42. The Inherent Hierarchy of Automobiles

            “And what was that?”  Thad snapped, pointing out the window of the truck.

            “What?” I said, making a left hand turn to head toward Tuesday Morning. He was in a mood.

            “You just cut that car off.” His voice was shrill, a sound I hated.

            “No, I didn’t. It was a four way stop and I got to go.”

            “No, no,” he countered. “You got there after that car. She should have gone first.”

“No, we got there at the same time” I said exasperated, not in the mood to deal with his crankiness, but due to his now almost holy status per the whole Gaga thing, had to just smile and continue nicely. “She was in a minivan and we’re in a truck. There is an inherent hierarchy of automobiles, and trucks always beat minivans, so I got to go.”

“What?” he said incredulously.

“A truck always trumps a minivan at a four-way stop if they arrive at the same time. It’s just logical. It’s a minivan, full of kids, usually with a harried mom driving. She’s not taking any risks, she’s going to wait. So a truck beats that and gets to go first.”

“That doesn’t make any sense at all,” he scoffed. “The person who was there first should go first.”

“Yes, but if both cars get there at the same time and everyone just waits on the other person to go first, especially a minivan, no one will go, and it will take forever. So truck trumps minivan and gets to go first.”

“Okay, that’s stupid, but whatever.”

“No, it’s perfectly logical.”

            We were silent as we drove on. With no real impetus or particular reason Thad had spent all of lunch today moodily sulking. On the second time I asked him what was wrong, he had sighed, “Just sad about my birthday.” And that was before he got the phone call from his Mother this afternoon.  

I could tell his 40^th was weighing heavy on him. One: he seldom spoke of it, and two: when he did, he was terse. He had already told me he wanted “No party-no surprise! No nothing! Got it? It’s just another day, but with presents. I just want it to be over.”  I was not going to disavow him, but wanted to make sure he was not disappointed. When I had told him this he had said, “Oh, don’t worry. I will be disappointed no matter what.” He was sullen that way. So there was already a general pallor draped over the entire impending event that every day was slouching closer towards us.

            And then this afternoon, once I was back at school, he called my office to say he had just received a frantic phone call from his mother about his grandmother. Ma’am had been found by a neighbor man late last night, wondering down the street in her nightgown. She knew she lived somewhere but could not remember exactly where. The neighbor, who had known her for years, walked her home and delivering her to a terrified Esteban. He had called Patty, Thad’s Mom, this afternoon and told her what happened, and then Patty had called Thad, frantic. From what Thad said, it sounded like Patty had drug poor Esteban over the coals for letting Ma’am out of his sight.  

            I had asked Thad when Ma’am first started showing signs of Alzheimer’s, but he refused to talk about it. Instead he instructed me that as soon as I got out of class today we needed to start his birthday shopping-a solid month in advance- so he could make sure I got him just the perfect gifts. And I agreed, knowing he was deeply bothered, and now not just about his birthday.   

 “So what trumps a truck?” Thad asked as we came within view of the strip mall that contained Tuesday Morning, one of his favorite stores.  

“A bigger truck. A bigger truck always wins.” We pulled up to a stop light to idle.  

“What about a school bus?”

“Oh, a school bus always wins, of course,” I answered. “It’s got kids on it. That’s just logical.”

“But the minivan has kids…”

“Yes, but the school bus has a professional driver, unlike the minivan driver. The school bus driver knows what they’re doing. That’s their job: they drive. So they go first. The same goes for emergency vehicles, service vehicles, and any car larger or more expensive than yours always wins, as long it’s not a minivan. Minivans are like the proverbial Job of the car world: they always lose.”

“So a corvette would beat this truck?”

“Absolutely. And why? Anyone with a corvette has a lot of money and something to prove, and is probably a little-dicked lawyer, so you just let them go. Otherwise they’ll probably just smash into you and then sue you over it.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“No, not at all, really.”

Tuesday Morning seemed to brighten his day, and mine as well. It was like the fabulous attic to my home, full of tony well-priced treasures. We walked among the silver picture frames and fingered the decorative figurines before stopping to gawk at discounted Waterford. 

“Oh, this is nice.” Thad said, picking up a vase and handing it to me, “Feel how heavy.”

As I took it, “Good lord! It must weigh ten pounds!”

He took it back, a glisten in his eyes. “Yeah. Too bad I can’t have one in my new house.”

“Why?”

He turned dramatically to me and lowered his voice, “You know that terrible flowery vase Mother gave me last Christmas that I just hated?”

“The Italian footed Capodimonte?” 

