Bankers' Hours (10 page)

It was a small farmhouse, but much larger than the one I rented. Half the flowers in the beds were brown. A tailpipe jutted out from one bed to obstruct mowing, so the grass growing around it was five inches taller than the rest of the lawn. “That would drive me nuts if I lived here,” I mumbled, ringing the doorbell.

Tristan opened the door and smiled through the screen. “Hey. Come on in,” he offered, opening the screen door for me.

It was an older, two-story farmhouse with creaky wooden floors and decor from the seventies. I cringed at the duck wallpaper border in the kitchen and the psychedelic orange-and-brown throw rug in the living room. “Um, there’s an engine on your dining room table,” I pointed out, literally pointing at it.

“Ah, yeah,” he said, glancing at the engine and then back to me as if thinking of a reason but finding none. “I’ve lived alone for a long time. Claire and I normally eat at the breakfast bar.” He motioned to the area over by the kitchen, but the “bar” was stacked with magazines.

“There’s no room there either.”

Tristan walked over and started moving them to the side, but there wasn’t space. He gave up. “Yeah, I was looking for a specific one. They were my dad’s. I found them in the attic when I was clearing out some old boxes. I got to looking through them and just haven’t put them away yet.”

Tristan’s house was the exact opposite of mine. His things were in disarray all over the place. Stacks of books, CDs, DVDs, a few coffee cups, and…. “There’s a muffler under the coffee table,” I said, observing yet another oddity for one’s living room.

“I know this looks bad,” Tristan said, stepping in front of me and pressing his hands together as if to pray or beg for forgiveness.

“I guess you aren’t worried about grease stains. That carpet looks like it’s been soiled for decades.”

“Like I said, I’ve lived alone for a long time. The muffler’s been under there for two years. I’m married to my work, and I tend to carry car parts home all the time.”

“I noticed you live behind the shop. That must be convenient.” Tristan was wearing another beer shirt. This one was gray and said something about imperial stout.

“It is handy. This was my parents’ house. After my dad died, my mom gave it to me since I was already in charge of the family business. My sister lives in Baltimore, and my mom lives with my brother in Leesburg, Virginia. I see Claire every other weekend. You’re the first person outside my family and the guys I work with to step inside this house.”

“What about dates?” I asked.

“I don’t date, Grant. My life’s been on hold ever since my daughter was born. Look, let’s go eat. It’s getting late fast, and we can talk more on the way and over dinner.” He gestured to the door, and I nodded.

We walked around the house and to his truck, got in, and started on our way.

I thought about what he’d said in the house, and it was similar to something he’d mentioned before. “You said something yesterday about skipping over pleasantries and going straight for sex.” I heard him heave a sigh as I framed my question. “What did you mean? Are you one of those guys who hooks up in gay bars and strip clubs?” The idea bothered me. He could have AIDS or another STD. Having no guy almost seemed better than dating a sex pig. I didn’t want to catch a disease. I wanted sex, but after thinking about his earlier comment I had realized sex meant something to me. If it hadn’t, I could have done exactly what he’d done. I truly was saving myself for my soul mate, Mr. Right.

“Yes and no.” He paused a long time after his ambiguous answer. I’d been argumentative enough, so I waited this time. He finally continued. “I
have
done those types of things. In my twenties, I hooked up much more often with guys I met in bars. I got out of the service when I was still young, and I think repressing how I felt all that time got the best of me, because for several years after that I couldn’t get enough. I had a different guy practically every weekend.”

I couldn’t look at him as he said those things, so I watched the passing trees out my window. It made me ill to think of him with so many men. I couldn’t understand that lifestyle, even if I was aware it happened all the time. It wasn’t me. I had never wanted meaningless sex just to satisfy a need to fuck. But he did. I was in a truck, going to dinner, with a man who had needed to fuck so badly that he’d hooked up with guys he didn’t know just to satisfy his lust… every weekend.

A tear rolled down my cheek.

“Why did you stop?” I asked quietly, still watching the passing trees and road signs.

“A guy I knew died.”

I sucked in a quick breath. “That’s horrible.” I glanced over at Tristan. He wasn’t looking at me. “Was it AIDS?”

“Everyone jumps to that conclusion since he was gay, but no, not AIDS. He was jumped in an alley by a group of guys, raped and beaten, and left for dead. He died in a hospital three days later of hemorrhaging in his brain.”

