Love's Illusions: A Novel (25 page)

“Ha! Well they didn’t, but what they don’t know won’t hurt them. It’s just a good old fashioned block party, beautiful, and no one on this block is gonna complain.” He was stoned, his face filled with happiness – I could see I had some catching up to do.

The next thing I knew, I was being lifted off my feet and hugged again, this time by someone who looked a lot like Michael, but wasn’t. “This must be the wonderful Jackie I’ve been hearin’ ’bout for the last year. You’re right bro, she is beautiful – you lucky dog you!” Keith said slapping Michael on the back. With that he was off to join some people who were calling him from across the street – glancing over his shoulder as he walked, he yelled out, cocking his head the same way Michael did, “Come on Mike, bring your old lady, I want ya by my side.”

We trailed after him, but I was uneasy, there was something in his voice, and my instincts were flaring,
I’m not sure about this guy – shit!
Michael had his arm draped around me as usual; I must have tensed some because Michael cocked his head and asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sure I am, I…” started to reply, but he cut me off.

“Oh, I know, I’ll ask him not to call you an ‘old lady’,” he said.

“Thanks,” I said, kissing him on the cheek.

I had never been part of anything like this before – I was in awe at the sense of comradery I felt as one person after another stopped to greet Keith, and let him know how happy they were he was back home in one piece. As the evening wore on and I got stoned, I found myself watching him, almost staring. I wasn’t surprised at the physical resemblance – I had seen pictures of him before – but it was stronger than I had imagined. He had the same color dark brown hair as Michael, except of course, in a military type cut. He was an inch or so taller and broader in the shoulders than his brother, and he had the same gorgeous whiskey brown eyes that could pick up glints of light in a way that made them glow. In spite of the physical similarities, it was the mannerisms that fascinated me, almost freaking me out – they moved the same way, cocked their heads the same way, smiled with the same oh-so-sexy curl at the edges of their lips, and their voices had some of the same deep tonality… It was eerie. But there was also something else, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on, that bothered me. Keith was only about a year and a half older than Michael, but he was slick, had a hardness, a cold streak about him that Michael didn’t have. Maybe it was just the story about the drug buy gone wrong or knowing from other stories that Keith tended to solve his problems with his fists; maybe it was his time in Vietnam; or the battles he had had with his father; I had no idea where it came from, but it was definitely there.

I decided it was the war I was seeing. He had just spent two years in the Army, a year of that in-country. How could anyone be in that horrendous environment, killing people – living through all the suffering that I only saw each night on the news – and not have it harden them? I wondered if he ever had the vulnerability I saw in Michael; if he was capable of loving as gently as his brother – and if that person ever existed, would he ever be back?

I stayed with Michael the night of Keith’s homecoming. The next morning, I swear it had to be 6:00 am, Keith barged into the apartment without warning, and laid down across me to grab his brother who was on the other side of the bed. I screamed, Michael jumped up, and Keith started laughing saying, “Whoa there bro – back down! Sorry sweetheart, I didn’t see ya there under all those covers. I thought he was alone. No harm meant.”

“Right,” I said glaring at him, pulling the sheet up around myself – I was not amused.

Michael was cursing a blue streak telling him to get the fuck out, pushing him back towards the door. “Hey Mikey, well at least you don’t wear PJs to bed when you’re with your ‘old lady’ bro!” he blurted out, still laughing, throwing me a kiss as the door slammed, and this time, it was locked behind him.

I looked at Michael standing there naked, shaking his head, running his hand through his hair. “Is he always like this?” I asked.

“Yeah, he can be a real jerk – I guess the Army didn’t change that any,” he replied crawling back into bed.

I just sat there with my knees pulled up under my chin clutching the sheet. “You know he saw me don’t you – there’s no way I was hidden by one sheet and one thin blanket. He laid on top of me on purpose, Goddamn it!”

“I know, I’m sorry, I’ll talk to him, babe,” he said rubbing his hands across his face again. “Lay down again… please?” I didn’t recognize the expression on his face when he pulled me close murmuring, “Go back to sleep if you can.” Was it a combination of concern or anger – or worry maybe?