“Yeah. Bettina-the-Black-Witch broke it.”

“You’re kidding?” I gasped, clutching the pearls. “How?”

“I don’t know. She had people over one night last week. I had it on the mantle. She wasn’t even sure if it was Bayne or her, something about roughhousing. But when I got up, it was in pieces all over the floor. She said she would pay me for it, but she hasn’t.”

“Does she drink a lot?” I said before I could meter myself. He had been rather tightlipped about Bettina lately, so I had to take any inroad I could to glean information on their doings. But I had to be sly or he would shut down.

“No,” he snapped, turning away and walking off. He had shut down.  

Damn my aggression! I still didn’t think he was drinking, but wondered how much she was, as it couldn’t be easy on him to watch her booze it up. And she had told me she woud watch him-Huh! They were just going on two months of living together, and it had been a rocky road so far. 

“Was it a party? Did she say?” I said following Thad, trying to reengage him. 

“I don’t know…” he said walking over to look at champagne flutes.

“But you were there, right? So did she have a lot of people over?” I laughed to sound nonchalant, but know it sounded totally fake.

“I don’t know. I was asleep. I have to wear ear plugs to bed now. And don’t interrogate me.”

“I’m not.” I lied and then we were silent for a second until I said, “Sorry about the vase.”

“Yeah, me too. Mom will kill me when she finds out. It was old.”

And then I gasped, “What about Ma’am’s porcelain opera figurines?”

“I know, right?” he said, “Yes, thank God! I moved them into my bedroom and put them in on that table in front of the window. Bettina and her friends are not allowed in there.”  

“Well, good.”

“Oh, look at this…” he said moving us down the aisle to inspect interesting tins of exotic spices.

We then wondered over to Turkish rugs and he suddenly piped-up, “Oh, I’m going on the Friday Art Walk with Bettina.”

“What?” I said hurt. “I thought we could go to that?” Norman began having monthly 2^nd Friday Art Walks of the local down town galleries and stores last year, and Thad and I went to them on and off. It was a nice chance to see people and be seen and a good excuse to see local art, some of which was actually worth seeing. 

“Well, I’m telling you now I have to go with Bettina. She just begged and begged. Bayne’s band Eyeball is playing at that coffeehouse next to the Diner during it, and I have to go sit with Bettina, and watch her watch him.”  

“I wanted to go on the Art Walk,” I whined. “Now what am I supposed to do?”  

“Go with someone else. You have my blessing.” He pretended to wave a magic wand over me.

“Yes, but that’s three days from now.” I waved me hands as if to cancel his stupid magic spell. “You know all of my friends are old and stodgy and won’t want to go on such short notice. So am I just supposed to sit at home while you go gallivant around town?”

“I’m sorry your friends suck.” He said in a baby doll voice. “Then go by yourself.”

“I can’t go by myself. I’d be scared,” I pouted.

“Oh, quit being a coward you big hairy girl, and just go.”

“Coward? Really? Have you ever had to stand in front of 150 people and lecture before?” I said in my most professorial tone.

“Yes.” He said smugly.

“Uh, huh,” I grunted. “Standing in front of a roomful of people and saying, ‘Hi my name is Thad C., and I’m an alcoholic’ doesn’t count.”

And as I said it, his eyes narrowed and I knew I had gone too far; cut too close to his gin-soaked reality.

He took a step back and I braced myself to be punched in the arm, or worse, but instead he just laughed, “That’s really funny.” Then he looked away. “You’ll pay for it. But that’s really funny.” And then he staunchly walked off. 

After standing alone and frowning at lace valances for a while, I cooled off. We didn’t have set plans Friday, in fact I had kind of forgotten about the Art Walk altogether until he mentioned it. He shouldn’t have made fun of me about not having anyone else to go with, though. I was just jealous when he was social without me. And without him, I was usually left at home alone as he was my main source of entertainment now. 

We ran into each other on the aisle of decorative candles. We grunted as we passed, both still brooding.

“Hey,” he said quietly, turning to me.

“Yes?” I said expectantly, eyes wide, lips parted. 

“Mom asked me today to go up and check on Ma’am this weekend. And since I’m going to be busy Friday night, would you like to go visit with me on Saturday? You’ve said you wanted to see her again.”

“Yes," I smiled."I would really like that.” I liked it when he tried. I let the Art Walk grievance fade from my mind, although I was already plotting on how I could go on my own so I could stalk him there.  

“Cool,” he smiled, and then pointing up exclaimed, “Oh look! Ornamental birdhouses!”  

