Dreaming of You (21 page)

“I’m sorry, Nathan, I didn’t think—”

“And that’s not like you, Aden. Not to think.”

“But, Nath, wouldn’t it be better to find out as opposed to always wondering what if? I mean, there has to be a reason for all this?”

“Aden, you can rationalize the severity out of what you’re doing if you choose to, but don’t expect me to get behind it. You have committed yourself to someone else. The time for this type of behavior is over.”

“Thanks for the support, friend. I’m so glad I called. I feel much better.”

“Look, just because you’re turning into an asshole doesn’t mean I don’t love you. Fuck. All I can say, is if you do this, be damn careful. Talking to him is one thing. If you sleep with him, then you’re a real shit. Logan deserves better than that.”

“God, Nathan.” I got up off the bed. “I would never do that.”

“Just be careful about how much you drink. You tend to romanticize things even more to the extreme under the influence.”

“Right,” I said, chewing my fingernail, “you’re right, that’s good. No drinking. Anything else?”

“Keep Finn with you at all times. Her presence will keep things from getting out of hand. She’s your insurance policy. I think if you do those two things, you’ll be fine.”

“Okay.” I breathed a tiny sigh of relief. “I think that’s smart. Thank you, Nath.”

“It’ll be okay,” he said. “I know you. You’ll do the right thing.”

We talked for a few more minutes, allowing me to calm down a little more. I hung up and scrolled down the numbers in my phone until I got to Logan’s restaurant. I set the phone down on the bed and took a deep breath. I picked it up and set it back down several times before I finally grabbed it and hit the Talk button.
Please, let him not be there. Please, let him not be there.

“Thank you for calling La Luna’s. This is Angie, how may I help you?”

“Angie, hi, it’s Aden. Is Logan there?”

“Hey, Aden. No, he’s already left for the day. Isn’t he picking you up from…?”

“Yeah, he is. That’s the problem. I didn’t make the flight. Well, actually I just didn’t take it. I decided at the last minute to spend another night here in St. Louis with Finn.”

“Oh thank God.” She breathed out a loud, long sigh of relief. “I just knew you were about to tell me you weren’t coming and that you wanted
me
to tell him.”

I placed my head in my hand trying to keep it together. “No, hon, I would never do that to you.”

“I know he was going to go home and then run some errands before heading to the airport, so you can probably catch him on his cell or at his condo. I guess now it’s your condo too.”

“Yeah, our condo, that’s right.” I shut my eyes, feeling like a complete pile of shit. “You know what, could I just have you get ahold of him for me? I know you’re busy, and I hate to ask you, but…I forgot to charge my cell last night.”

“Please, it’s fine. It’ll take no time at all. Is there a specific time I can tell him to call you?”

“Well, we’re going to have cocktails and then dinner somewhere, maybe a club somewhere, who knows…girls’ night out kind of thing. You can tell him midnight or one o’clock, or I can just call him when we get back. Just tell him I’ll call him when we get back in.”

“Okay; this is awfully naughty of you, though.”

“What?”

“He’s been absolutely euphoric all week and was almost unbearably giddy this morning just knowing that today was the day.”

Thanks, bitch, why not just reach through the phone and shove me through the plate glass window
. “You tell him tomorrow morning, American Airlines flight 1295 departing from St. Louis at nine fifty. He’s lasted this long, one more night won’t kill him.”
All this lying might kill me, however.

“All righty,” she said. “See you tomorrow then.”

I should fire that hag as soon as I get there, I thought, hanging up the phone. I turned and caught my reflection in the mirror hanging over the dresser. “All righty,” I said in a mocking tone.
She has never trusted me.

Gee, I wonder why?

“Good Christ my hell, I really don’t have time for you right now.”

Listen here, you rat bastard. You’re on a one-way train to Shadyville, and if you’re not careful, the house of cards you have under construction there is going to come tumbling down around your ankles. And let’s make sure that’s the only thing that winds up around your ankles tonight.

