The Long and Winding Road

by T. J. Klune

  Isaiah stares at me.

  I have another sip of wine.

  “I think I dodged a bullet here,” he finally says.

  “Probably,” I agree.

  “You’re married.”

  “To Otter.”

  “Who didn’t like me. At all.”

  “Well, you did your best to try and put my dick in your mouth back then.”

  He chokes. “That is not—”

  I snort.

  “Okay. Maybe I did. But to be fair, I did that with a lot of people.”

  I roll my eyes. “I feel so special.”

  “You’re not wearing your wedding ring.”

  I look down at my bare finger. There’s a tan line there, but the bar is dimly lit, so it’s hard to make out. “Right. We’re role-playing.”

  His grin comes back. “Maybe we could role-play a threesome.”

  “I dare you to say that when he gets here.”

  He pales a little. “You know what? I think I’m going to go. Bear, it was nice seeing you again. Feel free to look me up if the whole marriage/fatherhood thing doesn’t work out for you.” With that, he slams the rest of his drink, winks at me, then turns and—

  Walks straight into Otter.

  It’s funny, really. Isaiah is about my height, so he’s short for a guy, but he’s wide too, maybe a little more than he’d been a decade before.

  But he’s positively dwarfed by my husband, who does not look amused.

  “I know you,” Otter growls.

  “Eep,” Isaiah says.

  I’m a little buzzed. It’s pretty great. I wonder if they’ll fight over me. I hope Otter wins.

  Otter’s eyebrows draw together. “You’re that guy.”

  “Yep,” Isaiah says. “That’s me. That guy. I’m also that guy who’s leaving, so if you could maybe move your mass a little to the left, I’ll get out of your hair.”

  “Didn’t you once try and get in Bear’s pants?” Otter asks, crossing his big arms over his considerable chest. He’s wearing a suit I’ve never seen before, and it looks like it’s been perfectly cut for his frame, tight in all the right places. The suit is black, and he’s wearing a red dress shirt with a black silk tie. I’m going to fuck him until he’s cross-eyed.

  “I like your shoulders,” I tell him, because I feel like he needs to know.

  “Thank you,” Otter says without looking away from Isaiah. “I’m pretty proud of them.”

  “You guys are so weird,” Isaiah breathes. “Mazel tov and all that.”

  “What was your name?” Otter asks. “It seems to have slipped my mind.”

  He’s lying, but he’s enjoying himself, especially since Isaiah doesn’t seem to be having fun, so I leave him to it. I signal the bartender for another glass of wine.

  “I don’t know that my name is important.” Isaiah is starting to sweat. “Seeing as how I was just leaving. And probably not coming back. Ever.”

  “Probably?” Otter asks, and I remind myself that erections in public are frowned upon.

  “Oh, I didn’t mean that,” Isaiah says hastily. “I meant to say never. I’m never coming back.”

  “I feel like your name is Ricky,” Otter says. “You look like a Ricky.”

  “It’s Isaiah,” I say helpfully.

  “That’s right,” Otter growls. “Isaiah. You were in Bear’s class. You came to the gay bar that one time.”

  “He wasn’t wearing his ring!” Isaiah exclaims. “How was I to know you guys are kinky sumbitches! I wouldn’t have said anything if I’d known. You have to believe me. I’m serious!”

  “Hi, Serious, I’m—”

  “Stop it,” I snap at Otter. “Stop it right now. Tube socks. You were wearing tube socks with shorts.”

  Otter glares at me. “They’re just socks.”

  “You had sandals on. You were wearing socks and sandals at the same time.”

  “Oh wow,” Isaiah says. “You are such a dad.”

  Otter turns his head slowly back to Isaiah.

  “Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” Isaiah says hastily, taking a step back. “You’re probably the hottest dad I’ve ever seen.”

  “Are you hitting on him?” I demand.

  “What? No! Okay, maybe? I mean, you never really said no to the three-way—”

  “I dared him to say that to you when you got here,” I tell Otter. “I did not expect him to actually do it. He’s got balls.”

  “Not for long he doesn’t,” Otter says, flexing his arms against his chest. My mouth goes instantly dry.

  “Annnnd that’s my cue to leave,” Isaiah says, slowly taking a step backward. “Bear, it’s been… how I normally expect conversations with you to be like. It’s good to know nothing changes. I wish you two the happiest of weird married-dad sex. I’m leaving.”

  “Bye,” I say. “Have a nice life or whatever.”

  “So that’s a no, then, to the three-way—”

  “Leave,” Otter barks.

  Isaiah Serna exits the premises rather quickly.

  And that’s when I realize the bar is absolutely silent. I look around. People are staring at us.

  “That wasn’t what you thought it was,” I say loudly so everyone can hear. “I’m not having an affair, and we’re not weird. We’re role-playing.”

  That doesn’t seem to make things better.

  “Oh, that’s right. Just watch the dinner theater. I mean, that’s what the gays are good for, right? We’re only here for your entertainment. Well, let me tell you something. You can suck my mmph.”

