33. Queen Acres

The first few days without Thad were glorious. I got to do what I wanted to do, wear what I wanted to wear, and listen to NPR in every room of my own home without fear of ridicule. I pretended Thad was off on vacation or that I was a bachelor again, so I ate fried chicken in my underwear and danced around to Tina Turner, and it was just heaven.

But each night was not. Alone in the bed, I was haunted by sadness and pity and longing, but also paranoia, as my OCD reveled in bedtime. My fear was that Thad was out partying it up with Bettina and that at any minute I would get one of his infamous late-night drunk calls.

 In Thad’s prime of drinking just over a year ago, he would say he was  ‘going out with some friends for a bit’ and then I would not hear from him for hours, after a night of my own teeth gnashing and panic after calling him repeatedly to no avail. But there about 2 AM I would always get that drunken call to pick him up and bring him home. And I always did, so he wouldn’t drive, but it always led to a giant fight, usually because I then refused to take his drunk ass to Taco Bell or the Kettle for eggs and bacon.

And by giant I mean ugly like stepsister ugly, as liquor loosened his acidic lips to an unholy degree. And then we would scream and fight and, conveniently, he would not remember a thing about it the next day, apologetic, as I lividly stood getting ready for work, tying my tie, on four hours of sleep. I did not miss those days, but was terrified that they were about to begin again. And at night, alone in bed, I could not stop thinking about that inevitability.  

Yet after three days of Thad off on his own, everything seemed fine, with no late night calls or observed incidents of drunkenness. I saw him two out of the three days, and we talked on the phone through-out the one day I did not see him. Apparently besides doing laundry at the house, he also fancied doing lunch there as well as Bettina wasn’t much of a cook or a shopper, so their cupboards were fairy tale bare.

So the first few days of him being moved out, I saw him over lunch and in the early evening, but just not at night when he retired to his place to watch TV and putter, leaving me to do the same thing at the house. It was not as bad as I had feared, as the time I had alone in the evening was rather refreshing, catching up with friends on the phone, beginning Jayne Eyre for a fifth or sixth time, and just having some space to spread out, hoping Bettina was proving to be as positive influence she had portrayed herself. As long as he wasn’t drinking, I was fine.   

On the fourth day Thad was out, I got a text from him, “U HAVE TO COME C HOUSE 2DAY-K?! T” His texting had the insouciant verve of a hyperactive fifth-grade girl.   

I was in my office at school, working on a PowerPoint for my upcoming Victoriana class. I mulled over the text for an hour, until he called.

“This is Dr. Stiles.”

“Are you going to answer my text?

“Well, hello. How are you Thaddeus?”

“Fine! You got my text, right?”

“Yes.” I rubbed my head. It wasn’t going to get any more official that this; I might as well bite the bullet and just go see his new place. “Do you want me to come by after class today?”

“Yeah! Yes!” he sang. “Perfect. I’ll see you then.”

I hung up the phone and rubbed my eyes. Why couldn’t I just have a normal boyfriend?

Their house was a cute stone 1940’s Tudor just on the other side of campus, surrounded by other interesting collegiate homes. With hardwood floors, two bedrooms, a tiny mirrored dining room, stone fireplace and big backyard, it was really a lovely place. And you could tell Thad had already gotten a hold of it, as it was beautifully appointed with all manner of knick-knackery and rugs and art.

I had stopped and got a potted plant as a house warming gift, which Thad had fussed over as he excitedly gave me the tour.

While he had showed me around, I had tried not to spy too much, but I did note the scattering of ashtrays and the red wine bottles in the kitchen recycle; but I stayed mum on this, as Thad hated wine. But I wondered who did not. 
“So that’s the tour. Isn’t it a great place?” Thad said as we wound back into the living room.

“It is. I can tell you’ve done a lot of work. It’s very elegantly decorated.” I smugly thought that in a way it looked like an elegant wing off of my own home, but I kept that comment to myself.  

