Date: Tue, 11 Oct 2005 05:43:22 +0000 From: Jeff STL Subject: office fantasy / Chapter 17 All, Thanks for the kind words. Things are fine again. A few of you have written me, and I've responded to you, but some of my replies are bouncing back. It's only happening those who have AOL accounts. Mike and Vince, I know yours bounced back for sure. Thanks! Jeff CHAPTER 17 For the next few weeks, things are sort of hot and cold with Scott. After his initial attempt to admit love, he backed off in a hurry. I think he got caught up in the moment. And yet, there was something in his eyes that was distant, as if something unresolved lurks back there. We explored our lovemaking slowly, restricting it to mostly just gratification. Anytime things start to get close, we both back off. I know my problem is that I'm finding it hard to trust someone. I trusted Leslie, and despite the fact that my outting was what caused our divorce, I still feel betrayed somehow, as if she let me down. She was the one person I thought I could always count on. But then, she also probably feels the same way about me. One night, at dinner, Scott was again in a mood, and endlessly complained about everything I did wrong...or what he thought I did wrong. The clinker was when I accidentally dropped a piece of steak onto the floor. "Dammit, Jesse, why are you such a clutz?" he shoots out. Slamming my fork to the table, I reply, "Scott, what the hell is your problem? You have been biting my head off all night tonight, and I'm sick of it! It's just a piece of steak and it'll wipe right up!" He stares at me, daggers. "Why don't you just leave me alone?" he says. Sliding my chair back, I stand up, throw my napkin on my plate, and stalk off, muttering, "I'll leave you alone alright. Your worse than my wife when she's PMS'ing." On the wall ahead of me, a water glass shatters. HE THREW IT AT ME! I turn around, wide-eyed. "What the..." "You asshole. I can't believe you just said that to me." Scott says, on the verge of losing total control. He stomps toward the door, grabs his keys off the table, and slams it as he walks out, leaving me standing there in shock. Shaking, I reach down to pick up the large pieces of glass. I frown, as I try to disseminate what just happened. I dropped a piece of steak. Is this the reason wars start??? I clean up the rest of the glass, and decide to go in and read and maybe go to sleep early. I don't know why conflict makes me sleepy. I guess it's my body's way of warding off stress. A couple of hours later, I hear him come into the apartment. The door closes gently, and I hear silence. He's standing there, pondering what to do. I hear him clear the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher. I'd forgotten about the dinner dishes, but screw it, let him deal with it. Then I hear a gentle knock on my bedroom door. A tentative voice, "Jesse?" I respond with silence, actually flipping off the door. A second knock. "Jess, can we please talk?" he pleads. "Come in." I say gruffly. I'm not one who heals easily when struck at. He crossed a line tonight. He walks in, head down, sheepish. The smell of cigarette smoke is heavy on his clothes, then I can smell the liquor on his breath from here. "Hey", he says cordially. "Hey yourself." I respond, cooly. He sits on the corner of my bed. "Jesse, I'm very sorry about losing my temper. I've been thinking about it since I left, and I handled it badly." "Gee," I say sarcastically. "I hope your bed-side manner is better than that." "Jesse, please," he says, not looking at me. "I am not excusing what I did, but there's some stuff you don't know, and I realized that I have been taking it out on you." I sit up. The sheet falls to my waist, exposing my bare chest. "I'd love to hear it." I say, sincerely, but with the sense of 'this better be good.' He takes a deep breath. "I never told you why Bill and I broke up. He met a woman, and he decided he was no longer gay and he wanted to be with her." "Oh come on," I interrupt. "No longer gay? Why doesn't he just say that the Mississippi flows north?" "I know", Scott agrees. "I tried a similar argument, but he was adamant. He was unkind, and he broke my heart. And I think that every time we start to get close, I back off because I'm afraid of getting hurt again." A single tear falls down his cheek. Dang it, I'm a sucker for an emotional guy. "Scott, I understand where you're coming from. In some regards, I'm doing the same thing because of what Leslie did to me. But you THREW that glass at me." "I know. And I'm SO sorry" he bursts out. "I know I have a bad temper. I think that's probably