  There’s a hand over my mouth.

  I look up at Otter.

  He sighs.

  I smile behind his hand.

  His lips quirk. “Isaiah? Really?”

  I shrug.

  “You didn’t have to take off your wedding ring,” he says, dropping his hand.

  “It’s part of the experience,” I remind him. “Speaking of, why are you being familiar with me? You’re not doing it right!”

  “Aren’t we a little past—”

  “Otter!”

  He rolls his eyes. “Fine. Ahem. Hello. Is this seat taken?”

  I bat my eyelashes at him.

  He chokes on a laugh. “Or maybe not. I think I’ll go sit elsewhere. You look like you have something in your eye.”

  I punch him in the arm. “Sit down.”

  He does, asking the bartender for a beer. “So,” he says, sounding amused. “What brings you out to a place like this?”

  “I’m a lounge singer,” I tell him. “This is where I lounge. And sing.”

  He groans. “Seriously? I told you that—”

  “This is fantasy. That means I get to be whoever I want.”

  “Fine,” he says. “Then I get to do the same.”

  “Fine.” Because the internet said I had to respect my partner’s wishes too. Which was stupid because this whole thing was my idea.

  The bartender sets the beer in front of Otter. “What’s your name?” he asks before taking a sip of his beer.

  “Valentino Valentine.”

  He sprays his beer all over the bar top.

  “You’re not making a very good first impression,” I say with a scowl, grabbing a napkin to wipe up his mess.

  “That’s the name you came up with?” he hisses at me, wiping his mouth. “You’re a lounge singer named Valentino Valentine? What the hell!”

  “Hey! I’m good at this.”

  “This is dumb. Let’s just get our hotel room and have sex.”

  That sounds like the best idea, but I don’t want to rush it, because if we do, there’s a chance our spark will die and I’ll end up being a middle-class divorcee. “No,” I say. “We’re doing this.”

  He sighs. “Great.”

  “What’s your name?” I ask.

  “John Smith.”

  “That’s… generic. And wasn’t that the name of the colonizer who married Pocahontas, even though she was only, like, thirteen, and then to
ok her to England where she later died in misery?”

  “He was my father,” Otter says. “Also, I’m here in town on business.”

  “What kind of business?”

  “I’m an astronaut.”

  I bark out an obscenely loud screech of laughter before slapping my hands over my mouth.

  He grins at me crookedly. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you make that noise before. Not that I know what kind of noises you make of course. Yet.”

  “Wow,” I say. “You’re pretty terrible at this. What brings you to Seafare?”

  “Astronaut convention.”

  “What.”

  He arches an eyebrow at me. “You sound like you’re judging me, Valentino Valentine.”

  “Nope,” I say quickly. “No judgment. Absolutely no judgment. So, you’re just in town for a few days for your… astronaut convention?”

  “Yeah,” he says easily. “Then I leave for Mars.”

  God, I love him so fucking much. “That sounds… like a long trip.”

  “Oh it is,” he says, taking another sip of his beer. “Going into cryogenic stasis for a couple of years.”

  “Huh. That sounds rough.”

  “It will be,” he says. “A long time without feeling another man’s touch.”

  “You poor thing. I would offer to help you with that, but I—I just can’t.”

  He looks confused. “You… can’t?”

  “No,” I say, looking off into the distance as if contemplating all the trials and tribulations of my life. “I promised myself a long time ago that I would never give in to the carnal sins of the flesh ever again.”

  He coughs roughly. “The carnal what?”

  “I was scorned a long time ago,” I say, ignoring him. “By a cowboy. In Texas. During a long, hot, hazy summer.”

  “Oh my god,” he says faintly.

  “Yes, Tobias and I were—”

  “Tobias.”

  “Yes. Tobias. Can I finish, please?”

  “Oh, go ahead,” he says. “I can’t wait to hear this.”

  “Anyway. Tobias and I were in love. On his ranch. Outside Laredo. We were young and foolish and thought we could take on the world. Alas, it wasn’t meant to be.”

  “I’m probably going to regret asking,” he says dryly, “but why wasn’t it meant to be?”

  “His father,” I say solemnly. “He was an oil baron. And he wanted an heir beyond his son. Something which I couldn’t give Tobias. There was an ultimatum. Either Tobias would marry Trixie Marie Allen, or Tobias would be cut off from his inheritance.”

  “Let me guess,” Otter—no, John—says. “Tobias chose Trixie.”

  “Not right away,” I admit. “I thought he was going to resist his father. And he did, at first. But Trixie kept coming ’round, and who was I to measure up to her? She was smart and funny and knew how to work a ranch. I just wanted to sing. Because it was in my soul.”

  “How terrible,” John says, and it looks like he’s barely keeping from bursting into laughter. “He chose Trixie?”

