Between the Lines Ch. 06

"No," I whisper. "Please. Not yet."

"For me, love."

I sob, and slowly open my eyes.

The room is full of light, dazzling, refracting through the tears that fill my eyes. So much light, everywhere.

And in the midst of it is Ron. My Ron. Perpetually young, naked, laughing through his own tears, his long blond hair sun-streaked, tousled and sweaty.

He bends to kiss me. I wrap my arms and legs around him, holding him tight as though never to let him go again.

"I mean, sir, in delay we waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day," he whispers in my ear.

Then he pulls back out of my body, out of my arms, glorious, naked, leaving me sated and bereft.

"Love well, my heart," he tells me.

And it is day, and Ron has vanished forever. I find myself once again alone and naked in the morning light, with tears running down my face. But not tears of grief this time. After a lifetime and more of grieving, it takes me some time to recognize them as tears of joy.

I find my pajamas in a crumpled heap by the bed. How Ron got me out of them I will never understand. I pick them up and, after a moment's reflection, throw them in the garbage can. Somehow in the course of the last few weeks, I have rediscovered the sensual, luxurious freedom of sleeping in the nude. I may never wish to sleep any other way again.

And, for the first time in thirty years, I might just possibly be ready to share that freedom with someone else.

—————

* Doug *

Alex calls me Friday night to ask if we can meet somewhere for a drink Sunday instead of spending our standing date at my place as usual. I'm not sure how I feel about this disruption to my routine, but I agree, largely out of curiosity about his motive for requesting the change of venue. We certainly won't be able to pursue our usual Sunday activities at any bar, even the one or two shadier ones in town. For some incoherent reason, possibly just because it's the last place I met anyone for a drink, I suggest the bar at the Lexington Hotel, where I first made Larry's acquaintance.

When Alex slides into his seat across the table from me at the Lexington, I can tell at once that more than our meeting place has changed. This is an Alex I've never seen before: awkward, diffident, unable to meet my eye for more than a few seconds at a time, fidgeting with his drink. After a few minutes of awkward, forced small talk, he finally blurts out:

"Doug. I want you to know. I like you a lot. I mean, I'd hate for you to think I didn't... I've really enjoyed all the time we've spent together."

All the howling in ecstasy he'd done these last ten months was kind of a tip-off, I think, but I'm intrigued. Alex is either about to break it off or declare love to me. While he visibly struggles to voice his thoughts, I find myself abstractedly wondering which of those alternatives I might find more unwelcome. I'm still turning the possibilities around in my head when Alex steels himself and looks me full in the face for the first time.

"I've met somebody."

Ah. Of course.

Now that the plug has been pulled it all comes gushing out, but his eyes are already telling me the whole story, without the help of words. This isn't the cocky, assured, coolly sexual bottom boy I thought I knew. These are the eyes of young man in the first flush of love, warm, vulnerable, and alive with wonder.

I lay my hand on top of Alex's, saying his name as calmly as I can manage and interrupting his halting explanation of how The One happened into his life. He stutters to a halt and stares at me apprehensively.

"I'm glad for you," I tell him.

He looks at me in disbelief. C'mon, Doug, that look says. No man likes to hear he's lost out to a rival.

"I am," I reassure him. "Not that I won't miss spending time with you—'cause believe me, I will. But if this is the real deal between you and...?"

"Richard."

"Richard," I repeat. Naturally. Not Rick, Rich, Ricky, or Dick. Classic gay. Ah, well.

"Richard's a lucky man," I tell Alex, surprising myself with a small, sharp pang of regret. "If being with him is what's right for you, then go for it. I never asked you for any commitment, and I don't want you to feel like you're under any obligation to me. We've had great times together," and I surprise myself again with a rush of warm sentiment as I remember each of those times, in glorious, salacious detail, "and I'll always be grateful for them. But you don't have to worry about my feelings. I'll be fine."

Alex expected me to fight. He expected me to feel hurt, betrayed. I can read it in the open book of his face. Right now he doesn't know whether to feel anxious or relieved that I'm taking this so well.

"Is that all you had to tell me?" I enquire archly.

He nods, eyes still puppylike and uncertain. God, he's so young.

"Then what are you still doing here?" I smile and arch my eyebrows. "Go get 'im."

He smiles in turn and stands up to leave. Surprises me by pouncing in for a quick, fierce kiss and a whispered "thank you." And, just like that, Alex is gone.

I finish my drink, hesitate, order a second, and sip it leisurely, staring out the window at the late spring evening. My Sunday routine has been broken yet again, and I'm at a loss, not ready to return to my apartment, but not knowing what else to do with myself.

I should be thinking about Alex, but his is not the face occupying my thoughts. Instead I'm remembering Larry, sprawled across the hotel bed, sweaty, disheveled, and blissful, eyes wide and shining with wonder. Why him?

Oh. Because that's the same expression Alex was wearing just now. Ron Gordon must have seen that look on Larry's face countless times. Perhaps that was what made him fall in love in the first place—the spectacle of a beautiful man overcome by wonder.

The theme for Thomas's damn aria drifts through my brain.Agitato, raging, swirling. Everything someone would feel and express when they lose someone close to them, right?

Wrong. Oh, how wrong I was. How did I not see it before?

That anger has its roots in a place of vulnerability, of tenderness. What my aria has needed all this time is simply a countermelody, something lyrical to remind the audience of what truly lies between the lines of heartbreak and anger: the irreplaceable love that has just been lost. A melody that hearkens back to the simple wonder of two people finding one another against all odds, the first duet between a pair of matched souls.

For the first time, I wonder just what kind of expression my own face might have been wearing that sweaty, sultry afternoon in Austin.

* * *

May 4, 2010

Dear Larry,

If it's not too great an imposition, might I come visit you sometime this summer? I've had some new thoughts about the musical setting that I would love to share with you. More urgently, however, I think the last time we saw one another, you showed me something very important, and I've only now begun to realize it. I solemnly swear I will be on my very best behavior. Unless, of course, you feel like misbehaving, in which case you may consider me wholeheartedly at your disposal.

Yours very truly,

Doug

* * *

May 5, 2010

Dear Doug,

Please come. I look forward to hearing the fruits of your labor, but even more to seeing you. I can assure you that misbehavior is not only permitted but most definitely expected.

Affectionately,

Larry

THE BEGINNING