflected in Dara and Robert’s as well. Something tells me that whoever adopted this other Simon, Margate did most of the mothering.
“Look, Margate, before we get too deep into this, I had better be going. I told you the boy would be fine and he is.” Paterson has the same resemblance physically to his sister as he did vocally, but its watered down. He’s pasty and somewhat overweight too boot. “I’m glad you’re all right, Simon. Maybe we could have avoided some of this has we told you were adopted but there’s no changing the past. Call me if you need anything. I would stay but I have early meetings tomorrow.” There’s a perfunctory hug for Margate, no glimmer that he’s even aware Dara and Robert are still there, and then Paterson is gone. Margate smiles wryly at him as he goes.
“Sometimes your uncle forgets we have access to his schedule as well. Or Maybe Paterson really does consider a lunch meeting early.” Margate is clearly disappointed in her brother and sounds so sad. She gestures Dara and Robert to join her sitting on the edge of the mammoth bed. “The least the man could have done is show a little more concern for you.”
“I don’t think it was personal. Even a stranger’s death when it’s so close can be more than someone can immediately handle well.” I honestly don’t know what possessed me to say this when I had decided to speak as little as humanly possible. Until I figured out what was really going on I was certain I would expose myself if I did otherwise. I think it was the sadness in her voice. This is a woman who I just know has no clue that love can be anything other unconditional. If her Simon had done what I did all those months ago, I’m sure she would have tsk’d a little but never disowned me.
“You know, I believe you’re right. When your parents passed, Paterson made sure he kept busy making arrangements rather than ‘wallowing in it all’. Still, with his retreat I can properly greet your new friends. Dara and Robert, yes?” Robert stands to properly take Margate’s hand and raises it to kiss it gently.
“Robert Alexander Janes, at your service. Despite the circumstances, it is a pleasure to meet you.” And it must have been. Robert can charm anyone within seconds but he was being genuinely warm here. He doesn’t warm to most people easily, considering the mess his family life was like growing up. Robert’s treating Margate as if he’s known and liked her for years. “Simon, your Simon, and us met last night when he popped into KA’s. He said he was ‘scouting’.” Okay, so that’s how it started. They must have called me immediately afterward. I wonder how long it was before he died. Dara takes over. Good. The girl can talk. When she dies, her last words will probably be a novella.
“He was thrilled he had a lookalike.” A look crosses Margate’s face and Dara glances at me. “Okay, he thought we were scamming him until I dug out the Xerox of our Simon’s I-9. Anyway, we called our Simon but yours was getting impatient. He wanted to freshen up and we said we’d call as soon as Simon showed. Instead we called after Kathy found...the body in the parking lot.” Poor Kathy! I had a feeling she was intimately involved in all this and I was right! Kathy lost her second husband in a mugging so this must be the worst kind of flashback for her.
“Kathy?” Margate’s concern sounds real. Either she or Paterson are adopted. No way could they be so different any other way.
“Our assistant manager. She was heading out for her smokes and tripped over Simon.” Dara’s eyes start to well up. Is she reliving having thought at first that was really me. That had to be the worst. I squirm as things start feeling more and more real. Margate sees this, luckily misinterprets it, and strokes my arm in silent comfort. I shake it off and head for the bathroom. On top of everything else I need to get the vodka taste out of my mouth. Only still being buzzed lets me use someone else’s toothbrush. Of course, I drop it like an issue of Hustler the second I realize it’s a dead man’s toothbrush. I choke back a sob as reality starts to intrude again. When I return to the bedroom, Robert is finishing the story and the trio is much closer on the bed then when I left. I guess it’s a comfort thing. Having such a large personal envelope of space, I wouldn’t know. You comfort me by taking the farthest chair across the room. The Simon Margate knew must have been like that as well from the way Margate lets me settle into an armchair without a word.
“-so we were supposed to get drunk and tell Simon everything he missed out on not knowing Simon. ‘Course, he got started without us...” Margate takes one of their hands in each of hers. This woman is so filled with love it almost shines. How can we deceive her? I’m angry at Dara and Robert for this deception. It feels like lying to my Mom.
Oh shit! Mom! All of us kids were her whole life. She laughed with us and ached for us. God only knows what she and Annette must be going through! At least they wouldn’t have called Angelique in LA yet and so far as I know no one knows where in Florida Jamie is at the moment. Margate again misreads the emotion she’s seeing and rises to draw me into another hug.
“Simon, I have an idea. I presume these new friends of yours are in no hurry to return to this KA’s even should the police allow it reopened soon,” she glances at them and gets confirmation, “and we have more unused rooms than used ones. They’ll stay with us while we all cope with this tragedy. If we can find them new employment in one of our own restaurants in the meantime then all the better.”
“Miss Derwillion-” Dara starts.
“Margate.”
“Margate, that’s not necessary. We’re not doing this for any gain.” Dara’s very forceful on this point. Maybe because having me impersonate a heretofore unknown and rich dead twin could be taken as being after the money?
“Of course it’s not necessary, my dear. Very little I do is. Our home is free of any and all unpleasant reminders of what you’ve lost and telling Simon of the good times you had will help you recall them more clearly as well.” Margate heads for her coat and Robert beats her to it. He’s like something from an old movie as he helps her into it and it’s clear Margate’s will is to be done as to their visit. She gives me yet another hug and I allow it because she clearly needs to do it. “I swear to you, Simon, we had no idea you had any living biological family. Your parents were only told your birth father had died before you were born and your birth mother died of cancer when you were an infant. It was days after the adoption, in fact. We would have told you all of this after your parents were buried if we’d even suspected you had a brother. The lawyer handling things for the mother made it impossible for us to get any records we hadn’t already been given so it would have simply been frustrating to tell you more.” I hug her back without really thinking about it.
“That’s hardly important right now, is it? You can apologize in the form of extravagant gifts whenever you feel the need.” She chuckles. I guess the right way to do this is just to be a more formal version of myself.
“My car’s outside but Joe had to drive Lily home. I’ll call him to retrieve you three but I bet he’s already planning on coming to see that you are fine for himself.” One last kiss and it’s just me and my grifter friends left. We say nothing but instead head for the window. Not a word is said until we see her crossing the parking lot.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Chapter Two: He’s Dead, Jim
Monday, August 9th
8:00 PM
I’ve been in the Ambassador only a few times before. It’s just across the street from KA’s so that might seem a bit weird. The first time was back in high school for a job interview. They made me feel unworthy even to be spoken too. The other times were to celebrate Sam making partner and to rescue Robert. All of them had been total disasters so I don’t really have great associations with this place. If I want to have a bad time there are cheaper places I can go. Its only saving grace is that they have a bar rather than a full restaurant. That means the upscale guests come to KA’s when they want the whole eating out experience instead of squirreling away with the room service menu. The majority of them tip big just to show they can. That contingent is usually one hundred percent asshole but they’re money is green so who cares?
“Sir.” It takes me a few more steps toward the elevators to realize the employee at the desk means me. Damn, but these guys are thorough. They’re probably trained to spot people who can’t afford their prices. I turn to face her reluctantly. “Your aunt has called four times in the last hour. She said it was important you call her back.” Now Dara and Robert have gone too far. Aunt Bobbie is such a bitch. I want contact with my family but not that bad.
“If she calls again tell her I’m dead.”
“Sir?” The hotel mannequin looks at me oddly. It’s like she knew me and expected a different response.
“Did I stutter? If you have a problem with my message, maybe your supervisor cam deliver it.” I’ve waited on enough of this place’s patrons to imitate the way they treat the help for short bursts. ‘Harriet Futterman, Customer Service Specialist’ is all acquiescence. I swallow my apology. I guess Robert’s mood rubbed off on me, even if mine is more anger. I’ll find some way to apologize to Harriet later. For now I just let this wave of negativity carry me through to the elevators.
Room 314 is easy to find. It has to be. Even in an upscale joint like this has to follow hotel rules. If a place is hard to navigate, people won’t want to come back. I know this because working too many years in food service has to teach you some things about handling the public. Despite being easy to get around, the Ambassador is pretty amazing. There aren’t many four star hotels in a twenty mile radius but the lack of competition didn’t make them scrimp any.
The room itself is awesome. It’s bigger than my apartment just in the main part as you walk in the door. There’s a sectional couch, two armchairs, coffee table, monstrous TV, a DVD-VCR combo, and a very nice desk. One door leads to a sinfully large bathroom and the other to a bedroom twenty people could probably mill about in without touching. The bed could fit the cast of Friends. The mind boggles at how Dara and Robert are paying for this. The mints on the pillows are even imported!
The message light is discretely blinking and a cell phone is quietly playing in the corner. That reminds me that mine is in my car still. I only hope that whoever steals it jimmies the lock instead of breaking the window. Or maybe they’ll just use the keys in the puddle nearby. I’d head back out but thunder and lightning arrive simultaneously. Hoping car thieves also fear being struck by lightning I decide to wait before leaving shelter.
Before I turn off whoever’s cell phone I see the caller ID says ‘Margate’. The only Margate I know of is a small town south of here. Leave it to Robert to date someone who is intimate with a whole municipality. The oddest thing is that the tune it’s playing is the same one mine does. That is the final proof the phone couldn’t be Robert’s. He hates Barbie Girl. Some of his most scathing remarks have been made whenever I get a call in his presence.
