IT'S YOUR CALL
Justin
I close my eyes and take a shallow breath, then another. I don't want to feel
this way. I've never felt this way about another guy, only Brian. I don't want
to feel it, I won't feel it. Just take another breath, keep breathing, I tell
myself; the feeling will pass. It's not real, it's some ridiculous imaginary
romantic fucking mistake.
And of course it's not the same really, it can't compare to those moments under
the street lamp when the first look from Brian's eyes grabbed me, almost pulled
me to him like a giant cartoon magnet. It's not the same, not at all. That was
heaven and it was hell and it stopped the earth spinning on its axis. This is
just. . . something else.
There's just this - kind of gentle pull. Just a tug, really. When I was a kid we
used to visit my aunt in Florida every summer, and Mom and I spent hours at the
beach. I can remember standing barefoot on the shore as the tide washed in
shallow waves foaming around my ankles, then slowly, irresistibly, it was drawn
backward, the wave was drawn backward into the ocean and it sucked at my toes
trying to pull me along, pull me into the ocean. And I’d have to lean backward
just slightly and keep my feet firmly planted in the shifting sand as I felt the
ocean wave pulling at me.
Ethan's just a ripple of ocean-tide tickling my feet. Brian's a tsunami.
I stand totally still, feet firmly planted on the floorboards of the student
center, strong and centered and totally in control. Nothing and nobody is
pulling me anywhere I don't want to go. My breathing is normal, everything is
normal and ordinary and I won't let my silly imagination get the best of me.
That pull means nothing, probably I just want to fuck Ethan, nothing mysterious
about that.
Except that I don't want to fuck him.
Okay, I do want to fuck him, but that means nothing, I want to fuck Heath
Ledger, that doesn't mean I'm ever going to. It's just a passing wave of lust,
meaningless, unimportant.
Ethan makes the rounds of the Student Center, looking at all the art works on
display - not that I'm watching him, I just happen to notice him from time to
time. My life drawing teacher stops by to compliment me on one of my sketches,
and I see over her shoulder that Ethan is sort of lurking in the background. Our
eyes meet a couple times, and when the teacher moves away, Ethan closes the
distance between us.
"Hey," he smiles, "I'm going to get something to eat, want to come with me? We
can go to my place and hang up your picture."
Thankfully, whatever I was feeling toward Ethan has dissipated, and it's so
totally meaningless and so unimportant now, that I know it's okay for me to have
lunch with him. He's just a guy, a nice guy, I like talking to him. He
understands what it means to be an artist, like nobody I've ever talked to has
ever understood.
We walk to Ethan's, stopping at a grocery for some grapes, cheese and bread. He
opens the door to his apartment and the first thing I see is Wolfram sitting on
that really awful sofa. He jumps down and comes running to greet me. Cats always
like me. I pick him up and hold him in my arms, loving the warm smoothness of
his fur and his delicate singsong purring, as I watch Ethan spread our food out
on an overturned wooden box.. He grabs a half-full bottle of red wine and two
glasses and we take up our places on either side of the makeshift table for a
picnic on the floor.
He has the most amazing eyes, so dark that they are deep and almost bottomless,
like a well. You must be careful when you lean over the edge of a deep dark
well, careful that you don’t fall in.
There is no danger of course, we’re only talking. About art and music and
boyfriends, he had a boyfriend who sounds a lot like Brian. Ethan left him
because he wants someone who loves only him. Eric said the same thing, the boy I
fucked at Daphne’s party, it seems so long ago. Eric said he wanted just one guy
to be with, and I remember laughing. Because it doesn’t work out like that. It
didn’t work for Eric and it didn’t work for Ethan and it isn’t working for me.
The secret is, you just have to not mind very much. Because what does it matter
if your boyfriend fucks a million guys, as long as you know he really loves only
you?
Brian loves me. Or anyway I’m pretty sure he does. I used to be a hundred
percent sure, but that was before Vermont. Before I came home and found Brian
fucking some guy in our bed, and he didn’t even pause mid-stroke to greet me.
