Tigers and Devils
Page 15
Roger and I were both stunned.
“Fran!” Roger protested.
She jumped to her feet and towered over me. It was pretty impressive and intimidating. “You know what, Simon? There are two reasons you don’t want to do it. You’re lazy, and you’re chickenshit!”
And with that barb, she thundered off into the house, slamming the door behind her for good measure.
In the eye of the storm, Roger and I compared wounds.
“Lazy and chickenshit?” I practically whimpered.
“Well, she had the lazy part right,” Roger said.
“And the chickenshit!” we heard Fran yell from inside.
“Does she have a bionic ear or something?” I asked.
“Shit, mate, you know she’s psychic.”
I put my beer down and headed in to the house. Fran was only just a couple of feet inside the door. She didn’t look at all apologetic for her behaviour.
“Why am I chickenshit?”
“So you’re accepting the lazy part?”
“Just answer me, Fran.”
“You know why you’re chickenshit. Because if you do this, you’ll be showing him a part of yourself you hate showing. That you care. You do it enough to us sometimes. That day when Roger came in with the Hawthorn scarf, I almost thought he was lying and that he’d bought it himself. We know you love us, but you like to pretend you’re all aloof and unreachable. That’s what makes you chickenshit. Getting on a plane will show Declan how you feel, and you’d hate to be that transparent.”
“I don’t know how I feel yet,” I said, still bleeding from the wound caused by the sword she had stabbed me through the stomach with.
“Don’t lie.” Her tone indicated it was a warning. “We can all see it. Even Nyssa knows you’re up to something, although she hasn’t quite figured it out yet. Why are you so scared of showing that you like someone?”
I didn’t know how to answer without sounding like I was throwing a pity party. But that’s the thing when you grow up feeling different to everyone else. And I know when you’re a teenager everybody feels different and alien to the other people around them, but there seems to be an added dimension when you’re queer. It’s because for that period of time you’re more isolated than anybody else, and you truly think you are the only one of your kind so you create fantastic barriers and defence strategies for yourself to survive. And when you get older and realise that you can take them down, it’s an internal and eternal struggle to do so. Fear is the best de-motivator in the world.
So all I could do was stare at her. Fran returned my stare, her eyes showing a sadness that made me feel even worse.
“Jesus, Simon,” she said finally. “You can’t go on like this.”
There was still that part of me battling madly against everything she was saying, this logical Vulcan inside me that was coming up with a thousand reasons why this was impossible. But Fran’s sad face combined with knowing Declan was unhappy pushed me over the edge.
“Get me your phone,” I instructed her, even though my mobile was in my pocket. If I had to pay out for a short notice ticket she could at least pay for the phone call.
She hugged me, almost crushing my ribs in the process. “I love you, Simon.”
And as her reward, I mumbled, “I love you too.”
It made her cry. Jesus. “I’m so happy,” she sobbed. “This is a beautiful moment.”
“Would you like a tissue?” I asked.
“Don’t ruin it,” she warned.
The door opened, and Roger stepped in to see this strange little tableau. “What the hell is going on?”
AND that is how I found myself on a six o’clock flight to Hobart. I barely had enough time to rush home, beg for Maggie’s forgiveness, throw some clothes together in a bag, and run back out into my front yard where Fran and Roger sat waiting in their car. They had followed me back home so they could drive me to the airport. Fran was overflowing with excitement, imagining the gay romantic comedy she was writing in her head. Roger was amused by the fact I was actually doing this crazy thing, and I was sure he would be bringing it up for years to come: the day Simon went wildly insane for love.
On the way to the airport, it dawned on me. “I don’t know his address.”
That put a dampener on Fran’s plans. “What?”
I repeated myself.
“How can you not know his address, Simon?” she practically shrieked.
“Uh, because he lives in another state, and I’ve never been to his house because of that very reason!”
She drummed her fingernails on the steering wheel, thinking furiously. “Right. Call him.”
“And say what?”
“That you want his address, stupid!”
“For what reason?”
“To send him flowers.”
“No way!” Roger and I said together.
“Fucking men,” Fran fumed. “Just do it!”
Too scared to raise her ire any further, I opened my mobile and called Declan.
“Hi,” he said warmly as he picked up. “I was just about to call you.”
“What’s your address?” I blurted out.
Fran and Roger groaned at my finesse.
“What was that noise?” Declan asked.
“Trolls,” I replied casually.
“Have you been drinking?”
“Just a little bit.”
“You’re not driving?”
“No, Fran is. She only had one beer.”
“Oh. Where are you going?”
“I’m asking the questions.” I was getting a little panicked. “What’s your address?”
He gave it to me, and I scribbled it down. “Can I at least ask why?”
“I’m sending you flowers.”
“Wow, you are drunk.”
“What, you don’t like flowers?” I could hear Roger snigger behind me. “Fine, it doesn’t have to be flowers. They have those things online where you can send cartons of beer or boxes of freckles and caramel buds. Would you rather have beer and caramel buds?”
“I’d like beer and caramel buds,” Roger murmured. I ignored him.
