M4M

by Rick R. Reed

  Well, let him! Hadn’t he ever seen a real live homosexual before? Good Lord, this was Chicago! The twenty-first century! We are everywhere, dear sir. Get used to it.

  Ethan hurried back to his office and set the roses on top of the cabinet above his work surface, where they could look down all day on Bubbles, when he next decided to grace the office with his presence.

  Ethan had much work to do that day. But all of it could wait until he composed a quick thank-you to his beloved Brian.

  I told you not to do this! I should be furious with you, but I’m not. The roses are stunning. You are stunning. You have just about knocked me over with your kindness and gallantry. As you can tell, I’m speechless. And me, who collects a paycheck for writing every two weeks! I so look forward to hearing from you again.

  And this time, he did sign his message, boldly and confidently, with the word “love.” So what if they hadn’t yet met in person? This was fun!

  After sending the message, Ethan waited for a couple of minutes to see if a response would come back just as quickly as it had yesterday. But… nothing. He gave it five minutes, then ten, even refreshing his page several times, but still… nothing.

  Ethan shrugged, only marginally disturbed, and went about ticking off the items on his to-do list. He checked his email from time to time throughout the day. But the anticipatory smile he wore as he logged on to his account always faded when he saw no message from Brian.

  Ah well, he does have a job, too, one must assume. And Ethan supposed there would be at times demands more pressing than composing emails to him.

  Surely, Ethan thought, I will hear from him tonight.

  BUT HE did not. Nor did Ethan hear from him the next morning, when he woke up two hours before the alarm, just because he was so eager to open his email. The list of unopened emails was still long, if a little less so than the day before, but not one of the missives was from his dear Brian. Ethan deleted all the messages from would-be suitors without reading even one. Somehow they no longer held any appeal for him. He wondered if he’d ever see a message from Brian waiting for him again.

  Now, now, Ethan, don’t jump to conclusions. Your association with Brian has been only the briefest of encounters, and you still don’t know what he does for a living. There could be—and must be—a million logical reasons why the man couldn’t find a spare minute or two to respond to you. Work, other friends, a trip out of town… all of these could prevent him from writing. And who hasn’t heard of a computer crashing or an email server, um, going down? It’s happened!

  Reluctantly, Ethan got ready for work, checking for a message from Brian a couple more times before he hurried out the door to head to the office.

  Still nothing. Ethan’s ebullient mood vanished in the course of this silence, and no amount of rational explanations could console him. Frustrated, he found he was unable to do any work more laborious than checking his personal email account every five minutes, then every two.

  Bubbles’s laugh over the partition grated on his nerves. The day dragged by, the minutes ticking along like hours, the hours like days.

  Had he done something wrong? Had something innocently couched in his email verbiage offended? Had Brian found a more worthy and handsome object for his affections? This last thought chilled him. He had been dumped numerous times over the course of his romantic career and knew that often men took the path of least resistance, which was to simply stop calling, or writing, as the case was here.

  Was Brian really gone forever? After wooing him with sweet words and flowers?

  Toward the end of the business day, when Ethan had still not heard from his beloved—who had now achieved the status of soul mate in his mind—he decided he would take the bull by the horns and compose a short message to Brian, letting him know just how much his silence bothered him, without, he hoped, seeming too clingy or desperate.

  Dear Brian,

  Once again, thank you so much for the two-day-in-a-row flower bonanza. I could not be more touched by your extravagance and your kindness. Which is probably why I’m more than a little puzzled by your silence. Please don’t take this to mean that I do not understand that you probably have a busy life that may prevent you from writing. But you seemed so effusive and open that I can’t help but worry just a tiny bit. If I have said something that may have offended, please know I did so completely unwittingly, and I apologize if there was something misconstrued. Please let me know if that’s the case, and I’m sure I can put everything to rights again. And if you are just busy, know that I understand and can be patient. Lord knows I sometimes get swamped at work and can’t attend to things I would much rather attend to. And lastly, I am just hoping that you’re okay. Beyond this email address, I really have no way of reaching you, and if something like illness or injury has befallen you, also know that my thoughts are with you.

