When Love Takes Over Ch. 10

A couple of bewildering hours later, I emerged from Saks with enough clothing to get through a week or two of work, with a couple outfits worthy of a date night or an evening at the club thrown in for good measure, not to mention a credit card bill that was large enough to turn my stomach. A few things had to be altered, but Jude promised they would be delivered to Ben's house well before the lunch on Wednesday. Considering the fact that I had spent the equivalent of several months worth of the average mortgage, I was happy to hear that.

By this time, it was late afternoon, so I decided to head back to Ben's. He wasn't home yet from work, but he had given me a key. I let myself into the empty house, spread my supplies out on the dining room table, and got to work. When Ben finally arrived home, he was enthusiastic in his praise of my new look. In fact, he was so enthusiastic that I self consciously wondered how bad had I looked before.

I didn't see Reed until Tuesday night. He had been busy with meetings through most of the day, and I had been busy hitting various design vendors around town gathering samples. When Ben and I met him for dinner at Mr. B's, an old school restaurant in the French

Quarter and one of my favorites, I was somehow very aware of my new clothes and haircut. The look in his eye indicated his approval, but he said nothing more than a smiling "You look great" before launching into discussing tomorrow's client meeting.

New Orleans has a very large and active gay community, at all levels. And the A-List gays, at least the business oriented ones, periodically hosted fundraising luncheons. The focus of the fundraising varied from political issues to AIDS related charities to other humanitarian efforts, but honestly, the real focus was always on A-List gays networking with other A-Lists gays. I had always hated these sort of functions, but Reed had convinced me they were a necessary evil, and apparently Nigel and John, our prospective clients and prospective New Orleans hoteliers, agreed with him, accepting his invitation to join our table.

I had ridden with Ben who was my escort into the hotel hosting the luncheon, and I admit I was a bit nervous walking into the room. Though I was confident that several hundreds of dollars of grooming and clothing, not to mention the loss of thirty or so pounds, meant that I was looking my best, I also realized that this was the first time I was facing these people after breaking up with Reed. I also realized that the vast majority of the people in the room knew exactly what had caused that breakup, who had caused that breakup, and exactly how that breakup had gone down. New Orleans is, in many ways, a very small town; and cuckold is not a fun role to play.

But a large amount of money was at stake, and I had faced bigger challenges in life, so I slapped on my game face and headed into battle. After meeting Nigel and Greg, however, I quickly realized that my game face wasn't necessary. They were, in fact, warm, delightful, and welcoming. Together for decades, their affection for each other was palpable. Nigel, a proper Englishman, was tall, slender, with a full shock of white hair. Greg was quite a bit shorter, quite a bit plumper, and quite a bit balder, but definitely the more lively of the pair.

"So nice to meet you," Nigel intoned after Reed, who had arrived before us, introduced me.

"We're big fans of your work," Greg interjected.

"Yes," said Nigel. "We had seen your previous projects and weren't aware that you were not personally involved with this one."

"Aww shucks," I said, slipping into an exaggerated Southern drawl. "Those kind of compliments will turn a simple country boy's head." They laughed.

Lunch went well; we discussed the project, and I felt I had a good grasp of their objections to the initial design as well as a good idea of what they would like. But the Dauphine Cottages were not the only topic of conversation, and I found them to be just fun people to hang out with. After lunch was over, they they headed off to check out the items and services that were available for the silent auction for the charity du' jour while Ben, Reed, and I stayed at our table.

"Shit." I heard Ben whisper as I checked my phone to see if Chance had texted me. I was disappointed to see that the answer was "NO." Not that I had texted him, but still. I looked up at Ben's exclamation. John, fucking John, was headed to our table.

"Hi, Ben," he said.

Ben nodded curtly. "John."

"Brandon, you're looking good," he said, eyes appraising me with an unflattering look of surprise as he realized that his statement was actually accurate.

"Excuse me," I said pushing my chair back from the table as he put his hand on Reed's shoulder. "I need some air."

Apparently "air" is synonymous with Scotch, because instead of going outside, I headed straight for the bar and ordered some Macallan.

"Are you okay?" Ben asked, sidling in beside me as I sipped my drink.