Back in the car we both seemed happier. He had pointed out a few items he would not be ‘displeased’ with for his birthday, and I was thrilled with the prospect of accompanying him to Ma’am’s, as I had only met her that once last Christmas. Really any interaction he allowed me to have with his family made me feel special; a part of his secret world. 

 “What if two identical trucks pulled up at a four way stop at the same,” he asked.

“That never happens.”

“Well, sometimes it must be.” He waved his hands in the air.

“Then red goes first, then black, and then the other more passive colors.”

“So a red truck would go before this truck?” he asked, motioning to my silver truck.

“Yes.”

“What if they are the same color and the same make?”

“The younger driver goes first.”

“That is just ridiculous.”

“No, it’s not. Younger drivers are more cavalier than older drivers, as younger drivers are father away from death.  There are written and unwritten rules in society, and this is just one of them. Without rules, civilization would be chaos.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I don’t think so.”

            I just let it go, knowing he needed to win one today.

43. Party Line

            The pert blonde Sorority girl sighed and tried to well up, but I wasn’t buying it. My office was hot and I wanted her gone so I could finish grading and then go home and lay in my hammock.  

            “It’s just that I meant to finish the paper and have it in on time,” she continued in her ne’er-do-well Texas cadence, “but the day before my Mom called and told me I had to come home-back down to Dallas- because my brother was, like, in a car wreck, so I just went down, but he’s fine…” She stopped and looked at me expecting some kind of emotional response.

“Oh good,” I said.

            “Yay, right,” she continued. “But we didn’t find out till late that he had just broken his arm and would be okay. Yay, so then Mom told me to stay the night since she doesn’t like me driving after dark on the highway by myself, so by the time I got back the next day and all I didn’t have time to finish the paper, so I just kinda skipped class.”

            “Jessica, why didn’t you do it that night and turn it in Friday?”

            “Well, I had another test to study for that day, you know, a Biology test, and it was really hard. But I finally did your paper yesterday and I have it here to turn in now.”

 “I said I would not take any late papers after Friday and it’s a week later and now you want to turn it in?”

“Yeah, but Dr. Stiles, I have it here, and it’s really good and all and I’m really sorry. I really enjoyed the books and Shakespeare and all and stuff and learned a lot. I mean if you could take it that would be great.” She held up a red plastic notebook and looked at me earnestly.

I rubbed my bald head. “But if I take yours this late, then I will have to take everyone else’s….” I trailed off. I hated this part of the job: If I took it, I would break my word and my moral code, but if I didn’t I was a jerk that could ruin her GPA and her chance to get into a good graduate school.

My desk phone rang and I grabbed for it, holding a stern finger up to her to wait. “Dr. Stiles,” I barked.

“And a toot-toot-a-lout to you too! This is the indubitable Dr. Branch,” Oliver sang. “You rang?”  

“Hold please,” I said gruffly, rolling my eyes and deciding just to cave. Frowning, I held my hand out to her with a look that said, ‘Give it here.’ 

She smiled broadly and handed me the red plastic notebook. “Thank you so much,” She whispered loudly and twangily.  

I pursed a tight smiled and pointed to the door, for her to leave. 

“Thank you, oh my God, thank you,” she whispered as she left, bowing slightly, arms out, hair windswept.

As my office door shut, I turned back to the phone, “Hey.”

“So what’s up?” Oliver asked.

“Crap with students” I sighed. 

“Ah, little rapscallions that they are. I’m at the Reference Desk. Dead dull here, finals and all. Everyone studying.”

“Hey, I was going to see if you had any desire to go on the Art Walk with me tomorrow night? Should be fun, fun.”

“With you and Thad?” Oliver asked carefully.

“No, just me. Thad’s got other plans.” Oliver had learned his lesson not to participate with Thad around, as Thad was invariably terrible to him, and by terrible I meant rotten, like teenage lunchroom rotten. 

“So I’m plan B?” Oliver scoffed.

“No, no…” I lied.

“Hey wait, hold on,” Oliver said putting the phone down. I heard him talking to a student, “No, that’s a book, and with that call number it will be up on the 3^rd floor….Yes, a book. It’s a square thing made of paper full of knowledge with pages that don’t plug in….Yes, it’ll be up on the third floor like I said.” He came back to the phone and sighed dramatically, “Children.”

“So do you want to go?”

“Sorry, can’t,” he said. “I’ve got coffee with that Swedish girl I met at Borders. Too bad it’s not Swedish twins! Now that would be vo-dee-o-dodo!”

