Between Boyfriends (34 page)

Jack couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “You still like to put a positive spin on everything, don’t you?”

“I find that it helps.”

We stared at each other for a few seconds, both of us okay with the silence, which was refreshing, until one of us had something to say.

“I am really upset over this and I’m going to miss you.”

“Give it some time. Trust me, you really will be okay.”

I ran all the way home. I was a man on a mission and I was praying that my luck would hold out. Luckily, I’m Mister Mary Organized and I have all my old cell phone bills. I pulled out the one from October and found Frank’s number, dialed it and prayed that his carrier had allowed him to keep his same number. When the taped greeting began I recognized his voice.

“Frank, it’s me, Steven! I’m sorry for yelling, but I’m a little excited. I would really, really like to see you so I can explain about Jack and me. Well, there actually isn’t a Jack and me…. I want to talk about me and you. It may not sound it, but it’s all very simple; if you’d just give me a chance I think I can make both of us very happy. I’m going to our Starbucks right now and I’ll wait for you until it closes. Please come meet me.”

I walked over to Starbucks slowly and tried not to think too much about what might or might not happen. I tried very hard not to play the soap opera couple game, which is when you compare you and your boyfriend to a famous soap couple based on similarities in the relationships. Would Frank and I be like Krystle and Blake? Solid and strong in the beginning, then boring and separated in the end. Or more like Val and Gary? Passionate and tumultuous and ultimately together in the end, but with huge gaps in between. Nope! I pushed all those crazy, unrealistic thoughts from my head. I wanted a fresh start, to base a decision on what I was feeling and not on some unseen head writer’s creative imaginings. I wanted a chance with Frank.

Frank must have been feeling the same way because when I opened the door to Starbucks, he was already sitting at our table.

E
verybody repeat after me—” Happy One-Month Anniversary, Steven and Frank!” Doesn’t that have a nice ring to it? When I was dating Brian and even when I was living with Jack, anniversary reminders would pop up on my PDA, causing thoughts to pop up in my head like “I must now do something incredibly special to commemorate this occasion,” or “What is the modern-day gift for a three-month homosexual anniversary—pleather?” Looking back, I was forced to admit I had reacted that way because the landmark date was more special to me than it was to the other person I was sharing the landmark with at the time. Happily, things were different with Frank.

Why? Because I’d had a relation-shift—a change in how I viewed my personal relationships. Honestly, I couldn’t take all the credit for this emotional growth since it wasn’t a conscious change, but one that grew organically, out of necessity. Like when I realized I could no longer masquerade as a heterosexual; women I liked, pussy not so much. Somehow I grew out of that self-destructive, high school mentality of searching for a boyfriend, finding one, and then worrying so much about our future together that I ignored the present. I let go of thinking “Steven + Frank = 4ever, 2gether” and by doing so gave Steven and Frank a fighting chance to actually have a future together. Once again I had to give credit to Lindsay: let go and let gay.

The more interested I became in Frank, the less anxious I became about Steven ’n’ Frank, which also allowed me to let go of the idea of perfection. Gay men love perfection—perfect abs, perfect ass, perfect future, perfect relationship—but there is no such thing. Perfect relationship is a lie, and not a good one like
toilet water
. Relationships are as difficult and annoying as they are fulfilling and comfortable, and thankfully I had become fully aware that for a relationship to thrive you had to deal with it in the present and not dream about its future. And Frank had been the best present I’d ever received.

So here we were. At the beginning of who knows what might be. But so far I liked what I knew. For instance, Frank and I shared the same passion for television and pop culture. He answered every one of my
Brady Bunch
trivia questions correctly, including “What is Alice’s last name?” and “Who gave Bobby his first kiss?” (The answers are Nelson and Millicent, played by Melissa Sue Anderson who, for the uneducated, would go on to much larger acclaim as blind Mary on
Little House on the Prairie.
) He knew how many seasons Donny & Marie’s effervescent variety show ran, the names of Barbara Mandrell’s sisters, and the breed of Captain & Tennille’s beloved dog Broderick. (Three, Louise and Irlene, bulldog.) He only got stumped when I asked him to name the now-defunct soap opera that the actor and actress who played Blair Warner’s parents on
The Facts of Life
(Nicolas Coster and Marj Dusay) starred on in the ’80s. (The answer: the groundbreaking, hysterically funny, and much-missed
Santa Barbara,
as Lionel Lockridge and Pamela Capwell Conrad respectively.) He thanked me for that trivia tidbit with a sexy tongue kiss so there was no way I could hold his mistake against him.

What else did I know? While Frank gave up on a career in dentistry, he did wind up as the marketing manager for a public relations firm that handled pharmaceutical accounts and was currently working on a campaign for a revolutionary toothbrush that flosses and brushes at the same time. Frank’s current task was to come up with a new name for the product since the working title—
Flush
—just doesn’t sound like something you’d want to put in your mouth. He was also bored with working out at the gym and preferred to ride his bike and practice yoga to keep his body supple, toned, and oh-so-touchable. Plus he had a past.

