Between Boyfriends (33 page)

“You think I somehow conjured this all up?”

“How many guys do you know who turn the corner and bump into a man from their past not once but twice? How many guys do you know whose ex-boyfriend and secret admirer are the same person? And how many guys do you know who have a porn star waiting to be their big bad uncut top?”

“That still doesn’t make me the star of my own soap.”

“Let me ask you this. When you bumped into Frank, did you immediately compare it to scenes from nighttime soaps of the eighties?”

Lindsay truly was an honor student at the Dionne Warwick Psychic Academy. “I can’t help myself, Lindsay. As much as I want a simple life, I can’t make it happen. It’s like you and your Olympiphobia, you can’t say Lillehammer without having a spasm.” Hold on. Lindsay did just say
Lillehammer
and I didn’t hear foam gurgling. “You just said
Lillehammer,
didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did.”

“And how come I don’t hear you writhing on the floor in gut-wrenching emotional pain?”

“Because I have decided to move on with my life. Actually my very expensive therapist and my favorite G-woman Gwendolyn helped me realize I wouldn’t be able to move on with my life until I moved away from the emotional frigidity of Norway.”

“How did Gwendolyn help you?”

“When she got my batch of G-Man comics she could have filled out an application for a lifetime membership at London’s premiere rest home for the very, very anxious, but instead she chose to stare those comics down, accept that they had crippled her, and allow the past to remain in the past. And that’s exactly what I’m doing. I am an Olympic pewter medalist and damn proud of it!”

What the hell was wrong with the world? If you couldn’t count on Lindsay to freak out every time the Olympic fanfare was heard, what could you count on? I was more uncertain than ever. I thanked Lindsay for his frankness, washed my face, looked at my reflection with repugnance (which is the formal use of the word
disgust
), and went back to join Jack.

“I thought you fell in.”

“You know how coffee affects me sometimes.”

“We shared a bathroom, how can I forget?”

Before the scatological references got too distasteful, my cell phone rang. Illogically I hoped it was Frank, but then I realized Frank didn’t have my number. It was Flynn inviting me to dinner with him and Lucas. I told him I was with Jack, and Flynn said that it would be fine to bring him along. At some point during dinner I would have to figure out a subtle way to get Flynn alone to update him about Frank.

Not surprisingly, the décor of Lucas’s apartment was metro-sexual meets Midwest. A Bo Concepts black leather recliner and ottoman were next to a tan and black plaid Ethan Allen couch, which was next to a mahogany and glass cocktail table. On the walls, abstract art mingled with oil paintings of farmlands and the crisp antique white walls allowed the wildflowers in the various vases throughout the room to capture your eye with their glorious colors. It all worked together to create a unique, but relaxing, atmosphere of urban cowgay.

Flynn handed me and Jack glasses of merlot in delicate, over-sized wine glasses. He made a bit of ceremony out of it, presenting the wine—and his goodwill. Jack knew that Flynn wasn’t a fan of our relationship, but Jack also knew that any long-lasting relationship with me would have to include civility toward Flynn. And so he met Flynn’s formality with cordiality. “Thanks, Flynn,” Jack said.

“You’re welcome,” Flynn replied, just as cordially.

“I’m sorry to hear about the whole outing thing. That really sucks.”

“I wanted to sue,” Lucas said, “but Flynn wouldn’t let me.”

“I might be a lawyer, but I’m not a suer,” Flynn said. “Besides, things are already getting better.”

One of the good things to come out of our ultrafast-paced society is that not only do the good times rush by, so do the bad. Yes, Flynn lost some clients due to his moment in the tabloids, but only a few. The next day at work his partners informed him that they stood behind him unequivocally and if they were to lose any clients over an HIV status, they were clients they didn’t want to represent in the first place.
How non-lawyerly of them,
I thought. Flynn’s career bled a bit, but didn’t hemorrhage. And the whole reprehensible incident made him feel liberated.

“I don’t have anything else to hide,” Flynn declared. “I don’t have to worry any longer if someone is going to find out that I’m positive. I’m on the Internet, my biggest secret is downloadable.”

“You’re like Paris Hilton,” Jack joked.

