Saturday, July 31, 2010

Part 1 - "Who I let fuck me is my own prerogative."

I leaned against the bar anxiously. He was supposed to meet me at eleven and it was already eleven fifteen. Nowhere to be seen and so like him to stand me up. Damnit, too, because he had the E and I needed it more than anything after the day I'd had. The Sam Adams wasn't really cutting it anymore.

The dance floor was fairly empty for one o’clock on a Tuesday. Twinks For Free Night usually meant the floor was crawling with bleached blonde brats ripping off their clothes at the slightest provocation.

Needless to say, I tended to avoid Tuesday nights with a vengeance.

But he'd said he would meet me here. And I'm a man of my word even if he isn‘t.

“Dooverr.” Cool arms slid around my chest from behind and that soft purr right against my ear gave me goose bumps. I turned around to glare at him.

“Where the fuck've you been?” I asked, sulkily.

“Well, I'm sorry, your majesty. I'm a busy man,” he grinned. He plopped down next to me and took the bottle from my hand, completely invading my personal space and downing my beer.

“Something to ease the horror of having to breathe,” I said as I held out my hand in expectance.

“So demanding,” he sighed, then shook his head thoughtfully before grinning again. “I like that in a man.”

He laughed as he dug around in the pockets of his incredibly-too-tight jeans. “Even if you do only want me for one thing.”

I rolled my eyes, pulled my wallet out and watched anxiously, waiting to have my sorrows drowned, my senses heightened, some peace restored.

He smacked one pill onto the bar in front of me and shrugged. “That's it.”

I looked at him like he was joking -- a very sick joke to play on a desperate man -- but he just shrugged again.

“That's all you've got?” I asked.

“Twenty-five, please,” he held out his hand.

“Come on, Fenton, you have got to have more in your possession for your favorite gay man on the verge of crisis. This is important!”

“I have more in my possession for the rest of the gay city, greedy boy. But this is your ration.” He paused and gave me a very pointed look, before adding, “I will not contribute any more to your delinquency than absolutely necessary, Dover Allen.” Then he stood, planted a firm kiss on my cheek and handed me back my empty bottle. “You know where I'll be if you need me.”

“No, I don’t,” I glared at him. When your best friend is a part time dealer, you‘re supposed to get great rates and lots of good shit. Not have things doled out to you in rations, carefully moderated and controlled. “You always mysteriously disappear,” I said, sulkily.

“Well, it sounded good anyway, didn’t it?” He grinned. I thought about smacking it off his face, but that could only get uglier and could really hamper the drug flow for quite a while. I didn’t feel like risking it.
“Your twenty,” I called after him as he trotted off toward the back of the club.

“Twenty-five!” he called back. “And I'll get it from you at home. Business awaits.” He laughed that sweet, innocent laugh of his as he took off into the masses of bobbing blonde heads and I saw him make a sharp turn left just before the entrance to the back room.

“Fenton Avery!” I yelled as he headed for the back staircase. For fuck’s sake, we'd talked about this...
He turned again, grinned and waved, but damn him because he kept walking.

I popped the pill and swallowed it dry, abandoning my empty beer bottle for the cat walk above the floor. There, looking down on sweating, pumping skin and muscle, I scanned the back walls and corners for Fenton and his scary sugar daddy wannabe, Tem.

Now, here’s the story on Tem. Or should I say -- as Fen and I both had just found out the week before --- Templeton. And oh, yes, you would be right in immediately thinking of that slimy shyster rat from Charlotte’s Web, because that’s exactly what he was. Especially now, but even before.. my belief has been that anyone with the name Templeton who also wears sparkling pants and midriff shirts... at thirty NINE, is not someone I want MY Fenton hanging around with. But I'd have to ream Fenton for it later because this time he was no where to be found.

I leaned back over the railing, surveying the sweat-dripping dance floor. It took a few minutes, but eventually I caught the eye of a half naked twinkie toddler. He winked at me a couple of times before dropping the guy he was with and coming up to drag me back down to the floor with him.

I'd seen him before, though he was usually in the shadow of a rather prestigious looking guy about twice his age. The guy somehow managed to seem both constantly bored and ridiculously possessive all the time. Also, and most notable, the guy looked capable of easily benching at least 600 pounds. Really, because of that alone, I'd never considered the kid an option. In general, I liked to leave Club 11 with as many limbs still intact as possible.

Though, I thought, if I did have to have a toddler so uniformly devoid of color, this one would be pretty near the top of the list.

As he gyrated against me, his pale, hairless body pressing close to mine, I began to glimpse the reason behind the old man's possessive glaring. If he were mine, I could see myself acting pretty similarly. Minus the perpetual air of boredom. Many things this kid was – like not a day over 19, if even that – but tedious, dull and monotonous didn't seem to be any of them. How anyone could even manage a few stray vibes of boredom with this kid all over them was beyond me.

