The Miles (15 page)
Authors: Robert Lennon
MILE 15
A
fter about ninety minutes in the newsroom of
Entertainment Weekly,
Liam had addressed all of the sourcing issues that the senior editors found on his latest piece and headed for the elevator banks feeling depleted. He could not believe that he suffered through nights like this for near minimum-wage pay. He had dreamed of moving people through his words ever since eleventh-grade literature class. Liam entered the elevator alone and looked at his watch. It was almost 11
P.M.
Hitting the button for the lobby, Liam wondered how many other twentysomethings at magazines or at publishing houses had been similarly seduced by those classic American novels. As a sixteen-year-old, Liam spent hours lingering over the first few pages of
Moby Dick,
fascinated that a man writing more than a century earlier seemed to have peered into his mind, felt his spirit and shared his thoughts. His narrator, Ishmael, speaking of that “damp, drizzly November in my soul ... that requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off.” How often, as a teenager in suburbia, Liam had felt his skin crawling at the prospect of a life defined by inertiaâfilled with trips to local shopping plazas in a town strewn with split-level homes, fast-food chains, and strip malls. And so here he stood, a true adult who had graduated into big-city life, with more than $100,000 of fancy education to his nameâa whipping boy to editors peddling pulp and gossip to the starry-eyed masses. The doors to the elevator opened, pulling Liam out of his self-pitying reverie, and he walked across his office building's marble plaza to the Starbucks where Didier waited with a tall coffee and a newspaper.
fter about ninety minutes in the newsroom of
Entertainment Weekly,
Liam had addressed all of the sourcing issues that the senior editors found on his latest piece and headed for the elevator banks feeling depleted. He could not believe that he suffered through nights like this for near minimum-wage pay. He had dreamed of moving people through his words ever since eleventh-grade literature class. Liam entered the elevator alone and looked at his watch. It was almost 11
P.M.
Hitting the button for the lobby, Liam wondered how many other twentysomethings at magazines or at publishing houses had been similarly seduced by those classic American novels. As a sixteen-year-old, Liam spent hours lingering over the first few pages of
Moby Dick,
fascinated that a man writing more than a century earlier seemed to have peered into his mind, felt his spirit and shared his thoughts. His narrator, Ishmael, speaking of that “damp, drizzly November in my soul ... that requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off.” How often, as a teenager in suburbia, Liam had felt his skin crawling at the prospect of a life defined by inertiaâfilled with trips to local shopping plazas in a town strewn with split-level homes, fast-food chains, and strip malls. And so here he stood, a true adult who had graduated into big-city life, with more than $100,000 of fancy education to his nameâa whipping boy to editors peddling pulp and gossip to the starry-eyed masses. The doors to the elevator opened, pulling Liam out of his self-pitying reverie, and he walked across his office building's marble plaza to the Starbucks where Didier waited with a tall coffee and a newspaper.
“You really did wait for me?” Liam spoke with a tone that expressed surprise and gratitude, in equal measure.
“I'm nothing if not a man of my word,” Didier responded.
“Not just another pretty face, hunh?”
“Let's get out of here, Liam. The fluorescent lighting and smell of roasting coffee have started to have an ill effect on me. You are done with work for the night, yes?”
Liam gave a wan smile; he looked at Didier and could not believe how strikingly beautiful, how unearthly looking, he was.
“Then let's go celebrate,” Didier said, punching Liam in the arm.
“But, Didier, it is so lateâand I am exhausted.”
“We'll have a nightcap at your apartment then.”
Cars rushed along the wet streets of midtown; it was true that the pace never really slowed in Manhattan. Hopeful anticipation of what might ensue with Didier mixed with apprehension as Liam considered the time and the fact that it was a weeknight. A creature of routine, Liam liked to get up early so that he could hit the gym before work. At this rate, he would be a sleep-deprived wreck in the office tomorrow.
“I can hear the wheels of doubt turning in your head, Liam.” Didier stood up from the table and walked toward the exit. “I can tell you're not a gambler. Your face doesn't mask one single thought or emotion. And I absolutely love that about you!”
“I would like nothing more than to have you over, Didier. No reservations about that at all. I am just spent from the work snafu and worried about getting behind on things.”
“You did not move to New York City to be safe, Liam. Why be here if you are not willing to shake things up a little? Don't you want to stir the pot? Take a chance ... Live a little ... And please, don't make me reach for another clichéâI am at the end of my rope here!”