The first few weeks after Keith’s return, I saw very little of Michael. The two of them showed up at The Canteen a couple times, but other than that, and some phone calls, Michael was MIA. When I did see him, he seemed torn, like he wanted to stay with me, but was being pulled in another direction by his brother. Rick had filled me in some – Keith was spending most of his time fucked up, trying to ‘get somethin’ goin’, talking about dealing on a larger scale again, and was pushing on Michael to team up with him.

“Give him some space, Jackie. They have a complicated relationship, and just need some time to work things out.” Rick told me, seeing my concern. “Ya know Mike’s pretty much been in charge for two years – he’s been content to deal small, and now Keith wants to change things around. They need to work it out or they’re gonna have trouble. Keith knows he needs him, Mike’s the smart one.”

“What do you mean ‘trouble’? What kind of trouble?” I asked.

“Nothin’, I’m just mouthing off. Just give him some space, okay? Hang in there – don’t split on him.” I nodded trying my best to understand. What the fuck was going on? Could I really add any shit having to do with Keith to my plate right now? It was overflowing with my own personal crap at the moment.

Rick, Levi and the other guys in the bar had always teased Michael, sometimes mercilessly, about our relationship, and his seeming devotion to it. In the beginning they tried to find both of us other people to screw around with ‘on the side’, but those efforts failed – unless you counted Christmas for Michael, which I didn’t. The teasing never seemed to bother Michael, in fact, he’d light up more when it happened saying, “They’re just jealous that you’re with me, babe, and not them. They’d die to have someone as beautiful and smart as you are.” But now, when Keith made a wiseass comment, it had a sting to it – I could see it hitting home, like a punch to the gut that does more than knock the wind out of you, Keith’s comments were targeted and pierced through Michael. The jokes all had undercurrents, a hidden message, a double entendre, and affected him like my parents remarks affected me. So when Keith called across the bar, “Hey Mikey, c’mon over here and let your ‘old lady’ do her job – you don’t want everyone to think you’re pussy whipped do ya?” it hit home. What was it about that term anyhow? I hated it! Even though he gave his brother the finger, Michael soon wandered on over by his side. I did hear him say, “I told you she doesn’t like to be called that.” As I stood there watching, listening, Keith flashed me a look that I interpreted as ‘fuck you’, then he slapped his brother on the back and said “Yeah, well an old lady’s an old lady – it doesn’t matter whether she likes it or not.” Tilting his head back, he emptied another Budweiser down his throat, and continued with whatever war story he was telling this time. I had no idea what I had done to make him hate me or if he treated all women like pieces of shit. What I did know was that I was not happy about it; I needed to talk to Michael – alone.

Thank God Mary Beth would be back soon. Having to make a long distance phone call to talk to her was getting expensive, and with Keith back, I needed someone to talk to. I tried to substitute Ashley and Lisa, but history kept getting in the way, or rather our lack of history – neither of them knew enough about me or Michael or Stephen or any other aspect of my life to be able to give viable feedback. Of course I knew that was my own fault since I refused to open up or put out the necessary effort to fill them in. I listened to the details of their lives, they seemed able to talk, but I still didn’t want to let people know what happened with Stephen. I hadn’t been able to get it straight in my own head yet so I knew I wouldn’t be able to deal with answering any questions or worrying about what other people thought. Was I ashamed somehow? Did I still think his being gay was my fault
? Probably, but why?

Some of the articles I was reading said he was born gay, others – most of them, especially where the author had a religious bent – said he chose the lifestyle. He was the only person that was going to be able to answer that question, and he had disappeared. I just kept replaying the scene at Joe’s, with him telling me
“It’s all your fault,”
looped over and over again in my head – so yes, I was ashamed. I was counting down the days till Mary Beth’s return when she and I could get stoned, drink a bottle of wine, and just sit and talk all night if we wanted to.