“Except
my
carpet matches my drapes.”

“Not so much since the Emmy highlights,” Lucas remarked.

Like a long-married wife, Flynn ignored Lucas. “But seriously, folks, I’m going to be doing double duty on my shrink’s couch to deal with the public humiliation.”

Lucas raised his voice sternly. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Except my unmatching drapery. But as my boyfriend has pointed out to me, there is always a silver lining.”

“It’s an actor thing,” Lucas explained. “Any publicity is good publicity.”

“Same goes for pubicity,” Flynn said.

During a scrumptious homemade meal of veal piccata, crispy fried brussels sprouts, and some sort of citrusy rice thing (and by homemade I mean made in the Home of Italy, a mangiarific restaurant two blocks away from Lucas’s pad), Flynn said he wanted to get my mother a thank-you gift for standing up for him when he couldn’t stand up for himself. I told him that wasn’t necessary since she considers Flynn a third son and was merely doing her motherly duty, but he wouldn’t hear of it.

“Does she still wear thongs?” Flynn asked. “Victoria’s Secret has some great ones in cotton and lace.”

“Why must you always put X-rated images of my mother in my head?!”

“Because that’s what friends are for. I want to send Lenny something too. Maybe a hustler.”

Then Lucas fag-teamed with Flynn to torment me. “Steven’s mother would say ‘mama like’ to a hustler!”

“Perfect! I’ll send them one bisexual hustler and give them the gift of the three-way!”

When I got up to tweak Flynn’s nipple seriously hard, I noticed a photo on Lucas’s mantle right next to his Emmy. The photo was of me and Flynn on a New York spring break fling during college. We were at Uncle Charlie’s, the first gay bar I ever visited in the City, and the photo was taken by an apple-cheeked former ranch hand from Wyoming, who became my first gay lay in the Big Apple. We looked so happy and relaxed. We got doubles made and I have the same photo in my bedroom.

“I see someone is personalizing Lucas’s apartment.”

“It’s actually my apartment too now,” Flynn announced. “I’m moving in.”

Schoolgirl-like screams pierced everyone’s ears. My best friend had finally found someone he loved enough to live with. I couldn’t be happier and I couldn’t help but feel more responsible.

“All this is because of me, you know.”

“How could we forget?” Lucas asked. “You remind us all the time.”

“Shut up, you! I could drive your car off a cliff or let you get caught in a house fire so you’re burned from head to toe and completely unrecognizable.”

“You’re talking in soap opera terms, right?” Jack asked.

I demurred coquettishly. “Perhaps.”

As I made everyone get up to toast Flynn and Lucas’s decision to commit, I decided it was time to end my indecisiveness or else Jack and I didn’t stand a chance.

Later, when Jack was in the bathroom and Lucas was in the kitchen putting away the leftovers, Flynn and I had a few moments to ourselves. “I’m so happy, Steven.”

“I can tell.”

“Despite all the angst and heart palpitations I’ve had since meeting Lucas, it has been the most wonderful time of my life. I’ve actually fallen in love with someone who loves me and doesn’t consider my health a reason to make a hasty exit.”

“You deserve all this happiness and much more, Flynn.”

“So do you. And I hope you get it with Jack.”

Frank was not only in the forefront of my mind, he was also on the tip of my tongue, and I was just about to tell Flynn the details when Jack flushed the toilet and came back into the room. Maybe that was a sign. Any chance I had with Frank had already gone down the drain.

I was glad to see that Flynn had chosen to send my mother a huge fruit basket and chocolate sampler as a thank-you instead of a hustler, when I went to visit her the next day. This visit, however, did have an ulterior motive. My mother was babysitting Trixie since Paulie and Renée were at a dental convention in Aruba, so I would also have a chance to bond with my niece.

“How come we never had a dog growing up, Ma?”

“Because your father hated dogs.”

“He did?”

“A German shepherd bit him on the face when he was six.”

I couldn’t believe this was the first time I was hearing about this. “That’s how Daddy got that scar? He said it was from the war.”

“Your father was never in the war.”

“He was
never
in the war?! How many lies did the man tell?”