“Really?” Declan asked, sounding slightly dubious. “If I were you, I wouldn’t be using my credit card so freely while under the influence.”
“Fine. Fine, I’ll choose it. And you’ll probably get something really crap.”
“Simon, are you okay?”
It was a question I should have been asking him. But if I spoke to him for much longer, I would give the game away. Fran had already drummed into me this was meant to be a surprise. She was my romantic counsellor, apparently.
“I’m fine. See you.”
I hung up on him. And turned off my mobile so he couldn’t call back.
“You could have handled that a bit better,” Fran said.
“I was about to crack.”
“That happened a long time ago,” Roger muttered as he stared out the window.
I HAD to wait an hour for a cab from the Hobart airport. I wasn’t going to risk attempting public transport.
It was in the taxi, with the buzz of the beer finally wearing off, that I started to have doubts about what I was doing. Hobart was a small town, with roughly two hundred thousand people in comparison to Melbourne’s four million. Declan would be even more recognisable here than back home. And there I was, a guy, arriving on his front door step.
If there was a doorman, should I cover myself up by claiming to be Declan’s cousin? Or would that be even more suspicious?
The beer buzz was now heading into paranoiaville.
The apartment complex Declan had given me the address for was in Battery Point, which seemed to be a rather pretty, perhaps blatantly touristy maritime village. You could tell back in the convict era it was probably a hardened seaport, but now it was gussied up and yuppified and more likely to sell patchouli oil and vegetable-based soaps than seafood. I tried not to be too judgemental about it all as I stared up at the fancy sev
en-storey building before me and entered the lobby.
There wasn’t any doorman, but it seemed that after a certain time of night the interior doors were locked. I found myself in a small alcove before the main lobby and a wall with all the apartments listed with a buzzer next to each.
There went the surprise. I pressed Declan’s number and waited.
A fuzzy-sounding Declan answered. “Simon? What the hell?”
“Uh, surprise?” I said, just as confused as him. “How do you—?”
“Wave to the camera,” he instructed me wryly.
I turned to see the small squat box, attached to the wall, following my every move. I did as he said and gave a small wave. A buzzer sounded, the interior door swung open, and I had access to the lobby.
I scratched at my wrist unhappily as I rode the elevator to Declan’s floor. This was a mistake. A huge mistake.
I was still contemplating heading back downstairs and getting a ride to the airport, even as my feet took me to Declan’s door. I knocked with a heavy heart, and the door swung open to reveal Declan with a huge smile upon his face. He pulled me in and crushed me against his chest as he kissed me.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked again, breathily.
“Like I said,” I was still trying to catch my own, “surprise.”
“I TAKE it you’re not mad, then?” I asked groggily as we lay in bed.
“Fuck, no,” he laughed. “It’s the best surprise I’ve ever had.”
Now starting to feel the cold, I pulled the doona up over us. “Fran and beer helped me decide.”
“When I finally meet Fran, I’m going to give her the biggest kiss she’s ever had in her life.”
“Roger and I might be unhappy about that.”
“Fine, does she like wine?”
“She’s Italian—are you kidding?”
He rolled over onto his side so he could look at me properly. “Seriously, I feel so much better. I hated leaving you today. I want to kidnap you and keep you here for a week rather than two days.”
“It’s not kidnapping if the victim wants to be kept.” I yawned.
“I guess not. But when I say a week, I really mean a month.”
“Is that all?”
“Don’t get cocky.”
I pressed against him. “Bad pun.”
“DEC?”
“Yeah?” he murmured.
“I was worried about coming here.” Half asleep, and in the dark, as usual it was easier to be more forthright.
“Why?”
“Because this is your territory, and it’s a much smaller town—”
“I’m happy you’re here.”
“But it could be a problem—”
“Didn’t you hear what I said?”
“I did, but—”
“Simon, no buts. Not right now.”
“Okay.” I didn’t say anything about his bad pun.
It seemed as if Declan had his concerns as well, but he was pushing them away. It was easier to exist in our little bubble, as if the world around us didn’t exist. It felt safer, but it was illusory. Which I guess is why we liked being with each other so much. It was like we could go on perfectly together if the rest of the world just didn’t get involved.
“SIMON?”
“Yep.”
“I’m going to sound like a fucking idiot for saying this—”
“Then don’t say it,” I laughed.
“Just—you and me, that’s all there is, right?”
I struggled up onto my elbows to look down on him in the dark. “What?”
“Don’t get insulted.”
“I’m too confused to be insulted right now. What are you asking?”
“You’re not seeing anyone else, right?”
Okay, I was slightly insulted now. “I find it hard enough to get one partner, let alone juggling more than one.”
“Don’t get pissy. I want to make sure we’re—”
“Were you seeing anyone else?” I asked, scared of his answer.
He must have heard the tinge of panic in my tone, as he sat up. “No!”
“Okay, so it’s just us. That’s sorted.”
“Hey—”
“Dec, just leave it.”
“No. I didn’t mean to insult you, Simon. Just—”
“What?”
