Between Boyfriends (29 page)

The cheering and applause were thunderous. I had struck a chord with the entire daytime industry, straight and gay, and my little catchphrase—freely borrowed from Lindsay—would be repeated on every news channel from Anchorage, Alaska to Zolpho Springs, Florida.

“Your father always said it, Steven,” my mother cried. “You’re a good man.”

“I strayed, Steven! This gay strayed!!” Laraby bellowed, then fell to his knees before me. “Please forgive me!”

“Ruff, ruff!” Trixie declared, and of course my attention was immediately diverted from the demented to the dachshund.

“Steven, please!” Laraby begged. “I need forgiveness.”

“Oh, for crissakes!” I cried. “You’re forgiven.”

“Thank you! Thank you!” Laraby mumbled, clutching my legs and causing Trixie to bark maniacally.

I shoved Laraby off of me before Trixie could do any damage and shoved my way through the crowd until I reached the real man of honor.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Lucas said. “But I’m grateful that you did.”

“Thank you,” said Flynn. “You’re the best friend a person could ever hope to have.” Flynn gave me a hug and I gave him a kiss on the cheek.

We couldn’t get near Lucas and Flynn for the rest of the evening; every news team in the city swooped in to get up close and personal with daytime’s answer to Doogie Howser. Finally, around two a.m., some network brass ordered Laraby to escort Lucas and Flynn out of the media’s web and they left surrounded by a gaggle of six-foot-tall security guards—one of whom Lindsay identified as a very enthusiastic and popular member of the infamous sex party.

I had suspected the evening would be memorable, but I had no idea that I would utter the sound bite that would be at the center of that memory. It’s funny how most of the things you feel good about doing are things you never imagined you would do. I was still filled with joy as I waved good-bye to my mother, Renée, and Trixie and watched their limo whisk them off toward Jersey.

Bounding off the elevator back at my building I was all happy and smiling, but when I turned the corner of the hallway I saw something that changed all that. I saw another beautiful red rose in front of my door. This time the rose was held by my ex-boyfriend Jack.

I
remember standing on a chair in my kitchen and staring at the clock over the sink when I was nine years old. I was willing the big hand to tick-tock faster to the twelve and the little hand to ease on down to the eight because then it would be the magic hour, the time for that once-a-year television event—the annual airing of
The Wizard of Oz.

I wasn’t just a friend of Dorothy, I was her BFF. I loved (and still love) everything about her and her movie. I think it’s brilliant, flawless, fabulous, and every other gay adjective you can think of. I remember my mother telling me that the clock wasn’t going to move any faster by me staring at it, but I didn’t care, I had to do whatever I could to make Dorothy and her fellow Ozians arrive as soon as possible.

Like many a gay boy, I was fascinated by the fascinating world of that MGM classic. Not just by the flying green witch and ruby red slippers, but by the movie’s dramatic themes. I connected with Dorothy on a very emotional level and understood her restlessness. Maybe even as a little boy I knew that some day when I grew up I would have to leave home in order to return. For as much as I loved my family, when I teetered on adulthood I knew I had to get out of my house and go away to college to assert my independence and accept the person I truly was. If I hadn’t, I would not be able to embrace them and my childhood as I do today.

My favorite part of the movie is when Dorothy is whisked away by the tornado and plops in Oz. Her life, like mine before coming out, was dull and shrouded in shades of gray. After I opened my closet, my world took on a Technicolor brilliance. As I stood before Jack, I once again felt like Dorothy, yanked out of everything familiar and plunged into a world that might be pretty to look at, but was also terrifyingly confusing.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked, sounding more like Dorothy from
The Golden Girls
than the one from Kansas.

“Stevie B.,” Jack said, offering me his rose, “I’m your secret admirer.”

Jack DiRenza had been many things to me—first real love, first live-in boyfriend, first destroyer of my heart. I never expected him to be my first secret admirer as well. The last time I had seen Jack was almost five years ago, when he told me that he was bored with the whole commitment thing and I was preventing him from living the life he was meant to live or some such existential bullshit jargon that simply meant “I can’t stand the sight of you any longer so please get the hell out of my life.” And here he was now, the guy who’d been sending me cryptic messages and flowers for five months now, standing before me holding a rose. I hadn’t been so shocked since I found out Jed Clampett was the original Tin Man.

“Is Ashton Kutcher hiding somewhere?” I asked. “Am I being punked?”

“No, silly, you’re being courted.”

“Courted! That’s what you call five months of stalking me!”

“I wasn’t stalking you,” Jack protested. “I was trying to get up the nerve to do this, to reveal myself to you in person.”

“We were boyfriends, remember? You’ve revealed yourself to me before. You’ve even relieved yourself in front of me on more than one occasion.”

“And because of all that I had to make sure this was the right thing to do.”