what drove Bill away from me, too. The stress of work, and then to have to come home to....well, I know that's a dumb reason, but it's what happened." He looks at me, hopeful. I ponder his words. Sighing, I give in. "OK, apology accepted. But we have some stuff to work on, man. You need to start talking to me instead of brooding, or this is never going to work." He smiles, relieved. "OK, sounds good." He leans over and kisses me quick. "Uh, I better hit the sack. I have the early shift, and I'm a little shit-faced." he grins. "Go." I say, relieved to not have to be too close to him tonight. The next few days are better. We talk about having to back off our physical relationship. I have been worried that it's all we share. We start to realize that we have a lot of diversity in our interests and that they rarely overlap. We find that we don't have a lot to talk about, unless sex comes up. I'm bothered by this. Leslie and I would talk for HOURS, and only stop when we fell asleep on each other. I begin to wonder if this is what a gay relationship should be like. Surely not. I return to work again, and spend a lot of time there, getting things caught up. Daniel has noted it, and thanked me for getting myself back into the game. I hate sports metaphors, but I smile and acknowledged his thanks. Most days, I've been staying at the office until around 9:00 or so. Today, Daniel walks over to my cube at 5:00 and says "Go home. You've worked hard enough, you need to start taking some downtime." I look up, grateful. These 10-12 hour days are starting to take their toll. It's worse because Scott's been working a lot of extra shifts, too. He told me he's working a double tonight, too, so I know he won't be there when I get home. Sighing, I decide that what I should do is rent a movie or two, get a bottle of wine, and cook him a nice dinner. It's time we stop taking the other for granted. As I'm driving home, I think about him, and I realize, I DO love him. Maybe we just need to start trusting each other. As I pull into the lot, I see his car there. My heart leaps with joy, as I realize that maybe he got the night off and we can start really working on things. I run up the stairs, and go in. I hear music from his bedroom. I put down my stuff on the table, and head back to his room, my heart pounding with anticipation. The door is shut. I swing the door open and yell "SURPRISE!" Time stops. "Holy Shit!" comes from the bed, the bed with Scott in it, naked, and entwined with another naked guy. My arms are still in the air, and my mouth is hanging open like a damned fool. My eyes go wide. I can't breathe, I can't hear, I can't think. "Oh my god", Scott says. "Jesse.." he begins. "No." I say, finally regaining control of my body. "No, don't say a word." I start to back out slowly. I head toward my room. I try not to listen, but I hear sheets rustle...Scott getting out of bed...and he calls me. He comes into my room, wearing a robe. "Jesse, please..." he pleads. "No. Get out. GET OUT!" I yell. I grab the first thing I find (a shoe) and hurl it toward him. It hits the wall as he dodges, and it makes a black mark. He runs out the door, evidently worried about the murderous look on my face. I hear them talking in the bedroom, but I don't listen. The blood rushing to my head prevents me from hearing. I collect up a few things, grab my jacket and head toward the door, my stomach flipping out in my gut, my body numb from shock. I get to my car, get in, and with shaking hands, try to get the key into the ignition and actually turn the thing. My car roars to life and I peel out of my parking space and onto the open road. I give a sort of snort-laugh as I recall throwing that shoe. Guess we're more alike than I'd like to admit. I hit the interstate and start to just drive. After about 20 miles, I calm down enough to think about things. Let's see, I've ruined my friendship with Mark, even if he deserved it, and the guy I was trying to build a relationship with has screwed around on me. Maybe there was too much wrong about the relationship. It started off so nicely, but after a couple of months, we drifted. Physically shrugging, I tell myself that maybe it was over a long time ago, but I don't think it was until that glass was thrown at me. After a few minutes, it dawns on me that I don't know where I'm going. I realize that I'm Westbound on I-44, and just entering Eureka, where Six Flags, St. Louis is. I get off at the Allenton exit and pull into the Ramada parking lot next door to the park. I decide to just stay here tonight. I'm tired, and I need some alone time. I go in and luckily