"I guess so," I said as I watched John lead Reed toward a secluded corner of the ballroom. They seemed to be engaged in an intense conversation, John frequently reaching out to touch Reed's arm. Periodically, Reed would glance over toward Ben and me, a guilty look on his face.

"Be honest," I said putting my empty glass down and motioning toward the bartender for a refill. "Is Reed still" I paused, carefully ignoring the word "fucking" that I really wanted to use and choosing another one, "seeing John?"

"Honestly?" Ben said. "I don't know. As far I as know, he's not seeing anyone. But I didn't know that he was seeing John the first time, so I'm not really your best source of information. It doesn't really matter, though, does it, unless you're planning to reconcile. If you really want to know, maybe you should ask Reed."

I stared at Reed and John as I sipped my drink. "But that's the real problem, isn't it? How can I trust his answer? But you're right about one thing, it doesn't really matter anymore. "

The rest of the luncheon went smoothly, but before I headed out with Ben, Reed took me aside.

"Look," he said, "I'm sorry about that thing with John. It's...well, I mean...we both work in real estate, and I can't avoid seeing him sometimes. I'm sorry.."

Before he could continue, I interrupted him, "It's really none of my business who you see, why you see them, or where you see them. Honestly, it's okay. It was just a bit of a shock more than anything." Judging by the look on his face, my calm acceptance was more upsetting to him than an anger filled rant.

In any case, the next few days were filled with so much work as I prepared for our presentation to Nigel and Greg on Sunday that I hardly had time to eat and sleep, much less worry about my love life. I did break down on Wednesday afternoon and call Chance, but there was no answer. I wasn't sure exactly what I wanted to say, so I didn't leave a message. It did make me realize how much I missed seeing and talking with him, but I was soon able to disappear back into my project.

I admit I was excited when my phone rang on Thursday morning, and I recognized his home number on caller i.d., but it wasn't actually him. It was Miss Pauline.

"Hello, Brandon."

"Hi, Miss Pauline," I responded a bit confused since she rarely called me. "Is everything okay?"

"Of course. I just wanted to know if you were coming to church and lunch on Sunday so I knew how much to cook."

"I wish I could, but I'm not leaving New Orleans until Sunday afternoon."

"Oh, that's a shame. Are you enjoying your trip?"

"Well, it's not really a pleasure trip, I'm here to work."

"Work?" she asked.

"I think I told you my ex..." here I stumbled over what word to use. I had found Miss Pauline surprisingly liberal in many of her views on things, including homosexuality, but she tended to use euphemisms like "friend" and "roommate" to refer to same sex partners. "...friend and I had...well, still have a business together, and he had a big deal go south on him. I'm down here to help salvage it."

"Oh," she said brightly, "I see. Since you're busy, I won't keep you any longer, but make sure to come over for supper one night when you get back. And if you're driving in after dark, be safe."

"I'm planning to leave right after lunch, so I should be back by 7 or so. It should still be daylight when I get home."

"Good luck on your deal and drive safe. I'll make sure to remember you in my prayers."

"Thanks, Miss Pauline, I really appreciate that."

The rest of the week went by in a blur of picking paint samples, drafting floor plans, preparing renderings, etc., but by time of the presentation to Nigel and Greg at the cottages on Sunday morning, I was confident that we had knocked it out of the park. They agreed, and our luncheon afterwards was a definitely one of celebration. There was still a huge amount of work to be done, especially if we were to make the mid-October deadline. I would definitely need to travel Dallas, the closest major design center by early next week, but for now, I could breathe knowing the deal was back on

With a 5 hour drive facing me, I limited my champagne to one glass. Reed pressured me to spend one more night in town so we could really celebrate, but after a week in New Orleans, I was ready for home and some peace and quiet.

When I left the city, Nigel, Greg and Reed were still celebrating, having been joined by Ben and his partner Don who had arrived home on Saturday from a business trip. I did feel a little pang as I thought of them relaxing in the courtyard of a wine bar as I navigated traffic, but by the time I was driving through the green tunnels of a Mississippi highway created by the old oaks arching overhead, I could feel a certain tension fading away. And as I pulled into silent driveway of my childhood home and stepped in the still, quiet yard, I felt like I could really breathe again.

I was still sorting laundry into wash and dry clean piles, when my phone dinged indicating a message. I reached for it, expecting more pics of the revelers...they had periodically sent me pics as they "celebrated" throughout the quarter, including a stop to see the go go boys as the Corner Pocket, but it was from Chance.