And maybe that's the E talking, but I've taken a shitload of E over my lifetime and I like to think, that for the most part, I've gained the ability to tell the difference between drug induced stupor and sexually charged reality.

I like to think so. For the most part.

I spent about forty five minutes dancing with him, making out and generally, imitating all the guys I'd ever seen with twinks and whole-heartedly despised.

But I was suddenly beginning to understand. Like all I'd needed was this one hit of ecstasy, this one dance. I'm not sure what brings it out, whether it's the overall paleness, the small frame... those charming, sweet features... but something in the makeup of a natural born twinkie boy just stirs the gut of what seems to be almost every gay man in America.

Our lips were a bit locked when I opened my eyes and saw Fenton coming toward us. I thought about pulling away to tell Fen to fuck off. Um, fuck off....... please, that is. But right at that moment, Twinkie unzipped my jeans and plunged his hand in, my gasp getting caught between our mouths. Which was, needless to say, a bit of a distraction.

“Dover!” Fenton shouted over the music. And when I didn't respond, “DOVER!” He pulled Twinkie off me without any thought and shoved him aside.

I swear, sometimes I could just smack him.

“Fenton!” I shouted back. “What the fuck do you think you're doing?!” I pulled Twinkie back to me and damnitall if I didn't throw an unmistakably possessive arm over his chest. “I'll give you your fucking twenty later. Go find your own fuck. It's not like boys are in short supply around here.”

“If they’re not in short supply, why are you so stingy with yours? And it’s twenty-five!” he yelled, angrily at me. Then he grabbed my arm in spite of my protests and jerked me from the kid, pulling me all the way outside the club doors without even allowing me to get my hand stamped. Fuck him for it, too.

“Tem just dumped me!” he wailed once we'd reached fresh air. He burst into tears right there in front of the club.

I HATE it when he does that. It is the absolute WORST. He flips out, pisses me off royally, and then turns into a little kid, all needy and pathetic, usually completely dissolving into tears. He knew by then though that I only really fell for it in private.

For right then, I sighed and rolled my eyes. “You piss me off,” I said, quietly, gathering him into my chest where he started to sob in earnest. “Calm down until we get home, would you? You're causing a scene.”

“Like you NEVER cause a scene,” he spat at me and I held him still, keeping him from snapping up all angrily and shouting at me again. I shouldn’t have worried so much. It was a gay club after all, entitling it’s members to stray queen-outs every once in a while. The problem was that Fenton had reached his quota somewhere mid-last year. His struggling subsided after a few moments and he heaved a sigh. “So, it's okay for you to fuck men in public but it’s not okay for me to cry in front of a rancid gay club.” He sulked, standing up straighter and wiping at his face. “If you really feel that way, why don't you just go back inside? Your majesty,” he added angrily.

“First of all, do not call me that. And second, we'd have to pay again to get back in,” I pointed out, irritably. “Because someone neglected to stop long enough to think about getting our hands stamped. Third, would you quit being a drama queen and come on?” I pulled him back to me and hugged him, briefly.

“You are the meanest man I know,” he gulped and continued rubbing at his wet face, sullenly. “You hate me.”

I pulled his face toward mine and grinned at him, shaking my head. “Yeah. You're right. I do. Now come on.”

We walked slowly across town, toward the subway.

“Are we going home?” Fen asked after a couple of blocks. I swear he asks stupid questions sometimes just to get me to talk to him.

“Anywhere else you had in mind at two thirty AM on a Wednesday morning?” I took his hand and pulled him away from the curb. “Quit walking on the edge like that. You know you only do it to piss me off.”

“I like to balance. It feels... good.”

“You're drunk off your ass. You have enough feel-good in you to last without having to endanger your life any more. I don't care how much you want to.”

He shook my hands off and glared. “I don't care about you.”

“Don't make me fight with you out here in the middle of the street, Fenno.” I said, mildly. “It won't be pretty.” He knew they were all empty threats.

“You hate me.”

“We already established that.”

“You wish I was dead.”

“Which is why I want you away from the curb where you could be hit by oncoming traffic. Exactly. That's because I want to see you shot in a downtown Manhattan drive-by instead. Which is so likely. You're very perceptive tonight, Fenno.”

“Well,” he sniffled again and took the hand I held out to him, leaning into my side as we walked. “I hate you then.”

“And you wish I was dead?” I smirked, wrapping my arm back around him.

“Probably,” he yawned.

“Well, let's wait to wish me all the way dead until you're home safe, in bed, huh?”