“Thank you, Michael that means a lot to me!” He smiled sweetly. “Bettina calls it Queen Acres!” He laughed. “Isn’t that funny? She said it’s because I demanded coral curtains in the bathroom to match the sea shell walls, but whatever. She even made up a song. Wanna hear?”

“Sure.” He was just so thrilled; I couldn’t squelch him, even though I wanted to, hating to see him thrilled by her.  

Thad cleared his throat and belted out, to the Green Acres tune, “Queen Acres is the place to be! Pink curtains are so tres jolie! Potpourri smelling up far and wide. Keep the heteros just gimme the homo-side, Dum, dum de dum, dum dum. Dah Dah, Dah Dah Dah, Dah Dah-Nice hair! Dah Dah ,Dah Dah Dah, Dah Dah-it’s Cher! Queen Acres we are there! Dah Dah, Dah Dah Dah, Dah Dah!”

I burst out, “That is so funny!”

He smiled ear to ear. “I thought you would like that.” And then lasciviously grabbed me by the belt to pull me close to him, “So, wanna go get a better look at the bedroom?”

“Uh, sure. Is Bettina here?” I said blushing, looking around.

“At work,” he smiled deviously.

As I drove back home later that night, a silly smile plastered on my face, I decided maybe him having his own apartment wasn’t that bad of an idea at all. It certainly made him happy, and that, apparently, was a good thing.

The next day in my office I checked my calendar and saw that which I had been dreading: my doctor’s appointment tomorrow morning. I had been fretting over it since I set it three weeks ago. It was just a general physical but I had been putting it off for the last three years. Thad had finally convinced me to go, and I went and scheduled it, so there was no backing out, no matter how much I was not looking forward to the hernia check, the Cholesterol blood work, and the prostate exam, my first as I was now over forty. But since I had set it up, I had been ruminating over the threat of needles and strange doctors with their hands in odd place and having to watch blood leave my own body.

But the really daunting part was that since they were already going to be doing all the blood work, I decided to have them toss in all of the STD and HIV test as well. Now, I wasn’t worried about anything, having not been randy in some years, and I was not having any weird 1983 Movie of the Week symptoms, but the thought of that dreaded wait for test results afterwards, and the fear associated with that, gave me distinct pause. And it’s not that I had never had those test before, but it had been a while…a long while…and in short, I was afraid.     

Pulling myself from this terrifying reverie, I called Thad, “Hey, my big appointment is tomorrow. You can still come with me to the doctor, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” he said. “Oh! Wait, what time?”

“Nine AM.”

“Oh, Mike. I told Bettina I would be here for the cable guy. We still don’t have internet and I already accidently blew him off once this week, so she’s had to reschedule it, and, boy, was she mean about it. ”

“Really?” I was immediately livid. “So you can’t go because of the cable guy? You’re putting YouTube, EBay, Amazon, and internet porn over me? You said you would go.”

“Look, dude, I would totally be there, I am so sorry, but I told her I would be here at the house between 9 and 11 tomorrow. I mean this is our second appointment this week and she’s already pissed. And she hadn’t screamed at me like that in years.”

“Really?” I said astounded. “Okay, Fine. You know I told you this, like,  three weeks ago when I first made the appointment on your urging, and I’ve talked to you about it, I can’t even tell you how many times since…”

“I know. I just forgot…”

“And you know how nervous I am. I hate needles and their doing the whole HIV and prostate thing, just all sorts of god awful stuff.  I thought it would be nice to have you there. You know?” I was spitting mad.  

“Michael, I am so sorry. I just forgot. I can ask Bettina if she can change the appointment, but she’s already so mad I missed it already once this week…”

“Look,” I sputtered, “Just forget it. I have to go.”

And I just hung up on him and sat there and scowled at the phone.

He called back but I let it go to voice mail.

He was already picking Bettina over me.

This was the other side of Queen Acres that I was going to have to acknowledge; that he now had a life and responsibilities that did not involve me, and my schedule, and my wants and needs, and I did not like that one god-damn bit.