“That’s too bad,” I snickered, not able to imagine anything gayer coming out of his mouth than a Laverne and Shirley sex reference.

“But we should do coffee soon.”

“Yeah,” I sighed, stymied.

“Oh Lord,” he exclaimed. “Looks like I got a whole horde of  exchange students heading right towards me and they look hungry, so I’ll call you back. Ciao.”  

“Bye.”

Cradling the phone I looked down at Jessica’s red plastic notebook and wondered if I was a sucker or a saint. I wanted to go the Art Walk to prove to Thad that if he had other plans, I could have other plan too. But with Oliver busy my options were distinctly limited. I put the receiver to me ear and mentally debated, then just went ahead and called Becky. After a few rings she answered.

I heard her say, “un minuto…” and then “Hello?”

“Hey Beck.”

“Hey. Ola. What’s up?”

We caught-up briefly. She had now had Pablo for just over a month, and they were getting along better every day, especially as her Spanish was improving. He had ceased crying all the time, specifically as they now watched a lot of Dora the Explorer and Telemundo together. Becky had gone back to work part time and Mom was helping out babysitting during the day, so life for them was beginning to stabilize, and Becky seemed happier for it, which was surprising and great.

“Hey,” I began, jumping to the grist of my call. “Would you two like to go on the downtown Art Walk with me tomorrow night?” This was my first time to ask the two of them to do something.

“That’s really nice of you.” Becky said, sounding truly honored. “I bet Pablo would really like that.” And then to him she said, “De! De!” And then back to me, “What time?”

“I don’t know. About seven?” 

“Oh, that’s really past his bedtime. I am trying to keep him on a set schedule, you know. I feed him about six and put him down about seven.”

“That makes sense.”

 “Yeah. But maybe we could all go to the Duck Pond together sometime? He loves the ducks.” And then to him she said, “Patos! Patos!”and then quacked and he quacked back and rattled off something long and complicated in Spanish. She  responded with “Si! Patos agua amor.” And then back to me, “He loves the ducks.”

“Don’t we all?” I sighed. “Okay, look, I’m in my office grading, so I should go…” but then she cut me off.

“You know Father’s Day is coming up, right?”
            “Yeah.”  I said tentatively. “So? Are you baking a cake for Smith?”

“Hell no!” she whispered, then back to her normal tone. “It just seems like…it would just be nice, with Father’s Day…I would just like Pablo to meet Dad sometime, you know?”

I was silent.

“Did you decide to contact him?”

“No.”

I thought about the letter sitting in the back of my file cabinet at home. I had had it for two months and still had not told Thad about it. Having it just made me feel better; like I had a part of Dad, I was part of his secret world.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, sounding uncomfortable. “You just hadn’t mentioned it, and I didn’t know what you decided…” and she trailed off.

“Yup.” I said pivoting my chair to look out the big window at all of the passing students and wondered how many of them knew their real fathers.

“But we should totally go to the Duck Pond and play soon,” she continued, back in her lively tone. “Pablo would love that.” In the back ground I heard him say “Duck Pond” in English and Becky say, “Yes! Si! Duck Pond!” And then back to me, “Look, gotta go. I’ll call this weekend. Bye.”

“Bye.”

I sat there, totally bummed out, regretting even calling Becky: Now I had to go to the stupid Duck Pond with her and that little crying Mexican, and I missed Dad. Great.

To avoid the emotional rut I went back to grading, longing for my office hours to be over. The papers for my Shakespeare Comedies class were both better and far worse than I had ever seen before.

About thirty minutes later my phone rang again, “A toot-toot-a-lout to you too!” Oliver sang.

“What’s up?”

“I just called the Swiss Miss Gretchles about our date tomorrow and she totally cancelled on me.” I could hear him making his terrible little boy pouty face on the other end of the phone and I cringed.

“Yeah, so?”

“So you and I got a date for tomorrow night! Just two dudes out for a night on the town. Too bad you don’t drink anymore. Remember how fun those times were?

“Yeah,” I said, not remembering many, as when I did drink, boy could I drink. “That’s great. So you want me to pick you up about seven?”

“Sure.” He beamed, “It’s just too bad about Gretchles. I mean, she’s so hot, like spicy, Vietnamese buffet three devil heads zesty, oh!”

 “Yeah, gosh.” I made myself not laugh. 