they have a room available. Once in my room, I strip down, and sit on the bed, and just relax. I calm my jangled nerves, and work on slowing my pulse rate. I wait for the tears, the sobs, but they never come. I walk into the bathroom, and lean over to look closely at my face. What is it about me? I wonder. Why can't I seem to hold any relationship? Mom? Dad? Josh? They have to love me, I'm their family. OK, they don't HAVE to, but they do. And although I'm angry, why am I not more upset? I stand up straight, unable to keep from looking at my own body in the mirror. Not bad, I think. Maybe it was over a long time ago, I tell myself again. Jesse, you need to move on. I nod, as if answering myself, then head back to the bed area. I pull back the sheets, turn off the light, but sleep won't come. I remember that my cell phone is on my belt. I never took it off when I got home. Home...isn't not home anymore. I'm moving out. I decide. Grabbing the phone, I decide to seek out a possible friend. I dial Mark's number. No answer, though. Maybe he's ignoring me. Maybe he's that pissed, and I don't blame him. I've ignored him for the last two months. I pick up the hotel phone, and dial out. Sure enough, he answers. He was screening me out. "Hello?" he says. "Mark...don't hang up. It's Jesse." A dead silence. "Jesse." he says, his voice flat with emotion. "What the fuck do you want?" "I, uh, don't know, really. I just, uh....well, I just got home and found what I thought was my boyfriend in bed with another guy, and....well, I left, and ... I just needed someone to talk to." Even as I say it, I know how lame it sounds. "Really. Well, as far as I'm concerned, you can suffer you egomanic piece of shit." "Now WAIT a minute! YOU are the one who used me, you son of a bitch!" I yell at him. "How the fuck am I supposed to feel?" "Yeah, ok, Jesse! I admit it! I was a prick! I used you! BUT, after I got to know you, I really liked you a lot, and I think we could have been great friends, but you NEVER gave me the chance to apologize, or explain, or try to get you to understand, or anything, so FUCK YOU!" and with that, he slams down the phone. Resisting the urge to throw the phone, I set it down in the cradle, and start to pace around the room. I must have been out of my mind to even try him, I decide. Gads. Then an inspiration hits me, and I walk back to the bed and sit against the headboard. I remember that I have a friend I could try. I dial my old home number. Leslie. "Hello" a male voice answers. I hang up quickly. Frowning, I wonder if I made a mistake, but no, I know I dialed right. Could she...? Well, sure...she's not DEAD, you twit. Suddenly the phone rings. Who the hell? "Yeah?!" I answer harshly. A female voice this time. "Hello? I'm sorry to disturb you but a call just came to my house, and it came from your location, and the front desk rang this room." Leslie's voice sounds good to me. "Leslie, it's Jesse. Hi." "Jesse? What...where...why...?" she's confused. A victim of her own brain, she tries to process too much at once. "Where are you?" she finally manages. "I'm at the Ramada in Eureka." I reply. And suddenly it all comes pouring out...my fears, my suspicions, my desires....everything. She listens patiently, knowing not to interrupt. Another talent she has...listen to what the client has to say, don't interrupt, then deal with the facts presented. "Jesse, why don't you come over? We can talk and you can have some dinner..." "No, you probably have company there...I don't want to impose." "Hang on." She covers the mouthpiece. I hear her talking to someone, and that male voice responds, questioning at first, a little tense next, then relenting. I hear her thank him, then she returns. "Please, I insist. Come on over." I consider a moment, and decide that being with people right now would be better than being alone. I accept and get dressed and drive over to my old house. As I walk in, I immediately get a flash of memories past, good times, and bad. She hugs me, then with a concerned look, asks "Are you ok?" "Yeah," I lie, "I will be." We walk into the kitchen, and in there is a young guy about my age, tending to the cooking on the stove. Leslie immediately does the introductions. "Jonathan, this is Jesse, my ex-husband. Jesse, this is Jonathan Summers." We shake hands. "Hi, Jesse," he says warmly. "I'm glad to meet you. The boys talk about you all the time." I return the pleasantries. We have a good meal together. "So, how did you two meet?" I ask, trying to sound interested and not jealous. "Actually, it's kind of funny. Jonathan works on the floor above me for a