An Infatuation (12 page)

Mario looked like the weight of the world was on his mountainous, perfect shoulders. “She’s changed, Harold. You won’t believe this, but Barbara’s become… a real
bitch
.”

Duh.
“I’m sorry you and Barbara are having problems, Mario.”
Not.

He sighed. “She complains about everything I do, Harold, everything I say, what I wear, what I eat, what I watch on TV, when I go to bed at night. If I walk around the house naked, she goes crazy.”

Can’t blame her there.

“When I come home from the gym, she tells me I stink.”

I’ll take a whiff.

“Whenever I do something nice for her, it’s never enough. If I get her flowers on Mother’s Day, she asks, where’s the chocolates?”

Looking at how Barbara has grown, she should probably stick to the flowers.

I noticed faint circles forming under his eyes. “And she’s become reckless, Harold. Arguing with people in stores and fighting with waiters in restaurants. Like driving here tonight. She insisted that we rent a limo, then she went off on the driver because he wouldn’t go through the red lights.”

“I heard about the incident with the nuns.”

Mario’s head dropped sadly. “One nun has a concussion, and she’s seeing double. She’ll probably sue our pants off. Like the Catholic Church don’t…
doesn’t
have enough money with all their gold and marble. Not to mention their intake from bingo.”

“I’m sorry to hear about Barbara, Mario.”
Not really.

“Ah, enough about Barbara.” He put his strong, perfectly manicured hand on my fidgeting knee. “What have you been up to, Harold?”

I felt the warmth of his hand, and I tried to remain conscious. “I’m a fourth grade teacher in a public school.”

He looked at me in admiration. “You were a great teacher, Harold.” He smiled. “Now my taxes pay your salary, if I paid any taxes.”

If it’s good enough for the Catholic Church.
“Barbara told me you are a model.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, I did a few newspapers and magazines, and a billboard, mostly swimsuits and underwear ads.”

I’ll buy every one.

We sat and watched our former classmates dance to ten-year-old songs. As they, and the band, had more to drink, the music got louder and the dancing got wilder.

Mario tapped me on the shoulder and shouted over the music, “Let’s go someplace where we can talk.”

I shouted back, “Don’t you want to talk to your old football buddies?”

He hollered, “Nah, they all look drunk.”

“Don’t you have to make a speech as class president?” I shrieked.

He shook his head back and forth, pointed to me, and rolled his finger around his ear.

“What about Stuart and Barbara?” I yelled, hoping I wouldn’t lose my voice.

Mario shouted back, “Knowing Barbara as well as I unfortunately do, they’ll be at the computer playing games for hours. Come on. Let’s go.”

“Where?” I hollered.

He said in my ear, “The coach’s office.”

His breath felt warm and wonderful on my….
The coach’s office. The sacred make-out Shangri-La, only football players and cheerleaders with nubile pom-poms dared to penetrate.
I’m going to the coach’s office… with Mario.

CHAPTER EIGHT/10 YEARS AGO

M
ARIO
LED
the way around a few corridors. Once at our hallowed destination, he opened the heavy wooden door and we entered… the coach’s office.

Mario smiled fondly. “It feels good to be back here.”

Ah, the smell of perspiration, testosterone, and homophobia.

“Look, the old couch.” Mario caressed the threadbare brown corduroy sofa, then rushed over to the knotted birch desk. “And the desk! The old plays are still here! This place hasn’t changed at all.” He looked just like the old, or rather young, Mario.

I felt like a patron on an historic tour with Mario as my tour guide. “You haven’t changed either, Mario.”

“Neither have you, Harold.”

“I’ve changed.”

“How?”

“Mel Gibson’s no longer my favorite actor.”

Mario laughed, then sat on the couch and motioned for me to join him.

“Am I allowed to sit here, Mario?”

He took hold of my arm and sat me down next to him. “Let’s talk about the good old days in high school.”

“They were good for
you
, Mario.”

“Harold, they were pretty good for you too.” His knee rested against mine like when we were kids studying in my bedroom.