TV may be off-limits but Robert never said anything about radio. Following the letter of instructions while ignoring the spirit is a specialty of mine. Everyone who knows me well carefully words any promises they have me make. Robert really was distracted. Tuning in to a station that’s not so bad this late after as I do as commanded about changing clothes, I settle down on the couch. Stuck in the cushions is an Simon Conlan book I’ve been meaning to reread lately. The guy wrote two series I liked and they were even carried on by his son when he died. No matter how much I love the book, I don’t get too far tonight. Working a busy shift today followed by this stressed out hour or so is taking its toll on me. The hero has barely been whisked into another dimension before I’ve fallen asleep.
10:00 PM
I had the most wonderful dream. Not one bit of it really remained with me when I woke. That’s how it goes with me. Unless the dream is intensely horrific or sexual the images just don’t stay with me. All I can recall for sure is that there was a voiceover distracting me at the end.
The man’s voice turns out to have been from the real world. I must have rolled over onto the remote in my sleep. I’m told I move a lot after I drop off but I obviously have no firsthand knowledge of that. The only other option is that a poltergeist changed the station, because I’m listening to an all news channel. It’s not the most pleasant of wake up calls. Looking across the room I see it’s two AM. Where are Dara and Robert? It’s been hours. Is it time for the other shoe to drop?
“...and a story comes out of Mount Laurel, NJ, which may impact Derwillion Foods, a major employer in the Philadelphia area.” As I light up my post-nap cigarette the mention of the town I’m in catches my attention. “A waiter found slain outside a local restaurant turns out to be a lookalike for Simon Douglas, the CEO of Derwillion Foods.” Local waiter. My blood runs cold. Mount Laurel’s work force isn’t that big. I’ve worked with two-thirds of the waiters in town myself and if you include Dara, Dieter, Michael, and Robert we know just about everyone. I was positive the dead man wouldn’t be a stranger. He had to be someone we knew well for Dara and Robert to be so upset and AWOL. I just had no way to prepare for just how intimately I would know the murder victim. “There’s no word yet on what connection this man had with Douglas beyond looking identical to him.” Who is he already! This the reason why I don’t like thrillers. The suspense always has me too worked up to enjoy myself. “Little is known of the deceased, Simon Carpenter...” I know the radio voice had to have said more. He had to have. Time wouldn’t be standing still for him. It wouldn’t have for anyone else. After all, none of them had just heard their own obituary!
8:00 PM
I’ve been in the Ambassador only a few times before. It’s just across the street from KA’s so that might seem a bit weird. The first time was back in high school for a job interview. They made me feel unworthy even to be spoken too. The other times were to celebrate Sam making partner and to rescue Robert. All of them had been total disasters so I don’t really have great associations with this place. If I want to have a bad time there are cheaper places I can go. Its only saving grace is that they have a bar rather than a full restaurant. That means the upscale guests come to KA’s when they want the whole eating out experience instead of squirreling away with the room service menu. The majority of them tip big just to show they can. That contingent is usually one hundred percent asshole but they’re money is green so who cares?
“Sir.” It takes me a few more steps toward the elevators to realize the employee at the desk means me. Damn, but these guys are thorough. They’re probably trained to spot people who can’t afford their prices. I turn to face her reluctantly. “Your aunt has called four times in the last hour. She said it was important you call her back.” Now Dara and Robert have gone too far. Aunt Bobbie is such a bitch. I want contact with my family but not that bad.
“If she calls again tell her I’m dead.”
“Sir?” The hotel mannequin looks at me oddly. It’s like she knew me and expected a different response.
“Did I stutter? If you have a problem with my message, maybe your supervisor cam deliver it.” I’ve waited on enough of this place’s patrons to imitate the way they treat the help for short bursts. ‘Harriet Futterman, Customer Service Specialist’ is all acquiescence. I swallow my apology. I guess Robert’s mood rubbed off on me, even if mine is more anger. I’ll find some way to apologize to Harriet later. For now I just let this wave of negativity carry me through to the elevators.
Room 314 is easy to find. It has to be. Even in an upscale joint like this has to follow hotel rules. If a place is hard to navigate, people won’t want to come back. I know this because working too many years in food service has to teach you some things about handling the public. Despite being easy to get around, the Ambassador is pretty amazing. There aren’t many four star hotels in a twenty mile radius but the lack of competition didn’t make them scrimp any.
The room itself is awesome. It’s bigger than my apartment just in the main part as you walk in the door. There’s a sectional couch, two armchairs, coffee table, monstrous TV, a DVD-VCR combo, and a very nice desk. One door leads to a sinfully large bathroom and the other to a bedroom twenty people could probably mill about in without touching. The bed could fit the cast of Friends. The mind boggles at how Dara and Robert are paying for this. The mints on the pillows are even imported!
The message light is discretely blinking and a cell phone is quietly playing in the corner. That reminds me that mine is in my car still. I only hope that whoever steals it jimmies the lock instead of breaking the window. Or maybe they’ll just use the keys in the puddle nearby. I’d head back out but thunder and lightning arrive simultaneously. Hoping car thieves also fear being struck by lightning I decide to wait before leaving shelter.
Before I turn off whoever’s cell phone I see the caller ID says ‘Margate’. The only Margate I know of is a small town south of here. Leave it to Robert to date someone who is intimate with a whole municipality. The oddest thing is that the tune it’s playing is the same one mine does. That is the final proof the phone couldn’t be Robert’s. He hates Barbie Girl. Some of his most scathing remarks have been made whenever I get a call in his presence.
TV may be off-limits but Robert never said anything about radio. Following the letter of instructions while ignoring the spirit is a specialty of mine. Everyone who knows me well carefully words any promises they have me make. Robert really was distracted. Tuning in to a station that’s not so bad this late after as I do as commanded about changing clothes, I settle down on the couch. Stuck in the cushions is an Simon Conlan book I’ve been meaning to reread lately. The guy wrote two series I liked and they were even carried on by his son when he died. No matter how much I love the book, I don’t get too far tonight. Working a busy shift today followed by this stressed out hour or so is taking its toll on me. The hero has barely been whisked into another dimension before I’ve fallen asleep.
10:00 PM
I had the most wonderful dream. Not one bit of it really remained with me when I woke. That’s how it goes with me. Unless the dream is intensely horrific or sexual the images just don’t stay with me. All I can recall for sure is that there was a voiceover distracting me at the end.
The man’s voice turns out to have been from the real world. I must have rolled over onto the remote in my sleep. I’m told I move a lot after I drop off but I obviously have no firsthand knowledge of that. The only other option is that a poltergeist changed the station, because I’m listening to an all news channel. It’s not the most pleasant of wake up calls. Looking across the room I see it’s two AM. Where are Dara and Robert? It’s been hours. Is it time for the other shoe to drop?
“...and a story comes out of Mount Laurel, NJ, which may impact Derwillion Foods, a major employer in the Philadelphia area.” As I light up my post-nap cigarette the mention of the town I’m in catches my attention. “A waiter found slain outside a local restaurant turns out to be a lookalike for Simon Douglas, the CEO of Derwillion Foods.” Local waiter. My blood runs cold. Mount Laurel’s work force isn’t that big. I’ve worked with two-thirds of the waiters in town myself and if you include Dara, Dieter, Michael, and Robert we know just about everyone. I was positive the dead man wouldn’t be a stranger. He had to be someone we knew well for Dara and Robert to be so upset and AWOL. I just had no way to prepare for just how intimately I would know the murder victim. “There’s no word yet on what connection this man had with Douglas beyond looking identical to him.” Who is he already! This the reason why I don’t like thrillers. The suspense always has me too worked up to enjoy myself. “Little is known of the deceased, Simon Carpenter...” I know the radio voice had to have said more. He had to have. Time wouldn’t be standing still for him. It wouldn’t have for anyone else. After all, none of them had just heard their own obituary!
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Chapter One: Vacation Sucks But Coming Home Sucks More
Sunday, August 1st
9:30 PM
Like all important chapters in my life, this one began with a party. That’s the way things just go. There was the birthday party that preceded my parents telling me I was adopted. Then there’s the homecoming dance were I realized I was gay and, somewhat related, a Halloween party that same year when me and Johnny West down the street decided to act on the feelings we had for each other, and the last big one was my almost-brother-in-law’s bachelor party. The current one one was held at The Church.
The Church has always been my third favorite club in Philadelphia. It really was a church once upon a time. This was in the good old days when going to Sunday services was an event. The old building was built on a scale that wasn’t commonplace even back then. It was massive. The night in question we were in the third floor bar. It’s called the Puritan Bar because of it being the only spot in the place that had a bar and no view of the very licentious goings on that are always happening at The Church.
“God, this sucks. Why are we all the way up here?” The speaker is the guy who’s tied for first place as my very best friend, Robert Janes. Robert isn’t the most self-aware bulb on the Christmas Tree but he is one of the hottest. Italian with a little Greek and all man hungry. He has dark eyes and hair, is dark complected, and on tiptoe he might be five ten. Looking at him you can guess he was a gymnast back in HS. Robert and I waiter together at KA’s in Mount Laurel, New Jersey.
