Between Boyfriends (24 page)

“I’ve been having a great time with you, Steven. But I think…I don’t know…sometimes I want more, and then sometimes I…sometimes I just don’t.”

“You know what, Brian? This isn’t even about the problems in our relationship, this is about the problems with you as a person!”

“Blame it on me if it makes you feel better.”

“I’ll blame it on you because it’s your fault! You’re the one who’s wrong!”

“The real problem, the way I see it anyway, is that we’re on different wavelengths. We want different things.”

“You’re absolutely right, Brian, we do want different things,” I said. “I want a boyfriend who will call me back when I tell him my mother’s had a stroke! If you could have only done that I would have thought there might be some hope for us. But you didn’t and there isn’t, so that’s it.”

“Just like that?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Just like that.”

By the time I put down the phone I was single once again.

The next morning I knew Brian was officially a sidebar to the main article that was my life because I had no desire to call him to rehash the situation, beg his forgiveness, or tell him that my words were the result of stress. My feelings for him were just as strong as they had been yesterday and the week before, but his actions had forced me to realize he wasn’t the guy for me. I could have made excuses for his behavior, but I guess when you’re a gay man of a certain age you start drawing lines in the sand and if people cross them you need to put them on a raft and send them out to sea. I wished Brian bon voyage and exciting travels, but travels that would take place without me riding shotgun.

In perfect sync with our skewed relationship, Brian had a different way of sending me out to sea. He sent me a text message saying,
Thanks for a few great months.
Actually, the message read,
Thx4fewgr8mos.
His good-bye, like our relationship, was abbreviated. In completely selfish terms, my mother’s stroke-lite was a good thing as it gave me a diversion from dwelling on my failed queeromance. And when my mother was once again healthy, my job would always be there to occupy my time.

“Ssssteven,” Laraby hissed over the phone. “
Ssssoap Opera Digessssst
did a ssssuper-duper job on Loretta’ssss up closssse and perssssonal feature in thissss week’ssss issssue.”

“Um, that’s great news.”

“She’sssss ssssuch a geniussss! Her twelve sssstepssss changed my life!”

Obviously, Laraby had taken Loretta’s advice and flung open his closet door, ripping it from its hinges—but it sounded like he was either confusing femininity with homosexuality or overnight he’d developed a speech impediment. “That’s great, Laraby, but you can be gay and not talk with a lisp.”

“I’m not talking with a lissssp.”

“Yes, you are. You sound like you have a slow leak.”

“I’m sssssorry if you dissssapprove Ssssteven,” Laraby leaked. “But thissss issss the new me. Newssssflash: I am a homossssexual.”

“Laraby, I have to hang up. I’m at the hospital. And news-flash: the revelation of your sexual preference is not news.”

“Don’t be nassssty, Mary!” Laraby scolded. “And give your mom a kissssy kissss for me!”

I tried to think positively. Even though Laraby sounded like an embarrassing stereotype at least he was being open and honest about his true nature. And now that he was Loretta’s disciple, maybe the soundstage would be a quieter place. Who was I kidding? He was much easier to take when he was closeted, self-hating, and afraid of Loretta’s drunken shadow. It had been fun to watch him scamper around the set whenever Loretta self-destructed.

When I arrived at the ICU waiting room, Paulie and Renée were already there. Sweat appeared on my brow and palms as I immediately thought the worst. Renée passed me a napkin and quickly explained that the nurses were making the morning rounds delivering multicolored pills in Dixie cups to the patients. We waited for ten minutes, Paulie silent, Renée chatty, until we were allowed in to see my mother.

The first thing I noticed before my mother noticed us was that she looked a little scared. Not big scared like something bad was imminent, more like concerned that something bad could have happened and that something bad will probably happen very shortly. We all get that feeling every once in a while when we are forced to contemplate our own mortality. When Flynn told me that he was HIV-positive I, of course, initially thought of how this would change his life, but very soon after I thought of my own lifespan and had a look on my face similar to the one my mother was now wearing. I upped the wattage in my smile to beaming and greeted my mother with the cheeriest of cheery hellos.

“What’s wrong, Steven, you look terrible. Did the doctor tell you I’m going to die?” my mother asked.