I laughed. “Sure being beaten up and called names was a laugh riot, and having no friends was a picnic.”

“You had friends. You had Horrible Hannah.” He tweaked my nose. “And you had
me
.” His smile enveloped me. “And
I
had the best tutor in New Jersey. You know, Harold, if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be as intelligent as I am now.”

They can put that on my tombstone.

Mario rested back on the sofa as if we were in his family room watching a game on his wide screen television.
Okay, I drove by his house and peeked in a window once… or twice.

“Your folks okay, Harold?”

“Yeah, my mother went through a rough time with her illness, but my father was there to schedule each chemo treatment, acupuncture session, each meeting with her herbalist and nutritionist and hypnotist, every meal, every nap, and every doctor’s visit.”

“I always liked your parents, Harold.”

“They liked you too.”

“They’re okay with you and Stuart?”

“My father calls Stuart the son he never had. My mother said since gay couples are okay with the Dalai Lama, she’s onboard too. How are your parents?”

Mario kicked off his loafers. All he needed was a fireplace, slippers, and a pipe for the perfect picture. “My father’s still a dick. My mother still takes it. I’m glad I don’t have to anymore. I don’t see them too much. I still miss my nonna.”

“I remember.”

We sat in thought for a while.

I broke the silence. “How’s your little brother?”

“Not so little anymore. He’s a marine.”

“Ah, a stud like his big brother.”

Mario nudged my shoulder with his. I put my hands over my lap and thought about something unpleasant.

“Mario, my sister moved to Florida. She runs a nursing home there.”

“Good, we can move to Florida when we get old and feeble.”

“I think we have to. Isn’t it the law?”

We shared a laugh.

He winked at me. “This is great, Harold.”

“What?”

“Us, together again. It makes me feel…
young
.”

“I’m sorry we lost touch, Mario.”

“I never called you.”

Sure, rub it in, Mario.

“But I visited you.”

“What? When?”

“One day after Barbara and me…
I
had a fight.”

“I’m sorry I missed your visit.”

He thought back. “Your mom told me you were at a class… in college. I had flunked out.”

You needed a tutor.

“I figured you had new friends in college and wouldn’t want to listen to my problems anymore.”

“Mario, I wish I knew.”

“How come you never contacted me over the years?”

I looked into his dark eyes. “I called you. You had already moved out of your parents’ house.”

“My mother didn’t give you my new phone number and address?”

“She did. I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me.”

“You thought wrong.” Mario pushed me playfully. “My mother always liked you. She said I should be more like you.”

“My mother said I should be more like
you
.”

“Your mother was right.” He messed my hair again.

“I did call once.”

“Barbara never told me.”

“That’s because I hung up.”
And I’m admitting this because?

“Why?”

“I wanted to hear your voice.”

“But not talk to me? You’re weird.” Mario playfully punched my jaw.

“It was good running into you outside the deli two years after graduation.”

He remembered. “Right, before Barbara crapped out the twins.”

I replayed it in my head. “But it was clear you had moved on with your life.” I walked over to the desk and pretended I could read the game plans.

Mario stood and faced me. “So what? Because I have a family, I can’t have a friend?”

I sat on the arm of the sofa. “Well, nothing would have changed. You would have married Barbara, and I would have married Stuart.”

Mario stood next to me. “I guess you’re right.”

“Mario, how come you didn’t invite me to your wedding?”

“We eloped, with Barbara sticking out to here.” He rounded his hands over his stomach like Humpty Dumpty. “It was a typical shotgun wedding.”

“How come you didn’t invite me to the twins’ christening?”

“Barbara wouldn’t let me have anything to do with it. She picked the sponsors, the christening gowns, the guests, the priest—who by the way charged a pretty penny to sprinkle a little water on the kids’ foreheads.”

“It was very nice.”
Oops.

Mario was bug-eyed. “You were there?”

“I read the announcement in the newspaper. Anybody can go into a church.”

“Why didn’t you congratulate us afterwards?”

“I think I tried, but one of Barbara’s relatives elbowed me in the eye.”

