Aroused (35 page)
Authors: Sean Wolfe
Like Riding a Bike
H
arry watched from his window as the cab pulled up to the half-circle drive. Earlier that day he'd overheard one of the orderlies say that a new resident was arriving later that afternoon, and he'd sat at the window ever since, waiting. The building was a U-shaped brick single-floor design. Harry had one of the choice rooms, in the center wing. Not only was he closer to the nurses' station than most, but he also had the best view in the entire home. From his window he could see everyone that was arriving, and also the windows of most of the rooms on the other wings. At least the rooms that faced the front of the building, as his did.
arry watched from his window as the cab pulled up to the half-circle drive. Earlier that day he'd overheard one of the orderlies say that a new resident was arriving later that afternoon, and he'd sat at the window ever since, waiting. The building was a U-shaped brick single-floor design. Harry had one of the choice rooms, in the center wing. Not only was he closer to the nurses' station than most, but he also had the best view in the entire home. From his window he could see everyone that was arriving, and also the windows of most of the rooms on the other wings. At least the rooms that faced the front of the building, as his did.
He looked at the wings on either side, and saw no fewer than a dozen curtains pulled ever so slightly to one side. Mrs. Goldsmith, Mrs. Rubio, Mrs. Felter, Mrs. Callahan, and Mrs. Schooler. Those were the ones he recognized right away, and it didn't surprise him at all that they were gawking out their windows. Goddamn piranha, they were. They were always in everyone's business, and anytime a new resident was admitted, they were all over them. Didn't matter if they were male or female, those catty old biddies pounced on them even before they'd signed the paperwork. If the new res was a man, the piranha cuddled and coddled and pinched him like he was a tomato at the market. The unsuspecting gentleman would later that evening find several slips of paper with the women's names and room numbers in his various pockets. Harry knew, because they'd attacked him before he'd even made it inside the building when he first arrived. If the new res was a woman, they'd still be right there on top of her, clutching her arms and walking with her, immediately filling her in on the gossip of the house, and warning her which of the “taken” or “unavailable” gentlemen to steer clear of.
“Goddamn snakes,” Harry mumbled under his breath.
The cab door opened, and the passenger stepped onto the sidewalk. Harry gasped as he took in the beauty of the man. He was tall and slim, but seemed to be well put together, according to the way his shirt and slacks clung to his frame. His hair was a shiny silver, and he had a mustache of the same magnificent color, but speckled with several black hairs. Even from this distance, Harry saw the guy's eyes were blue-gray, and they scanned the premises like a practiced hunter. Those eyes seemed to rest right at Harry's window, and Harry closed the curtains quickly, and took a couple of deep breaths before he opened them again and looked back outside.
The man was walking toward the main entrance now, and swatting away the attempts of staff to help him get from the cab to the door.
He's still strong, and still proud
, Harry thought. He could now see the man more clearly. He was right, the eyes were a steel blue, and filled with life. At this range, Harry saw they were framed with long black eyelashes. The nose was long and distinguished, and his jaw was square and set strong.
He's still strong, and still proud
, Harry thought. He could now see the man more clearly. He was right, the eyes were a steel blue, and filled with life. At this range, Harry saw they were framed with long black eyelashes. The nose was long and distinguished, and his jaw was square and set strong.
The man took Harry's breath away. Literally. He had to take a couple of deep breaths before he allowed himself to head toward the door. It was vital that he get to this handsome stranger before the Ya-Ya Sisterhood did. He was seventy-three years old, for crying out loud. This might be his last chance. And even if it weren't, it would probably be the last time he had a chance at someone this handsome and self-possessed.
But Harry was too late. He heard them cackling from way down the hall even before he turned from the window. When he reached his bed, the entire gaggle of them were zipping past his door, cackling and whinnying like an escaped stampede from the local zoo. They were pressed against one another, standing on their tiptoes and pushing others aside to get a better look.
Goddamned piranhas, Harry spat out not so quietly, and looked around to make sure no one heard him.