“Maybe it’s the fact you’ve done a strip show every time you’ve been downstairs in this place. If the troll managing the place didn’t want in Mikey’s pants so bad we wouldn’t even be here with you in tow.” Putting Robert in place is my co-best friend number two, Dara McCray. The girls is so hot she turns on even gay men. She has porcelain skin, green eyes that entrance, very long auburn hair, and an hourglass figure that more honestly covers a week rather than an hour. The hottest thing about her is that she honestly has no clue how hot she is. “By the way, Michael, that was genius downstairs. The Troll wasn’t listening to anything Dieter and Simon were saying. We’d still be driving around arguing about where to go if you hadn’t lost the shirt.” That would be Michael Fuchs, the best-looking man on Earth. I sometimes wonder what his and Dara’s kids would look like. Luckily, Michael has the same motto about women that 7-Up used to have about caffeine.
“S’cool. We all know why Si picked The Church. He agreed to us dragging him out tonight just ‘cause he figured we’d never get in here. I wore boxers and a thong just in case the troll needed more of a show.” That’s Michael for you: Anything for the cause. And he was right. I only agreed to come out tonight because I was sick of all their pressure. I should have known he’d be on to me. In addition to being a waiter, sometime model, and a web porn star, Michael holds the position as my favorite ex. You know, that description doesn’t really do the guy justice. I said Dara is made better-looking because she doesn’t realize how good-looking she is, right? Michael sure as hell ain’t like that. Michael knows how hot he is and uses it to full advantage. Why not? If you have piercing green eyes, cheekbones so sharp they could cut paper, and thick tousled black hair (along with a body sculpted so well in the gym) you’d be a fool not to use what god gave you. “You wanna see that show, Deet? We’re the only boys here who haven’t done it together...yet.” Michael might not be a rocket scientist but he knew his effect on Dieter Gotlieb. We all saw how Dieter’s eyes glazed over at the description of how far Michael was willing to go. He leaned in very close to the point where they’d start making out if Dieter leaned forward an inch.
“Michael...” Surprising me and Dara was that Robert beat us to the punch. He and Dieter are about as opposite as possible. Dieter is definitely not a hot blooded Mediterranean lover. He is clearly German with dirt brown hair, light brown eyes, skin that is as pale as Dara’s without being as attractive, and is six foot tall while weighing less than Robert. Dieter also can count the number of lovers in his twenty-five years on one hand whereas Robert has had nights where he wouldn’t be able to count his lovers on two hands. Still, the two have been roommates for two years and despite the fact Robert appears as callous with Dieter’s feelings as he is with everyone else, the two are each other’s favorite henchman. Whether it’s the waiter or the waiter-slash-art student’s harebrained scheme, the other is the first to help out.
“No, Robert, let him. Everyone else at this table has seen it. Hell, everyone else in the building has. It’s my turn.” The pipe cleaner I call friend then hopped up and practically skipped over to the DJ. Within a minute one of Dieter’s favorite mixes was playing, from Bring It On I thinks. “Okay, big boy. Let’s see what you’ve got.” The rest of us were just stunned. Who would have thought insecure, shy Dieter had it in him? Next time we count how many Manhattans he’s had. Michael too. I’ve seen Michael strip before but tonight is special. It’s a blistering hot dance and he takes his time getting down to that thong. Dieter actually feels the boy up and god help us what might have happened if The Troll hadn’t been alerted. I think we know who he expected to find table dancing.
“Cool. So this what it’s like when someone else gets you kicked out of a club.” Robert isn’t going to let go of this for some time. Who can blame him? As for our impromptu exotic dancer, all that Michael put back on was his shoes. As we walk to Dara’s Hummer he’s behaving like he always walks through parking lots in a thong.
“Shut up, Robert. This is all your fault.” This comment of Dara’s puzzles all of us, especially Michael. “Sorry. It just didn’t feel right not to say it after we get tossed out of someplace. Deet, you have that CD Robert burned last week?” When he said he did, Dara went to work. She sent Robert to a state store while Dieter moved his own heap so it was one empty space away from Dara’s. They synchronized hitting play and the party was back on, especially when Robert returned with the wine and plastic cups.
Actually, it’s a miracle we weren’t kicked out of the parking lot too. We attracted quite a crowd there, with more booze added to the mix as well. The highpoint was when Michael and Robert, surprising no one with the fact he was also wearing a thong, got up on the cars and became go go boys. They had over two hundred dollars slipped in the barely there underwear before closing time came. It wasn’t just that club like noise after club hours would have attracted cops that got us to cease and desist. Closing time would have meant The Troll could have joined us and one of the bouncers warned us that was in fact why he hadn’t shut us down.
We were all too trashed to drive home and cabs are something we don’t do. Lucky for us Michael’s cousin lived nearby and was auditioning for something on the Left Coast. Connie won’t get involved with Michael and his mother’s wars but she will gladly provide her beloved cousin with a hiding place. Still with a few bottles of wine left, the five of us continued the party in Connie’s California King-sized bed. All of us pretended not to notice Dieter was almost glued to Michael. Hopes spring eternal, I suppose. That’s why I was surprised Dieter spoke to me and not Michael.
“Another fine plan goes astray, eh, Si?” Buzzed as I was Dieter made no sense. “You were gonna go out to have the bad time that an awful person like you deserves. I guess you should have warned those three guys who gave you their phone numbers what bad taste they had.” Suddenly everyone looks a little too serious.
“Yeah, Si. It’s been eighteen months. Sax cloth and ashes time is over.” I have to smile at Michael sometimes.
“That’s sack cloth, Mikey, but you’re right.” Dara has changed into a nightgown she’s found of Connie’s. For a moment I regret the fact I’m gayer than hell. “You weren’t the only one that hurt Annette. Why are you the only one living like a monk.”
“‘Mon, you’ll be thirty in a few weeks. You want your Twenties going out with a bang. Maybe you can even whimper a little. You’ve wallowed long enough.” Just for a moment I got a flash of the worry for me Robert has. I know how deep his feelings are for me but it’s rare he shows it.
“And that rut you’re in, Simon? I’m afraid soon it’s going to be so deep you won’t be able to climb back out.” Dara shows her feelings more freely than Robert does and her concern is all over her face. My suspicion that tonight was an intervention has proven right. Their idea to get me buzzed enough not explode on them seems to be working too. Looking at her and Robert just plain gets to me so I turn to Dieter. Big mistake. Those unremarkable brown eyes can be remarkably puppylike when he needs them to be.
“Si, you’ve closed yourself off. Nothing in your life seems to interest you anymore. You need a change at least. You know, a change is as good as a cure.” Good old Dieter. He loves cliches almost as much as he loves me. “We got you a week off. You’re gonna go away and be Vacation Si.”
“Vacation Si?” Maybe I was drunker than I thought because that made no sense. Robert crawls over Dieter to drive the point home. Did anyone miss how Dieter used that as an excuse to move closer to Michael?
“Yeah, it’s a variation on New School Si. You know how when you move to a new town when you’re still in school and no one knows you? For one week you’re only what you tell people you are and they only judge you on how you act around them. Clean slate time.” It sounded slightly appealing but spontaneous is not my nature.
“I don’t know...” That’s when Michael trotted out the big gun.
“Tomorrow you’re coming home to Ventnor with me. Your vacation starts tomorrow and for nine days you’re all mine.” The protest I’m pretty sure I was going to make died on my lips the second Michael flashed his full wattage smile. Maybe my favorite ex could stop being so ex...
Monday, August 9th
2:00 PM
“Date.” Michael takes another drag from our Parliament Light 100 and strikes a pose. That’s one of the things he likes to do. We’re on a break from our vacation activities and playing one of our favorite games.
“No way, man.” The two men we’re discussing continue down the street oblivious that they are contestants on the Is It A Date Game. “See how much they look alike? They’re brothers.” Michael may be the highest tipped waiter everywhere he goes but he sucks at this game. He’s still not about to give up. If I didn’t know for sure his middle name was Augustus I would swear it was Competitive.
“But the body language! Only lovers are that familiar with each other.” From his pout I suspect Michael is beginning to see that he’s wrong again. He wouldn’t be Michael though if he didn’t put up a fight on his way down.
“That’s just knowing someone for ages. Think about us all and Dara. Everyone who meets us is shocked she hasn’t done or isn’t doing one of us.” Michael just smirks. I know he likes to play on my doubts about the early days of his and Dara’s friendship when the rest of us in the group were pretty much excluded by them.
We are so relaxed at the end of the alley bordering Russo’s, where Michael works. The vacation hasn’t turned out quite as we planned. One of Michael’s coworkers had a heart attack, canceling his time off, and another having a grandparent died meant there was an opening for me to slip into. It’s turned out probably better than the week of scheduled gaiety and seeing the sights Michael had planned. It’s been a week like the beginning of our friendship, relaxed, and leading towards a closer relationship. History should only repeat itself!
It could have been in a nicer place. Ever been to Ventnor, New Jersey? It’s right next to Atlantic City and might as well be on another planet. The glitz and glamor you see of AC doesn’t extend as far as its own borders, much less into neighboring towns. It’s like all prosperity has been sucked into Donald and Ivana-land.