My stomach almost emptied itself on the truck seat. I held my mouth and willed away the quaking in my gut. I wanted to cry, I wanted to vomit, but somehow I was shocked into stillness. My brain couldn’t even comprehend that kind of crime. I’d never seen one, even on television. I tended to stay away from news because it was all depressing. This was a class A example. I hated that people in the world I lived in did things like this to others. I had been picked on throughout my life, even before I came out, but it was normal harassment of a scrawny kid who didn’t know how to fight back. I’d never been hurt physically, and even the jibes and name-calling hadn’t affected me all that much. I’d been a normal kid growing up, before and after I’d come out. Things like this man’s death never happened in my sphere of experience.

Tristan parked the truck. He must have noticed how quiet I’d become and realized why. He reached across the console. “Come here.”

I turned into him as best I could with the console pressing into my ribs and cried softly into his shirt. I felt like an idiot, but the tears wouldn’t stop.

He rubbed my back. “I cried too, Grant. His death was why I stopped. He had put himself into too many precarious situations with guys he didn’t know. Someone saw the men leaving the alley, but no one was arrested. I’ve been with two guys since then. One I met at a car show, and we had sex a couple times. Another I met at the airport. Neither of them filled any kind of need other than sexual gratification. We fucked, and we were done. I haven’t been with anyone in two years.”

I pulled out of his arms so I could look into his face. “Why?”

He shrugged. “Maybe because I wanted my thirties to be different. I went to my daughter’s thirteenth birthday party and watched her with her friends. No guy I’d ever been with was worth the time necessary to bring him into my life. I saw how I’d kept everything separate. My daughter’s mother didn’t know I was gay. My daughter would have to be told eventually. I watched the guests and thought about what it would be like to sit at a party like that with a guy I cared about.” He gazed deeply into my eyes as he spoke. “I’m done being a stupid kid, Grant. I want to build a life with someone—someone like you. I want to go to birthday parties with a man who’ll appreciate how incredible my daughter is, not just the size of my dick. Does that make sense?”

I felt my heart melting again. “That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

He chuckled. “Then you don’t get out much.” He ran his fingers through my hair and caressed my cheek. “Oh, Grant. You’re such a beautiful person. I’ve just dumped a lot of information on you, and your reaction is to tell me how romantic I am?” He chuckled harder. “I knew taking a chance on you was the right decision.”

“But you hardly know me.” I had to point that out, because most people who tried to get to know me found out they didn’t like me.

“I will. Let’s go eat.” I thought he’d pull away to open the door, but he only stared into my eyes. Then his gaze dropped to my lips. He looked up as if to make sure it was okay and then leaned in and kissed me softly. One kiss, but it was enough to calm my nerves.

I mewled.

“Now we can eat,” he said with a wink.

I wiped my eyes as I closed the truck door and followed Tristan into Olive Garden. I wasn’t sure how he knew this was my favorite restaurant, but he scored some points as far as first “real” dates were concerned. And, he’d kissed me already. The evening was starting off on the right foot.

After the hostess seated us in a booth, the waitress walked up and took our drink orders. “Can I have a raspberry iced tea?” I asked.

Tristan settled on water, no lemon.

As I contemplated my choice, I noticed how Tristan observed the people at other tables and the pictures on the walls, but not the menu. “Aren’t you going to look at the menu?”

He shook his head. “No. I already know what I want. I come here all the time.”

I smiled. “I used to go to Olive Garden with Mel for lunch back where I used to work.”

“Hmm.” He nodded. “Who’s Mel?”

“My best friend. He lives in Ellicott City. When our branch closed, he was one of twelve who were offered positions at other branches.”

“Like you?”

“Yeah. He works in Montgomery County now.”

“Where all the money is,” he commented.

“I guess. I moved to Westminster, so we haven’t seen each other in a few weeks, but we talk almost every day.”

“Is he gay?”

I wasn’t sure if it was a casual question or jealousy, but I said, “No. He’s interested in this girl who works at a local eatery named Cindy.”

His smile seemed thankful. I think he
was
jealous.

“Here are your drinks,” the waitress—although in my head, I thought the term “server” was probably more appropriate—said. “May I take your order?”