-----------

He started to cry again almost as soon as we got inside the door of our apartment building. It had been in the works since we were six subway stops from home and he'd started retelling the story of Templeton’s “dumping” him.

I unlocked our door and led him in ahead of me by the wrist, closing and re-locking it behind us. At that point, he was sobbing again – mostly from all the cheap booze and X he'd no doubt taken – and I started to undress him while tugging him along to our bedroom.

We shared the apartment with Sam (Sam, Sam the theater man) because it was ridiculous to even consider paying village rent alone, or even doubled up. The problem was with the fact that it was only a two bedroom apartment. So, Fenton and I also shared a room.

Sam, to my relief, wasn't home. He was one in a string of psychotic roommates we'd had over the past six months and didn't seem to be turning out much better than the rest. Every night, he came home – clarification: when he came home -- it was with a different man. And never were they out of theatre costume.

I sat Fenton down on the edge of my bed and told him to lift his arms, which he did.

“I just don't understaaand, Doveerr,” he was sobbing as I pulled his shirt over his head. “Whyy would he dooo this to meee?” He broke off into coughing and I had to shake my head at him. Poor thing works himself into fits.

“Why do you do this to yourself, Fenno?” I asked, softly. “You do it all the time, you silly little monkey.” I unbuttoned his jeans and had him lay down so I could shimmy them off him, a difficult task as their tightness tends to make them suction to his thighs.

“I didn't do anything! He dumped me, Dov!” he whined through his tears.

I sighed and looked at him, lying there on his back, crying. Drunk and high. Ridiculously emotional. I tossed his pants to the chair in the corner and pulled back the covers on my bed. “Get in.”

“Do you think he'll want me back tomorrow?” Fenton sniffled as he crawled across and slid underneath the blankets.

“Judging from his record, I'd say no later than 10:00am,” I leaned over and kissed his forehead while I unbuttoned my shirt.

Fenton yawned widely. He looks small and helpless when he yawns like that. Especially buried in a bed full of blankets wearing only underwear. It made me feel all fiercely over-protective of him.

“He does this to you almost monthly now, Fenno,” I said as I turned off the light. “It actually seems to be in direct relation to your cash flow.”

“You just hate him 'cause you hate everybody I date,” he yawned. He cuddled up to me as soon as I got into bed and plastered himself tightly on top of my body.

“Yeah, I try my best to make your life as miserable as possible,” I smiled. His weight on top of my chest made it a little difficult to breathe, but it was nice to have skin to touch sometimes. And when it's Fenno, I don't always care that much about not being able to breathe. I stroked his back with my fingers and kissed his hair again.

“I know you hate me,” he whispered.

“Go to sleep, you little sea urchin.”

“If I'm a sea urchin then you're a.. you're..” Another yawn overtook him and he paused to give into it. “You're a mean man.”

I chuckled beneath him and covered his mouth when he tried to speak again. He's a pest, that one.

--------------

“Tem called.”

I jumped, covering my heart with my hand and taking a sharp breath. “You scared the fucking daylights out of me, Fenton. Would you knock or wear shoes or something?”

“It's 5:00am,” he grinned, sleepily. “Nobody does either of those things at such ungodly hours. You just need to get with it and buy me that cow bell you keep talking about, your majesty.”

“Probably,” I said, turning back to my work. “And if you call me that again...”

“You'll what?”  He grinned and came in, setting his coffee cup directly on top of a stack of papers I needed. Preferably without coffee rings. He leaned against my desk and crossed his arms over his chest.

“I'll throw you out onto the street,” I said. “That's what.”

“Really?” He stopped for a second to think, before saying, “Well, then how much money would you give me so I could eat?”

“None, Fenton! That's the point. Dear fuck, you're annoying this morning. Don't you have anything better to do?” I tried to keep from laughing. Somehow, in spite of being The Absolute MOST Annoying Person I Know, he was also my absolute favorite.

“You say that every morning. Drink that,” He nodded at the coffee on my stack of papers.

“I gave up caffeine yesterday,” I said, blithely. It wasn't too much of a lie. His coffee is always shit.

“You say that every morning, too. Drink it. Last night, you were all begging me for anything I had and now you refuse a very viable narcotics replacement in favor of work?”

“Yes.” I couldn't keep the exasperated laughter from my voice. “Now, go away, would you?”

He stood, watching me silently for a few moments before twirling my chair around to face him, interrupting a sentence I was typing. “What's bugging you so much?”

“God, Fenton. Nothing's bugging me. I'm working. I do this a lot, you know? Work. It provides income. Income keeps this apartment around for us to sleep and eat in occasionally. It's a pretty nice exchange if you ask me--”

“Last night you said you were a gay man in crisis. And I was a bit preoccupied. Which, by the way, I am sorry for. It was a bad time to get fucked up--”

“Is there ever a good time?”