Michael lives and works in one of the least sucky areas of Ventnor. Contrary to popular belief there is an occasional oasis in Atlantic City’s neighbors. Smack dab inside one of them is Russo’s. It’s where Michael works as a waiter. Of his three occupations, it’s actually as waiter that my boy shines. Mikey isn’t the sharpest tack on the bulletin board but he’s all heart. His looks get him the checks before the camera occasionally but his charm is his bed and butter. Most stunning men and women put at least some people off with their looks but Michael’s appeal always wins them over. He can make anyone feel like they’re a good friend for at least short intervals. If waitering could lead to world domination, Michael would be King God Emperor by now.
Today has been the busiest day for years for Russo’s. I have no reason to doubt that. It sure beat any one day at KA’s back in Mount Laurel all to hell. From the time I got here at ten there hasn’t been more than one to two minute breaks. We wouldn’t even have gotten this smoke break if Michael hadn’t refused to clock in until after we had some time out here first. As it is Billy, the shift runner, pops his head out the side door and mouths ‘hurry’. Michael just waves his cigarette at Billy. It’s cool he has a boss that smokes. Back home, Darlene would send a waiter in the middle of a nic fit to serve a party of fifteen and as a nonsmoker never realize why that’s a bad thing.
“What a last shift, Si. Gina was filling me in when I got here. Five tables at the same time, all with English as the second language and each with a different first one.” I can see Michael wishes he had been here to see this.
“The Mini-UN? It was nothing. Translating what you really mean all these years has been excellent practice.” Michael ‘playfully’ hits me on the arm. There should be a bruise there tomorrow. We’re silent a moment. It’s a comfortable silence and we’ve been having a lot of those.
“Dara says you saw Annette a few weeks ago.” Michael looks away quickly. Annette is the older of my two little sisters. Or maybe ex-sister. That all depends on if daddy dearest got the adoption undone like he swore he would.
“That little bitch.” At first I think he means Annette but I laugh when I realize he means Dara.
“Let me guess. She made you swear not to tell me so I wouldn’t be upset.” He nods his head yes. “Dude, it’s amazing we still go along with her. She gives you great advice that goes against what you want to do and then turns around and does what you wanted to do in the first place.” I take my last drag and flick it into a puddle to hear the hiss as it goes out. “How was she?” It’s my turn to not be able to look him in the eye. I don’t want to see pity in his eyes or that the truth is worse than he’s willing to tell me.
“She was okay. Almost her old self.” He must have heard my sigh despite all efforts at keeping it down. “Shit, Si, this is why I agreed with Dara not to tell you. After what Doug did to her-”
“After what I did!”
“God, it’s like you and Robert want to give that shithead excuses.” That’s news to me. Robert’s never stuck up for my quasi-brother-in-law in my presence. “It was Doug that destroyed Annette’s faith in everything she loved. I think she’s getting over it. She asked how you were doing. That’s more than any other time I’ve seen her.” I laugh a little grimly. So there have been some Annette sightings Michael has been able to keep from me despite Dara’s efforts.
“Yeah. Something. She knows where I live and work. She has both my phone numbers. It’s called being polite, Michael. Annette probably ran out of things to say to you.” My hands are shaking but I hope Michael doesn’t notice as I head back inside. I think I’ll shatter if anyone, especially him, comforts me. right now.
Two hours and twenty minutes later and I’m an ex-Russo’s employee. I’ve turned in the only apron they think I have, been told by everyone who isn’t overwhelmed by needy eaters how much they’ve enjoyed working with me, and I have my backpack all loaded. All that’s left is walking the three (3) blocks back to Michael’s apartment.
“You are so lucky you don’t have to close tonight,” Michael says and I know he means it. Despite his canceling his time off and me pitching in, there still isn’t enough staff for tonight. I’m not tempted to stay. “When do you roll out tomorrow?” It’s obvious Michael has plans for when he gets home. We’ve been very good exes for eight days and that’s long enough.
“I couldn’t get anyone to cover my lunch shift so I thought I’d leave at dawn.” The puppy dog eyes come out in full force as Michael realizes that means I’ll have to crash by the time he gets home. I hold out as long as I can. “I don’t work ‘til Wednesday breakfast so I don’t have to be home before Everybody Else Loves Raymond is on. Howzabout I lay out a late night snack for when you get in?” I drop my voice and lean in close as I tell him this. Any guesses what kind of snack?
Thoughts of the hors d’oeuvre I have in mind keeps me almost skipping all the way home. Not even the leftover drizzle can dampen my spirits. The thought my friends back home are gonna get hit any second by the killer storm we experienced right after lunch even makes me happier. Dara running from class to work, Dieter’s finishing up at that manga convention in New York, and Robert’s eternal search for Mister Right are all getting soaked. Well, maybe not Dieter but I can still picture it. It gives me that extra chuckle I’m looking for right up to Michael’s front door.
Every time I walk in Michael’s place I think the same thing: I’ve seen walk in fridges bigger than this in most places I’ve worked. Still, it does have something special about it. It’s the first place Michael has ever lived in alone in his entire life. He went from family home to a series of live in relationships with pit stops on friends’ couches in-between. Here now we have a one bedroom apartment that is finally and totally all Michael’s taste. True, it’s bad taste to say the least but now we know the man didn’t get the gay gene for decorating. The whole thing has a retro/post-modern/Louis The XIV/yard sale kinda vibe going on. I also know Michael has a special kind of bravery. How else do you explain a halogen floor lamp modeled to look like a Victorian streetlight placed right next to a naked female mannequin that has a bullet hole right between its eyes.
It’s just before five when I get in. That leaves a maximum of five hours before Michael gets in. If he rushes, and he damn well better, it’ll be more like four. I’d say a good long soak in the tub is in order. Sure, I know it’s like immersing yourself in your own filth but I always follow up a bath with a shower. Otherwise it’s ik city. All that’s needed is the half bottle of Sangria in the icebox and a washcloth, as the plug built in to the tub probably has been broken longer than I’ve been alive. Leaving my clothes on the kitchen floor after I fill the tub, it’s just a matter of setting the Enigma CD to repeat and setting a towel for easy reach. One cigarette and glass of wine later and sleep is after me worse than a bill collector.
I can see it’s almost six when I jerk back awake. By now the water has lost all but its nostalgia for warmth. I know something woke me but not what. That’s when I realize my phone’s ringing from my pants pocket. Whoever is calling definitely has the impression they’re important. They’re letting it ring the four times it does before going to voice mail and then starts over again. It’s the telephone equivalent of lather-rinse-repeat. I’m tempted to ignore the damned thing. Half-draining the tub and adding more hot water has so much more appeal than finding out what asshole needs to bother me like this. Michael’s phone starting to ring means I can’t. The luddite hates answering machines and voice mail so his phone will keep ringing until the caller gives up. The mix of the two rings will drive me nuts so I at least have to get up to unplug one phone and turn off the other.
My annoyance evaps a little when I see the caller ID on my phone. The caller doesn’t just think she’s important; she is. It’s Dara. Realizing the other call could be about or from Michael I decide I have to answer these things. Perversely I answer both at once.
“Simon, the most incredible thing has happened!”
“So, Simon Carpenter finally decides he isn’t too good to answer the damned phone.” And those greetings display in a nutshell the difference between getting a call from Dara and one from Robert. Guess which friend is the born nurturer and which is the one in the twelve step program for the terminally self absorbed. Extra credit points go to whomever guesses correctly which one I hung up on.
“Um, Simon? Robert wants you to know he’s making an incredibly crude gesture for your benefit. He also wants you to try something that I understand is anatomically impossible.” I laugh but then remember how hard they tried to get in touch with me. When I ask what’s up Dara proves reluctant to discuss it over the phone. “Simon, you have to trust me on this. You have to hop in that piece of junk on wheels and get here as fast as you can. This is way too huge to dump on you on the phone.” Further cajoling proves fruitless. Dara knows what this time together could mean to my love life and she still insists I come home now to hear about whatever has happened. I guess there’s no snack time tonight.
6:30 PM
“Dara wouldn’t tell me either,” Michael complains as we make our second farewells at Russo’s. I had showered in record time and rushed back to explain what was what to him. Turned out Dara had called Michael first looking for me. Billy is full of concern that everything will be okay. Michael was only made more miserable by this. Jealousy looks good on him.
“It’s probably nothing, Michael. You know how Robert can get anyone worked up. He’s gotten Dara upset about something and her mind won’t be at ease until she sees me. I’ll call you as soon as I know what they’re overreacting to.” Michael didn’t bother to contradict what I said. I mean, Robert is a drama queen par excellence so he could be expected to make calls like the ones we got. Dara joining in and leading the parade is unheard of. We both fear something awful has happened but are afraid to say so. Like not talking about it will make it turn out to be nothing. In fact, Michael says nothing before I leave Russo’s for the final time. What could he say after the unexpected and decidedly welcome kiss I suddenly get? It’s a kiss that guarantees more in the future.
Ever drive from the Jersey Shore towards Philly? I don’t recommend it, especially if there are any topics you’d like to avoid dwelling on. Dieter calls it a thinking man’s trip. Fairly early on the drive is confined to mostly two lane roads with little scenery besides empty lots and trees. Lots of trees. There is almost nothing to prevent a person from getting introspective. Poor me.
