Love's Illusions: A Novel (18 page)

Taking another piece of pizza from the box that had been delivered a few minutes earlier, he said, “They’re your parents Jackie; never speaking to them again isn’t the answer. You have to tell the ‘whole’ truth. You didn’t tell them about him being in the hospital or what caused it, did you?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

Diverting my eyes, I said, “I don’t know. I just couldn’t tell them that – I didn’t want to hurt them that much, I guess.”

“That’s bullshit… it’s Stephen you’re protecting, not your parents. So instead you let them think he might have just made a mistake – that there was a chance you’d go back to him? Seriously? You’re seriously going to try to patch up your marriage?”

I felt defensive all of a sudden,
shit I don’t want this to turn into an argument,
I thought. “But I do have to talk to Stephen sometime, you know that. And I’m not going to… to lose everything by refusing to try.”

“What do you mean ‘lose everything’?”

“Shit Michael, think about it! They pay my rent, my tuition, I have their car… I can’t fuckin’ support myself without their help! I had to agree to try!” I blurted out, my voice sounding like it would snap in pieces as I jumped up from the table.

“Money? You’re telling me you did it for
money
? No, I don’t believe that – you did it because you’re still trying to protect him! You’re ashamed. You’re embarrassed, and for some screwed up reason, you think it’s your fault… which it isn’t… but your head is so fucked up you’re not thinking straight. Do you think a woman that forced a man to go gay would have greeted me the way you just did? Well, do you? Goddamn it – you have to stop protecting him! This wasn’t your fault. He’s the faggot… not you!”

I slumped back down into my chair, my head in my hands. “Please don’t… don’t call him that.” My eyes flashed up to meet his.

He was angry, I could see it written all over his face as he said, “You may not like the word
‘
faggot’ but that’s exactly what he is, and nothing you can say or do is going to change it.”

“I’m going to go talk to him as soon as possible. I know he’s not coming back and…” Michael started to break in, but I held my hand up to stop him, “…
and
I don’t want to go back to the life I had with him. I know it was a lie from the start – everyone is
not
lying to me. I just told you what Ronnie said when Mary Beth and I saw him in Cambridge. I’m not going back to Stephen. My parents are wrong, and I’ll not let them push me into staying married; they’ll just have to tell the relatives I screwed it up. But I do need to settle things. All I want at this point is for him to tell me the truth.”

Michael studied my face. I picked up a slice of pizza and swallowed hard, silence falling between us.

“If you see him, he’s just gonna hurt you again… you know that don’t you?” he said. “He’s not going to say anything you think you need to hear.”

“Maybe not, but I have to try. You’re right. There’s part of me that does think… no
knows
… that I played a role in this mess. He was my first real love and… I guess I need to know that at least some part of it was real.”

Looking at Michael, I felt lost and exhausted – all I wanted at that moment was sleep, preferably with his shoulder as my pillow – so before the conversation could turn sour again or go off in a direction I couldn’t handle, I pulled the oversized sweatshirt off, rounded the table and stood between his legs, pulling his head close to rest against my breast. “Just give me a little more time, and trust me, okay?”

“Okay,” he answered not moving his head. But a little edge in his voice told me this conversation was not over. There was something more going on inside his head, something more he needed to say.

Joe lived in Old Town in a fabulous old renovated brownstone. I had been there many times before with Stephen for parties or when we were invited to dinner – before our life together ended. Stephen and I had lived in Old Town our first year in Chicago before getting married. I had thought we were happy then, but now I wondered. Old Town, it seemed, was a section of the city that had a high concentration of gay guys – maybe us being good there was all in my imagination.
What was going on then that I never noticed, and why didn’t I see it,
I wondered?

A couple weeks after New Year’s I found myself ringing the bell at Joe’s home. “Hello Joe, I need to talk to Stephen,” I said without any pretext or nice chit chat, as I stepped inside. He was surprised, put off maybe, but said, “Come on in Jackie.”

“I am in,” I replied matching his smugness.

“Stephen,” he yelled out, “you have a visitor.”

Stephen appeared from the other room, standing, dead still, in the doorway. Joe’s eyes darted back and forth between us saying, “Well this is awkward – I’ll leave you two to talk.” Then turning to me, wagging his finger, and shaking his head, he said, “Don’t break anything Jackie.” I nodded in agreement, not moving my eyes from Stephen.