“I don't know. You're the one who was begging me for more than just that one pill. I'd say you know quite a bit about good times to get fucked up.”

“Go. Away, Fenton. I'm working.” I turned back to my laptop and flashed him a glare.

“Tell me what's wrong and I will. I'll go off myself on the roof. You'll never have to deal with me again. As long as I know what's bothering you.”

“You're bothering me. Go do something constructive. Wash the dishes.”

“It's Sam's turn. And anyhow do you know what time it is?”

“Do you know time it is?” I interrupted. “What are you even doing out of bed? And Sam never washes the dishes. On his turn or otherwise. Anyway, I don't care what you do, just go away. I have a deadline right now and you're fucking it all up. If I lose my train of thought—”

“Oh. My. God. It's September again, isn't it?! Oh, Dover...”

I sighed, heavily and quit staring at the computer screen to lean back in my chair and cover my eyes.

“Baby, are you okay?” He asked, worriedly. He pushed my chair away from the desk and straddled my lap. “I'm so sorry, I should've known. I totally forgot.” He was looking into my face, trying to appraise my tired appearance. I'd been up since 3:00am.

“It's fine, Fenno,” I said, wearily. “I'm fine. Your E last night was, ah.. helpful.”

“It was good stuff. Are you sure you're okay?” He took my face in both his hands and stroked my cheeks with his thumbs like he expected me to dissolve into tears at any moment.

“I'm really fine, Fen,” I repeated and kissed him firmly, making a face at the fuzzy film on his teeth. “I swear. It was three years ago. Three years is a long time, you know? 36 months, approximately 144 weeks, 1,095 days, um.. a lot of hours and minutes.”

“Anyone who comes up with all those statistics and then memorizes them, is so not okay, Dover, and you know it. Three years is not that long. In the grand scheme of things, it's like what? Three percent of your whole life? Three percent. That's it.”

“Three percent is a lot.”

“Not when it comes to lives.”

“Especially when it comes to lives.”

“Life is short!”

“Exactly. Now listen,” I spared him a half smile and took him by the arms. “I want you to go brush your teeth, they're furry. And put on some clothes. Try clean ones this morning, huh?”

He gave me one last appraising look and nodded. “Should I take a shower too, your majesty?”

I rolled my eyes and pushed him off my lap. “Yes. Go bathe in the river Jordan. Thus saith the Lord.”

He thought for a second. “I think the Hudson'll have to do. Will that work? Your Majesty?” He started for the door.

“Dip seven times.”

“Seven? It's cold outside this early, Dov, I don't know about tha—”

“Fenton Avery, if you do not GO put clean clothes on and brush your teeth, there will be hell to pay in about five seconds,” I said, only HALF joking.

He turned around, we looked at each other for a moment, and then he bent, quick as a flash, and twisted my bare nipple. Hard, too.

I hissed and reached for his hand to pull him toward me where I could exact some revenge, but he was gone within seconds and I heard laughter and water running down the hall.

“I hate you!” I called after him.

“I know! Your majesty.”

He came back in about ten minutes later in the jeans I'd taken off him the day before and one of my sweaters. It was noticeably too big.

“What did Pimply Templey have to say when he called?” I asked, continuing to type.

“Would you not call him that?“ he sighed. “I should never have told you his real name.“

I laughed. “Templeton is not a real name. It’s a rat name. And you tell me everything. Now tell me what he said.“

Fenton sighed, heavily. “Just how sorry he was, how he didn't mean it, how he was fucked up like I was and people say dumb things when they’re on crack so would I please, please, please have him back? The usual.”

“Crack?!” I blinked. “Uh, first of all, what the hell are you doing--“

“I don’t want to hear it, Dover,” he shook his head at me. “I just don’t want to hear it.“

I sighed. “Fine. What did you say then?” I held out a hand for him, which he took and came to sit on my lap.

“I told him, um...”

“That you hated his guts? You wish he was dead? And, in fact, that he could off himself on the roof so you'd never have to deal with him again?”

Fenton smirked. “No. I told him he should walk too closely to the curb all the way here.” Then he buried his face in my neck, to hide from my coming wrath, I assume.

“You did not tell him he could come here.”

“I kind of did...? But we're leaving as soon as he gets here. For breakfast.”

“At 5:30 in the morning?”

“Morning is usual breakfast time, isn’t it? He has to go to work.”

“Pimply Templey has a job?” I asked, incredulously.

“He doesn’t have pimples! And he has two jobs, actually. For your information.”

“Two jobs? Yet he still needs you for money? Doesn't that tell you something about him...?”

Fenton sat up, lips pursed, eyes narrowed. “Who I let fuck me is my prerogative. If you wish it were you doing the fucking, maybe you should do something about that. Otherwise, cope, Dover. Because regardless of what you think about Tem, I like him.”