Too bad a person cannot decide which train of thought he gets stuck in. I would have rather dwelled on whatever it was that had Dara and Robert summoning me so ominously. Dara sounded as serious as she did after she found out Charlie died. Charlie, the ex-boyfriend who Dara had always assumed she’d get back together with somewhere down the road. When a roommate of his called to tell her he was dead, Dara insisted it must be a prank. The guy who called was renowned for unfunny jokes like that. No such luck that time. The man Dara has never stopped caring for and her successor were in the way of a drunk driver. The way she sounded on the phone was the way she had sounded when she was first trying to process what had happened to Charlie.
Second choice for a reverie would have been Michael. Despite working so many hours and mostly on different shifts, Michael and I had a wonderful time this past week. Things hadn’t been that relaxed between me and Michael since we first met and were playing emotional cat and mouse with each other. It wasn’t just reuniting with the man I’ve never stopped having it bad for that felt so good. Michael and I stayed friends afterward but we didn’t rebound the way Robert and I had. Not until this past week. I could almost live with never getting another romantic shot at Michael if the friendship stayed as good as it now was! In the end not even Michael could keep my attention, no matter how hard I tried.
My mind wound up going to the same place it had every time it had a spare moment that it’s been going for the last eighteen months. My body might be hurtling toward Mount Laurel but inside I was once again back at the three-day wedding-palooza that had shattered so many lives and my starring role in the farce. The day before the wedding. Then the happiest day of Annette’s life. The worst was day three. Before the wedding Annette and I had been the closest of anyone else in our bizarre little family. We met three times a week and talked every day. In the past year and a half the most I get is news of the occasional Annette sighting and hear she’s been asking about me. This isn’t conducive to a good mood.
To make matters worse, I check my messages on my machine back home. I have an actual answering machine for my land line since that’s easier to screen calls with. Trust me. With my life, avoiding calls is as much as necessity as eating, tricking, and working. Proving my point is the one new call on the machine since the last time I checked. I would have been a bigger emotional wreck had I answered this one.
“Well, you’ve outdone yourself this time, you little monster.” The comforting tones of Sam Carpenter, the man formerly known as Daddy. He was never the perfect father but now he’s the perfect nightmare. “This latest stunt of yours has your mother in hysterics.” Dad’s like that. He gets upset and he forgets that I’m no longer his son. “I’ll kill you for real for this.” If I weren’t so mad at his tone and words I guess I would have tried to make more sense out of what he was saying. No one pushes my buttons like Sam. Hell, he installed most of them himself! That man told me for years I was his son because he and Mom chose me. Then for one mistake and who I really was he totally rejected me. Okay, so it was one of the most colossal mistakes ever. Isn’t a dad, even an adoptive one, supposed to love you anyway? Sam couldn’t. I wind up doing ninety but even with that effort, I’m unable to leave my tears behind.
8:00 PM
I’m still a wreck when I pull into my usual spot a block and a half from KA’s. It’s one of the few dependable things in my life, beside my four best friends. Sad when you think about it. Still, I’ve never pulled up to this space and not found it ready for me to park in.
“Simon!” I did not scream like a little girl. I did not jump a mile and see my keys sail through the air away from me. I did give Robert perhaps the nelliest smack of my life for stepping out of the shadows like that. I almost lit into him before I saw that he was a total mess as well. Robert had been crying! True, I’d only seen him do it three times in all the time I’ve known him but I know the signs. Since all three other instances involved someone dying I braced myself for the worst. I wait for an explanation and get nothing. Well, almost zilch. He does hand me a change of clothes he and I couldn’t afford if we pooled our resources and gave up food for six months and with them is a key to the ritzy hotel across the street from KA’s. “It says room 314. Let yourself in and don’t call anyone or turn on the TV. Change into these too. Got it?”
“The Ambassador?” I’m stunned. “Dude, even the water there’s out of our price range. You didn’t agree to artistic nudes again, did you?” That finally gets a slight smile from Robert. It only serves to drive home how uncharacteristically grim he seems.
“Hey, that third time was legit! It wasn’t Peter’s fault they ended up on that porn website.” As quick as his mood lifted it went back down to visit the cellar. A heavy vibe like this coming from Robert is downright scary. The guy’s made an art form out of appearing shallow and superficial. Dropping the facade like this means whatever is going down is even more huge than I could have suspected. “Look, ‘Mon, this is Dara’s idea. You could be in danger if you don’t stick to her script. You can’t wind up dead too.” The look on his face as he says this has me so stunned he manages to turn and head back to KA’s before his words fully sink in.
“‘Too’? ‘Dead too’?” Robert hesitates in mid-step for a second but doesn’t stop or turn around. Overwhelmed, I have no choice. The Ambassador is waiting!
9:30 PM
Like all important chapters in my life, this one began with a party. That’s the way things just go. There was the birthday party that preceded my parents telling me I was adopted. Then there’s the homecoming dance were I realized I was gay and, somewhat related, a Halloween party that same year when me and Johnny West down the street decided to act on the feelings we had for each other, and the last big one was my almost-brother-in-law’s bachelor party. The current one one was held at The Church.
The Church has always been my third favorite club in Philadelphia. It really was a church once upon a time. This was in the good old days when going to Sunday services was an event. The old building was built on a scale that wasn’t commonplace even back then. It was massive. The night in question we were in the third floor bar. It’s called the Puritan Bar because of it being the only spot in the place that had a bar and no view of the very licentious goings on that are always happening at The Church.
“God, this sucks. Why are we all the way up here?” The speaker is the guy who’s tied for first place as my very best friend, Robert Janes. Robert isn’t the most self-aware bulb on the Christmas Tree but he is one of the hottest. Italian with a little Greek and all man hungry. He has dark eyes and hair, is dark complected, and on tiptoe he might be five ten. Looking at him you can guess he was a gymnast back in HS. Robert and I waiter together at KA’s in Mount Laurel, New Jersey.
“Maybe it’s the fact you’ve done a strip show every time you’ve been downstairs in this place. If the troll managing the place didn’t want in Mikey’s pants so bad we wouldn’t even be here with you in tow.” Putting Robert in place is my co-best friend number two, Dara McCray. The girls is so hot she turns on even gay men. She has porcelain skin, green eyes that entrance, very long auburn hair, and an hourglass figure that more honestly covers a week rather than an hour. The hottest thing about her is that she honestly has no clue how hot she is. “By the way, Michael, that was genius downstairs. The Troll wasn’t listening to anything Dieter and Simon were saying. We’d still be driving around arguing about where to go if you hadn’t lost the shirt.” That would be Michael Fuchs, the best-looking man on Earth. I sometimes wonder what his and Dara’s kids would look like. Luckily, Michael has the same motto about women that 7-Up used to have about caffeine.
“S’cool. We all know why Si picked The Church. He agreed to us dragging him out tonight just ‘cause he figured we’d never get in here. I wore boxers and a thong just in case the troll needed more of a show.” That’s Michael for you: Anything for the cause. And he was right. I only agreed to come out tonight because I was sick of all their pressure. I should have known he’d be on to me. In addition to being a waiter, sometime model, and a web porn star, Michael holds the position as my favorite ex. You know, that description doesn’t really do the guy justice. I said Dara is made better-looking because she doesn’t realize how good-looking she is, right? Michael sure as hell ain’t like that. Michael knows how hot he is and uses it to full advantage. Why not? If you have piercing green eyes, cheekbones so sharp they could cut paper, and thick tousled black hair (along with a body sculpted so well in the gym) you’d be a fool not to use what god gave you. “You wanna see that show, Deet? We’re the only boys here who haven’t done it together...yet.” Michael might not be a rocket scientist but he knew his effect on Dieter Gotlieb. We all saw how Dieter’s eyes glazed over at the description of how far Michael was willing to go. He leaned in very close to the point where they’d start making out if Dieter leaned forward an inch.
“Michael...” Surprising me and Dara was that Robert beat us to the punch. He and Dieter are about as opposite as possible. Dieter is definitely not a hot blooded Mediterranean lover. He is clearly German with dirt brown hair, light brown eyes, skin that is as pale as Dara’s without being as attractive, and is six foot tall while weighing less than Robert. Dieter also can count the number of lovers in his twenty-five years on one hand whereas Robert has had nights where he wouldn’t be able to count his lovers on two hands. Still, the two have been roommates for two years and despite the fact Robert appears as callous with Dieter’s feelings as he is with everyone else, the two are each other’s favorite henchman. Whether it’s the waiter or the waiter-slash-art student’s harebrained scheme, the other is the first to help out.
“No, Robert, let him. Everyone else at this table has seen it. Hell, everyone else in the building has. It’s my turn.” The pipe cleaner I call friend then hopped up and practically skipped over to the DJ. Within a minute one of Dieter’s favorite mixes was playing, from Bring It On I thinks. “Okay, big boy. Let’s see what you’ve got.” The rest of us were just stunned. Who would have thought insecure, shy Dieter had it in him? Next time we count how many Manhattans he’s had. Michael too. I’ve seen Michael strip before but tonight is special. It’s a blistering hot dance and he takes his time getting down to that thong. Dieter actually feels the boy up and god help us what might have happened if The Troll hadn’t been alerted. I think we know who he expected to find table dancing.
“Cool. So this what it’s like when someone else gets you kicked out of a club.” Robert isn’t going to let go of this for some time. Who can blame him? As for our impromptu exotic dancer, all that Michael put back on was his shoes. As we walk to Dara’s Hummer he’s behaving like he always walks through parking lots in a thong.