“I’ve had a lot of fun in my life,” Frank informed me. “Lots.”

“Are you talking
Guinness Book of World Records
fun?” I asked. “Or just typical gay male, been around the block several times, wearing a whole bunch of different outfits and using a whole bunch of different names, kind of fun?”

“Let’s just say that you’ll probably hear me say hello to a lot of guys when we walk around Chelsea,” he replied. “And the West Village. And if we’re ever in West Hollywood. Or Boise.”

“You had sex in Idaho? I didn’t think anyone had sex in Idaho.”

“Honey, some might say I put the ‘ho’ in Idaho.”

So I knew Frank had a past filled with promiscuity. Did that bother me? Only if I wanted to be a hypocritical gay, as I had my own string of one-nighters, afternoon hookups, and quite a few dates that started off with me announcing, “I only have twenty minutes because I have to get home to watch
Friends.
” But he also informed me that he always practices safe sex, treats his partners with respect, and believes in monogamy when in boyfriend mode.

“Are we in boyfriend mode?” I asked, after our second date.

“We were in boyfriend mode five minutes before I went into my coma.”

Good answer! Bottom line, I liked him, I really liked him, and without a doubt Sally Field would like him, but most important, my friends like him too. In fact, on our first real date Frank and I had dinner at East of Eighth and the boys, acting like less butch Nancy Drews, decided to crash the party.

Over appetizers of fried calamari and baked clams Frank and I shared food and childhood stories. I explained that for some reason I peed my pants in school until the fourth grade, causing my mother to more than once have to come to St. Ann’s Elementary with paper towels and a dry pair of pants. I thought it might have been because of separation anxiety; Frank thought it was because I was into water sports early on. Then Frank told me how his mother caught him playing doctor with his cousin Albert in their toolshed when he was seven. She completely ignored the fact that they were coughing and cupping each other’s testicles and proudly informed the neighborhood that her son would grow up to be a respected surgeon. He thought it was because his mother was traumatized; I said it sounded as if his mother was Jewish.

As Frank was telling me how he lost his gay-ginity backstage during a high school production of
Bye Bye Birdie,
I noticed a pair of binoculars peering through the large potted plant a few tables away. The only person I knew who owned a pair of binoculars and who had the audacity to bring them out of his bedroom was Lindsay. I wasn’t sure if Lindsay saw me, but I knew I didn’t want Frank to see Lindsay behind a pair of binoculars and a potted plant so I kept quiet. Soon after, Frank whispered that all this talk about peeing had gotten the better of him and excused himself. Quiet time was over.

Pulling apart the plant leaves, I peered through and caught not one, but three, peeping Toms in action. Lindsay might have been on lookout, but Flynn and Gus were providing backup.

“See anything you like?”

“My eyes!” Lindsay shrieked, so startled that he dropped his binoculars and fell stomach-to-the-floor trying to break their fall.

“I see someone’s recreating an Olympic moment,” I said.

“Steven!” Flynn exclaimed, with arms stretched high over his head like an attention-hungry showgirl. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Blimey!” Gus added. “What are the odds?”

“Oh shut up, all of you,” I hissed. “You’re terrible actors. And I’m a bit surprised at you, Flynn. Has Lucas taught you nothing?”

“Damn! My gestures are still too big, aren’t they?”

“Before we continue,” Lindsay interrupted, “may I remind everyone that in Lillehammer I never once fell on my stomach. Twice on my ass, once on my side, and despite the French judge’s skepticism, the fall to my knees was part of the choreography.”

“What the hell are you three doing here?” I demanded.

Flynn, Lindsay, and Gus looked at each other like three nervous schoolboys wondering if the strange man in the schoolyard was telling the truth and really did have several bags of candy in his station wagon. Wary, hopeful, and just a little bit aroused. It was an odd and admittedly discomforting expression each wore. But there was nothing odd or discomforting about the reason behind their stakeout.

“We had to see if Frank was friendworthy,” Flynn said.

“We didn’t want you to get your heart broken again,” Gus added.

“I wanted to see if Frank had any ugly scars from the accident,” Lindsay finished. “Beauty sleep is one thing, but a coma can have terrible consequences.”

My friends: an odd bunch, but good-hearted and well-meaning. They were spying on an intimate moment between me and Frank on our first date just because they cared about my emotional well-being. Who could be upset by that? Not me. But who could fuck around with that? Absolutely me.

“Well, I’m really glad you guys are here,” I told them.

“Why? Is it not going well?” Flynn asked. “Do you need to be rescued?”