Liam laughed and rushed his hands through Didier's hair. He imagined running his fingers down Didier's back and over his buttocks and could almost feel the blood drain from his head toward his groin.
“And then there's that,” Liam said pointing to Didier's wedding ring. “That may be a little more than I can handle at this point too.”
“It's a technicality. I can't tell you any more than that right now, but I will be able to soon. You need to take a leap of faith here.”
As Liam and Didier walked to the subway, a heavy silence grew between them, the weight of which could be measured by the gravity of the decision Liam was about to make. Liam knew himself well enough to understand that he had set out on this evening, had coaxed Monroe to go to the Bobcat fund-raiser with him, solely to get closer to Didier. And now everything he thought he wanted was here before him, an opportunity to realize his dream. He could not let it slip away. As they approached the entrance to the downtown Number 1 train, Liam realized he had just learned that Didier was from Hoboken. He thought about the fact that he had never been to that little commuter town across the river from downtown Manhattan before.
“I am coming home with you,” Didier said as they descended the long set of stairs toward the subway platform.
“Yes, I know that,” Liam said. “But only for a nightcap ... I don't want to doom our chances any further by sleeping with you on the first â
date
.' ”
date
.' ”
Didier looked at Liam defiantly as they stood alone on the empty subway platform at Fiftieth Street, awaiting the train. Out of nowhere, Didier performed a cartwheel and clapped his hands together in proud fashion upon sticking the landing. Didier's boyish delight at getting his way made Liam smile. He imagined the warmth of Didier's body next to his own in his queen-sized bed and felt content and at peace and a little bit scaredâfleetingly but all at once. Liam did not embrace happiness with any amount of ease or certainty.
As they climbed the flights of stairs up to his apartment, Liam began to feel self-conscious. He could not remember the last time he had taken out the trash or whether he had left clothing scattered all over the floor. And although he loved the charm of his place, he knew that the warped wood floors and clawfoot tub in the bathroom would not suit everyone's fancy.
“I apologize in advance if anything you see tonight does not meet your standards of hygiene or décor, Didier. The artist-in-residence here is often overwhelmed by his own little existence.”
Liam opened up the refrigerator door and pulled out a half-empty bottle of Sancerre. He fished two wineglasses out of the drying rack that, all too often, doubled as a storage unit for his dishes and cutlery. He split the remainder of the bottle between the two glasses and handed one to Didier.
“Cheers,” Liam said. “I hope white is okay. I don't have much in the apartment right now. Believe it or not, I was not expecting a visitor tonight.”
“White is fantastic,” Didier said, clinking glasses with Liam. “I hope that this big gulp of a glass doesn't put me out for the night, though.”
“Not to worry if it knocks you out, sweetness. Like I said earlier, we are just hitting the hay and nothing else is happening.”
“I am all for protecting a lady's honor.”
They carried the glasses over to Liam's bed and sat down on the edge. Liam reached over and hit the shuffle button on his iPod. The forlorn opening chords of “Wild Horses” began to play, and Liam reached over for Didier's hand.
“I read once that Mick Jagger wrote this about his love affair with Marianne Faithfull,” Didier said. “It's an unbelievably gorgeous song, isn't it?”
“Iconic songs like this one lend themselves to a lot of folklore, I think,” Liam said, threading his fingers between Didier's. “I saw something once that said Keith Richards wrote this as a lullaby for his son, a way to address the fact that he was on the road a lot. But I like to think it's about something more basic and undefinedâa yearning that can't be easily named and one that may be impossible to satisfy.”
Didier threw back the last two swallows of wine in his glass and lay back on the bedspread, stretching his arms luxuriously across the width of the bed.
“You certainly are an old soul, aren't you, Liam? I get the sense you've lived decades longer than you actually have, like you're carrying around the yoke of past lives or something.”
“I seem like an old man, hunh?” Liam kicked his shoes off and curled up beside Didier on top of the bedding.
“Quite the contrary. The combination of your young stud body and that rugged old soulâyour world-weariness, as my mother would have called itâmake you so fucking irresistible. Well, I can barely stand to look at you.”
“Then let's close our eyes and go to bed.”