He drew his knees up to his chest, and picked uncomfortably at the bandage.
“What, Dec?”
“I’ve been a bit paranoid about it since… well, the last guy I went out with.”
“He cheated on you?”
“Well, yeah.”
“He cheated on you?” I asked incredulously.
“Yeah, it happens, Simon.”
“But to you?”
“Will you stop saying that?”
“I’m sorry, I’m… shocked as hell that somebody would cheat on you.”
“I don’t get you sometimes. You seem so unfazed by me, unlike the rest of the public, and then there are just some times when you say things like that.” Declan thumped his knee in frustration, and I grabbed his hand so that he couldn’t do it again. “As if I’m special. Simon, I’m just like any other guy. And sometimes that means you get cheated on, and that fucks you up.”
I slipped my arm around his waist. “I’m sorry. But you are special. People are always going to see you differently. And although it really doesn’t matter to me that you’re Declan Tyler, god of football—”
He laughed weakly.
“—sometimes I will be amazed if someone does something against you. And not just because you’re Declan Tyler, god of football. But because you’re Declan Tyler, guy I like.”
He kissed me. “Good answer.”
“I can be surprising sometimes.”
“HERE, babe. Coffee.”
My eyes sprang open. Did I just hear what I thought I heard?
I wasn’t sure. I rolled around and found a mug in my face. I sat up, and Declan handed it down. He then climbed in beside me, holding his own.
I sipped at my coffee in silence, wondering if I should say something about what had been said. There was an awkward air hanging between us, and Declan drummed his fingers against his mug.
“So—” I began.
“Too soon, right?” he asked.
Relieved, I laughed. “I didn’t imagine it!”
“You thought—”
“You called me babe,” I laughed. “Babe!”
“Okay, you don’t like terms of endearment.”
I took his mug off him, and set both of them next to the bed. He looked at me quizzically as I pulled him over onto me and kissed him. “Oh, babe, babe, babe,” I teased, covering his face with kisses.
“Okay, I get it. I won’t say it anymore.”
“Don’t you dare stop it,” I warned him. “Just, not in front of anybody else. I have a reputation to consider.”
“You?”
“Yes. Me.”
“Sure thing,” he said, grinning. “Babe.”
FRESHLY showered and caffeined up, we moved into the kitchen. In the daylight and not as distracted by Declan’s charms, I now got to see exactly what kind of apartment I was in.
I felt like I was in a Modern Home layout. Dec had opened the blinds, and I was greeted by a picture-postcard view of the harbour and Mount Wellington rising up just behind it.
“Like the view?” Declan grinned.
“It sure beats my view of Mr. Grimmauldson’s veggie garden,” I said wryly, watching the boats bob upon the waves below me.
“Mr. Grimmauldson might argue with that,” Dec replied, filling the coffee machine.
“I could stare out there forever.”
“You do look slightly hypnotised.”
“This isn’t the penthouse, is it?” I asked.
Declan scoffed at me. “There’s no penthouse in this complex.”
It sure seemed like a penthouse, but I was only comparing it to my own weatherboard shack in North Brunswick.
But there was something vital missing.
“Where’s your telly?” I asked.
He moved beside me and picked up a remote control from the coffee table. The entertainment unit slid open to reveal a huge plasma television that was practically half the size of my lounge room wall at home. “Holy fuck,” I breathed. There may have been angels singing hallelujah as well. “I’m bringing my DVDs here.”
“You’re easily pleased,” Declan murmured, nuzzling my neck.
“Do you have surround sound?” I asked, still distracted.
He laughed; it felt soothing against my skin. “Yes. I actually had the subwoofer inserted into the bottom of the couches. You should feel the Death Star blowing up in Star Wars.”
Puzzled, I grabbed his head and gently turned it so I could look him in the eye. “I thought I was meant to be the geek? That’s even geekier than anything I’ve ever said in my life.”
Declan looked pleased with himself. “I guess I like surprising you every now and again.”
The coffee machine began hissing, letting us know the coffee was ready. I gave him a quick kiss and jogged over to start pouring.
“You know, the fastest I ever see you move is when you’re going after coffee,” Declan remarked.
“At least I’m consistent that way,” I said, pulling the milk out of the fridge.
His fridge was well-stocked. “You must have a maid hidden somewhere,” I murmured.
“What was that?” Declan asked from the lounge.
“Nothing,” I called back as I shut the fridge and turned my attention back to the coffee.
We both froze as a knock came at the door.
“Dec! Open up!” a loud, deep voice reverberated through the wood.
I looked at Declan, sure that I had turned pale.
Declan, however, looked as relaxed as he had moments before. “I think it’s time you met some of my friends,” he said casually.
Chapter 12
MEET his friends? Was he joking? Shouldn’t I be acting like someone in a bedroom farce, hiding under the bed or shimmying down a drainpipe outside the window? I doubted I would be able to shimmy down a drainpipe—I would be more likely to hang on grimly for a few seconds before losing my grip and plunging to my certain death seven storeys below.