“Maybe I expected too much. Maybe my expectations were so high that nothing Frank could do would excite me or make me want to date him beyond tonight.”

“But he’s your Starbucks Sunday Regular!” Lindsay reminded me. “And he doesn’t have one scar on that gorgeous face of his.”

“I know, but he’s just not doing it for me,” I said. Then I showed Flynn and the boys how an actor really takes control of a scene. “I think I made a mistake. I think I’m going to call Brian.”

“What?” Flynn shrieked, once again adopting his showgirl pose. “That Southern floozy!? That is ridiculous. Why are you constantly backtracking? The next thing you’ll say is that you want to give Jack another chance.”

“Well…”

“Don’t even say the
J
-word!” Lindsay shouted, shaking his binoculars like an overstressed English nanny. “Can’t you see how hot Frank is for you? Do you know what I saw through these binoculars when I was invading your privacy? I saw pure chemical attraction. And honest-to-goodness love growing between two men. The last time I saw that I was in the steam room at the gym before the mist took it all away. Don’t be like the mist, Steven!”

My charade was working. “I don’t know if I can, Lindsay. I honestly don’t see anything growing between me and Frank.”

“Except your nose, Pinocchio!” Gus bellowed, putting an end to my charade. “Can’t you see he’s wanking our chains?”

“Are you playing me, white boy?” Lindsay asked.

“Steven!” Flynn cried.

“Oh, put your hands down, Nomi. Of course I’m faking it and it serves you guys right for spying on me.”

Flynn finally gave the actress routine the hook and he seemed truly sincere when he asked me if Frank was proving to be as unforgettable as I had remembered.

“For once, Flynn, the real thing is actually surpassing any fantasies my overactive imagination may have dreamed up.”

“Glad to hear it, Steven.”

“Score one for team homo,” Gus said.

“Well, it’s about time!” Lindsay added. “Maybe all that endless droning of ‘I want a boyfriend! I want a boyfriend!’ can finally be put to a merciful end. Right here and right now, Steven, the dreaming stops and the living begins! And if you regress and start whining again I’m going to take these binoculars and use them as a dildo so you can see what an asshole you’ve become.”

“Don’t pay any attention to him,” Gus advised. “He had a hard night.”

“No sex?” I asked.

“Bad sex,” Flynn said.

“Sorry to hear that. Did he have ass pimples? I know how much you hate boys with ass pimples.”

Flynn and Gus chuckled as Lindsay’s neck started to turn red.

“What’s so funny?”

Flynn tried to give me a clue. “Imagine Lindsay as the star of
Nine.
”

If
Password
was ever redone on Logo and featured gay celebrities and their partners, Flynn would not be involved. “That’s not funny,” I said. “Didn’t you always say Broadway’s blackest day was when
Nine
beat
Dreamgirls
for the Tony award for Best Musical?”

“Of course it is!” Flynn proclaimed. “That all-black musical was a perfect ten compared to the sixes-and-sevens of the black-and-white costumed Tommy Tune superficial glossfest. But think of the casting.”

I did. All I could get from Flynn’s clue is that Lindsay had had sex with Raul Julia since he was the only male character in the show except for the little boy. But Raul Julia is dead; so if Lindsay didn’t have sex with his corpse he must have had sex with another
Nine
cast member. But the only other cast members were female. Lightbulb!

“Oh my God! You had sex with a
woman
?”

“Please! I am one hundred percent, grade-A homosexual!” Lindsay shouted. “I had sex with a trannie!”

I was curious homo. “I have never known anyone who’s had sex with a transgendered person before. How could you tell?”

“I couldn’t. He looked like a guy, he sounded like a guy, he even smelled like a guy.”

“Then how do you know he was a trannie?”

“Because when Lindsay was fucking him—” Flynn began.

“And just so there’s no room for doubt, I was fucking him
good
!”

“You’re fucking women now
and
you’re a top?” I asked.

Lindsay’s face got even redder. “I am trying to incorporate change into all areas of my life!”

“So as Lindsay’s fucking him
good
,” Gus continued, “the guy starts getting really vocal.”

“Which turns me on even more so I fuck him harder.”

Flynn highkicked it back into his showgirl routine. “And the guy starts yelling, “Fuck me! Oh yeah, fuck me, sir! Fuck me so fucking hard!”

Then Gus joined Flynn for the finish: “Fuck me like the woman I used to be!”

“What the hell did you do?”

“The only thing I could do,” Lindsay said. “I acted more like a woman to make him feel comfortable. I faked an orgasm, cuddled with him for five minutes, then asked if he had any moisturizer since my T-spot’s been dry lately.”

“I’m sure that made him feel downright nostalgic.”

“So stop your bitching, Steven,” Lindsay scolded. “Your reality could be a helluva lot worse.”

“Lindsay,” I said with total sincerity, “my reality has never been better. And I owe it all to Frank.”