  I nod. “Our love wasn’t strong enough. He was blinded by greed and a buxom blonde with big hair. Who was I to stand in the way of that?” I sigh as I take another drink of wine. “So I left the Lonely Hearts Ranch and traveled west until I found myself here. In this bar. It was fate, maybe. Because they were looking for a singer. And that’s all I ever wanted.”

  “So you stayed,” John says.

  “Yes. And my heart has been so lonely. Just like the name of the ranch.”

  His puts his fist to his mouth as he starts coughing again.

  “And so you see,” I say loudly, overriding him. “I can’t trust the touch of a man. Not even an astronaut.”

  “Well, baby,” he says, leaning forward a little. “I’m something better than just a cowboy.”

  “Are you?”

  “Damn right. I’m a space cowboy.”

  “I am going to have so much sex with you,” I breathe.

  His eyes widen. “Yeah? That’s enough?”

  “I didn’t want you to think I’m easy.”

  “Oh, I don’t,” he says quickly. “Not at all. You’re the opposite of easy. You’re hard.”

  “Damn right I am,” I say. “I’m so fucking hard.”

  “Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “We need to get the fuck out of here.”

  “If we don’t leave now,” I warn him, “I’m probably going to end up blowing you right here in front of all these people.”

  He slams down the rest of the beer before reaching into his wallet and throwing a couple of bills on the bar top. “We’re leaving. Get up. Now.”

  “Hell yeah,” I say, finishing my wine. “Let’s do this. Fuck Tobias and Trixie.”

  We turn to leave when the bartender says, “Excuse me?”

  We look back at him.

  “This is only enough to cover the wine and beer,” the bartender says. “The other guy didn’t pay for his bourbon.”

  “Are you fucking serious?” Otter mumbles before pulling out another bill. “God, I really fucking hate that guy.”

  “YES, HI,” John says, voice a little strangled as I can’t seem to keep my hands to myself. “We have a reservation?”

  The girl at the desk is staring at us. “Do you?”

  I lick John’s neck.

  He squeaks a little. “Yes. Yes we do. It should be under John Smith—fuck. I mean, it’s under Oliver Thompson.”

  “We’re married,” I tell her. “And on a date before we have babies. But we’re pretending.”

  “That’s… I don’t know what that is.”

  “Yeah,” I say dreamily. “Me neither. Awesome, right?”

  I don’t pay attention to them as John hands over a credit card, because I’m convinced his neck would look better if I sucked a mark on it. I am not disappointed. It does.

  “Would you stop it,” he growls at me. “I’m trying to—”

  “Are you sure you’re going to Mars?” I ask him seriously. “Because I think you should probably go to Myanus. Crap. I mean Uranus. But still in mine.”

  “We don’t get out very much,” John tells the woman behind the desk, who is starting to look a little horrified.

  “I can see that,” she says slowly. “Now, we have you in a suite, room 407. The elevators are to the left. Do you need help with your luggage?”

  “We didn’t bring any,” I tell her. “Because we aren’t planning on wearing clothes the entire time we’re—”

  He covers my mouth again with his hand. “We’re fine,” he says.

  “Riiight. Well. Your Wi-Fi passcode is—”

  “Not necessary,” John says. “We won’t be using it.”

  “I’m going to Wi his Fi,” I say, but it comes out muffled against his hand. I might have had a little too much wine.

  “You’re all set,” she says, taking a step back. “So. You can go now.”

  I drag John toward the elevators.

  HE HAS me pressed up against the side of the elevator, and his hands are on my ass. He’s making this awesome rumbling sound in his throat as he licks the shell of my ear, when I say, “Wait. Wait. Hold on.”

  He pulls back, his eyes already a little sex-stupid. “Huh?”

  “What credit card did you use?”

  “What?”

  “For the hotel. Which one did you use? The Visa? Because you know we only use that one for emergencies.”

  “No, I—hold on.” He doesn’t move away from me but reaches into his suit coat and pulls out his wallet. He opens it and says, “The Mastercard. I put it on the Mastercard.”

  “Okay. You may continue.”

  He latches back on to my neck, and I moan because it’s fantastic. Then, “Did you start the dishwasher before you left?”

  He groans against me. “Are you being serious right now?”

  “Yes! I just don’t want to have to walk into a full, dirty load of dishes when we get home. Is that too much to ask?”

  “
I’m trying to put a full, dirty load into you, if you don’t mind.”

  I gape at him.

  He waggles his eyebrows at me.

  “Yes,” I say. “Do that. Let’s do that. Now. Right now.”

  The elevator dings, and there is a group of little girls standing outside the door with an older woman.

  “Mom,” one of the girls asks, voice high. “What are those strange men doing? Is the little one choking? Is that why the big one is grabbing him like that?”

  “He’s a space cowboy,” I tell them. “And I’m a lounge singer who—”

  The mother glares at us as Otter pulls me out of the elevator. “Oh please!” I yell back at her. “If those are your kids, then you’ve already done what we’re about to do!”

  “They’re not all mine!” she yells back. “I’m a chaperone.”

  “Oh. My bad! Believe in Jesus and stay in school, kids!”