“Shut up, Robert. This is all your fault.” This comment of Dara’s puzzles all of us, especially Michael. “Sorry. It just didn’t feel right not to say it after we get tossed out of someplace. Deet, you have that CD Robert burned last week?” When he said he did, Dara went to work. She sent Robert to a state store while Dieter moved his own heap so it was one empty space away from Dara’s. They synchronized hitting play and the party was back on, especially when Robert returned with the wine and plastic cups.
Actually, it’s a miracle we weren’t kicked out of the parking lot too. We attracted quite a crowd there, with more booze added to the mix as well. The highpoint was when Michael and Robert, surprising no one with the fact he was also wearing a thong, got up on the cars and became go go boys. They had over two hundred dollars slipped in the barely there underwear before closing time came. It wasn’t just that club like noise after club hours would have attracted cops that got us to cease and desist. Closing time would have meant The Troll could have joined us and one of the bouncers warned us that was in fact why he hadn’t shut us down.
We were all too trashed to drive home and cabs are something we don’t do. Lucky for us Michael’s cousin lived nearby and was auditioning for something on the Left Coast. Connie won’t get involved with Michael and his mother’s wars but she will gladly provide her beloved cousin with a hiding place. Still with a few bottles of wine left, the five of us continued the party in Connie’s California King-sized bed. All of us pretended not to notice Dieter was almost glued to Michael. Hopes spring eternal, I suppose. That’s why I was surprised Dieter spoke to me and not Michael.
“Another fine plan goes astray, eh, Si?” Buzzed as I was Dieter made no sense. “You were gonna go out to have the bad time that an awful person like you deserves. I guess you should have warned those three guys who gave you their phone numbers what bad taste they had.” Suddenly everyone looks a little too serious.
“Yeah, Si. It’s been eighteen months. Sax cloth and ashes time is over.” I have to smile at Michael sometimes.
“That’s sack cloth, Mikey, but you’re right.” Dara has changed into a nightgown she’s found of Connie’s. For a moment I regret the fact I’m gayer than hell. “You weren’t the only one that hurt Annette. Why are you the only one living like a monk.”
“‘Mon, you’ll be thirty in a few weeks. You want your Twenties going out with a bang. Maybe you can even whimper a little. You’ve wallowed long enough.” Just for a moment I got a flash of the worry for me Robert has. I know how deep his feelings are for me but it’s rare he shows it.
“And that rut you’re in, Simon? I’m afraid soon it’s going to be so deep you won’t be able to climb back out.” Dara shows her feelings more freely than Robert does and her concern is all over her face. My suspicion that tonight was an intervention has proven right. Their idea to get me buzzed enough not explode on them seems to be working too. Looking at her and Robert just plain gets to me so I turn to Dieter. Big mistake. Those unremarkable brown eyes can be remarkably puppylike when he needs them to be.
“Si, you’ve closed yourself off. Nothing in your life seems to interest you anymore. You need a change at least. You know, a change is as good as a cure.” Good old Dieter. He loves cliches almost as much as he loves me. “We got you a week off. You’re gonna go away and be Vacation Si.”
“Vacation Si?” Maybe I was drunker than I thought because that made no sense. Robert crawls over Dieter to drive the point home. Did anyone miss how Dieter used that as an excuse to move closer to Michael?
“Yeah, it’s a variation on New School Si. You know how when you move to a new town when you’re still in school and no one knows you? For one week you’re only what you tell people you are and they only judge you on how you act around them. Clean slate time.” It sounded slightly appealing but spontaneous is not my nature.
“I don’t know...” That’s when Michael trotted out the big gun.
“Tomorrow you’re coming home to Ventnor with me. Your vacation starts tomorrow and for nine days you’re all mine.” The protest I’m pretty sure I was going to make died on my lips the second Michael flashed his full wattage smile. Maybe my favorite ex could stop being so ex...
Monday, August 9th
2:00 PM
“Date.” Michael takes another drag from our Parliament Light 100 and strikes a pose. That’s one of the things he likes to do. We’re on a break from our vacation activities and playing one of our favorite games.
“No way, man.” The two men we’re discussing continue down the street oblivious that they are contestants on the Is It A Date Game. “See how much they look alike? They’re brothers.” Michael may be the highest tipped waiter everywhere he goes but he sucks at this game. He’s still not about to give up. If I didn’t know for sure his middle name was Augustus I would swear it was Competitive.
“But the body language! Only lovers are that familiar with each other.” From his pout I suspect Michael is beginning to see that he’s wrong again. He wouldn’t be Michael though if he didn’t put up a fight on his way down.
“That’s just knowing someone for ages. Think about us all and Dara. Everyone who meets us is shocked she hasn’t done or isn’t doing one of us.” Michael just smirks. I know he likes to play on my doubts about the early days of his and Dara’s friendship when the rest of us in the group were pretty much excluded by them.
We are so relaxed at the end of the alley bordering Russo’s, where Michael works. The vacation hasn’t turned out quite as we planned. One of Michael’s coworkers had a heart attack, canceling his time off, and another having a grandparent died meant there was an opening for me to slip into. It’s turned out probably better than the week of scheduled gaiety and seeing the sights Michael had planned. It’s been a week like the beginning of our friendship, relaxed, and leading towards a closer relationship. History should only repeat itself!
It could have been in a nicer place. Ever been to Ventnor, New Jersey? It’s right next to Atlantic City and might as well be on another planet. The glitz and glamor you see of AC doesn’t extend as far as its own borders, much less into neighboring towns. It’s like all prosperity has been sucked into Donald and Ivana-land.
Michael lives and works in one of the least sucky areas of Ventnor. Contrary to popular belief there is an occasional oasis in Atlantic City’s neighbors. Smack dab inside one of them is Russo’s. It’s where Michael works as a waiter. Of his three occupations, it’s actually as waiter that my boy shines. Mikey isn’t the sharpest tack on the bulletin board but he’s all heart. His looks get him the checks before the camera occasionally but his charm is his bed and butter. Most stunning men and women put at least some people off with their looks but Michael’s appeal always wins them over. He can make anyone feel like they’re a good friend for at least short intervals. If waitering could lead to world domination, Michael would be King God Emperor by now.
Today has been the busiest day for years for Russo’s. I have no reason to doubt that. It sure beat any one day at KA’s back in Mount Laurel all to hell. From the time I got here at ten there hasn’t been more than one to two minute breaks. We wouldn’t even have gotten this smoke break if Michael hadn’t refused to clock in until after we had some time out here first. As it is Billy, the shift runner, pops his head out the side door and mouths ‘hurry’. Michael just waves his cigarette at Billy. It’s cool he has a boss that smokes. Back home, Darlene would send a waiter in the middle of a nic fit to serve a party of fifteen and as a nonsmoker never realize why that’s a bad thing.
“What a last shift, Si. Gina was filling me in when I got here. Five tables at the same time, all with English as the second language and each with a different first one.” I can see Michael wishes he had been here to see this.
“The Mini-UN? It was nothing. Translating what you really mean all these years has been excellent practice.” Michael ‘playfully’ hits me on the arm. There should be a bruise there tomorrow. We’re silent a moment. It’s a comfortable silence and we’ve been having a lot of those.
“Dara says you saw Annette a few weeks ago.” Michael looks away quickly. Annette is the older of my two little sisters. Or maybe ex-sister. That all depends on if daddy dearest got the adoption undone like he swore he would.
“That little bitch.” At first I think he means Annette but I laugh when I realize he means Dara.
“Let me guess. She made you swear not to tell me so I wouldn’t be upset.” He nods his head yes. “Dude, it’s amazing we still go along with her. She gives you great advice that goes against what you want to do and then turns around and does what you wanted to do in the first place.” I take my last drag and flick it into a puddle to hear the hiss as it goes out. “How was she?” It’s my turn to not be able to look him in the eye. I don’t want to see pity in his eyes or that the truth is worse than he’s willing to tell me.
“She was okay. Almost her old self.” He must have heard my sigh despite all efforts at keeping it down. “Shit, Si, this is why I agreed with Dara not to tell you. After what Doug did to her-”
“After what I did!”
“God, it’s like you and Robert want to give that shithead excuses.” That’s news to me. Robert’s never stuck up for my quasi-brother-in-law in my presence. “It was Doug that destroyed Annette’s faith in everything she loved. I think she’s getting over it. She asked how you were doing. That’s more than any other time I’ve seen her.” I laugh a little grimly. So there have been some Annette sightings Michael has been able to keep from me despite Dara’s efforts.
“Yeah. Something. She knows where I live and work. She has both my phone numbers. It’s called being polite, Michael. Annette probably ran out of things to say to you.” My hands are shaking but I hope Michael doesn’t notice as I head back inside. I think I’ll shatter if anyone, especially him, comforts me. right now.
Two hours and twenty minutes later and I’m an ex-Russo’s employee. I’ve turned in the only apron they think I have, been told by everyone who isn’t overwhelmed by needy eaters how much they’ve enjoyed working with me, and I have my backpack all loaded. All that’s left is walking the three (3) blocks back to Michael’s apartment.
“You are so lucky you don’t have to close tonight,” Michael says and I know he means it. Despite his canceling his time off and me pitching in, there still isn’t enough staff for tonight. I’m not tempted to stay. “When do you roll out tomorrow?” It’s obvious Michael has plans for when he gets home. We’ve been very good exes for eight days and that’s long enough.