The text read: We passed by and saw your light on. Momma wanted to know if you wanted her to send over leftovers for dinner.

I felt a rush of joy finally hearing from him, but I was a little irritated, too. A whole week goes by with radio silence, and now he wants to act like nothing happened. Before I could make my decision, the phone dinged again. Another text from Chance: It's chicken and dumplings and pecan pie.

My mouth watered. True, the food in New Orleans is world famous, but nothing beats Miss Pauline's chicken and dumplings, except for maybe her pecan pie. I decided it would be foolish to hold a grudge.

Sounds good, I texted. I'm going to grab a quick shower. Door is unlocked.

It had been a long day and a long drive, which called for a long shower. I spent most of it trying to decide how I should act around Chance: angry? apologetic? like nothing had happened? But since my core problem is that I wasn't sure if anything had really happened in the first, place I was just driving myself crazy. After showering, I put on an old tank top and a pair of cutoffs. Dressing up the past week had been fun, but it felt good to dress for comfort without having to worry about style. As I finished up in the bathroom, I could hear someone rattling around in the kitchen and realized Chance was here.

Since I was barefoot, I made no noise walking down the hall, and my "Hey, Chance" startled him. He turned and his eyes widened.

"Holy Shit," he said. "You cut your hair."

I raised my hand self consciously to my head. I had, over the past week, gotten used to it and had forgotten how different the severe hair cut and the trimmed beard made me look.

"Yes," I said stupidly.

"It looks really nice," he said, looking at me intently. "Really nice." He reached out a hand, almost touching it, but stopped himself. Still, he eyes held warmth as he studied me. After a moment, he turned and went back toward the covered dishes on the counter.

"Do you want me to heat up the dumplings?" he asked. "I know you sometimes like your leftovers cold. It beats me how anybody in their right minds can eat cold chilli," he continued.

"Heated please," I said walking to the fridge. "Do you want a beer or a Coke?"

"You want company?" he asked. "I figured you'd be tired after the drive and would want to be alone."

"No," I said, choosing beers for both of us and handing him one. "I've had plenty of alone time for a while." As he sat a place for me and finished preparing the food which included a salad along with the chicken, I fiddled with my phone and put on some music, some classic country. As Kitty Wells sang about God not making honky tonk angels, we sat down at the table.

Conversation was a bit stilted at first, but after the beer and some time, we both relaxed. I told him about my week and my plans for the next, including a trip to Dallas on Tuesday.

When I mentioned driving to Dallas, he frowned. "I assume you're taking your dad's old truck. It doesn't have cruise does it? and the seats don't recline do they?"

"Hey," I said. "it's a good, solid work truck. I just had it serviced."

"I know," he said, "But it's not really a comfortable highway vehicle. Why don't you take mine?"

Chance's truck was a redneck's dream, a double cab with plush leather seats, chrome rims, a sunroof, and a stereo with every bell and whistle. He treated it like a baby, washing and polishing almost weekly, and sparing it from heavy duty by using a beater for actual hauling.

"I couldn't do that."

"Come on, why not? I can use yours if I need to. You'd be more comfortable. Plus it has Onstar and GPS built in. I'd feel better."

"I'll be fine, but thank you."

We talked a bit more before he left, and it was like old times. When I walked him to his truck, he stopped and turned.

"I missed you," he said, and enveloped me in an embrace. He felt so good, all hard muscle and spicy scent. I melted against him. "Me,too," I said. We held each other for a minute, and I thought he was going to kiss me, but he didn't. However, he gave me a warm smile and a wink before he headed out.

I spent Monday doing all the small jobs that a week away entail. Luckily, at this point in the summer, the yard didn't need mowing, but I did have to clean the house and make the drive into Russville to drop off things at the cleaners. I hadn't seen Chance, but he had called on Monday night to find out when I was leaving and to see if I needed him to do anything. Before I could load my truck on Tuesday morning, though, he pulled into the driveway.

I was pleased to see him, though a little harried trying to get on the road, and wondering why he was there. As he got out of his truck, I noticed that the vehicle, always spotless, was actually gleaming. Before I could say anything, he walked toward me and held out his keys.