Stephen made his way over to one of the couches, indicating I should sit across from him on another one. I did, still not speaking. We stared at each other for a few minutes before Stephen said, “Why are you here, Jack? You never came back to the hospital, so I figured you were mad at me.”

“I was mad… How are you by the way?” I replied.

“I’m fine, completely recovered. What do you want?”

“Good, I’m glad to hear it. I want the truth, Stephen.”

He was silent for a moment watching me and then asked, “The truth about what?”

“Stop it. You know exactly what I’m talking about. I want the truth about us – from the beginning.”

“What do you mean ‘about us from the beginning’?”

“Goddamn it Stephen, stop being so obtuse and answer me. I deserve that much, and I’m not going anywhere until you do talk, so you might as well get it over with.” My lips tightened, and I felt a tension run through my body that made me feel like my shoulders would shatter at the slightest touch.

“I should be the one asking you those questions, but I’ve respected your privacy and let you go,” he replied in a sincere tone.

I shook my head trying to understand what was happening, trying to figure out what the fuck he was talking about, trying to stay calm, but it was no use. My eyes grew big, the tension in my shoulders spread throughout by body, and I hit my boiling point, “What!?!” I exclaimed, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You’re the one who walked out, and moved in with that bitch Mary Beth. She’s always hated me you know that, don’t you? And when I needed you at the hospital, you never even came back!” he shouted at me as if I had somehow wronged him and he was the hurt, injured party.

“Oh my God – I don’t believe I’m hearing this – you’re twisting everything!” I hissed. “You decided you were gay; you’re the one who was cheating on me – with men! You left Chicago, and then continued to have affairs
with men
while you were in Boston. I know that because Ronnie told me, and he told me that you got the money for those fancy gifts in high school from some old guy you were screwing back then, that I was nothing more than a cover story for you so you wouldn’t have to admit what you were!” I was on my feet screaming at him, “I’m
not
going to let you twist everything around – I’m not, I’m not!”

“Ronnie is a lying faggot, who’s just trying to get back at me because I
wouldn’t
have sex with him…”

“Right, everyone is lying except you Stephen… Is that it? The whole world is lying and I’m supposed to believe
you
, right? You fucking ended up in the hospital with
anal fistulas
because of getting butt fucked or am I wrong about that too? Wait a minute, no, the nurse was lying… Did she want to get back at you for something too, is that it?”

Stephen had stood up, and was heading towards the door. I whirled around on my heels, advancing towards him, getting within a few inches of his face. I was livid, my face was red. All I could feel was anger and rage pouring out of me, my hands clinching into fists at my side, nails digging into my palms as I planted myself in front of him. He started to turn again - I reached out and touched his arm. Before I knew what was happening, Stephen had slapped me, hard, across the face catching the corner of my right eye with a ring he was wearing. I felt the sting of it as it cut my skin. I stumbled back, in absolute shock; he had never done anything like that before. He was yelling that he wasn’t gay; he had fallen off a ladder; I had no right to accuse him of anything; all those people were just against him… that I sounded just like his friggin’ mother, and it was all my fault… The words blurred in my head.

Holding the side of my face I raised my head and saw Joe coming towards me. I flinched, but then realized that he was taking my shoulders to help me sit down. Glaring at Stephen, Joe yelled at him to go to the kitchen, get him a damp wash cloth, and a bag of peas from the freezer so my eye wouldn’t swell up like a balloon. Stephen didn’t move. “Fine, then sit down and I’ll go get it,” Joe exclaimed stomping off through the swinging kitchen door as Stephen lowered himself back onto the other couch.

“I’m sorry Jackie, I didn’t mean…”

“Shut up you motherfucker – just shut up and stay away from me!”

I sat there more or less in shock, slowly reaching up, touching the corner of my eye, and saw blood on my fingertips. I felt my temper overtaking me; I was about to scream at him again when Joe came back with a cool cloth telling me to lean back while he dabbed at the small cut. “Oh, that’s not bad at all,” he said his voice steady, “It’ll be gone soon, it’s not deep.” Handing me a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a dish towel he said, “Here, just hold this against your face for a while – you’ll feel better in no time at all.” He put the peas in my hand, raising my arm until the cold pack was covering the right side of my face. His hand lingered on mine, waiting until he felt my surge of anger dissipate some.