  How could someone object to such a sincere and forthright message? Sensibly, Ethan signed it with the word “warmly” and sent it off.

  By the next morning, there was still no word from Brian, and Ethan was beginning to unhappily conclude that this brief encounter was mostly likely coming to an unhappy end, just like the few other romances he’d had in his life. Now, now, he told himself, you can’t let yourself be too unhappy about this recent downturn of events. After all, this whole “romance” was built on deceit, and Brian’s ardor was not for you, but for an imaginary person. You knew you could probably never have a future with this man, considering that the foundation of this future was built on trickery and dishonesty. It’s for the best. What purpose would it serve to continue on with the flowers and the flirtatious emails? It was all destined to end in tears.

  Tears Ethan found himself wiping angrily from his eyes right this very moment. He let himself cry for a few minutes, then blew his nose, squared his shoulders, and picked up his cell. When Bubbles answered, he said, “Hi, this is Ethan. I must have whatever kept you at home the other day. I’m going to stay home today and see if I can beat this bug. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  He didn’t even wait for Bubbles to respond before clicking the clamshell phone closed.

  Outside, the sun was shining. But it was black as midnight in Ethan’s apartment and in his heart.

  After a morning of talk and game shows, Ethan sat down warily at his computer with a comforting bologna and swiss cheese sandwich next to him and logged on to his email.

  And there it was… a message from Brian. With a trembling hand, Ethan double clicked on the email to open it. What was there took him about two seconds to read.

  Sorry I haven’t been responding. Been busy. More later.

  Ethan’s disappointment was as vast as the blue surface of Lake Michigan lying just to the east, where he’d planned a restorative walk for later that afternoon. Well, at least Brian had taken the time to write. At least he must be okay. But why so cold? Why so abrupt?

  Ethan couldn’t eat his sandwich. He couldn’t do anything, in fact, but respond. Ethan realized very suddenly what had happened. The delivery guy must have been someone Brian knew or at least had regular dealings with. And Ethan, with a growing nausea in his gut, thought a conversation must have taken place between the two men, the upshot of which would have been the delivery guy giving a physical description of Ethan to Brian… a description Ethan knew matched his online photo only in two ways: age and sex.

  Why else would Brian turn on him so abruptly? Sure, he would be disappointed that Ethan wasn’t the looker he had portrayed himself as, but with great shame, Ethan realized a man like Brian was probably even more disappointed in the fact that he was a liar, a con artist, a scammer, an online game player.

  But he wasn’t ready to be completely forthcoming, even though he had been taught a potentially very painful lesson. What if he was wrong? So he simply wrote back:

  I understand. Take whatever time you need. And oh, by the way, did your flower delivery person say something about me?

  Ethan hit Send. A response came back very
quickly, almost as if they were using instant messages instead of emails, which made Ethan realize Brian was sitting on the other end of their electronic connection, maybe hurting just as much as he was.

  Thanks. No, the deliveryman said nothing about you. Why?

  Ethan didn’t know what to do. He had thought he had everything worked out, thought he had found the reason for the abrupt change in Brian’s heart… and discovered, to his confusion and delight, that he was wrong. So what could the problem be? If he hadn’t been found out, why the cold shoulder?

  Ethan decided to take that walk along the lakefront. Maybe it would clear his head and allow him to think.

  WHEN HE returned, he knew what he must do. On his lakefront walk, he had done a lot of thinking, some of it very rational. Beyond grief over the mess he had made of things over his little “experiment,” he had come to one certain conclusion: it was time to come clean. As he closed his apartment door behind him, he knew there was really nothing to lose in being honest. By telling Brian the truth, he would be no worse off, and actually, it was the only way he had even the slightest chance of gaining a place in Brian’s heart. Now don’t get your hopes up, Ethan. Chances are about 99.9 percent that he’ll want to have nothing to do with you after he learns the truth. Whatever is causing his silence now will be nothing compared to the betrayal he’s certain to feel once you let him know what you’ve done.