We shared a comforting laugh.

I sat back down on the sofa. “Confession time, Mario. As the years went by, I thought about you… a lot. When I graduated college….”

“I was there.”

I hit him on the shoulder.

“What? My cousin was graduating too.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were a college graduate. I thought you wouldn’t want anything to do with someone stupid like me?”

“That’s crazy, Mario.”

He sat next to me. “Hey, who you calling crazy, tuba boy?”

When our laughter subsided, I continued. “Seriously, Mario, I thought about you when I met Stuart, when Stuart and I got married….”

“I was there.”

My eyes overtook my face. “You what?”

“I heard about it from your mother. I stood in the back of that Unitarian Church. It was a little wooo-hoooo New Agey for me, but it was nice. You looked happy.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It was your special day. You didn’t need
me
around.”

“It would have been even more special knowing you were there.” I meant it. “I also thought about you when we built our house.”

“You have a nice house, Harold.”

“So do you.”

We both said at the same time, “Next time you drive by, stop in.”

We laughed so hard our stomachs ached.

Mario surprised me by saying, “Let’s make a pact to keep in touch from now on. Deal?”

“Deal.”

We shook hands and I enjoyed the sensation of Mario’s large, warm hand covering mine. He didn’t let go.
Oh, he’s holding my hand. That’s fine. When two friends relive the old days, it’s nice for them to hold hands… briefly.
I unclasped our hands, and walked over to the door. I could hear the music playing from the gymnasium.

“Remember ‘We Belong Together’ from the football halftime shows?”

“Sure.” Mario rose and stood next to me. “Those were my glory days.”

“And my tuba days.”

After we laughed, Mario said, “Let’s dance.”

“What?”

“Let’s dance, Harold.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Dance, it’s something two people do when they hear music.”

Before I knew it, Mario’s strong arms were around me and we were dancing cheek to cheek.

“Mario, do you and Barbara go out dancing a lot?”

“Are you kidding? With those giant heels she wears, my feet would be Swiss cheese.”

He gave me a spin and we continued dancing. “How about you and Stuart?

“Not since I broke his toe at The Gay Hoedown in Jersey City.”

Mario laughed and moved me down for a dip.

“Ow!” My head hit the coach’s desk.

“Harold, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”
How did stars get into the room?

“Sit down.” He sat me down on the sofa.

“I’m just a little rusty.”

“I think I know what will help.” Mario took off his jacket and threw it over the coach’s desk.

I’m feeling better already.

Next, Mario opened a desk drawer and retrieved a half-filled bottle of whiskey. “It’s still here! Coach thought none of us knew about his little stash.” He took off the cap and drank from the bottle. “Not bad.” He held out the bottle. “Have a swig?”

“No, thanks. I don’t drink.”

Mario sat next to me on the sofa. “How come?”

“I have no tolerance for alcohol. I had a drink once at a party, and Stuart had to carry me out over his shoulder after I made out with a cat. He was mortified. Stuart. The cat was fine. He shortly thereafter became quite a man-magnet. The cat, not Stuart.”
Did that knock on the head make me totally lose my mind?

Mario put the bottle down on the floor next to him and turned my chin to face him. “Harold, relax. I understand.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s like it was back in high school… with
us
.”

“Mario, that was ten years ago.”

“I know some things have changed, Harold, but not that.” Mario cleared his throat like a college professor about to deliver a lecture. “When I walked into chemistry class back in high school. The day Ms. Hunsley paired us up as lab partners. I knew you were hot for me.”

“You knew?”

“Hey, I wasn’t
that
stupid.”

I rubbed my head in an effort to understand the mystery known as Mario, and to see if I was growing a lump somewhere besides inside my pants. “Mario, you knew when I first started tutoring you that I was—”

“Totally hot for me. A blind man could have seen I got your motor running.” He laughed. “I remember how you’d stutter and stammer, and say crazy things around me.”

Good thing I outgrew that.
“How… I… even then?” I sat forward on the sofa to analyze the situation. “And that night when we… kissed in my bedroom. Do you remember that?”