Here’s the thing about Oliver: he lied. He lied a lot. He lied to himself and thus he lied to others. I had no idea if this ‘Gretchels’ was even a real person as I had never met her, nor met anyone who had met her. I had learned that you could believe very little of what Oliver said about women or his sex life, but he was on the up-and-up about most everything else. And I just felt so sorry for him and his deep, deep closeted life, that I just accepted it. So this level of fictitious conversation between us was completely normal for our world.

“Like sassy, jalapenos burns my bottom red, red hot!” and he squealed and did a Charo “Cuchi-cuchi.” 

 “Yeah, okay, I’m grading…”

“And I’m still out at the Reference Desk, so see ya tomorrow night.”

“Bye.”

As I hung up I heard him say to someone, “No, the bathroom is that way. Good God! How you kids even feed yourselves amazes me!”
 

44. Art Walk

“Yoo hoo! Stephanie! Yoo hoo!” Oliver cried, his tiny frame jumping up and down as he waved madly at someone across the busy street. 

“Would you stop it?” I hissed, “People are starting to stare.”

“What?” He spun around to pout at me. “So! I swear to God it's Stephanie Banner over there and I haven’t seen her in eons.” And then he turned back around and began bleating again at the random crowd of girls across the street, “YOOOO-HOOOO! Stephanie Darling! ‘Tis I! Oliver!”

I turned and walked off, trying to look like I did not know him.

The Art Walk was not going as well as I had planned. First, Oliver had apparently decided to dress as an extra from Newsies: He was in knickers, buckle shoes, an argyle sweater vest over a poufy poet shirt and tartan tam tiled just so, of course. Why? I have no idea, and he did not offer any explanation besides an opened handed, “Likey?” when I first walked into his house to pick him up. Second, he was tipsy on wine, taking advantage of my permanent sobriety to act as his designated driver, which was pissing me off.  And third, he would not shut the Hell up. I don’t know if it was the wine or his darling outfit, of if he just hadn’t been let out of the home recently, but he was on fire, a big gay, gay, gay fire.  

“YOOOOOD-HOOOOD! Stephie Baby!” Oliver crooned.

An elderly couple walked by and looked at me pityingly, like I had an R-word child who had just pooped himself.  

“Oh!” Oliver laughed shrilly, waving his hands over his face, “That’s not Stephanie at all! How silly of me!” And then back to me, “So which gallery do you want to hit next?”

“This one.” And I pulled him into the closest empty-looking gallery, just to get him off the street.

 It was a dank place with ridiculous Technicolor fish paintings hung about, as if it were an entire store of art for your cabana. At least it wasn’t crowded. 

The Art Walks were cute little affairs, begun by the burgeoning city art community last year to drum up business. There were about 15 little places to visit among the historic old Main Street downtown buildings. There were two good galleries, four okay galleries, five or six places with crafty art, one or two smoky/skinny jeans/funny facial hair hipster hangouts, and a scattering of coffee and or gift/antique shops. At present we were in one of the okay galleries.

All-in-all the Art Walks made for a nice evening wondering around, seeing and being seen by the art sect. Or at least it had always been with Thad. But with Oliver it was a different story altogether. Oliver and I used to do things like this all the time, but since Thad and I encoupled four years ago, I hadn’t gone out in public with Oliver in a while. And I guess I had forgotten how terrible he could be when he was ‘on.’ But since we had arrived an hour ago, he had wanted to talk to absolutely everyone he saw, consume at least one free plastic glass of wine in each gallery, and laugh uproariously at any little thing. And as we had already been to 4 galleries, he had as many glasses of wine, as well as 2 canapés, a handful of mushroom caps, and some sort of prescription pills I watched him take from his pocket and chew up like Flintstone chewables. Whatever the case, he was being loud and ferocious, and way too publically gay for my subdued tastes.

“Oh, I lOOOOOVE this one,” Oliver said, running over to another stupid fish painting.

I snorted and walked off in the exact opposite direction.

As I frowned at a particularly ridiculous dolphin painting, I wondered how soon it would be before we ran into Thad. He was to be at the coffee shop Eyeball was playing at tonight, and it was our next stop.  I had told Thad earlier about my plans with Oliver and all Thad had said was, “Fine. Just don’t let him near me,” since they just hated each other.  But I did want to run into him, just to show him how much fun I could have without him. And maybe catch him drinking. Was there anything wrong with that? A little bit of spying? No, I didn’t think so either.       

“Michael Stiles?” A voice beside me said.

I turned to see The Two Bobs-Bob and Robert-a couple than I had met through friends-of-friends a few years ago, when they were brought to few of my thematic cocktail parties. They were a few years older, Bob a landscaper and Robert a dentist, both clean-cut and all smiles, and both alcoholics.  