  Still, Ethan knew there was no way out—no decent way, anyway. He just didn’t have it in him to bury his head in the sand by deleting his wingpeople profile and its associated email account. That way out was for cowards. And Ethan knew he had a lot of bad points, but he didn’t think cowardice was one of them.

  But the bottom line was simply that he realized he had to play if he wanted to win. Running away offered no hope. Telling the truth at least offered some tiny measure of optimism, even if it was the optimism of someone facing a tsunami who thinks he just might be able to outrun the giant wave.

  He dumped the now dry-looking sandwich he had made earlier that morning into the trash and thought about washing the plate it was on. No! Get to it. There’s no use putting it off! He set the plate in the sink and sat down at his computer, hoping against hope that there would be a normal, loving message from Brian and they could continue with the charade.

  But there was nothing.

  So Ethan hit the Compose button and thought about what he would write. At first he was going to detail the whole sordid story and try to rationalize his behavior, blaming his loneliness, his boredom, and even the shallowness of gay men for his deceit. He’d done a lot of persuasive writing in his career and thought he could put a spin on his actions that would reveal him in, if not a favorable light, at least a sympathetic one.

  But writing such a message would guarantee failure, he thought. It would be easy enough for Brian to just press the Delete key and move on with his life, chalking up the experience to running across yet another flake in a sea of them.

  No, Ethan knew the only way for there to be any chance for understanding and—dare he say it—a future would be with a short, simple message like this one….

  Dear Brian, I think the time has come where we need to meet in person. I propose the Starbucks at the corner of Broadway and Roscoe. I am hoping you’ll be available to meet at around four o’clock this afternoon. If not, please let me know when would be good for you. I hope we can meet within the next day or so. I’m eager to talk to you.

  He did not sign the message with anything more than his own name.

  He read it over, changed four o’clock to six o’clock, and paused for several minutes, asking himself if he was sure, absolutely positive, this was the course of action he wanted to take.

  He was. And he knew that by setting up a meeting in the very near future, he was giving himself no chance to back out.

  He hit Send.

  He did not close out of his mailbox but did open another window to begin playing Spider Solitaire, where he could keep an eye on his inbox and immediately see if he got any new messages.

  It took three games before a new message arrived. And it was from Brian.

  See you at six was all it said.

  Oh Lord, what have I gotten myself into?

  ETHAN GOT to Starbucks twenty minutes early and secured one of the sidewalk tables. That way, he reasoned, if there was a scene replete with loud accusations and affronted recriminations, he could beat a hasty retreat. If it was bad enough, the steady flow of traffic on Broadway offered an even more permanent escape from this and all of life’s worries.

  The air was balmy, and Ethan’s soy latte was rich and foamy, but he could enjoy neither as he waited for Brian to show up. He had taken his time getting ready, showering, shaving, using an astringent, then a moisturizer, then an eye cream on his face. The stubble on his head was freshly buzzed. He had donned what he thought were his most flattering clothes: a white polo and a pair of lived-in Levi’s, sans belt. He wore the scuffed brown Dingo boots he had purchased a year ago during a bout of nostalgia. He thought the footwear gave him added height and at least the illusion of butchness.

  And so now he waited. Once seated at the table, it seemed like time had gone into some weird warp where it passed much more slowly than usual.

  He watched the comings and goings of many, many strangers, some of them even handsome blond men. This, after all, was a busy corner, and foot traffic here was lively.