“You’re back,” he said, like it didn’t matter one way or the other if I came
home or not. Maybe it didn’t. He didn’t call me, not once, he probably had a
different guy, two or three different guys, in our bed every night of the week.
Brian wanted to fuck me that night, why was I surprised? And I let him, and
what’s worse, what’s really worse, is that I wanted him to. He kicked the guy
out after fucking him, like he always does; I was in the shower and he just
walked right in on me, put his hands on me and I wanted to resist but I
couldn’t. Because I hadn’t had sex for a week, except for jerking off a few
times a day, but it wasn’t just sex and I knew it. I wanted him inside me, I
wanted to taste him and feel him filling me up and possessing me. Christ. At
least I made him change the sheets. And I didn’t help. I logged onto my computer
and checked e-mail while he changed the bed, then he came after me, reached over
my shoulder and logged me off, then picked me right up out of the chair and
carried me up the steps to the bed. I didn’t resist. I couldn’t resist. I wanted
him too much.
When I woke up next morning he was already gone. Most of the time we shower
together, get ready for work and school and often he drops me off, if he has
time for a detour. He must have had an early morning meeting, not that he
bothered to tell me. I guess we’re still mad at each other. I woke up feeling so
much better, but now I feel annoyance and resentment and regret creeping back
into my heart. I don’t have a wall around my heart like Brian does, but it
should be tougher by now, more resistant to pain, I’ve had enough practice with
disappointment, haven’t I?
He was late coming home, I was gathering my sketches and drawings for the art
show. He burst through the door and exclaimed, “I’ve got a new client!” For the
briefest moment I thought he was talking to me. “That’s good!” I said
encouragingly.
But he wasn’t talking to me. He ignored me, moving on to the bedroom, where he
started undressing, all the while talking to himself, mumbling. It was like I
wasn’t even there.
“And how was your day, Justin?” I asked myself, and answered, “Not bad, thanks
for asking; and how about yours?”
“A whole lot better, now that I’m with you,” I told myself.
Then I dared to ask myself, “Did you miss me?”
In a gruff voice I answered, “Every minute you were away – you’re all I thought
about. Please never leave me again.” I was feeling sick to my stomach for some
reason.
Brian walked into the kitchen, pausing to bend down and whisper in my ear, “Who
are you talking to?” before he ambled on to pull open the fridge and get himself
a beer.
Nobody. “Nobody.”
“And what’s with the little voice? Are you planning to become a ventriloquist?”
“It’s one way to hear what you want,” I answered, looking at him seriously as he
crouched down beside my desk.
He ignored that and took a swig from the bottle. Then he put his hand on the
back of my neck like he was moving the head of a dummy and asked, in a deep
ventriloquist voice, “So-how-was-your-trip?”
I half turned and put my arm around him. “Not much fun without you.” It wasn’t
fun, and I wanted him to know that. Wanted him to hear that.
But he didn’t. Instead he showed me some advertising poster or flyer he was
holding and murmured, “I had things to do.”
Giving up, I pulled my arm away, he stood up and walked off. “Did you miss me?”
I asked for real, and immediately cursed myself for being so fucking
transparent. So needy. Damn me.
I heard him set down the bottle and come up behind me, I couldn’t turn. He
reached around me and grabbed my arms, pulled me to my feet. Almost I felt
joyful, I felt a smile just beginning to form on my face as I waited for him to
kiss me, to say something, anything, to show that he missed me. Then suddenly he
whirled me around and pushed me up against an I-beam, pushing me from behind,
wrapping my arms around the beam while he started tonguing my neck, and I felt
him lift the hem of my shirt and he pulled it off over my head. He wanted to
fuck me. That was his answer. That’s what he missed.
And I let him. I let him do it and I enjoyed it and we both grunted as we came
at the same time. And afterwards he went to his desk and I went to mine and we
worked on our projects. For the first time the silence between us did not feel
companionable. At least not for me. I tried not to think, just to concentrate on
my drawing, to lose myself in my drawing, it’s never failed me before. This time
it did. I felt like something inside me had broken. Nothing dramatic, no loud
crashing boom, just the tiniest snap of a twig in a quiet forest. He was still
working when I went to bed, and I willed myself to fall sleep without crying.