“The only thing in my life that’s shady is you. Not once have you ever given me any good advice. What the fuck kind of conscience are you?”

What the hell makes you think I’m supposed to give you advice? That’s not my job. My job is to cut through the thick quilt of bullshit you live wrapped up in and shine a little reality on your otherwise fantasy-induced haze of a life.

“Point.”

What?

“What the fuck is your point?”

That you are projecting the anger you feel toward yourself onto Angie, and with the ever-growing list of sins you continue to rack up, you might want to rein it in a little.

“Fine!”

What?

“I said fine. You’re right. I’ll try to put a lid on it, okay?”

Good. I mean, after tonight, you’re going to have to build a homeless shelter in order to get that karma back on track.

“What the hell does that mean?”

It means that tonight you are going to do the hot and nasty with your dream stud.

“W-what—you don’t—I mean, I don’t even know that.”

Puh-lease, you’ll have drinks, maybe a light dinner, and then he’ll ask you into his room. You’ll rationalize your way into saying yes, telling yourself it’s only to talk. Then he’ll kiss you, and next thing you know, you’ll be ankles in the air.

“I’m getting in the shower now.”

You can’t run away from me.

“Oh, pop off.”

Standing in front of the mirror after my shower, I’d just exfoliated and was now ready for my pore-minimizing mask. I love being gay. If I weren’t gay, I just know my skin would be completely tragic. Let’s say it out loud, shall we? “Pore-minimizing Mask.”

“Who the hell are you talking to?” Finn asked from outside the bathroom.

“Just myself,” I said, mildly embarrassed.

“Can I come in?”

“Of course.”

The door flung open, and she dragged in a toiletries bag.

“You are so prissy.” She opened her case and unloaded the multiple bottles of hair products, the Chanel compact, eyeliner, mascara, various shades of lipstick, and umpteen shades of eye shadow.

I glanced down at her, raising an eyebrow. “Hi, pot—meet kettle.”

Giggling, she asked excitedly, “Want to come and see what I bought for us to wear?”

“Okay.”

As I followed her out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, she asked, “Yours or mine?”

“Um, let’s start with mine.”

With game-show-hostess flair, she took a hanging bag from the handle of the armoire, twirled around, and then stopped a few feet away from me. Slowly, she pulled down the zipper and folded back the sides to reveal a sleek black suit. With a huge grin and wide, excited eyes, she screamed, “It’s Calvin!”

“Shut up!”

“You shut up!” she said.

I reached out for it greedily. “Get out!”

She handed me the bag. “You get out!”

We both started laughing and hopping around the room. “Wait, just wait.” She grabbed a bag off the floor and pulled out a shoe box.

I snatched the box from her, threw off the lid, and pulled out a pair of black Italian leather shoes. “They’re beautiful.”

“I know, I couldn’t believe it.” She tossed a bag at me and added, “There are socks, a nice pullover shirt, and some panties in there for you.”

“What do I owe you for all this?” I asked, afraid of the answer.

“Nothing, sweetie,” she said with a cute smile. “I took your credit card. Thanks for the dress, by the way.”

“I should have known. Well, let’s see what I got you.”

She pranced back over to the armoire and took the other hanging bag. I pulled the rest of the contents of my bag out and tossed them on the bed. “Um, Finn, this shirt is a size too small.”

“I know.” She unzipped the bag.

I started to say something and then realized what she was up to. “Finn, I’m not trying to look like a bar whore.”

“Listen, Pruddy McPrude, you have a hot body. There is nothing wrong with showing it off.” She pulled her dress out of the bag. It was a very simple deep midnight blue cocktail dress that had a little bit of beadwork around the scoop neckline and a slight flare to the skirt. Holding it up in front of her, she asked, “Well?”

“You are going to be the one thing anyone who sets eyes on you tonight will remember about their evening.”

A sweet, innocent little-girl expression came over her face. “You are too sweet, Aden Ingle.” She walked over and gave me a hug and a light peck on the cheek. “You better get a move on, honey. It’s almost five.”