“Hey guys!” I said and we all twittered and hugged, as the gays are apt to do.

“Where you been?” Robert asked, “We haven’t seen you around at any parties.”

“Well, yeah. I’ve been around…” I knew where this was leading, as I had not run into them in a long time, and I was uncomfortable with the trajectory.

“Are you still with Thad?” Bob asked, with a head lilt.

“Yes, oh yes. It’s going really well.”

“Really?” they both said in rather surprised unison.

“Yes,” I snapped, and here it was, what I didn’t want to admit, but had to: “Well, we quit drinking.”

“No!” Robert gasped, hands on hips.

“You’re kidding!” Bob said, and then a guffaw, “No wonder we haven’t seen you out at the bars!”

“Yeah, it’s been really good for us.” I smiled. “It helped us put things in perspective.”

“How long’s it been?” Robert asked.

“A year and a half.” I did not add that my last drink was September 26, 2009, or that Thad’s was June 26, 2010.    

“No!” Robert gasped again. 

“I know,” I said shaking my head. “It’s been really good though.”

“You two were such partiers,” Robert said, “I mean, you threw such great parties. We just thought you had dropped us from your guest list, since we hadn’t heard from you in such a while, didn’t we Hon?”

“Yeah. We thought we had pissed you off.” Bob said. “I mean, last time we saw you was at that amazing Midsummer Night’s Dream Garden Party you two hosted in, gosh…”

“Summer 2009,” Robert said.

“Yes, 2009!” Bob agreed, “Has it been that long? I mean we knew you were still in town and all, but we had no idea you were…”

“Sober,” I smiled. That had been a great party, one of our best. Immediately I felt stupid for having to give up a perfectly good vice-and a vast social life-because of Thad’s inability to control himself. But I knew it was for the best, the best for us, and Thad was worth it. But it had dramatically altered my life and in situations like this, where I had to explain myself to two of my previous parting buddies, both here holding little plastic glasses of wine, it made me wince. 

“Well, good for you,” Bob said with great enthusiasm, like he had just heard my Mom had beaten cancer.

“Yup. Sober.” I smiled.

“I mean, and you don’t have to answer this,” Robert said in a quiet voice, “But, was it hard? Did you get…any help? You know…”

“He knows,” Bob said, putting his hand on Robert’s shoulder, who shook it off.

 “No, no,” I smiled, “No AA. It wasn’t hard, just weird, to give up all of that socializing, all of the bars and parties and people. But we just stopped. And it was the best thing we could have done. We love each other and want to be together, but the drinking just wasn’t working. We would just drink and fight and that was no fun.  So we just stopped, it wasn’t hard, just a change, for me. And we’ve never been better.” I did not mention that Thad had just moved out, as that was a completely different paranoid discussion.

“Well good for you!” Robert said taking a big drink of his wine.

Bob coughed and frowned at him and Robert shrugged and said, “What?” as he took another swelligant drink.

“And who do we have here?” Oliver said, pirouetted into the scene.

“Oh, hey,” I grimaced, “This is my friend Oliver Branch; we worth together at the University. Oliver, this is Bob and Robert.”

“Well, hello!” Oliver said with a grand bow and then all of the men shook hands and made genteel introductions.

“I don’t know about all of this,” Oliver said in his high camp tone, motioning around at the paintings, “But it all just seems, I don’t know, for the fish? You know, fish!” And then he laughed  his petite, baby doll laugh uproariously.   

The Two Bobs looked at each other and blanched, but then laughed along politely.

Mortified, I butted in, “Well, it was lovely to see you guys. Thad is around here somewhere, and I should find him, so we should go. Great to see you….”

“Oh, yes, it was…” Bob said and we made goodbye hugs with salutations.

“And you keep at it,” Robert said in a very Vacation Bible School sort of way, “We believe in you.”

“Thanks,” I said, feeling vaguely insulted.

As they walked off Oliver leaned in to say, “Well, they seemed nice…for the gays…”

I just rolled my eyes.

45. Bayne’s Eyeball

            “Do we have to stay here?”

            “What?” I screamed over the death metal sodomizing my ears.

            “DO WE!” Oliver repeated, “HAVE TO! STAY HERE!”

            I looked around frantically. We had just walked in off the street to the coffee shop Thad was supposed to be at, but I couldn’t find him. The steamy hot place was packed with thrashing kids as Bayne’s 4-piece band Eyeball blared an oh-so-charming punk version of Rainbow Connection from the back stage. The tintinnabulation of the music ricocheted off the walls in a deafening lightening arch, making it feel like your ears were individually dying. Bayne, who looked like a zombiefied Jim Morrison, danced and waved the microphone before the mesmerized crowd like a banshee out for vengeance.  