Next morning the phone woke us up before the alarm went off. Ben was in the
hospital. We got ready quickly and drove to Em and Michael’s apartment to meet
the others, and we all tried to decide what we could do to help Michael. I
offered to watch the comic shop and Brian said nothing, but later when we were
alone for a moment, he told me it would be better to close the shop for a day or
two, that I had too many commitments already with an afternoon shift at the
diner and my project deadlines at school. I might have resented it if he'd said
that in front of the others, but in the end I had to agree that I didn't have
much time to spare. Brian was in a rush to get to work, so Ted offered to drive
me to school. I had stuff in my portfolio for the student art fair and it would
have been hard to manage on the bus. I didn't tell Brian about the art fair; I
didn't want to wait for him to show up and then be disappointed.
Brian
I haven’t worked this hard since I was new kid on the block at the agency,
burning hot to prove that I was better than everybody else. Now I was not only
proving myself to Gardner Vance, but as partner in the agency, I had a very
different role than I’d had before. I’d grown used to making my own schedule,
delegating the boring projects and saving the crème de la crème for myself. Now
in addition to the crème, I had to deal with an enormous amount of boring,
time-consuming shit work.
Gardner’d been true to his word and fired most of the ad execs, but he’d kept
nearly all the creatives and support staff. Cynthia is enjoying her new role,
and I made sure she got a hefty raise, but she’s also working harder than
before, and longer hours. We’re earning our fucking money, that’s for sure.
Naturally it is just at this critical time of my life that Justin has to start
being difficult. Making demands on my time and fucking with my emotions. I don’t
have the time, I don’t have the energy to deal with that shit right now. He’s
just going to have to look out for himself for a change, he’s nineteen, he can
handle it. It surprised me that he didn’t tell me about the student art fair,
I’d seen a flyer on his desk announcing the show. In truth I was relieved, it
let me off the hook. I don’t have time to meet his professors and drink lukewarm
punch in Styrofoam cups, I’m scrambling like fucking hell just to stay on top at
the office.
Then in the middle of one of the worst days at Vangard, right before a meeting
with the four old fart execs of that damned Open Fire restaurant chain, my cell
went off. It was Mikey so I had to take it, and the moment I answered I could
hear the panic in his voice. I walked out of the meeting, brushed off Vance, and
hurried to the hospital. Michael needed me.
He was a wreck, and it was all I could do to hang onto him. I almost started
crying right along with him, everything came back to me, the fucking
helplessness of standing in a hospital corridor while someone you care about
lies only a few feet away, fighting for his life. Mikey was falling apart, and I
helped put him back together, just the way he’d done it for me, those nights
after Justin got bashed. When I couldn’t see anybody, or let anybody see me, and
Michael took care of everything. It was payback time.
I stayed all day with Mikey, then finally about six o’clock Ben’s fever broke,
and the worst was over, he was going to be okay. Michael really did fall apart
then, and I dragged him downstairs and forced him to walk around the parking
lot, breathing cool air and calming down. Then we sat in the hospital cafeteria,
me drinking three cups of bitter black coffee, Mikey choking down some
overcooked hospital corned beef hash for dinner. He insisted he was all right,
he was going to sleep in Ben’s room, so finally I headed home, just physically
and emotionally drained. I even took the elevator to my floor, I didn’t think I
could manage the stairs.
And I stopped dead just inside the door. There was Justin, kneeling on the
floor, lighting candles and smiling up at me. He jumped up and began telling me
about his picnic preparations, and, my shoulders drooping, I shut him up with a
kiss. No, I wanted to shout at him, I can’t do this now! Instead I grabbed a
slice of apple and tried to play along, I dropped to the pillows and sprawled on
the floor. But that wasn’t enough for him, no, he insisted we were going to be
romantic. Christ.