“Me?” I hung the suit in the closet. “You’re the one that needs to get moving.”

“I’m not going down with you,” she said, hanging the dress on the handle of the armoire.

“What?”

“There is no way I can be ready in an hour.” She placed her hands on her hips. “Besides, it’ll give the two of you a chance to talk alone.”

“No, no.” I began to panic. “I’ll turn into Short Bus again. You can’t send me into that bar alone. I’ll be ridiculous.”

“Nonsense, you’ll be fine. In a sense, you’ve known this man for fifteen years. You’ve said yourself that he’s been a source of comfort to you through the years. Just think about that, and you’ll be fine. I promise.”

“Right, you’re right.” I nodded my head. “Comfort…my source of comfort.”

* * * * *

I stood at the door of our room looking through the peephole until I saw Rufus come out of his room and disappear down the hall. I waited five minutes, listening as Finn sang her sexpot-porn version of The Pussycat Dolls’ “Don’t Cha,” in the shower.

Strolling down the hall, riding to the lobby in the elevator, and walking up to the doors to the hotel bar, I repeated, “My source of comfort,” over and over in my head. I was cool and calm as I pulled open the door and entered the bar.

The lighting was lower than the lights in the lobby, but still not as dark as most bars. There were tables scattered about and huge parlor palms like the ones in the lobby. Large columns throughout the room gave it a slightly secluded feeling, almost acting as visual partitions segregating one part of the room from the others. The bar was the typical brass and etched glass variety, and sitting at the very end of it was Rufus.

He looked very tall and lean in a dark gray leisure suit with a pale yellow formfitting sweater. Impeccably groomed, he was drumming his fingers on the bar in time with the light jazz music playing throughout the bar.

My source of comfort looked up and spotted me, flashing a sexy smile. I stopped in my tracks, my knees weakened slightly, and I felt perspiration begin to collect under my arms.
Source of comfort, my ass. I’m going to fucking kill Finn
. I began walking toward him, and he pulled the bar stool next to him out for me.

Rufus looked me up and down, making me feel naked and on display. “You look great.”

“You too.” I grinned.
Complete sentences, Aden
. “Look good, that is…better than good, actually.”
Stop right there, don’t go any further
. He smiled at me. “Hot, actually. You look hot.”
Oh God, God help
. “Gee, you’re pretty.”

Rufus started laughing and patted his hand on the stool next to him. “Have a seat there, Don Juan, we’ll get you a drink.”

“Drink?” I pulled the stool out a little farther. “I don’t think I should, Comfort.” He looked at me, and my eyes widened. “I mean, Rufus… Southern…Southern Comfort?” Laughing nervously, I hopped up to sit on the stool. My eyes began to bug out of my head as my ass didn’t stop on top of the stool. The sleek material of my suit glided right across the well-buffed and polished leather bar stool, causing me to slide off the other side of the stool and onto the floor at his feet.

“Jesus.” He hopped off his stool and looked down at me. “Are you all right?”

“Nice shoes.” I felt my face turning bloodred with heat. “Valentino?” I asked, trying to downplay my embarrassment.

The bartender ran down to our end of the bar as Rufus helped pull me up. “Are you okay, sir?”

“I’m…I’m fine really. I just slid right off.” I slowly climbed onto the bar stool. “Isn’t that silly?”

“Are you sure?” the bartender persisted, obviously wondering if I was already intoxicated. “Because that looked like it really hurt.”

Rufus sat down next to me. “He’s used to it.”

“Jesus, did anyone else see that?”

“No one noticed.” Turning to look over the bar, he announced, “Accident-prone!”

I turned to see the entire bar nodding and turning their attention back to their company.

I felt as if I couldn’t possibly be more humiliated.

The bartender asked with a look of anxiety, “Can I get you something to drink?”

“He’ll have a SoCo and…?”