            Oliver tugged on my arm and I watched him mouth “Please, God!” but I was unable to hear him over the moaning and the groaning of the ungodly song’s chorus: “…The lovers! The dreamers! And me!”

            I shook my head, ‘No,' and looked around frantically. I wanted to find Thad, just to say ‘hi,’ see how he was, and rub Oliver in his face. The teenage Goth crowd before us was breaking into a seismic mosh pit, which we were in the distinct danger of being drawn into. People began flailing and screaming; one girl genuflected madly before being pulled to the floor by the crush. Out of the crowd at the front, Bettina jumped onstage and began tantrically beating a tambourine  against her crotch like she was trying to kill something.

            The crowd grew and swelled with each screamed note of the song. As the music hit a fevered pitch and Bayne started throwing mutilated Muppet parts out into the audience, I turned to make sure we could still see the door, and just as I did the most beautiful man I had ever seen walked in and everything in my world stopped. He was my age, tall and thin, with sandy ringlet curls and a strong jaw. With a heart-shaped face and pale blue eyes, he drew the last draw off of cigarettes before tossing it out the door behind him, the smoke escaping his sumptuous, red, red lips. There was nothing in the world so red as those lips. Suffer me to kiss those lips.  

            And then I realized it was Thad, my Thad! And I giggled; how silly to not have first recognized him, but how real to know how I felt about him: My God did I love him.

            He saw me and waved and I blushed and looked away, a schoolgirl crush across my cheeks. When I looked back up he was still waving, but this time to follow him back outside.

            Grabbing Oliver, he with his hands covering his ears in sheer tortured terror, I drug us through the pogoing crowd and back out to the Main Street sidewalk

 Thad waited there, smiling “Loud, huh?” he yelled, as we scuttled away from the door and the noise.

            “Good God!” I said, grabbing to hug him, so happy to see him. I had no idea how I had missed him.

            Thad hugged back and whispered, “You okay?”

            I pulled back to look into his eyes, “Yeah, I just didn’t recognize you in there and it was weird. I’m glad it’s you.”

            “Okay,” he laughed.

            “That was just terrible!” Oliver screamed, bumbling up to us, as was his way. “Can they even legally call that music? And if they do, they should be sued! We should sue them. Sue them right now. I know lawyers, I do. ”

“Hello,” Thad said with a sigh and a snide roll of his eyes.

Oliver continued without acknowledging him, “I mean, where do they even get off? I’ve heard the death rattle of feral cats run over by trucks screech in more dulcet tones.”

Trying to cover for Oliver’s snub, I jumped in, “Hey, so how’s your night going?”

Thad frowned at Oliver like he was a bug. I cleared my throat and he looked up to me and smiled, “It’s okay. Bettina is just being Bettina….”

He proceeded to tell us a long story about Bettina not being ready on time, Bettina having to change three times, Bettina drinking too much wine at the house, Bettina falling down on stage,  and so on, but what I listened to was him: He didn’t sound or look drunk. He had been smoking, fine, I was learning to live with that, even though I envied him for it, but he seemed sober.

I told him about our adventures so far and Oliver added things here and there, but mainly just tugged at his ears in an infected sort of way. It was just so weird to run into Thad when he was out with someone else; it was like we were and weren’t together which was a feeling I did not like.

In the midst of another story about Bettina, Thad kinda slurred a word, so I refocused my attention to follow his cadence to make sure there was not a slip into drunkenness. I could not discern one, but the problem was that Thad always talked like a drunken gay puppet, so to tell if he was actually drunk or not, especially in the height of my paranoia,  was a challenge. But by the time we had finished catching up, I had decided he was not, and felt much better. My spy mission was accomplished: he was a good and true boyfriend.    

From inside, the music suddenly came to a crashing halt and people poured outside to smoke. We three moved farther down the sidewalk away from them. 

“So where are you going after this?” Thad asked.

“Oh, probably just back to the car. Maybe go get ice cream afterward.”

“Oh, I just adore ice cream!” Oliver said with his hands above his head.

“Children do.” Thad smiled.

“Now, now,” Oliver smiled falsely.

Bettina and Bayne pushed thought the crowd of smokers and by us, holding each other up, doing a Jim Beam shuffle.

“Hey!” Thad snapped at her.