I grabbed the wine bottle and jumped up, and told Justin I needed to unwind at
Babylon. He kept trying to get me to stay home instead, grabbing my hand,
looking up at me with those fucking beseeching blue eyes. I gulped a mouthful of
wine to strengthen myself, gave him a kiss, and told him to make a choice. Stay
home alone, or come to Babylon with me. It was his call.
Justin
It was my call, Brian said, stay home alone or go to Babylon with him. I almost
said no. I was upset about Brian dissing my picnic, and I really felt like
telling him to fuck off. Instead I collapsed onto the cushions and pinched out
the candles. I heard Brian undressing, then the shower was turned on full blast.
Slowly I put away the cheese and crackers, put the fruit in baggies, then picked
up the candles and put them on the counter.
Surprisingly, Brian came to join me. He’d just gotten out of the shower and had
a towel wrapped around his hips. He began to pick up the pillows, making a stack
in his arms and carrying them into the living room. I just stood there watching
him, feeling – oh, not sad, not even disappointed. Just kind of numb. So when he
took my hand and led me up the stairs, I let him. When he pulled off my red
sweater and handed me a pale blue one. I took it from him and put it on. I sat
on the edge of the bed and put on my shoes and socks while Brian got dressed,
then he handed me my jacket and shrugged himself into his brown leather, and we
left the loft and headed to Babylon.
Even when I'm not really in the mood, usually I go to Woody's or Babylon with
Brian because I want to be with him, even if he's fucking around. We haven't
been sharing tricks lately, but that's only because I've started saying no,
thanks. Sometimes Brian laughs and sometimes he's annoyed, but it hasn't slowed
him down any. I love Babylon but I don't like the backroom any more, I can't
believe I used to be so excited when Brian would take me back there with him. It
just got boring or something. It's not that I don't like fucking and plenty of
it - maybe I'm just going through a phase. Whatever it is, usually now I dance
and hang out with the guys till Brian's ready to go home. He's always got plenty
of sex energy left over for me, so I guess I can't complain.
It was the same last night, twice I noticed Brian leading guys into the
backroom, but I wasn't really watching him, I was having a good time talking to
Emmett and Ted. Em was telling some great stories about his adventures with
George Schickle, about the time George made him go horseback riding, and another
time when George took him shopping at Saks and they did the nasty in the
gentlemen's dressing room. Ted said he'd done it once with Blake in a dressing
room too, and Ted got all misty and we tried to cheer him up. Then Brian came up
and grabbed me from behind and said he was ready to go home. Luckily he didn't
say anything mean to Ted, who was embarrassed about crying in the middle of
Babylon. We came home and Brian offered to let me fuck him, which doesn't happen
very often. So naturally I felt more enthusiastic than I had in ages, and we had
a great time in bed.
Brian's pretty tight for an older guy, probably because he doesn't get fucked
very often. He won't tell me much about things he did when he was my age, but
he's admitted he used to bottom for a few guys. He's good at it too, well that's
how he taught me everything I know about fucking, he knows what it feels like
and how to make it feel even better. He'll only let me fuck him from behind
though, he says he feels ridiculous with his long legs falling off my shoulders
or flailing in the air. Since I'm a lot shorter than Brian, the way he likes me
to do him is for him to kneel on the floor by the bed and have me stand behind
him. It's a good fit that way and I can hang on to him for balance. But he says
if I ever call him 'horsey,' he'll beat the crap out of me.
That's funny because Brian's one of the most non-violent guys I know. Not that I
know many violent ones, but I mean, he's so gentle and he doesn't threaten, well
not for real. He's pretend-spanked me a few times, but only when we're fooling
around, nothing serious. He says that daddy stuff squicks him out. We've played
around with S&M a few times, but I feel silly doing it and Brian says that's
okay, he's not really into it either. There've been a few times I've seen Brian
really angry, but he's never scary. Well, except that one time he pretended to
choke me. I know, from things Debbie and Vic let slip, that Brian's dad used to
beat him up all the time. Brian even sort of told me that once, though he'll
never talk about his childhood with me. "Never look backwards," he tells me all
the time. But it seems strange to me that somebody who grew up in a violent
house, is not violent himself.