“I couldn’t get anyone to cover my lunch shift so I thought I’d leave at dawn.” The puppy dog eyes come out in full force as Michael realizes that means I’ll have to crash by the time he gets home. I hold out as long as I can. “I don’t work ‘til Wednesday breakfast so I don’t have to be home before Everybody Else Loves Raymond is on. Howzabout I lay out a late night snack for when you get in?” I drop my voice and lean in close as I tell him this. Any guesses what kind of snack?
Thoughts of the hors d’oeuvre I have in mind keeps me almost skipping all the way home. Not even the leftover drizzle can dampen my spirits. The thought my friends back home are gonna get hit any second by the killer storm we experienced right after lunch even makes me happier. Dara running from class to work, Dieter’s finishing up at that manga convention in New York, and Robert’s eternal search for Mister Right are all getting soaked. Well, maybe not Dieter but I can still picture it. It gives me that extra chuckle I’m looking for right up to Michael’s front door.
Every time I walk in Michael’s place I think the same thing: I’ve seen walk in fridges bigger than this in most places I’ve worked. Still, it does have something special about it. It’s the first place Michael has ever lived in alone in his entire life. He went from family home to a series of live in relationships with pit stops on friends’ couches in-between. Here now we have a one bedroom apartment that is finally and totally all Michael’s taste. True, it’s bad taste to say the least but now we know the man didn’t get the gay gene for decorating. The whole thing has a retro/post-modern/Louis The XIV/yard sale kinda vibe going on. I also know Michael has a special kind of bravery. How else do you explain a halogen floor lamp modeled to look like a Victorian streetlight placed right next to a naked female mannequin that has a bullet hole right between its eyes.
It’s just before five when I get in. That leaves a maximum of five hours before Michael gets in. If he rushes, and he damn well better, it’ll be more like four. I’d say a good long soak in the tub is in order. Sure, I know it’s like immersing yourself in your own filth but I always follow up a bath with a shower. Otherwise it’s ik city. All that’s needed is the half bottle of Sangria in the icebox and a washcloth, as the plug built in to the tub probably has been broken longer than I’ve been alive. Leaving my clothes on the kitchen floor after I fill the tub, it’s just a matter of setting the Enigma CD to repeat and setting a towel for easy reach. One cigarette and glass of wine later and sleep is after me worse than a bill collector.
I can see it’s almost six when I jerk back awake. By now the water has lost all but its nostalgia for warmth. I know something woke me but not what. That’s when I realize my phone’s ringing from my pants pocket. Whoever is calling definitely has the impression they’re important. They’re letting it ring the four times it does before going to voice mail and then starts over again. It’s the telephone equivalent of lather-rinse-repeat. I’m tempted to ignore the damned thing. Half-draining the tub and adding more hot water has so much more appeal than finding out what asshole needs to bother me like this. Michael’s phone starting to ring means I can’t. The luddite hates answering machines and voice mail so his phone will keep ringing until the caller gives up. The mix of the two rings will drive me nuts so I at least have to get up to unplug one phone and turn off the other.
My annoyance evaps a little when I see the caller ID on my phone. The caller doesn’t just think she’s important; she is. It’s Dara. Realizing the other call could be about or from Michael I decide I have to answer these things. Perversely I answer both at once.
“Simon, the most incredible thing has happened!”
“So, Simon Carpenter finally decides he isn’t too good to answer the damned phone.” And those greetings display in a nutshell the difference between getting a call from Dara and one from Robert. Guess which friend is the born nurturer and which is the one in the twelve step program for the terminally self absorbed. Extra credit points go to whomever guesses correctly which one I hung up on.
“Um, Simon? Robert wants you to know he’s making an incredibly crude gesture for your benefit. He also wants you to try something that I understand is anatomically impossible.” I laugh but then remember how hard they tried to get in touch with me. When I ask what’s up Dara proves reluctant to discuss it over the phone. “Simon, you have to trust me on this. You have to hop in that piece of junk on wheels and get here as fast as you can. This is way too huge to dump on you on the phone.” Further cajoling proves fruitless. Dara knows what this time together could mean to my love life and she still insists I come home now to hear about whatever has happened. I guess there’s no snack time tonight.
6:30 PM
“Dara wouldn’t tell me either,” Michael complains as we make our second farewells at Russo’s. I had showered in record time and rushed back to explain what was what to him. Turned out Dara had called Michael first looking for me. Billy is full of concern that everything will be okay. Michael was only made more miserable by this. Jealousy looks good on him.
“It’s probably nothing, Michael. You know how Robert can get anyone worked up. He’s gotten Dara upset about something and her mind won’t be at ease until she sees me. I’ll call you as soon as I know what they’re overreacting to.” Michael didn’t bother to contradict what I said. I mean, Robert is a drama queen par excellence so he could be expected to make calls like the ones we got. Dara joining in and leading the parade is unheard of. We both fear something awful has happened but are afraid to say so. Like not talking about it will make it turn out to be nothing. In fact, Michael says nothing before I leave Russo’s for the final time. What could he say after the unexpected and decidedly welcome kiss I suddenly get? It’s a kiss that guarantees more in the future.
Ever drive from the Jersey Shore towards Philly? I don’t recommend it, especially if there are any topics you’d like to avoid dwelling on. Dieter calls it a thinking man’s trip. Fairly early on the drive is confined to mostly two lane roads with little scenery besides empty lots and trees. Lots of trees. There is almost nothing to prevent a person from getting introspective. Poor me.
Too bad a person cannot decide which train of thought he gets stuck in. I would have rather dwelled on whatever it was that had Dara and Robert summoning me so ominously. Dara sounded as serious as she did after she found out Charlie died. Charlie, the ex-boyfriend who Dara had always assumed she’d get back together with somewhere down the road. When a roommate of his called to tell her he was dead, Dara insisted it must be a prank. The guy who called was renowned for unfunny jokes like that. No such luck that time. The man Dara has never stopped caring for and her successor were in the way of a drunk driver. The way she sounded on the phone was the way she had sounded when she was first trying to process what had happened to Charlie.
Second choice for a reverie would have been Michael. Despite working so many hours and mostly on different shifts, Michael and I had a wonderful time this past week. Things hadn’t been that relaxed between me and Michael since we first met and were playing emotional cat and mouse with each other. It wasn’t just reuniting with the man I’ve never stopped having it bad for that felt so good. Michael and I stayed friends afterward but we didn’t rebound the way Robert and I had. Not until this past week. I could almost live with never getting another romantic shot at Michael if the friendship stayed as good as it now was! In the end not even Michael could keep my attention, no matter how hard I tried.
My mind wound up going to the same place it had every time it had a spare moment that it’s been going for the last eighteen months. My body might be hurtling toward Mount Laurel but inside I was once again back at the three-day wedding-palooza that had shattered so many lives and my starring role in the farce. The day before the wedding. Then the happiest day of Annette’s life. The worst was day three. Before the wedding Annette and I had been the closest of anyone else in our bizarre little family. We met three times a week and talked every day. In the past year and a half the most I get is news of the occasional Annette sighting and hear she’s been asking about me. This isn’t conducive to a good mood.
To make matters worse, I check my messages on my machine back home. I have an actual answering machine for my land line since that’s easier to screen calls with. Trust me. With my life, avoiding calls is as much as necessity as eating, tricking, and working. Proving my point is the one new call on the machine since the last time I checked. I would have been a bigger emotional wreck had I answered this one.
“Well, you’ve outdone yourself this time, you little monster.” The comforting tones of Sam Carpenter, the man formerly known as Daddy. He was never the perfect father but now he’s the perfect nightmare. “This latest stunt of yours has your mother in hysterics.” Dad’s like that. He gets upset and he forgets that I’m no longer his son. “I’ll kill you for real for this.” If I weren’t so mad at his tone and words I guess I would have tried to make more sense out of what he was saying. No one pushes my buttons like Sam. Hell, he installed most of them himself! That man told me for years I was his son because he and Mom chose me. Then for one mistake and who I really was he totally rejected me. Okay, so it was one of the most colossal mistakes ever. Isn’t a dad, even an adoptive one, supposed to love you anyway? Sam couldn’t. I wind up doing ninety but even with that effort, I’m unable to leave my tears behind.
8:00 PM
I’m still a wreck when I pull into my usual spot a block and a half from KA’s. It’s one of the few dependable things in my life, beside my four best friends. Sad when you think about it. Still, I’ve never pulled up to this space and not found it ready for me to park in.
“Simon!” I did not scream like a little girl. I did not jump a mile and see my keys sail through the air away from me. I did give Robert perhaps the nelliest smack of my life for stepping out of the shadows like that. I almost lit into him before I saw that he was a total mess as well. Robert had been crying! True, I’d only seen him do it three times in all the time I’ve known him but I know the signs. Since all three other instances involved someone dying I braced myself for the worst. I wait for an explanation and get nothing. Well, almost zilch. He does hand me a change of clothes he and I couldn’t afford if we pooled our resources and gave up food for six months and with them is a key to the ritzy hotel across the street from KA’s. “It says room 314. Let yourself in and don’t call anyone or turn on the TV. Change into these too. Got it?”