“No! I haven’t even spoken to your doctor. And I don’t look terrible, this is my cheery face.”

“Cheery? You look terrified.”

“Ma, my smile might be masking concern, but definitely not terror.”

“Paulie, is he hiding anything from me?”

“No, Ma. We’re just really happy you’re okay.”

I could see Renée touch Paulie’s arm, very gently, but strongly enough to remind my brother that he wasn’t alone. His expression was generally one of utter malaise so it was sometimes hard to tell what he was feeling, but now it was clear by the crack in his voice and the attentiveness of his wife that Paulie was much closer to terrified than cheery. Once again I was reminded that my brother had deep feelings, his wife truly loved him, and I was the single gay brother aka the Loser who desperately wanted someone to touch his arm gently during a moment of crisis.
Try not to be so egotistical,
I reminded myself,
there is a woman in the hospital bed in front of you who just had a stroke.

“I’m a very lucky woman,” my mother announced. “I’m not going to lie to you, this has shaken me up a bit. But I will get through this with the help of my two wonderful sons and my beautiful daughter-in-law.”

“And your gorgeous friend too!” Audrey added, bursting into the ICU.

“You’re a handsome woman, Audrey, but I would not go so far as to call you gorgeous.”

“Someone’s feeling better today.”

“How
are
you feeling, Ma?” I asked.

That look of seriousness took control of her eyes once again. “I’m much better, honey. I know it’s a big deal, but I’m trying not to make a big deal out of it. But it is scary.”

“Yes, it is,” Paulie said.

In response, Renée’s gentle touch became a firm grip on her husband’s hand. My mother reached out a hand to me and I took it. She reached out her other hand to Audrey and then told us all to hold hands. We stood around my mother’s bed holding hands and looking like a scene from a very special episode of
The Waltons,
but none of us felt awkward or silly. We were a family and this was just one of the stupid little things families do every once in a while. The other thing they do every once in a while is speak the truth.

After the fourth time my mother asked me what was wrong I told her that I had broken up with Brian. She asked me how I felt about it and I told her that I thought it was the right decision. I was more upset that another relationship had failed than I was sad that this particular relationship had gone kaput.

“You’re a good man, Steven, you’ll find someone worthy. In the meantime you still have your mother.”

I laughed so loud that I was chastised by one of the nurses.

Despite the antiseptic surroundings, the day was quite pleasant. We were reassured that the stroke didn’t cause any permanent physical damage and my mother would only have to take one pill a day. We couldn’t help but feel thankful when Audrey informed us that she would make it her duty to ensure that Anjanette took that daily pill because Anjanette—and this is where Audrey lowered her voice to a raspy whisper—sometimes forgets. While Audrey tried to convince my mother that she should keep some of her pills in her apartment as backup in case she ever ran out, I updated Renée on the Brian situation. True to her brusque New Jersey heritage, she was sympathetic but realistic.

“I’m sorry it’s over,” she said. “But not for nothing, I never liked him.”

“He’s not a bad guy.”

“But he’s not for you. You’re worth a lot more, Steven. You need to know that.”

I did know that, in theory anyway.

That night the boys and I gathered for a Starbucks summit so I could convey one mo’ time what went down between Brian and me and see if I could turn that theory into practice. Halfway through my retelling I could tell they were growing bored. I could accept the fact that my love life was boring to my boyfriends, but to my friends as well? I took it as a sign—maybe I should shut up about the past and move toward the future?

“You need to get laid,” Lindsay declared. “And by laid I mean fucked blind.”

“I could ring Alex up and see if he’s free tonight,” Gus offered.

“I have a broken heart, I don’t need a broken anus,” I said, sounding like a character out of an X-rated gay Lifetime movie.

“Your heart isn’t broken, Steven,” Flynn said. “If it were you’d be home right now sulking and trying to decide if you should call Brian and beg him to take you back. You had a boyfriend for a few months and it didn’t work out. You’re feeling guilty because you lied to yourself that it was something more.”

“Your compassion is overwhelming, Flynn,” I said. “Have you considered a career in hospice care?”

“Listen to me, Steven,” Lindsay bellowed. “You don’t need compassion, you need a big fat dick up your ass to make you feel a little more and think a little less!”