“He's using you!” I deliberately ignored the comment made about me.

He glared at me for a moment longer before sighing and subsiding against my chest.

I went back to typing.

“I think I'll write a book and dedicate it to you,” he said a few minutes later, the playful smile returning.

“Entitled, 'Who I Fuck Is Up To Me'?” I chuckled.

“Mmm, I was thinking something more along the lines of, 'The Top Ten Ways to Keep From Becoming Too Deeply Involved In the Sex Lives of Even Your Favoritest Friends.”

“We've had the 'favoritest' discussion, Fenton,” I said, feigning seriousness. “Haven't we?”

He laughed and snuggled up closer to me. “I don't care if it's a word or not.”

“Well, that's a bit long for a book title anyway, don't you think?”

“Probably,” he shrugged.

He laid there against me, half falling asleep until the sound of the buzzer.

I nudged at him gently with my shoulder. “Your playboy is here.”

“Don't call 'im that...” he mumbled, sleepily and sat up to rub his eyes. “Hey, I need that twenty-five.”

“I thought it was twenty. When did you start raising the prices on your favorite friend?”

“Yesterday. When they started raising prices on me. I neeed it, Dover. Are you telling me that wasn't exceptionally good shit?”

I sighed and reached into my back pocket for my wallet. “You're such a beggar.”

The buzzer sounded again and he bolted up to answer it. I heard a quick exchange over the intercom system as I pulled out thirty and got up to give it to him quickly, before Templey got to the door.

“Thanks, Dover,” he grinned at me and stood on tiptoe to kiss my cheek. I kissed his forehead and shook my head at him.

I was hopeless. I'd do anything for that grin. Those eyes.

“Don't you take anything this early in the day,” I called to him over my shoulder on the way back to my computer. “No alcohol either. You've not even come down from last night.”

“Yeah, bye, Dover.” I heard a very distinct eye roll in that tone.

“Yeah, bye...” I mumbled as the door slammed shut. I looked back at the computer screen and tried to remember where I'd been. But my train of thought was completely gone. I couldn't even remember what point I'd been trying to make with the past 3,000 words.

'Damnit, Fenton,’ I thought, irritably. 'No wonder you can't hold a job. It's virtually impossible to get anything done with you around. You're an unholy distraction.'

Unable to regather my thoughts, I called Jesi, a friend of ours who works in the theatre district and lives with her filthy rich great aunt uptown. We met at a coffee shop somewhere in the east village and wandered to Washington Square to sit for a while.

Jesi is fun because she's nothing like you'd think she is. She has short cropped black hair and she always rolls the bottoms of her pant legs up just once. The most surprising bit about her though, is that she's a Christian. But, surprisingly enough (to me, at least) she’s not one of those crazy, “GOD HATES FAGS“ type people. She's just quirky and funny and ridiculously intelligent. In short, she's totally the anti-Christian Christian.
Besides Fenton, Jesi is my favorite person to just talk to. We can ramble together about anything from politics to religion, weather to our personal lives. It’s always comforting and nice to be with her. She makes me feel like a more exciting person just for knowing her.

So, that morning, before her early class and while I should have been finishing up a deadline, I started to tell her about Fenno and Tem. Partially so that I would feel like I wasn't alone worrying about him and partially in hopes that she would volunteer to talk some sense into him.

The problem, however, was that in the retelling, I found myself offering slightly off-topic details. Like how I hated it when Fen wasn't careful with himself, how worried I was about him being with such a shady character as Wimbledon, and how – it was really weird, but – I kept wanting him all to myself.

I regaled poor Jes for at least 45 minutes, barely allowing her a word in edgewise. Breathlessly, hoping against hope, that she would be able to offer some helpful insight.

“FIX IT,” I wanted to tell her.

But I didn't.

Instead, I toed my shoes off and tucked my feet underneath me on the bench, taking a deep breath and a long draw off my coffee.

She was silent for a moment, rolling her cup thoughtfully between her hands. When she began, it was slow and very careful.

“You know, Dover...” She liked to draw my name out. “Doverr,” kind of. “Umm... has it... ever occurred to you...” Her words were choppy and halting. I think she was trying to make sure she was giving me exactly the right ones.

“Has what ever occurred to me?” I asked.

“Has it... ever occurred to you...” she began again, slowly. “That maybe you and Fenton are, um... Maybe the two of you...”

“Say it!” I said, impatiently.

She took a deep breath and then spilled it quickly, “Maybe you're in love with him.” She paused, looking at me tentatively, trying to gauge my reaction. Then, maybe she was trying to soften it, she said, “Just a little?” Again, a pause. “Or.. well, probably a lot. Actually.”