Mulling things over – that’s what I spent most of my time doing nowadays. Thinking and reading, giving Michael some space, mulling things over. I read two books,
Love Story
and
Rabbit Redux
– both of them made me cry, but for different reasons. Michael and I had seen the movie
Love Story
– I found myself thinking that line “love means never having to say you’re sorry” was bullshit then, and I still thought so now. If anything, love meant saying you’re sorry and meaning it more than anyone was capable of doing in a single lifetime. I stayed as stoned as possible; at least Michael had left me a dime bag, and some more Valium the last time he was at The Canteen. I tried to stay busy, but activity was difficult. Sometimes just picking up the receiver on the telephone took more effort than it was worth. I did get up the strength to call John Whittaker to see if there were any new developments with the divorce, but nothing had changed. I forced myself to go to dinner with Bernie, caught up on all his gossip – damn, being sociable was so very difficult – and by the end of the evening I was exhausted. So I spent time sitting alone on a bench in Lincoln Park close to the place where Michael and I had had sex, remembering the excitement of that moment. I watched the people walk by wondering if any of them were the couple on the pathway that evening. I listened to the wind and waves, and I let my brain float away with the clouds.

My thoughts were starting to betray me again, my days beginning to unravel. The struggle to pull myself together grew more difficult as each morning rolled around. I was alone with myself and I was petrified. I’d feel myself calling out for help, but there was no answer – then I’d realize I hadn’t said the words out loud. There was no sound to my plea, my lips were sealed. It didn’t matter, I knew full well that any cry for help would be futile. I sat for hours without moving, not getting up to go to the bathroom, not getting up to get food – I wasn’t hungry and I didn’t have to pee. As the sun set, I’d manage to move, and like a robot programmed to begin specific tasks at specific times, I’d make my way back to the apartment or to work.

I read trashy magazine article after trashy magazine article. Phrase after phrase from one article or another rattled around in my brain – damn it, why was I reading all this shit anyway?

• “I think, therefore I am,” friggin’ Descarte!
  
• “No one is depressed when they’re asleep, which is why being in bed is such a safe place if you’re down.”
  
• “Depression can paralyze a person’s life.”
  
• “Depressives are particularly insightful people.”
  
• “Many intelligent and creative people suffer from depression.”
  
• “There are always two sides to people who suffer from depression.”
  
• “Your thoughts are rooted in your personal beliefs, morals, and principles. They are your opinions of your inner self.”
  

Well what the fuck was I supposed to do with all this information anyhow? I didn’t need to waste my time reading about bed being a safe place – I could have told them that! Being safe is why I got stoned, why I loved being with Michael, why I didn’t want to get out of bed in the morning, sometimes all day. I was in art school – hopefully I was a creative person. I couldn’t… no, I
didn’t
want to change that, but did creativity mean I was doomed to be like Van Gogh, cutting off my left ear and committing suicide? Did I have to be a stupid, brainless shithead to feel good about myself? Maybe I did – most of the idiots I’d met so far in my life thought they were super cool, that they were way smarter than they actually were, that they had all the answers. If I had to be like that, then I’d rather be dead. What good did insight do if I was too weak to figure things out? How was I supposed to overcome the darkness? What I needed was a solution for all these thoughts – a viable way to cope, a way to make life not so painful that I was always thinking about a way out. I needed to find some peace.

“Hey Jackie,” Michael said as I picked up the phone. “Are you working tonight?”

“No,” I replied.
I’m going to be sitting here watching TV by myself,
I thought.

“Good. How ’bout I pick up some Chinese food and come by later, okay?”

“Sure, is Keith coming too?” I asked, crossing my fingers until I heard the response.

“No, just me – see you in a little bit, beautiful.”
Well that much is good,
I thought as I hung up the phone
.
I wasn’t up for Keith’s wisecracks, not in the mood for some crazy-ass power struggle type challenge or for being looked at like I was nothing more than a speck of dirt on his shoe that needed to be scraped off on the nearest curb. I felt shitty enough without him driving the point home.
Besides, I like my left ear, and didn’t want to be tempted to slice it off at the end of the evening,
I thought
.

Although we had talked on the phone, I had seen Michael only a handful of times over the last month or so – only having sex a couple of those times when his asshole brother managed to pick up some girl, and left him alone. When I’d ask what was going on, he’d just say “I’ll tell you later.” I had concocted all kinds of nightmare scenarios where Michael decided he was tired of me, he was going back to the girl at Christmas – my imagination was limitless.