“We’ll...we’ll….be back,” Bettina slurred, looking over to him. And then glassy-eyed to me, “Hey Mitchell!” She was so loaded. “We’ll be back. Don’t worry…”

Bane looked around and laughed to no one in particular, “We don’t fucking care…”

And they stumbled off, like Oklahoma’s own Sid and Nancy.

Thad looked over at me with sadness in his eyes, and I smiled a kind smile back at him.

“Is she okay?” I asked.

“I don’t think so. She’s drunk a lot now; ever since they got back together… he’s not a good influence…”

“She is so hot!” Oliver yelled, doing a little sex dance. “Hot mamma jamma!”

“Shut-up, Ollie,” Thad snapped, then to me. “Let me go make sure she’s not going to try and drive. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Oh, yeah. I’ll see you then…” I said sadly: and with that my previous dreamy infatuation with Thad was again broken as Bettina had won him yet again.

“ Bye!” And Thad sprinted off down the street, where they had stopped and Bayne appeared to be peeing on a park bench in plain view, there on Main Street, USA.

“You ready to go?” I asked, looking down at Oliver.

He was frowning, “He doesn’t like me at all, does he? He didn’t even say ‘goodbye.’”

“You didn’t greet him when you walked up.” I said matter-of-factly.

‘Well, he’s been rude to me in the past. Last time I don’t think he greeted me at all, so this time I decided I didn’t have to greet him…”

“Oh, Jesus Christ, Oliver…” I said just as I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to see the Gaybor standing right behind me and I gasped like Doris Day seeing Rock Hudson for the first time. 

“Michael?” he said deeply.

“Hey! Gay-a-a-…Hey! ” I said, having no idea what his real name was, but pretty sure it wasn’t ‘Gaybor’ which is what I almost called him. “How are you?”

“Good, good.” He smiled, just as handsome as ever, in khaki shorts and a polo shirt. “I thought that was you. Enjoying the night?”

“Yes, yes, the Art Walks are always fun.”  Oliver sidled up to us and was looking at me expecting an introduction, but I positioned myself between us: he was annoying and I couldn’t remember the Gaybor’s name, so no introduction for him.  “I have always enjoyed them. Did you see any art you liked?”

“There were these really great fish paintings in this one place down the way…”

Oliver guffawed, and I made a side-shushing motion with my hand, while still not publically acknowledging him. “Oh, yeah I saw those, those were great.” I was not sure what I was doing, but I was enjoying it, enjoying the attention. Let Thad chase Bettina and her daemons; I had a handsome guy chatting me up. 

We went on to discuss the end of classes and joke about grading finals, “Totally subjective! I know! I’m surprised it’s legal!” I said. Then, as Oliver’s presence was becoming obvious, I decided I had to cut it short, so I said to the Gaybor, “Well, nice seeing you. I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, we should do coffee sometime.” He said with a winning smile.

 “Oh, yeah. That would be great.” I said knowing I should not, not, not do this: I was not allowed to hang out with single gay guys I found attractive, it just wasn’t fair to Thad, as if he did it to me, I would blow. But this was a work thing. We did work together, sort of. So maybe it wasn’t all bad. Maybe this was allowable? As his chasing of Bettina was allowed.  

  “Great! Great!” he said with a Ralph Lauren smile.

And before I knew it we were exchanging business cards and then phone numbers punched into our cell phones and he said he would call me in a few weeks after he got back from a conference in New York City and I told him I was going to a conference in Puerto Rico soon, and then we talked about that, and how we would have to do coffee between those two, and how it would be great to get to know each other better, and other things that made me feel that special tingle, you know THAT special tingle-and it felt wrong, wrong, wrong. 

We said out final goodbyes and shook hands. As he walked away I looked down to his card, ‘Steve Banks, Associate Professor of Architecture’ and murmured, “Steve!” 

“And who was that?” Oliver asked, getting as up in my face as much as his petite frame would allow.  

“No one,” I lied.

“Then why are you blushing? And why didn’t you introduce me?”

It was then I thought: was Thad still there? I looked back down the street and there he was, standing as if mesmerized, watching me, I assume having seen the whole thing. Bettina and Bayne sat on the peed-on park bench next to him, slumped over, maybe passed-out, maybe dead. But all I saw was the lost, hurt look on Thad’s face and it made my insides hurt.   

I waved to him and he waved back, and just as I did it, I realized that I was waving to him with the hand holding my cell phone and the Gaybor’s business card.

 Shame.

Turning, I grabbed Oliver, and we trotted off down the street, away from Thad, trying to outrun my guilt.  

  It did not work.