It took me a moment to even gather breath enough to gasp. “N-no!” I stammered. “No! No, no, NO. Fenton and I have been room mates since time immemorial. We're friends! So I love him and sometimes we sleep in the same bed and we kiss each other's lips... that does not mean anything!”

“Did I say anything about the two of you sleeping together and kissing each other?” She sighed. “No, I did not. All that I'm saying is that I see some little... sparks flying around when you talk about him and the Tinsel Town guy together.” She put two fingers to my lips when I tried to protest. “Fenton has always had shady, unsavory, downright greasy and cum stained--”

“Jesica!” I reprimanded her, stunned by her vulgarity. Although, it was a pretty accurate description.

“My point,” she grinned. “Is that he's always had these jerky guys around. You've always known he was a bad boy magnet. He is a bad boy. But... it never bothered you before.

“I mean, we've had the brief, comments-made-in-passing conversations about Fenton's awful taste in men lots of times, but never like this. This, Dover my friend, is an entirely different creature. And you,” she paused and gentled her voice very purposefully. “You are falling for him.” Again with the finger against my lips. “Don't argue with me. I've seen this coming, but I thought that maybe I was crazy. You of all people know how well Fenton can care for himself. He doesn't need anyone looking after him. Period. The fact that you are so worried speaks volumes in and of itself. Do you understand what I'm saying, Dover?”

I looked at her a little peevishly. Of COURSE Fenton needed looking after. And yes, unfortunately, I did understand what she was saying to me.

“Maybe,” she said, carefully. “You're upset about this, not because Fenton tends toward trouble with boys, but because you wish you were the boy he's eating breakfast with right now instead of his drugged out super pimp.”

“Doubtful,” I huffed, nursing my coffee with rapt attention. “You're such a girl, Jes,” I said. “Always wanting to see people in love.” I made an affectionate face in her general direction that she didn't seem to appreciate and added, “Fag hag.”

“Right,” she said, crisply and stood, dusting off her pants. “I'm leaving now. Thank you for the coffee, Dover Allen.”

She started to walk off and I rolled my eyes and snagged her arm. “Jesi,” I sighed. “I was kidding.”

“I figured that. It was still crappy of you.”

“Either way, you forgot this,” I held her bag out to her and she took it, patting my head and smiling.

“Thank you. Now, apologize to me before I'm late for class.

I smirked and stood. “Sorry,” I said with a shrug and bent to kiss her cheek. “I like you. Have fun at class. Thanks for.. sitting with me?”

“Right,” she rolled her eyes and half smiled. “But not for the advice, huh? I love you, Dover. I'm going to be late.” She kissed my cheek back and we waved to each other as she swung her bag over her shoulder and ran off.

----------------

Four or five hours later, Fenno called from seventy-seventh, an emotional wreck.

“He wanted more money and I don't haaave any. All I had was that thirty you gave me, but now even that's gone because he leeeft me with the check. And I got to seventy-seventh but the train stopped and you knooow I can't stand being in a subway car for too long because it's all claustrophobicish and so I had to get out but now I don't have any money to get home because I spent the last of it on my subway ride and Dooover...” he broke off in tears.

“Fenton, stay on the phone. Are you listening, Fenno?” I said, gently

“Should I really have given him that money? Should I have? Was it mean of me not to? Doooveerr...”

“Fenton,” I said again. “Listen to me. Are you listening?”

“Whaat?”

“Where are you, baby?”

“S-seventy-seventh. Dover, why did he do this to me?”

“What line?”

He coughed and choked a little. “I don't know. Green.”

“Fenno, of course you know. Look at the sign over the stop and tell me numbers, not colors.”

“Six. Six train.”

“The six train, seventy-seventh?”

“Are you gonna come get mee?”

“Yes, I am. Now, you stay right there. I'll be there as quick as I can.”

“Take a taxi, Dov...?”

“Promise me you'll stay right where you are. Right. Where. You. Are.” Fenton wasn’t exactly notorious for his ability to properly follow instructions.

“Yes. I promise. Okay? Just cooome.”

“I love you, Fenno,” I said, hurriedly, listening for returned sentiments before I hung up the phone.

Grabbing jacket and house keys, I ran out of the building and straight into the middle of the street to grab the next empty taxi. I got one about thirty seconds later, something of a feat in New York City, and got in, breathlessly ordering the driver to the east side Seventy-seventh St. stop.

He took off and I watched out the window as other taxis and cars flashed around us, cutting us off, honking horns. I imagined Fenno, sitting all alone on the sidewalk, midday on a Thursday afternoon, his back against the wall, his face buried in his arms, sobbing. Poor, sweet little thing.