He ordered Chicken Parmigiana and I got the Ravioli di Portobello. After she’d taken our menus and walked away, I proceeded to move my drink from the right side to my left. Only the moisture on the outside made the cup slippery, and I dropped it. The cup dumped its contents all over the table and into Tristan’s lap. I was horrified.

“Oh my God!” I gasped. “I’m so sorry.” I flashed back to my memory of Kenny as Tristan jumped out of his seat, tea dripping down his leg, crotch soaked through. “I don’t know why I get so clumsy. Please don’t leave.”

He held up an urgent finger as if to silence me. “Stop. I’m going to the bathroom. You get us another seat while I’m drying my pants under the hand dryer.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Grant…,” he warned.

I covered my face with my hands as soon as he’d walked away. “This is a nightmare,” I moaned. I composed myself and waved the waitress over. “Can we please have another table? I spilled my drink and it’s all over the seat.”

She checked the seat and under the table. “Oh, wow! Of course. Let me check with the hostess.” She returned and gestured to the booth next to ours. “You can hop right over to this table, and I’ll get someone to mop that up.”

I was grateful but also thankful we’d come at five fifteen and not six, because by then the tables would have been full. I’d switched my schedule with Lucinda, and I owed her one. Tristan returned, and I hung my head in shame.

“Grant, look at me,” he insisted, taking his seat across from me.

I did, but barely. I was so ashamed.

“Did you do it on purpose?” he asked.

My eyes popped open. “No! Why would you think—”

“Then stop beating yourself up over it. Accidents happen. Just let it go.”

“You’re not mad?” I couldn’t believe it.

“I’m not happy about it, but how can I get angry over an accident?”

“I don’t know.” I felt so insignificant under his forgiveness. He gave it so readily.
Why?

“Grant, can I ask you a question?”

I nodded.

“Have you done that before? Have people given you shit over spilling a drink?” It was like he could see into my mind and watch the reruns of Kenny and our failed date.

I hesitated but nodded again.

He marveled, “You certainly have had terrible dating experiences, haven’t you?”

I confessed, “Once, my date and I went to this fancy French restaurant, and he told me I could order for us, since I know French and he liked hearing me speak it. Well, I ordered something with chopped scallops and shrimp folded into a crepe with a wine sauce. It was the special of the day and I like shrimp.”

“That sounds good so far.”

“He was allergic to seafood,” I said. “He took one bite and went into anaphylactic shock. Luckily a doctor was dining two tables over and knew what to do while someone called an ambulance. I never saw him again.” I hung my head.

“Grant?” he urged.

I looked up. He was reaching across the table, palm open. I took the hint and placed my hand in his.

“I will never treat you like that. I promise. It was an accident, and if he was allergic to seafood, then he was the stupid one who ate it. I’ve never had a seafood dish that didn’t smell like seafood. He could have smelled it
before
he put it in his mouth, or made you aware of his allergies before you ordered.” He squeezed my hand reassuringly, and I felt like I wanted to cry again. He helped me see that horrible date in a different way than ever before. I had always blamed myself for ordering the wrong thing, but Tristan was right, that guy should have been more careful. It wasn’t my fault.

“Thank you,” I said, feeling too choked up to elaborate.

Our food arrived, and he let go of my hand and sat up. I wasn’t sure if it was to make room for our plates, or because he was embarrassed to hold my hand in public.

“Oh, don’t let go of his hand on my account,” the
server
said.

He held my gaze briefly and grinned before telling her, “Nah, too hard to use a fork with my left hand.”

“All right,” she replied. She moved her attention to me and said, “I tried.”

I giggled. I hadn’t known when I moved here that it would be so easy to live out. Folks in Columbia were generally accepting of homosexuals, but I hadn’t thought the same about Westminster. So far, I felt pretty good about living here.

We ate and talked about his Navy years. His daughter. He told me he was never married. He explained, “It was one of those stupid teenage moments where you think, ‘Oh, I don’t need to wear a condom,’ and then she’s pregnant.” Apparently it had been a rebellious decision on her part, and he had only been there for the ride—literally. Tristan hadn’t been completely sure of his sexuality until he enlisted. “Then I was surrounded by gorgeous men in uniform and with an unequivocal desire to fuck each and every one of them. I think that’s why I went overboard after I got out,” he said.