“Okay, ladies, make some room.” It was Sandra, the head nurse. She was the one person on staff that Harry had befriended, and had held in confidence. He'd often told her that if the Universe had been kinder and made him normal, that he'd have asked her hand in marriage. And she would happily accept, she'd told him dozens of times, and then kissed him on his very balding head. She looked over at him now and winked, as she muscled her way through the mob at the door. “I said, make some room. Let the gentleman through. You don't want to look desperate!”
Desperate would be an upgrade to first class for this coven,
Harry thought. Gasps spread through the group of women at the tone of Sandra's words, and they disassembled from around the door. As they scattered around the desk and entry area, Harry smiled, and tipped his hat to them. “Gloria,” he said to Mrs. Rubio, and blew her a kiss. She grunted and gave him the finger.
Harry thought. Gasps spread through the group of women at the tone of Sandra's words, and they disassembled from around the door. As they scattered around the desk and entry area, Harry smiled, and tipped his hat to them. “Gloria,” he said to Mrs. Rubio, and blew her a kiss. She grunted and gave him the finger.
He laughed and watched with all of the interest and hopefully none of the desperation of the widows as the new res walked through the door. The cooing and girlish giggles were immediate and deafening. The new guy stopped halfway through the door and scanned the place. Harry thought he looked like he was assessing an enemy attack.
“Ladies, I am not kidding, here,” Sandra said as she cleared a path and motioned for the new guy to follow her. “There will be no cheesecake tonight for any of you if you don't head back to your rooms.”
It was as if someone had dropped a tear-gas bomb right in the middle of the room. The ladies stiffened and began to move quickly out of the reception area and back to their rooms. Apparently they'd forgotten that when a new resident was admitted, the kitchen staff prepared cheesecake to welcome him. It was a treat, and one the ladies couldn't get enough of. They were really booking it now, as Harry's grandson often said, and moved away from the new guy as if he'd been pronounced a leper.
But to Harry, the prospect of companionship and real friendship and maybe a little affection was much more appetizing than cheesecake. Truth be known, cheesecake gave him gas. It wasn't pretty for anyone involved. He'd much rather stroll through the gardens with this new guy and snuggle with him afterward. And at this point, he'd rather daydream about that than have cheesecake. Not that he was kidding anyone. He knew he wouldn't get anywhere with this man, and he knew he'd have his cheesecake tonight, too. Sandra would never deny him.
“Harry, would you be a gem and escort Mr. Michaels to his room?” Sandra said as she looked at Harry and winked. “I have to go check on Mrs. Winters. She has a bad cough this afternoon.”
Harry just stood in his doorway, stunned and unable to move or speak.
“Harry?” Sandra said again, louder this time.
“Huh,” Harry said, sounding about as stupid as a
Three Stooges
movie. “Yes, of course,” he said, and grabbed his cane and moved one foot in front of the other.
Three Stooges
movie. “Yes, of course,” he said, and grabbed his cane and moved one foot in front of the other.
“Mr. Michaels will be in Room 110. Mr. Roberts' old room.”
“Okay,” Harry said, and tried not to look in Mr. Michaels' eyes. “Sure, no problem.”
“You're a gem,” Sandra said, and kissed him softly on the cheek. “They don't come any better than Harry, here, Mr. Michaels. He'll be a good friend for you, and I'm sure he'll be happy to show you the ropes. Right, Harry?” She made sure Mr. Michaels wasn't looking before she winked at him.
“You know, Harry, I've been here a month now,” James leaned in and whispered just inches from Harry's face. He'd stopped being Mr. Michaels to Harry after the first couple of days at the home. “You'd think they'd figure out I'm not interested.”
Both men turned and looked at the group of ladies sitting at the table a few feet away. The women made a production of giggling and fixing their hair and sipping their virgin cocktails. They all waved over at James, and a couple of them winked at him.