Jesi would have said that he wasn't innocent by any means. She would have said he brought it on himself. Of course, she would have loved him anyway; if he'd called her she'd be the one spending three thousand bazillion dollars on a cab, but she still wouldn't have recognized what I did.

That he's a baby.

And half the time, he doesn't know what he's doing. He can't always tell ahead of time when nothing good will come from his stupid actions. He isn't always aware of all the consequences.

I watched him crying in my mind and sighed heavily. What had happened recently that made me feel so protective of him? Why was I wanting, all the time, to save him from himself?

But by the time I got to that line of thinking, the driver was on the curb and leaning back over the seat to look at me.

“Are you going to get out or not?”

“Oh, sorry, yes. How much?”

“Fourteen sixty-three.”

I put twenty into his hand and got out, jogging across the street, past the few other people also crossing, and searched for Fenton. I was next to the Subway stop, reached out to touch the sign announcing streets and destinations and train numbers to reassure myself, yet he was nowhere to be found.

'I am going to kill you,' I thought to myself, gritting my teeth. 'I just spent twenty dollars to come find you and now you've taken off to who the fuck knows...' I dug my cell out of the pocket of my jeans and dialed his number.

“Dover?” came the steady, calm answer.

“I'm going to throw you in front of a bus if karma doesn't get to you first,” I said to him, in a very deadly quiet voice.

“What? Why?” He sounded shocked that I would be so angry with him. Like I said, he's like a baby and sometimes, he just doesn't get it.

“WHAT did I tell you?!” I demanded. “WHAT did I just say to you fifteen minutes ago when we hung up?”

“Um.. you said you were coming and...? I don't know. I'm not in the mood for games, Dov.”

“I said, 'stay put', didn't I? Didn't I, Fenton?” By that time, I was marching angrily down the street, shouting into the phone, going no where in particular, just keeping myself from killing passersby.

“I just went down to get a hot dog.”

“Oh? You abandoned post to get a hot dog? You JUST had breakfast!”

“I had breakfast hours ago, NOW I'm--”

“Where the fuck are you?”

Silence on the other end of the phone.

“Fenton Avery, tell me where the fuck you are. Right. Now.”

“The Met?”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “You went to The Metropolitan to get a hot dog?” I asked, calmly.

“They're the only place around here that have good venders!”

“They have the worst hot dogs in town.  You walked ALL that way for a fucking hot dog when I TOLD you to stay put?!”

“I also came to, uh... see the art? When was the last time you walked through the Egyptian exhibit, Dover? It really IS something....”

“Oooh... so, you're calling me from INSIDE The Metropolitan Museum of Art?!?!”

“Well, technically, you called me. And I'm looking at the sarcophaguses,” he said, like there was absolutely nothing wrong with the fact that he'd just run off and left me with cab fare.

“Sarcophagi,” I corrected him. “And you didn't even have enough money to get home on the subway, how did you manage to buy a hot dog, much less come up with the money to get into the museum?”

“I have a pass for the museum. Maybe it's yours? I don't know, it has your name on it. And I had $1.50, which is enough for a hot dog.. but not enough for subway fare.”

“Wait, wait. You STOLE my museum pass? When?”

“How do you know it's yours?”

I was now marching in the opposite direction I had been before, a few blocks from Central Park and about ten blocks from The Met.

“You just said it had my name on it.”

“Oh, well, it does. But... that could mean anything.”

“Fenton Marcus Avery,” I said in the most severe tone I could manage without it sounding too deadly. “You had BETTER stay RIGHT where you are and let me come get you.”

“Oh, I will. I'll just be up on the second floor, you know that part where they have all the passion pictures? And, like, the early American stuff?”

“Oh, I know. I’ve been there a bunch of times. BEFORE I so mysteriously 'lost' my pass. But now I don't care. I want you out front or I'll positively murder you. Right there on the front steps. Psycho Wimbledon--
“TEMPLEton.”

“WHATEVER the fuck! Your sugar daddy -- how’s that? -- how broke you are, and the general shitty state of your existence right now will be the least of your worries if I don't see you when I get there.”

“Dover, that's MEAN!” he whined.

“Get your ass on the front steps. You don't want me going all the way through security and paying to get inside only to have to come drag you out again.” I snapped the phone closed and stalked all the rest of the way to the museum.

Ten minutes later, there he was, sitting at the very bottom of the steps, sulking. He'd gotten mustard on my sweater, I noticed.

Silently, I held out my hand, which he glared at, but stood and took.

“If I didn't love you, I would--” Nothing came to mind, so I faltered, eventually saying, “Hate you.”

He giggled a little at that and moved into my side, where I wrapped an arm around him and squeezed. “You're a pain in the ass. It only took me fifteen minutes to get to the stop you were at. You could have waited, you know. Without a fucking hot dog. Or a tour of The Met.”