“The Ambassador?” I’m stunned. “Dude, even the water there’s out of our price range. You didn’t agree to artistic nudes again, did you?” That finally gets a slight smile from Robert. It only serves to drive home how uncharacteristically grim he seems.
“Hey, that third time was legit! It wasn’t Peter’s fault they ended up on that porn website.” As quick as his mood lifted it went back down to visit the cellar. A heavy vibe like this coming from Robert is downright scary. The guy’s made an art form out of appearing shallow and superficial. Dropping the facade like this means whatever is going down is even more huge than I could have suspected. “Look, ‘Mon, this is Dara’s idea. You could be in danger if you don’t stick to her script. You can’t wind up dead too.” The look on his face as he says this has me so stunned he manages to turn and head back to KA’s before his words fully sink in.
“‘Too’? ‘Dead too’?” Robert hesitates in mid-step for a second but doesn’t stop or turn around. Overwhelmed, I have no choice. The Ambassador is waiting!
Sunday, March 1, 2009
One Down, One To Go: The Prolog
Roger Masters hated his life. Had hated it for some time now, starting seven months ago. Seven months ago Roger had a best friend named Simon Conlan. Simon had been his hero as well as Roger’s most lucrative client. Roger had been best man at both of Simon’s weddings and Roger had returned the favor three times. Roger had even envied Simon after he remarried. Roger had barely even been friends with the three women he had married. Simon Conlan had found in Betsy the soul mate Roger had stopped believing in.
Things went wrong during the fifth month of Betsy’s pregnancy. Betsy had a craving for mint chocolate chip ice cream. Chuck Summers had a craving too but his was for a fourth six pack of Bud. Both men had entered the same intersection at the same time. Unfortunately, only Simon’s light was green. Simon died at the scene and Chuck lasted two hours more.
Roger could have weathered that storm just fine. There was Betsy to think of and the babies. Betsy didn’t have any other family and after his last divorce, neither did Roger. Only one of Simon’s children from his first marriage was close to Betsy and that relationship was problematic thanks to Simon’s hateful ex-wife. Roger had believed for some time he and their mother would be enough for Simon’s sons.
One week after they buried Simon, a doctor found signs of cancer during Betsy’s next checkup. Sound bad enough? There was a seventy-five percent chance treatment would have caused Betsy to miscarry. Betsy had been a friend of Roger’s since college and the reason she had met Simon in the first place. He understood her taking her chances with refusing treatment. Chuck Summers had killed Simon. Betsy was not about to kill his children as well.
That brought them to today. A healthy multiple birth was in the cards but not a healthy mother. Even before her first postnatal cancer checkup it was clear Betsy wasn’t very long for the world. Three months later she was proving that prediction right.
Roger had the distraction of seeing the boys found homes before their mother passed. There was no family available and Betsy and Roger had agreed that at his age it wasn’t a good fit for Roger to play daddy. So while he watched his best friend’s widow waste away, Roger had farmed out his godsons in placements that would ease Betsy’s passing as much as possible. The only thing they disagreed on was Betsy’s insistence each child be placed separately and there be no way connection between children on paper. Oh, and there was the couple from Philadelphia. Roger hadn’t thought they were good enough but time was short and they did have money. Betsy liked the idea of one of the boys growing up with a silver spoon in his mouth.
This brought them to the night before Thanksgiving. Betsy had made peace with never seeing another Christmas. It was missing Thanksgiving that bothered her. The boys were a few days gone now and all fight was gone from Betsy. It was Roger’s will alone that got them here, to November Twenty-Fourth.
“Mister Masters? If you wait much longer...” The nurse didn’t have to finish the sentence. Roger hated that. He noticed it happened a lot around terminal patients. Very few sentences appeared to be completed. Roger was glad for the mental distraction as he entered Betsy’s room. He’d seen anorexia patients who weighed more than Betsy.
“Hey, counselor,” she rasped. Her voice had been ravaged as well. The only part of Betsy that Roger thought untouched was those glorious brown eyes.
“If it isn’t the big New York City book editor. Care for a dance?” Betsy chuckled as well as she could. “I have the Polaroids. They all came in.” Roger held them fanned so Betsy could see her children in their new homes.
“Did Peter...” Not even Betsy was finishing her sentences now. Maybe it was contagious.
“He was here an hour ago but his mother was hot on his heels. Peter wanted to see you but didn’t want to subject you to Anna. He said he loved you, sweetie.” Where Betsy found the strength to put her hand over his Roger never figured out.
“Liar. Peter could never say that about the evil harpy who stole his father away, not in front of his mother.” Those chocolate eyes misted. “But we both know he does love me. He does...” For a second Roger feared that the time had come and he had just lost Betsy.
“Oh god...”
“What time is it, Roger?” Startled, he looked at his watch.
“Two minutes past twelve, Bets. Happy Thanksgiving.” There was no good cheer here. Roger wondered if there ever would be again.
“My last Thanksgiving. Thank you, Roger. You’ve been the most wonderful best friend and godfather I’ve ever heard of.” Roger was crying freely now. Would being brave prolong her life? “Next to my boys, it’s you I’ll miss the most. Live well, Roger. Me and Simon will make sure there’s a place waiting for you when it’s your turn.” Roger started to answer before he realized it wasn’t necessary. Betsy was gone.
As he started on what would turn out to be his own last year of life, Roger always wondered about the boys. Did they have the wonderful lives their mother was determined they have? Roger never got the answer to that question. No one would until at least thirty years later...
Things went wrong during the fifth month of Betsy’s pregnancy. Betsy had a craving for mint chocolate chip ice cream. Chuck Summers had a craving too but his was for a fourth six pack of Bud. Both men had entered the same intersection at the same time. Unfortunately, only Simon’s light was green. Simon died at the scene and Chuck lasted two hours more.
Roger could have weathered that storm just fine. There was Betsy to think of and the babies. Betsy didn’t have any other family and after his last divorce, neither did Roger. Only one of Simon’s children from his first marriage was close to Betsy and that relationship was problematic thanks to Simon’s hateful ex-wife. Roger had believed for some time he and their mother would be enough for Simon’s sons.
One week after they buried Simon, a doctor found signs of cancer during Betsy’s next checkup. Sound bad enough? There was a seventy-five percent chance treatment would have caused Betsy to miscarry. Betsy had been a friend of Roger’s since college and the reason she had met Simon in the first place. He understood her taking her chances with refusing treatment. Chuck Summers had killed Simon. Betsy was not about to kill his children as well.
That brought them to today. A healthy multiple birth was in the cards but not a healthy mother. Even before her first postnatal cancer checkup it was clear Betsy wasn’t very long for the world. Three months later she was proving that prediction right.
Roger had the distraction of seeing the boys found homes before their mother passed. There was no family available and Betsy and Roger had agreed that at his age it wasn’t a good fit for Roger to play daddy. So while he watched his best friend’s widow waste away, Roger had farmed out his godsons in placements that would ease Betsy’s passing as much as possible. The only thing they disagreed on was Betsy’s insistence each child be placed separately and there be no way connection between children on paper. Oh, and there was the couple from Philadelphia. Roger hadn’t thought they were good enough but time was short and they did have money. Betsy liked the idea of one of the boys growing up with a silver spoon in his mouth.
This brought them to the night before Thanksgiving. Betsy had made peace with never seeing another Christmas. It was missing Thanksgiving that bothered her. The boys were a few days gone now and all fight was gone from Betsy. It was Roger’s will alone that got them here, to November Twenty-Fourth.
“Mister Masters? If you wait much longer...” The nurse didn’t have to finish the sentence. Roger hated that. He noticed it happened a lot around terminal patients. Very few sentences appeared to be completed. Roger was glad for the mental distraction as he entered Betsy’s room. He’d seen anorexia patients who weighed more than Betsy.
“Hey, counselor,” she rasped. Her voice had been ravaged as well. The only part of Betsy that Roger thought untouched was those glorious brown eyes.
“If it isn’t the big New York City book editor. Care for a dance?” Betsy chuckled as well as she could. “I have the Polaroids. They all came in.” Roger held them fanned so Betsy could see her children in their new homes.
“Did Peter...” Not even Betsy was finishing her sentences now. Maybe it was contagious.
“He was here an hour ago but his mother was hot on his heels. Peter wanted to see you but didn’t want to subject you to Anna. He said he loved you, sweetie.” Where Betsy found the strength to put her hand over his Roger never figured out.
“Liar. Peter could never say that about the evil harpy who stole his father away, not in front of his mother.” Those chocolate eyes misted. “But we both know he does love me. He does...” For a second Roger feared that the time had come and he had just lost Betsy.
“Oh god...”
“What time is it, Roger?” Startled, he looked at his watch.
“Two minutes past twelve, Bets. Happy Thanksgiving.” There was no good cheer here. Roger wondered if there ever would be again.
“My last Thanksgiving. Thank you, Roger. You’ve been the most wonderful best friend and godfather I’ve ever heard of.” Roger was crying freely now. Would being brave prolong her life? “Next to my boys, it’s you I’ll miss the most. Live well, Roger. Me and Simon will make sure there’s a place waiting for you when it’s your turn.” Roger started to answer before he realized it wasn’t necessary. Betsy was gone.
As he started on what would turn out to be his own last year of life, Roger always wondered about the boys. Did they have the wonderful lives their mother was determined they have? Roger never got the answer to that question. No one would until at least thirty years later...
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