Some of the Starbucks customers nodded in agreement and one horny-looking kid wearing an NYU sweatshirt applauded. This was not the pro-Steven summit I was anticipating. This was what Gorbachev must have felt like when he accepted Reagan’s invitation. “But Ronnie, I thought ve ver juss going to have vodka and reminisce.”

“You want a relationship so badly, or you think you do, that you’re getting a little desperate,” Flynn said.

“Face it, Steven, you knew for a long time that Brian wasn’t the guy for you, but ever since Jack—”

“Flynn! You’re not supposed to say the
J
word!” Lindsay said as he and Gus gasped.

“Stop it, Linds, this isn’t funny. Ever since Jack dumped you you’ve been trying to replace him. Maybe you should just call him up and reconnect.”

I felt sucker-punched, like Betty Ford’s pharmacist the day she stopped refilling her prescriptions. But like Betty, if I embraced the truth it would make me stronger.

“I’m not going to apologize for wanting a boyfriend. I love being in a relationship.”

“With the right guy.”

“Yes. And you know Jack announced to the world that he isn’t the right guy for me.”

“All I know is you were extremely happy with him and you haven’t been that happy since you guys broke up.”

“I don’t want to backtrack.”

“Then move forward! And stop getting in a relationship with guys simply because you want to be in a relationship. That’s very suburban. Those pseudo-relationships are really nothing more than extended hookups.”

“Not that there’s anything wrong with extended hookups, fellas,” Gus said.

“Do you get it, Steven?” Flynn asked.

I did get it. I had gotten it before and this wasn’t anything new. I knew that Brian didn’t love me and I didn’t love him, but I needed to create a love affair to feel connected to someone, to feel that I was worthy. Why, God, why do we put so much importance on nonfamilial, nonplatonic connections? I was faced with the reality of my life—my friends and family were supportive and dependable—why wasn’t that enough to make me feel whole? Why did I have such a burning need to have a boyfriend? Was I nothing without one?

“Promise me that Brian will be the last one,” Flynn said. “No more fake, inflatable boyfriends.”

“Not that there’s anything wrong with fake, inflatable boyfriends,” Gus said.

“I promise. I will seek out a man who is genuine and not settle for one who is breathing.”

“Or you could do what I do, mate, and go from one random boy to the next,” Gus began. “It’s completely superficial and shallow and not for the long term, but I’ve had more hot young arse in the past few months than I’ve had in my four decades on this beautiful gay earth.”

“In other words,” Lindsay translated, “YOU NEED TO GET LAID!”

“You have to lighten up, Steve,” Flynn advised. “Maybe focus on your job and Anjanette and leave the romance thing alone for a while.”

“Or I could find out if the latest college graduate I’m poking has a friend,” Gus suggested.

“What’s this one’s name?” I asked.

“Fred.”

“As in Flintstone?”

“No, silly!” Gus replied. “Sanford.”

Gus explained that he was doing Fred Sanford for more than just the “stunning ebony junk” in his trunk. The kid was actually a paralegal at the Greenland embassy and he was hoping to find a legal shortcut so Wendolyn and Lenda could arrange a quickie adoption.

“Your sister wants to adopt a baby from
Guh
-reenland?” Lindsay asked.

“She feels compelled to rescue a child from a lifetime of cold weather and cross-country skiing.”

“Why don’t they do what all real lesbians do and adopt a baby girl from the Far East?” Flynn asked. “Because I swear to God the lesbos are trying to create a super race of dominant, flat-chested women. They take these girls out of China and Malaysia, teach them how to verbally emasculate men, use a power drill, and brew the perfect cup of tea. I tell you right here and now, their spawn will one day rule a man-free world.”

“I’m not really sure if Wendolyn’s a lesbian. I suspect she’s a bit envious of my carefree gay lifestyle. In any event, she’s got a thing against straight black hair.”

“Your sister’s got a thing against a lot of things, Gus,” Lindsay said. “And just like Steven, it’s time you ponied up to the truth bar. Wendolyn’s—”

I had to cut off Lindsay before the evening turned into Gus’s summit and not my own. “Thank you, boys! I really appreciate your advice and concern.”

“Brilliant! So are you going to work on your emotional well-being or shall I ask Alex to fuck you six ways to Sunday? Either way, may I hold your hand during the process?”