“Thanks, Joe, I’ll be fine,” I mumbled.

“Yeah, well, I know you will. Look… I heard what was goin’ on in here. Sorry, I hated to eavesdrop, but I didn’t want to go far in case you decided to start throwing things,” Joe said looking at me. Then turning to Stephen, “This can’t keep going on. You knew this day would come… you need to end it.”

Stephen’s daze seemed to snap at Joe’s words; we had been staring at each other, but he now focused on Joe. “I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to do. And right now the only thing I want is to get the fuck away from
her
.” His fist hit the arm of the couch as he stood up and stomped out of the room. Joe was yelling at him to sit back down, but it was no use – he was gone.

Tears were forming in my eyes as I watched him go, a little voice inside me saying I wouldn’t see him again for a very long time – if ever. All I wanted to do was cry. Joe tried to put his arm around me for comfort, but I wouldn’t let him – the role he played in this whole screwed up mess was just too great for me to forgive and forget. Handing him the bag of frozen peas, I said thanks and stood up.

Nodding in understanding he asked, “Are you okay to drive?”

“Yes,” I said, “I’m fine.”

As we walked to the door Joe told me that all my information was correct, but “he can’t admit it yet, Jackie.”

Hesitating as I stepped out onto the stairs, blinking tears from my eyes, I said, “He has to sometime. I have to hear it from him.”

My mind was racing in a million different directions as I got back into my car. I hadn’t told anyone what I was doing today, not even Michael, even though I had promised I would. He was right. How the hell did he know Stephen wouldn’t talk? And what the fuck was I going to tell him about my eye
?
Glancing in the rear view mirror one more time, I could see the red outline of Stephen’s fingertips protruding upward from the cut just under a mole I had by my eye –
shit he hit me hard, I must have struck a nerve in him, telling me I’m like his mother.
That son-of-a-bitch, I wanted to murder him for doing this, but that aside, how was I going to explain it?
Well actually, why should I even be worrying about it?
Michael had no claim on me, I owed him no explanation at all – but I did, if I wanted this relationship… and I intuitively knew it.

As I drove home from Joe’s, my only real concern was what to tell Michael. I was sure I could get creative, invent some kind of story to cover the truth, but just because Stephen lied to me, didn’t mean I had to continue lying. One lie just led to another, and Michael didn’t deserve that. I was tired of making things up, tired of the façade, tired of arguing – but most of all, I was tired of being tired. I wouldn’t try to protect Stephen any longer… I would tell Michael the truth
.
I knew him well enough by this point to be able to guess his reaction. Striking a woman, even in a moment of anger, wasn’t going to set well with his macho, biker, south side, self-appointed role as my protector. A role I knew I had not quite bothered to discourage, a role that, if I was being honest, held a bit of appeal for me in an old-fashioned screwed up sort of way, but one I was apprehensive about at this very moment. And it was a role he seemed to be taking more and more seriously ever since Thanksgiving, I reminded myself.

At least I didn’t have to go to work tonight, and Michael had gone with his brother, Tom, and a couple other guys from the neighborhood to pick up some kind of delivery in Milwaukee – so with any luck, it would look a lot better tomorrow and no one would even notice.

“That motherfucker!” I said out loud to the bathroom mirror the next morning. Instead of disappearing, the hand print was turning a deeper red with various shades of purple and it had swollen up too –
you should have kept ice on it you idiot,
I thought. I felt like shit, didn’t want to go to school; I wanted to go back to bed, but knew I had to go if I was ever going to catch up. I got myself dressed and headed off.

Michael showed up early at The Canteen that night, I knew he would. Instead of our usual
‘
you don’t know what you’re missing
’
conversation, Rick spent the early evening hours grilling me about what happened to my face – each time he asked, my answer changed. I was actually having fun tormenting him with one made-up, bazaar scenario after another, ranging from slipping in the shower, having been in a five car pile-up on the Kennedy Expressway and coming away with only a hand print, walking into a wall, falling asleep against the hand of a statue at school, a tattoo attempt gone bad, an abscessed tooth and a performance art piece for school. But despite my good mood and joking around, I knew he was not amused, and had called Michael to tell him something had happened.