My head was spinning faster than Dorothy’s tornado. I was still a bit tipsy from the Emmy extravaganza, and it was only a few hours before dawn, so whatever language was coming out of Jack’s mouth sounded to me like Munchkinese.

“I don’t understand what the hell you’re talking about. Is this some sort of game, Jack?”

“No, I’ve never been more serious in my whole life.”

“More serious than the night you threw me out of your life?”

“That was a mistake.”

“Oh, is that what you’re calling it these days? I heard through the grapevine that you used to call it an epiphany, a turning point, a message from God.”

“I never called it a message from God.”

“So you think you can get from epiphany to mistake with a few clever messages and some roses?”

“No, I made that journey after years of wondering why I wasn’t happy, why I was only happy when you were by my side. I screwed up, Steve, letting you go…correction, breaking up with you was the biggest mistake of my life and I’m glad I finally have the guts to admit that to you in person.”

I wasn’t in Kansas anymore. I was completely lost. I had waited to hear those words or words oh-so-similar for years, and every time I imagined Jack speaking them to me, I’d imagine myself rushing into his arms and giving him a big welcome-back-into-my-life kiss. We’d fall to the ground in each other’s arms and in love and resume our life where we left off without missing a beat. But now that I was hearing those words actually spoken by Jack, I wasn’t moved to move. Surprisingly, I had no desire to move within touching distance of him. It was as if I were standing at the beginning of my very own yellow brick road and I could not make my ruby slippers move one step down the road.

“Why should I believe you?” I asked.

“Because it’s the truth. I don’t expect you to jump for joy or forget about the past, but I’ve thought about this long and hard and I didn’t want to be hasty, that’s why I took so long to come back. I wanted to make sure my feelings weren’t fleeting, that I really missed you and wasn’t just missing having a boyfriend.”

He was good. Or maybe he was crafty? Like the traveling salesman who sneaks into Dorothy’s bag and sees a picture of Auntie Em and tells her that someone back home loves her very much. Was I being tricked by a street corner huckster?

“So you entered into an act of duplicity to find out the truth?”

Jack flashed me another smile. “Ironic, huh? I thought that if I played secret admirer from a distance that might be enough, and I’d get over these feelings and realize that I was just being nostalgic, nothing more. But that wasn’t the case, Stevie B. I fell in love with you all over again.”

I took a step back and had to catch my breath. If Jack’s gorgeous hazel eyes weren’t completely serious I would have laughed in his face, but his sincerity was palpable. He believed what he said, but should I?

“I don’t know what you expect me to do. How the hell am I supposed to react to this?”

“Just think before you make any decision. Remember what we shared, the good and the bad, and ask yourself if it’s worth a second look.”

By this time, Jack had moved closer to me and since my back was against the wall I had nowhere else to go. He was inches from my face and I could smell that he smelled the same way he used to smell: fresh and clean, with just a little hint of musk. I used to call it the good boy/bad boy scent. God, how I loved waking up with that smell clinging to my skin. I had missed it so much and here it was, lingering in the air right in front of me.

Neither of us could think of anything to say so we just stared at each other. Me, as lost as Dorothy in a strange, stupid, colorful world, and he, as serene and calming as a really handsome Glinda. He brushed the rose across my lips playfully and we both tried not to smile, but couldn’t help it. Then my façade crumbled and my face must have softened, because the next thing I knew his forehead was leaning against mine and I could feel his warmth pressing into my body. I closed my eyes for a second to process what was happening—the guy I had loved more than any other in the world, and later, hated more than any other in the world, was back in my life, leaning against me, seconds away from kissing me passionately. Sanity did not intervene and soon I felt his lips softly kiss my cheeks, then my eyes, then my lips. I would like to say that I was repulsed that this phantom from my past would try to worm his way into my present with fervor and flora, but I wasn’t. I was delighted and overjoyed and my passion was uncontainable.

Part of me wanted to give myself to him right there in the hallway of my building, but like Auntie Em, I too was a good Christian woman and I knew how to be a lady when need be, so I just threw my arms around him and kissed him back. Five minutes later I was still returning his kisses until I finally had to physically push him away. He stumbled a bit.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to push so hard.”

“That’s okay,” Jack replied. “Somebody had to come to their senses, before, you know, one of us started to come.”

And then it hit—the awkwardness after sexual repartee. What else do you say after you make out passionately with your ex-boyfriend whom you’ve tried for years to forget? Is it appropriate to say, “When can I move back in ’cause really, there’s no place like home?” No, you find the courage to hold on to the last shred of dignity you have and ignore the welcoming pangs in your heart and the raging hard-on in your pants—both begging you to open your apartment door, undress your ex-boyfriend, and let him fuck you senseless—and you do the only proper thing, you step back into your happy bubble. Once inside that bubble you can think clearly and remember all the pain, the heartache, and the fury you felt over being dumped. But then through the lining of your bubble you see his smile. I don’t think Jack had stopped smiling once since I turned the corner of my hallway. That stupid grin could still melt my heart.