They fell asleep on top of the duvet with their clothes on and at some point in the middle of the night, Liam woke up to use the bathroom and stripped Didier's pants off to place him under the covers. Didier wore black dress socks that clung tightly to his hairy and muscular legs. Boxer briefs amplified the curve of his buttocks. Liam stood for a minute watching Didier sleep peacefully on the bed and felt certain that he must be dreaming. When he got back into bed after using the bathroom, Liam wrapped his body around Didier's and fell fast asleep, and for the first time, in as long as he could remember, Liam turned off his 6
A.M.
alarm and skipped the gym. He lay in bed in a state of half-sleep, feeling the warmth of Didier's body next to his own. There was something so much more special and more hopeful about everything given that they hadn't had sex. They left the apartment together and wordlessly parted ways at the corner, with a tacit understanding that talking would only sully the moment. Liam felt like a new man heading into the office that day. He vowed, silently, to continue to surprise himself.
A.M.
alarm and skipped the gym. He lay in bed in a state of half-sleep, feeling the warmth of Didier's body next to his own. There was something so much more special and more hopeful about everything given that they hadn't had sex. They left the apartment together and wordlessly parted ways at the corner, with a tacit understanding that talking would only sully the moment. Liam felt like a new man heading into the office that day. He vowed, silently, to continue to surprise himself.
By late morning, Liam was ravenous with hunger. Instead of buying two cups of yogurt at the deli in the lobby of his building, he decided to stretch himself beyond his normal routine, write to one of his friends who worked nearby, and suggest a lunch date. As he sped through the contacts on his laptop, Liam realized that he needed to connect one-on-one with Riser. Perhaps if he met him face-to-face without the distractions of other people, Liam could cut to the core with Riser and find out if his new friend had become a strict vegan and was looking more drawn as a result, or whether he was slowly starving himself to death.
Riser wrote back immediately to Liam's e-mail and said that he would love to meet up for lunch; Riser even went so far as to suggest a great place for chopped salad where the owners charged a flat rate for all you could pile on rather than
à la carte
pricing.
It's these little niceties that create loyalties for me,
he wrote in the exchange. The care given to pointing out this banal detail comforted Liam on his friend's behalf. He had an overpowering sense of optimism and contentment when he left the office to meet Riser for lunch at The Raw Deal.
à la carte
pricing.
It's these little niceties that create loyalties for me,
he wrote in the exchange. The care given to pointing out this banal detail comforted Liam on his friend's behalf. He had an overpowering sense of optimism and contentment when he left the office to meet Riser for lunch at The Raw Deal.
Arriving first, Liam snagged a table for two in the back of the establishment, so that they would have the space and privacy to talk openly and honestly. Liam ordered some seltzer and cranberry juice and a platter of steamed edamame to keep his rumbling stomach at bay while he waited. With all the miles he had been running lately, Liam noticed that his appetite had increased exponentially to keep up with the additional energy needs he was placing on his body. After about fifteen minutes of waiting, Liam emailed Riser from his BlackBerry to make sure that all was okay and that they were, indeed, still meeting today for lunch. Riser arrived within seconds of Liam hitting the send button on his BlackBerry.
“You had me worried there for a second, cowboy,” Liam said with a wide grin as Riser sat down across the table from him.
“What? This is New York City, Liam,” Riser responded, visibly agitated. “Haven't you ever heard of being fashionably late?”
“I am familiar with the term, Riser, butâfashionable or notâI get a pretty tight hour for my lunch, so I will need to leave here in about forty minutes to get back to the office before someone has a coronary. I just wanted to maximize my time with you.”
Riser shifted in his seat and seemed angered at having expectations flung upon him.
“Let's order quickly,” Liam offered. “At least this type of food doesn't take long to prepare.”
When the waiter came around to their little raw wood table, Liam scanned the menu one last time and thought how he would really love a juicy hamburger and fries. The concessions one makes in the name of friendship!
“I will have the hearts of romaine with egg and raw tuna,” he said, in final capitulation to the sparseness of the menu.
“And for you, sir?” the waiter said, without making eye contact with Riser.
“Oh, just some hot tea with lemon,” Riser responded. “I am getting over a bad fever and am still in the phase where I have absolutely no appetite.”
As the waiter hustled off into the kitchen to place his last round of lunchtime orders, Liam stared blankly into his friend's eyes.
“Work with me here, Riser,” he said. “We did not have to eat out today if you were not feeling well.”
“But I know these types of outings are just as much about the social aspect as they are about the actual nourishment.”
Liam could feel himself freezing up; he wanted to say something about how the rapid weight loss and sunken features had made him fear for Riser's life. But he didn't want to hurl Riser further into this defensive and self-deluding posturing.
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