“Nah,” Harry said, and swatted at them as if they were mosquitoes coming to suck the blood from both of them. “They aren't the sharpest tools in the shed, I'm afraid. They're old and blind and senile. Look at poor Mrs. Callahan. She has her wig on backwards, and none of them has noticed. Not a one.”
James laughed, and Harry thought he could fall inside the depths of that laugh and never return.
“Still, I haven't beaten around the bush or been sly about my disinterest. You'd think they would catch on.”
“Hmph,” Harry said, and moved his bishop within striking distance of James' king. “Check.”
James looked down at the board and smiled, then moved his king out of danger without thinking much about the move. “And you'd think that you would catch on as well.”
Harry scratched his head and pondered his next move. “Oh, I get it. You're not interested.”
“That's right. In the women, Harry. I'm not interested in the women.”
“Oh, I see,” Harry said, and slapped James playfully on the shoulder. “Then it's Mrs. Felter you have your eye on, huh?” Harry laughed so hard at his own joke that he began coughing and choking.
James stood and moved behind Harry, patting him on the back. When Harry stopped coughing, James leaned in and whispered into his ear, “No, Harry. I'm interested in you.”
Harry gasped so hard that he almost started coughing again. He looked up at James. Those steel-blue eyes were boring into Harry's soul, and he couldn't tear himself away from them. Those eyes were saying things to him that Harry had not heard in over thirty years, since his lover Paul had died in a car accident. For so long he'd wanted to hear those things more than anything else. But now that they were being said through James' eyes, he wasn't sure he was ready for them. Or even if he was actually hearing what he thought he was.
“James ...”
“I know how that sounds, Harry,” James said as he took his chair next to his friend. “I know it sounds ridiculous and stupid and impossible.”
“No, it doesn't,” Harry said, and struggled to keep control of his voice that wanted to jump and shout and sing at the top of his lungs.
“I'm a very upfront kind of man, Harry. I don't believe in pussyfooting around the issues. Besides, I'm as old and as senile as the coven over there. Hopefully not as ugly or desperate, but every bit as old and as senile. I don't have time to waste. So, I speak my mind.”
Harry smiled, and wanted to cry, but knew he shouldn't. He forced himself to count to ten as he stared deeply into James' eyes. They were no longer hard or calculating or darting around him to assess any unforeseen calamity. Instead they were bright and alive and filling with tears as they looked into Harry's soul.
“I love you, Harry Johnson,” James said, and reached out to place his hands on top of Harry's. “And if you spit in my face for saying that, I will stake claim to that aforementioned senility and hold onto it for dear life. I'll suggest they triple my medication because I'm
that
senile and had no idea what I was saying.”
that
senile and had no idea what I was saying.”
Harry laughed, and squeezed James' hand.
“But I do know what I'm saying, just between the two of us. And I do love you.”
“I love you, too, James,” Harry whispered. He looked over at the old ladies and resisted the urge to lift his hand entwined with James' and to shout at the top of his lungs,
“He loves me. James Michaels loves me and I love him. So take your dried-up, pruny old venom somewhere else, old biddies. He's all mine.”
But he didn't say that. Instead, he smiled at James and repeated, “I love you too.”
“He loves me. James Michaels loves me and I love him. So take your dried-up, pruny old venom somewhere else, old biddies. He's all mine.”
But he didn't say that. Instead, he smiled at James and repeated, “I love you too.”
“Oh, thank God,” James said through a burst of breath he'd been holding. “Because I seriously don't know what I'd have done if you'd have laughed at me or shaken my hand from yours.”
“I would never do either.”
“Thank you for that. Harry, I've been struggling with my feelings for you from the moment I walked into this place. When you led me to my room I wanted so badly to pull you inside the room, shut the door and kiss you until we both collapsed.”
“It took you that long, huh?” Harry said through a smile, and caressed James' long fingers. “I wanted to push you back into the taxi and let you have your way with me as soon as I saw you step out of the cab.”
James looked at his watch. “We've got about an hour and a half before dinner. Would you care to accompany me to my quarters?”
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