“Wine.” I looked at him with as much confidence as I could muster. “A bottle of wine.” Turning to Rufus, I asked, “And what will you be having?”

“I’ll have another Tanqueray and tonic with two limes.”

“Would you like to look at the wine list, sir?” the bartender asked.

“Pinot noir.” I wiped my forehead with a cocktail napkin. “Whatever you recommend.”
Surely one or two glasses can’t hurt.

The bartender walked to the other end of the bar, and Rufus looked at me. “You certainly know how to make an entrance. I’m not sure if I’ve met anyone quite like you before.”

“I’m sure you haven’t, unless you frequent psychiatric hospitals during your free time.”

“You’re not crazy.” He looked me over as if inspecting the merchandise. “You just seem to be afflicted with a touch of the Jerry Lewis.”

“Thanks for the diagnosis, Dr. Rufus.”

“Something tells me after a glass or two of wine, you’ll loosen up.” Rufus nodded.

“You mean become cheap and easy,” I said as the bartender sat a wineglass in front of me. Feeling my cheeks flush with heat, I added, “I get the unfortunate feeling I’m going to be the customer all the employees wind up gossiping about in the kitchen.”

“Yes, sir.” He poured some wine in my glass. “They’re already laying odds on what you might do next.”

“Great.”

A little laugh escaped from him as he made his way back toward the other end of the bar.

“So,” Rufus asked, “what is it that you do when you aren’t causing a commotion?”

I lifted my glass and took a sip of wine. “I’m one of the trapeze artists for the Cirque du Soleil.”

“Really?” he asked, with a shocked expression.

“No, but wouldn’t that be cool? I always thought that would be cool. Actually I’m the director of programming at WGAY TV in San Francisco.”

“Seriously?” he asked, curling his lips down and nodding his head, obviously impressed.

“Actually no,” I said taking another sip of wine. “But that would be a killer job too, wouldn’t it?”

“You aren’t bipolar, are you?”

“Christ no.” I watched him lightly drumming his fingers on the bar. “Just really fucking nervous.”

“I make you nervous?” he asked, smiling.

“Very, and I have this tendency to prattle on nonstop when I’m nervous.”

“Well.” He scratched his head, looking at me intently. “Maybe I can think of something to stick in your mouth to slow down that nervous babbling.”

My eyes widened and my mouth fell open.

“How about one of my nuts?” he asked.

I turned to look at him as he shoved a basket of peanuts across the bar toward me. I burst out laughing and he looked obviously pleased with himself. “You really are a bastard, aren’t you?”

“Stop…stop it.” He held up a hand and grinned as if I were throwing a compliment his way. “So, what’s your trade, how do you make a living?”

“I own a restaurant.”
Goddamn, he’s so fucking cute
. “What is it you do, Rufus?”

“I work for a software company in Santa Barbara. I’m in St. Louis to update our system for American Express.”

“Wow”—I took a big drink—“so you’re a smart guy. I don’t suppose you could like accidentally lose a credit card account while you’re in there tooling around in their system?”

“Sorry,” he said with a wink, “I try to keep my illegal activity outside of the workplace.”

“No need to apologize,” I said, taking another sip of wine. “It’s an admirable quality.”

I picked up on his comment about Santa Barbara, and he informed me that he was from there. Born and raised. He had one brother (younger), and his parents (divorced) and grandparents all still lived there. He’s twenty-seven years old, and calling him a “smart guy” was a bit of an understatement. His father had been one of those “don’t let my kids waste time outside playing when they could be inside reading and studying” types of parents. It wasn’t until his parents divorced when he was fourteen that he was actually really allowed to get out and socialize to any great degree. He had the option of skipping two years of high school and going to college early. At his mother’s urging, he decided to stay in high school and not rush into adulthood before he was able to handle it. After the separation, his mother began encouraging Rufus and his brother to slow down and helped them become more socially extroverted. He joined the drama club his junior year, and it was at that point he discovered he was gay and met his first boyfriend.