different firm, and we kept running into each other in the elevator..." and she worms her way through the details, which I find myself feeling mildly jealous. I work hard at trying to be friendly, but the whole evening is surreal to me, and after dinner, and playing around with the boys, I decide it's time to go. "No, please, Jesse...you can stay here tonight." Leslie offers. Jonathan steps up. "Yeah, Jesse, I need to get going anyway, and Leslie says you're having a rough night, so I should leave you two to talk." "Well, I can stay for awhile, but I have that room and I'll be fine to stay there." I say. "OK, then it was great meeting you, and maybe I'll see you again sometime." Jonathan says. I shake his hand and Leslie walks him out. I can't help myself, I check out the package and the ass as he walks away. She did good for herself! I take my drink and go out onto the deck, the one that Pete and I spent a summer building. I feel a huge pang of regret, longing for better and happier times. A few minute later, Leslie joins me, a drink in her hand also. She sits on the patio chair next to me. "So, what'd you think?" she asks, implying Jonathan. "Nice guy, Leslie, honest." I reply, sincerely. "Yeah, I really like him a lot. He was uncomfortable at first with you coming over, but while we were waiting I assured him that you'd be cool with him, and that he had nothing to worry about." "Jeez, Leslie, what'd you tell him?" I ask. "Oh, nothing that he didn't need to know. Just that our divorce was amicable, and that we were just friends now, and you needed a friend tonight." "OH" I breathe with relief. "Good." "Jesse, I told you I wont' 'out' you to people. It's not my place. Now, what's really eating you?" I rehash the entire evening, as well as the glass incident, and the shoe incident, and the barking and the bickering, and the inability to trust....and then I surprise myself by how much I was keeping in. We discuss the situation and she helps me to realize that Scott was probably a rebound guy, much as Mark would have been. Then she reminds me that I didn't hear Scott's side of the story. Curiously, my cell hasn't rung once since I caught him. Exhausted, I finally tell her I should get going, thanked her for the food, and headed back to the hotel. On the way, I decide I need to find out what was going on, so I call the apartment. Scott answers after the third ring, apparently working up his courage, or working down his anger... "Hey." He says. Damned caller ID. "Hi." I reply. Silence. And more silence. Finally I break it with "So, who is he?" wanting to know, and not wanting to know. "Bill. I've sort of been seeing him." he says. No emotion. Just the facts, ma'am. "Bill." I repeat. "Bill who decided he's into pussy instead of cock. Bill who broke your heart. Bill who hurt you badly." My voice rises with anger. "Yeah. He broke it off with the gal when he realized he missed me too much. Jesse..." I cut him off. My phone rings, and it's him. "WHAT?!" I holler. "Jesse, I never meant to hurt you. I thought I was in love with you, but the fact is, I still have a lot of feelings for Bill. Jesse, we had 6 years together, and we are both doctors, and we...." He stops. Unable to go on. My hand shakes the phone against my ear. I pull over to the shoulder of the road. "And you still are in love, and so you want to get back together." I finish his sentence. "Yeah....I guess so." "You guess so." I parrot back. "Fine. You want him, you can have him. I just wonder why you didn't have the BALLS to tell me this. How long have you been fucking around on me?" "I dont' know...three weeks or so?" he answers. "I see." I reply curtly. "Do I need to get myself checked for HIV in six months? Because I swear, Scott, if you infected me, you will suffer much before the fucking virus can get to you." "No, I'm sure you're fine. We're DOCTORS, hello?" "Yeah, doctors who think with their dicks..." and he cuts me off. Throwing my cell phone into the passenger seat, I peel out again, hitting 85 before I calm down enough to get sensible about my speed. I-44 is notorious for accidents outside of Six Flags, and I'm just about there. Good! I think. This is good. Fuck everybody. I don't need ANYONE! I vow. Screw you, Mark. Screw you, Scott. I don't need this shit. I DON'T NEED ANYONE!!! And the tears roll down. I get back to my room, again strip naked, get in the sheets, and cry myself to sleep. To be continued. Things are definitely in confusion for these two guys. There is a lot of emotional baggage that they're both dealing with, and so that's why the wishy-washy feelings they have about love.