And Brian's a great daddy with Gus, when he sees him, which is not very often. A
couple times when I've been babysitting, Brian has dropped in. He gets right
down on the floor and lets Gus crawl all over him, and he gets such a gentle
look sometimes when he's playing with his son. I've tried to capture that look
in sketches, but none of them has ever come out right. I haven't shown them to
him; I'm afraid he wouldn't like seeing that vulnerable look on his face.
Next morning I woke up alone again. I’m beginning to think that Brian’s avoiding
our shared morning time. I don’t understand and it’s starting to hurt. I’ve
really been trying to be the kind of boyfriend he wants me to be, but it’s
getting harder and harder. It’s like he keeps changing the rules on me. Or maybe
I just don’t want to live inside those rules any more. For a long time I thought
Brian and I were getting closer and closer. Now there’s this space, this
distance, it’s like he’s pulled away from me. Maybe I’ve pulled away from him,
too. I’m so tired of trying to figure out the right things to say, the right
things to do.
I’ve seen Michael and Ben together, and it’s like they’re always relaxed. It’s
like they don’t have to try and figure things out every minute. Sort of like I
feel when I’m with Ethan. Like I can say anything I want without worrying that
it’s the wrong thing. Like I can laugh and be silly and not have to look cool
all the time. I can say what I’m feeling without having to think about it first.
I didn’t realize how exhausting it is living with Brian. It didn’t use to be. I
don’t know what’s changed.
Brian didn’t call me all day, and he’s asked me to stop calling the office for a
while, he says it’s all in an uproar with so many changes, and he doesn’t have
time right now for personal calls. My day was uneventful, there was a female
model in life class and I saw some of the guys smirking at each other. God,
straight guys are so disgusting. I had a coffee date with Daphne but she
cancelled, so I went home early and decided to cook dinner. I stopped and got a
pound of shrimp and a packet of fresh pasta, and even splurged on some imported
French beans. It was fun cooking again, I haven’t felt like doing that for a
long time. I put placemats on the counter and retrieved candles from the aborted
floor picnic.
When Brian hadn’t come home by seven, I dared to call him at the office. Cynthia
answered and said they’d had an emergency meeting at six and Brian might be
stuck there while longer. He must have been right by her desk because the next
thing I knew, Brian was barking at me on the phone.
“Justin, is this an emergency?”
I was surprised by the harshness in his tone, but instead of feeling bad, it
made me angry. “Yeah,” I answered brusquely, “It’s an emergency, because I
cooked a fucking fantastic dinner, and I need to know if I’m eating it alone.”
There was a long pause, then I heard Brian sigh deeply. I’ve grown to hate that
sigh, that little conscious breath to let me know I’ve exasperated him once
again. “I’m sorry,” Brian was saying, as slowly and as patiently as if he were
talking to a not-very-bright child. “I’m stuck here for a couple more hours.
I’ve told you over and over not to count on me.”
“Yeah,” I agreed softly, “You have. Sorry.” I hung up the phone and turned to
look at the dishes I’d spread out on the counter. At least this time I hadn’t
lit the candles yet. The phone rang several times while I was putting everything
away, but I ignored it. I got my jacket from the closet, wrapped a muffler round
my neck and went out for a walk.
Brian
Christ, I was pissed at Justin, but as soon as he hung up on me, I was
immediately sorry. He had no way of knowing I’d be home late tonight, there’d
been no time all day to call him, and I remembered telling him just last week
how much I missed the special dinners he sometimes cooks for us. I tried calling
him right back, but he wouldn’t answer. I tried twice more, then gave up.
I’m sorry that I hurt his feelings, but Jesus, the kid’s got to learn that he
doesn’t always need to wait around for me to come home, he can go out on his own
sometimes.
Justin
I can hear violin music from the street two floors below Ethan’s apartment. I’m
not sure how I ended up in this neighborhood, but as long as I’m here, I guess
I’ll go up and say hello. He still owes me a song after all, so maybe I’ll tell
him I’ve come to collect it.
6/27/02