  But none of them was Brian. At five after six, he started to fidget, feeling a hot prickly sensation rise to his cheeks. What if Brian stood him up? Such things had happened to Ethan before, and while he could never understand the rationale behind such maneuvers, he conceded that he would not be surprised if he were left sitting alone. He decided he would give Brian until six thirty to show up… and if he didn’t, then he would go home and delete the accounts in question and put this whole pathetic business behind him. If he really wanted to meet a man, there were still some unexplored real-life alternatives to the internet. In fact, he had just seen mention of a euchre club that met once a week at a local watering hole farther north. The pretense of cards and competition would take some of the pressure off the romance game.

  He was so immersed in his thoughts that he didn’t even see Brian approach his table. It wasn’t until he was standing right before Ethan that he noticed him—at the moment he took the first sip of his latte.

  And when he spied Brian, he almost did a spit take or, worse, almost choked on the caffeinated beverage.

  At a momentary loss for words, he simply stared up, without so much as a hello or an offer for Brian to take a seat. Everything clicked together at once. Well, not everything, exactly, but at least certain details now made a kind of sense.

  The Brian before him was not the man he had seen in the online photograph. Yes, this Brian was blond, same as the man in the pic, but he had a paunch, and his hair was thinning. His face showed the signs of age and maybe a bit too much sun.

  This was the face of a man he had seen very recently… and not in the cyber world, but in the real one.

  Yes, this Brian was the guy who’d delivered flowers to him on not one but two occasions. The two of them had already spoken, and in person. Ethan felt a cold chill in spite of the dying sun and the warm breeze blowing all around him. He gave what he knew was a sheepish grin and motioned vaguely to the chair opposite him. “Why don’t you have a seat?” Ethan felt cold prickles of sweat on his back and knew, from the heat, that his face was a wonderfully youthful shade of crimson.

  Wordlessly, Brian sat down and smiled. Right away, Ethan could see that this was the man from the online photo, only several years older and several pounds heavier, which was why he hadn’t recognized him when he took the bouquet of roses from his outstretched hands.

  The two sat silently for a while. Brian sipped his coffee and eyed Ethan. Finally he spoke. “You don’t look much like your online photograph.”

  Ethan wasn’t sure of many things, but he saw this could
turn ugly and accusatory. He really had no defense at the ready, so he simply came back with, “The same could be said for you.”

  Brian nodded. “I suppose that’s true, but at least my photograph was, in fact, me.” Now it was his turn to grin sheepishly. “Ten years ago.”

  There didn’t seem to be much for Ethan to say back. Brian had a point. After an uncomfortable few minutes passed, in which Ethan considered simply getting up from the table and walking away, he finally said, “Look. You know I was deceitful. I admit it. Do you want to hear why?”

  Brian scooted his chair closer to the table and met Ethan’s gaze with his own brown eyes. That was one thing that was the same as in the photograph. Brian’s eyes were still engaging, full of bottomless depth and with a pull that drew one in. “I have to admit I was really disappointed when I dropped the flowers off and saw that you were someone else entirely. It wasn’t so much the fact that you weren’t quite the god you appeared to be in the pic, but that you were a game-player and dishonest.”

  The words stung. Again, Ethan really had no defense. But he was here and Brian was there and he wasn’t walking away, so he figured now was the only chance he might ever have to explain himself. “I’d like to think I’m not either of those things. Not usually, anyway, even though there is evidence to the contrary.” Ethan threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Before I go into my reasons for making the mistake I did—and that’s what it was, a mistake—I want to give you a little background. Not—God forbid—so that you’ll feel sorry for me, but so that maybe you might understand.”

  “I’m all ears.” Brian regarded him, and Ethan could see there was interest in his eyes. Whether it was just to see how much bigger a fool Ethan could make of himself or if it was because he really wanted to know, Ethan wasn’t sure. He was sure he had to carry on. “When I first joined wingpeople, I started out honestly, with what I thought was a decent pic of myself and optimism. I wasn’t looking to meet someone who looked like a movie star or a jock but was hoping to meet a man like me, someone who shared my interests and who maybe had the same hopes of finding a companion to share life with. But you know what happened?”