“Well, he was in the war, but not
in the war
. He was a cook. The only action he saw was when the soldiers would fight over the last biscuit.”

“Really?”

“Your father made a very good biscuit.”

How we got from biscuits to marriage I don’t really know, but I guess I’d come for more than Trixie-bonding and a cup of tea.

“You loved him a lot, didn’t you?”

“From the first time I laid eyes on him. Across the counter at Woolworth’s.”

“What did he order from you again?”

“A chocolate egg cream and a crumpet. He didn’t have enough money for the crumpet too, but I gave it to him anyway.”

“So all you knew was that he was cash poor, yet you still loved him.”

“What else did I need to know? You either love someone or you don’t.”

“But how did you know that he was the one you wanted to marry? That you could have a life with him?”

“That I didn’t know. Honey, nobody ever knows if a marriage is going to work out until they’ve lived together for a few years. We were lucky, we fell in love in an instant, but it took some time to find out that we liked each other too.”

“So you believe in love at first sight?”

“I’m living proof.”

My mother gave me a cup of my favorite orange tea and gave Trixie a carrot to nibble on. She sipped her own tea quietly.

“I think I’ve been so willing to give Jack another try because it would mean an instant relationship. I already know that I enjoy living with him, that we’re compatible, so the future wouldn’t really be guesswork. As long as I can trust that he won’t leave me again, it could be a perfect life.”

“But can you trust him?”

My answer was immediate. “No. He betrayed me big-time and I suffered big-time. Maybe it’s the Italian in me, but I just can’t forgive or forget what he did.”

“It has nothing to do with being Italian; it has everything to do with self-respect. Your father and I yelled at each other, we fought and bickered, but we always respected each other. If you don’t have that, you’ve got nothing.”

And then I found myself talking to my mother more openly and honestly than usual. “After Brian and I broke up I gave in to the feeling that I would never have another good relationship again. That every guy would be a loser or cheat on me or just not measure up to the idea I had in my head of what the perfect man should be like, so if I met someone and they weren’t absolutely perfect in that very first meeting I’d cut them loose. I wouldn’t even give them a chance. I’d say to myself, ‘Well, if they aren’t perfect now, imagine how bad they’re going to be in six months…or ten years from now.’ I convinced myself that the best thing to do was just say good-bye before I even got to say hello. So when Jack showed up I think part of me felt like I’d done this already and even though it turned out bad at least I knew how it would turn out. But I don’t feel that way with Frank.”

“And who is this Frank?”

I filled my mother in on Frank pre- and post-coma and quite quickly her expression changed.

“You light up when you talk about him.”

“But I don’t even know him.”

“So what. Get to know him.”

“You make everything sound so simple.”

“Because Steven, honey, life really is simple. Why is Trixie such a happy baby? Because she’s simple. All she wants is a carrot and some love. People are no different. It’s just when we start questioning every little thing that we want or don’t have, that’s when we screw it up and make it all complicated.”

My mother knew her son. She tapped into exactly what I had been feeling and was able to make me understand that what I was feeling was right and good and not something I should run from, but something I should act upon. She did—and I’m using her own words—what she was put on this earth to do: make her children happy.

“It’s over, Jack,” I said simply.

“Not this again,” Jack sighed. “Steven, we’re never going to move forward if you keep making us take these little steps backward.”

“There isn’t going to be any moving forward. I’m sorry, but I don’t want to be your boyfriend again. It’s that simple.”

“No! It isn’t that simple. It’s never that simple with you!”

“Well, now it is. And please don’t yell. I know this isn’t what you want…breaking up with you wasn’t what I wanted either, but things happen…actually things don’t happen, people make decisions and I’m making one right now.”

I could see that Jack wanted to fight me, yell and argue his points; but, though I couldn’t be certain, I was hopeful he could see a change in me. Something had shifted inside me and maybe it was already making its way to the surface.

“You really don’t want to try anymore?”

“I really don’t. What we had was wonderful, but it’s over. I want to thank you for trying to make this work again, though.”

“But why? Isn’t this what you want?”

“No, it isn’t. And now I can put an end to wondering if it
was
what I wanted. And you can put an end to wondering if it would have ever worked out again. We can both move on.”