“I don’t know what you want from me, Jack,” I said softly.

He touched my cheek, reddened by his five o’clock shadow. “I don’t want anything except the chance to make things right between us.”

“You made things really wrong, if you remember.”

“I do. I remember every stupid thing I did and said and I don’t blame you if you tell me to get lost. And if that’s what you say, I won’t bother you again,” he said. “But if you think there might be the slightest chance…then I know I can make you happier than you ever thought you could be.”

Charming
and
egotistical. Very much the Jack I remember.

“I have to think about this,” I said, finally.

“Of course, take your time. I’ve waited this long, a bit longer isn’t going to kill me.”

I felt his rough beard once more and for some reason I had to fight back the tears. Was I vulnerable or grateful? I wasn’t sure, but I knew I had to make a speedy exit before I did something insanely dumb like beg him to spend the night. As always, Jack could see right through me.

“I want to spend the night with you too, baby, but there are times in a man’s life when he needs to be a gentleman.”

Right before he turned the corner to get on the elevator, he looked back at me and said, “Sweet dreams, Stevie B.” Sweet dreams!! How the hell was I going to fall asleep after that?

Once again I found myself staring at the clock, willing the big hand to haul ass toward the twelve and the little hand to make haste and reach the eight so I could call Flynn to ruin his morning after by telling him about my night before. Maybe it was the absolute desperation in my voice, but Flynn only hesitated a moment when I asked him to meet me at Starbucks without Lucas. He’s obviously grown used to the SAMSEM, aka Saturday A.M. Starbucks Emergency Meeting.

Flynn stared at me in disbelief. “I cannot believe you already trumped Lucas’s TV outing. If
Inside Edition
finds out about this they’re going to bounce his segment.”

“What the hell am I supposed to do?”

“About what?” Lindsay said, sitting down at our table with his usual grande vanilla skim latte in hand.

“I sent Linds a text when you called me,” Flynn explained. “This sounded uber-important.”

“And I purchased my coffee at the rival Starbucks across the street so I wouldn’t waste any time,” Lindsay said. “Does that finally make me the thoughtful one?”

“Steven’s secret admirer is Jack,” Flynn said.

Lindsay spit out a mouthful of vanilla skim latte. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.” So much for thoughtfulness.

“Part of me wishes I was,” I said.

Flynn made a face that resembled that of a member of the Lollipop League after accidentally sucking on one of his own sour members. “Only part of you?”

Lindsay wiped up his mouth and his mess and asked for a time-out. “My Starbucks combo of chemicals and caffeine has not yet penetrated my bloodstream so I’m still a bit groggy from spending the night with the boom operator from
The Rich and the Powerful,
whose dick incidentally could be dubbed ‘The Thick and the Mouthwatering,’ so forgive me if I need to step back and take this all in. Jack DiRenza, that no-good fuck who dumped you like a bad shit, has been stalking you for months to engage in a second-time-around relationship and only
part
of you wishes it t’weren’t so?” Lindsay took a pause to stare at me. “Is Bobby Brown a barista? Are you drinking crack?”

“Mama concur.”

“I know what it sounds like,” I said trying to explain the unexplainable to myself as well as them. “And I didn’t get any sleep trying to make sense of it, but…well…you know how I felt about Jack.”

“And we also know how Jack made you feel,” Flynn reminded me. “Uncoupled, unwanted, undone.”

Lindsay continued, “Underappreciated, unnecessary, ugly. So very, very ugly. Remember how I had to practically drag you to get your unibrow waxed? Jack turned you into Ugly Steven and I will not let him do it again.”

“Mama agree.”

“Mama agree about what?” Gus asked, as he stood next to us holding the hand of an extraordinarily handsome six-foot-two, 225-pound (give or take) African-American hunk. My mind might be a tornado of emotions, but my homo-perception skills were as sharp as the pleat in a freshly ironed gingham skirt.

“I forwarded Flynn’s text to Gus,” Lindsay said. “The ex-boyfriend is the new secret admirer.”

“Blimey! Jack’s back.”

“Armed with roses and stale bon mots,” Lindsay declared. “Ooh, listen to me, I sound British.”

“Jefferson,” Gus said to his hunky mate, “could you get me an espresso?”

“Sure thing, babe,” Jefferson sealed his comment with a kiss on Gus’s lips and glided over to the Starbucks counter.

“Apologies, Steven, but Mama must know. Gus, does Jefferson own a chain of dry cleaners?”

“No, he’s an actor. And a bloody good one. I saw him in a show downtown, an all-black version of
Come Back, Little Sheba.
”