He shrugged.

I could swear, some days, he does this shit just to get at me.

-----------

“I don't want you going back there again,” I said, firmly, as Fenton stepped into the shower behind me.
“You are not going. It's against all the rules.”

“What rules?” he asked, yawning. He'd probably slept only four hours the night before, the little sea urchin.

“The ones I'm going to make up off the top of my head pretty soon if you don't start using common sense.”

“If you haven't made them up yet, how can I follow them?” He backed up against me and handed me the shampoo over his shoulder. “Mmn,” he whined. Which, translated, meant, “Wash my hair, Doooverr..?”

I lathered the shampoo between my hands and began to rub it through his hair. “He's an asshole, Fen. This morning is just the tip of the iceberg. You go back with him and he's only going to use you for money and an occasional fuck. Is that seriously what you're looking for? Is it?”

“Is it any of YOUR concern?” he asked.

“Yes. I'm the one sitting here at my computer, writing and getting distressed phone calls from you at all hours. How many times have we talked about this?”

“Recently?” he asked. “Or over the past decade?”

“Either,” I said, mildly, stepping back to duck his head under the water. I covered his eyes with my hand and rinsed the soap out, listening to him talk in between spitting water.

“Over the past decade as a whole, probably 53,000 times. Recently, 52,995 times.”

“Maybe you've been worse recently,” I reasoned, soaping his back.

“I haven't been.”

“Either way, this guy is worse than any of the others combined. You cannot see him anymore. It's not allowed.”

“Oh, Dover...” he laughed.

“You may THINK I'm joking...” I muttered as I handed the soap to him and turned my back.

“You'd better be joking.”

I was definitely not joking.

-------

“Well, where are you going to get money from if your psychotic boyfriend keeps taking it from you?” I asked Fenno a little while later as I lay with him in bed, combing fingers through his wet hair.

It was only late afternoon now, but he was exhausted from the night before and fading quickly. I kept my voice and touch soft and soothing, hoping to lull him to sleep without too much trouble.

“I think I'll go visit my parents tomorrow... Maybe stay the weekend?”

“Visit as in actually go to see them and hang out? Or visit as in... 'visit'?” I asked.

“Who cares? I hate them, they hate me. But I need money. And certain sacrifices must be made for things like rent and food. And proper illegal narcotics.” He looked up and grinned at me.

“All that ever happens when you go there is fighting. It'd probably be easier to just get a job somewhere. Jesi was telling me about--”

“I have a job.”

“Yeah, selling yourself and minor amounts of drugs. It's a real vocation, Fen, illegal activity. You could probably start a college fund on that.”

He rolled his eyes and turned over, nudging his back up against me and pulling my arm over his stomach to hold him. “While you debate the finer points of my chosen profession, I think I'll go to sleep. The stuff I had this morning is wearing off and I'd like to sleep through the worst of the hangover. I don't think I've come down very well all week.” He yawned.

Annoyed that he'd taken anything that morning, I leaned back and swatted him. Hard, eliciting a whine and a glare.

“Oww, Dov.. Quit it. I'm trying to sleep. Your beating me really isn't helping.”

“I ought to beat you,” I said. “You haven't come down all week? And you took shit this morning when I told you not to?”

“It's not like you're my keeper. Of course I took shit this morning. I take shit every morning. Shut up now, please. I'm sleeping.”

“While you sleep, I'm going to debate the finer points of your life, and when you wake up, we're going to talk about it.”

“Whatever. You can talk while I pack to visit mom and dad.”

“Good. Then shut up and sleep.”

I laid with him until he fell asleep about five minutes later. Then, easing myself from behind him and dropping a kiss next to his ear, I got up and returned to my computer in the living room.

I hadn't been able to get myself back on track after he'd interrupted me that morning. I'd come home from coffee with Jes and slept a while longer, then gotten up and wandered around, sitting down at the computer intermittently, but never typing anything that I didn't immediately backspace over five words in.

I stared at my words in frustration, annoyed enough with myself that I considered deleting the entire thing out of sheer spite. But seeking revenge on yourself is kind of tricky that way, because in the end, you're the only one who gets hurt.

I stared and thought. And then thought some more, but always found my mind back with Fenno. Worrying about him, wishing he'd just listen to me for once. I didn't care very much whether or not I was being overprotective or bossy. I just wanted him safe.

I wanted him-- I wanted him with me.

I wanted him.

I shook my head in a feeble attempt at clearing it and dropped it into my hands with a groan.

Three hours later, I found myself knee deep in a monologue about a guy who falls madly for his best friend and everyone but him sees it. The guy he falls for's name is Finn. 1

No comments:

Post a Comment