"It's fully gassed, and I got it detailed. I've even set the satellite radio to the Broadway channel for you. And it would make me feel better."

I started to protest, but he looked so pleased, and my own truck looked even shabbier next to the shining vehicle beside it. Plus, it was so much more comfortable. I hated driving without cruise control.

As I took the keys, his face broke out in a huge grin. "All right," I said, "I'll take it just this once."

In moments, I was loaded, had climbed up into the massive cab, and had headed out to Dallas. Half an hour later, as I settled into my plush seat, slightly reclined, with the cruise control set and blasting Idina Menzel's "Defying Gravity," I had to admit I was glad to have borrowed the truck. It was a huge hit among the valets in Dallas, garnering lustful glances that my Mercedes had never earned in past visits. But the best part was that every time I climbed into it, I was reminded of Chance.

I spent a few days in Dallas, finalizing my finish selections and purchasing furnishings for the cottages. After my return home, I spent the next week or so working on technical drawings, finish schedules, and electrical plans, not to mention coordinating the shipping and installation of furnishings. Thanks to technology, I could do a lot of my work remotely, but I would need to return to New Orleans soon to see how work had progressed and to make sure everything was being implement. After returning Chance's truck, I hadn't seen him, though we had talked and texted. I have to admit, I allowed the project to consume me, and when the phone rang on a Friday night, I realized it had been days since I had seen him, and when Miss Pauline asked me over for dinner, I readily accepted. I needed to head back to New Orleans on Monday, and I definitely wanted to see him before I left.

Dinner was good, meatloaf with fresh vegetables from the garden and Miss Pauline's yeast rolls. We talked a bit about my project, but Miss Pauline wanted to brag about Chance's catering. Apparently since his help with the prom, several people had called wanting him to help with parties and a wedding. So far he was working out Miss Pauline's house and the large kitchen at the church, but if he was serious, he would soon have to find or build a catering kitchen. We discussed some possibilities, such as building something here, a couple of locations in our own small downtown area (if you can call a cluster of storefronts around a pair of intersections a downtown) or a location in Russville.

By the time dessert rolled around, cobbler with fresh peaches and whipped cream, we hadn't arrived at a solution, but I had enjoyed a wonderful evening.

"Thank you so much for inviting me for dinner," I said to Miss Pauline, lounging back in my chair. I've been so busy lately, I've been living off sandwiches and oatmeal."

She made a "tsk tsk" noise. "Chance has been the same, too. That's why I decided you both should have a proper meal. You're neither of you spring chickens. You need to slow down. You know what they say "All work and no play make Jack a dull boy.""

Chance and I exchanged glances at woman in her 70s reminding us that we weren't so young anymore, but I did feel she had a point. I mean, this project was possibly the most important one in my life, but I hadn't really taken a day off since before the prom, which was weeks ago at this point.

"I know," she said, brightly as she brought in coffee. "Tomorrow is Saturday night. Y'all boys should go do something. Sow a few wild oats." She gave us both a disapproving glance, "You don't have many left...don't waste them."

We both protested that we had too much to do, but before I headed home, somehow Chance and I had agreed to spend Saturday night in Shreveport.

"Does your mother realize that she's sending us to a den of iniquity?" I asked as I walked into the living room to greet Chance. We had been vague about our plans to Miss Pauline, but had decided to hit Central Station, Shreveport's biggest gay club that boasted dueling bars, one devoted to country music, the other to the latest dance hits.

"Knowing my mother, my answer would be that yes, she does. And probably approves." He turned to me and stared.

I had dressed carefully for tonight. I might be a joking about our destination, but I was actually very pleased to be heading out for a night on the town. It had been a long time, and I wanted to enjoy it, including the preparation for the night. I had gotten my hair trimmed that morning and clipped my beard. I had also spent some time picking my outfit. The jeans were easy, I picked a form fitting, flattering, and hideously expensive pair that Jude had selected, but I wasn't happy with any of his shirt options. I then found in the back of closet a vintage blue plaid cowboy shirt with pearl snaps that I had worn to country concerts when I was in college and that had survived my stepmother's various garage sales. Since the weight loss, it fit just right, and the color was very flattering. Finally, for some edge, I wore my old brown work boots. Probably a bit too hipster for someone edging too close to 40 for comfort, but I had been pleased with my reflection.