by Rick R. Reed
And before Ethan could even begin to put up an argument, she left him alone at the table. He couldn’t help it. He smiled.
Their waitress stopped by. “You guys ready for your check?”
“I think we’ll have a couple more of these.” Ethan indicated their empty glasses.
She gathered up their empties, grinning. “You’re a man after my own heart, you are.” She hurried away.
And Ethan discovered he was still smiling.
2
MONDAY MORNING, Ethan and Jan were both pounding down Alka-Seltzer and Advil and observing each other through bleary, red-rimmed eyes. But Ethan told himself the headache and the queasy stomach were worth the price of a little oblivion.
With Jan, he’d had the best Sunday—best day, really—he’d had in a long time. It was truly as if a little sun had peeked out from the clouds, if only for a bit. His happiness hadn’t been about alcohol, or popcorn, or even Twizzlers, but simply about knowing someone cared. And that Jan was there—for him. It was amazing how what seemed like a tiny thing—just being present—could seem like such a gift.
About midmorning, the Facebook tab at the top of his browser began flickering, and he looked up to see he had a private message.
From Ben.
“Oh Lord,” Ethan whispered, clicking on the tab. “What fresh hell is this?”
I’m guessing you were surprised to hear from me, after all these years, Ben’s message to him started out.
“Well, that’s an understatement,” Ethan said back to his screen.
But as the wise and wonderful Facebook sometimes does, it put you right in front of me a couple of weeks ago. At first I just thought I’d check out your page. And then, when I got an idea of what you’ve been through lately, I knew Facebook put your face in front of me for a reason, so that’s why I sent you the request.
“Just as I thought,” Ethan said.
So thanks for accepting. I really wasn’t sure you would. If you’ve looked at my page at all, you probably know I’m not the same flighty, but sweet! boy who worked with you back then. LOL. Lots of ups and downs and lots of changes came my way in the years since I left LA Nicholes.
I’d like to tell you about them sometime, but more importantly, I’d love to see you, Ethan. I know I never treated you right, and I would like to make amends, but I also want to reach out a hand in friendship, because I could see, even from a look at something as trivial as a Facebook page, that you’re in pain.
I hope you don’t mind my saying that.
And I would understand if you didn’t want to see me. I’m well aware of what a jerk I was to you back then.
But people can and do change. Sometimes life takes us by the throat and forces us to! LOL.
What do you say, Ethan?
Coffee? A drink? Just to talk….
Ethan sat back in his desk chair and shut his eyes. He was unexpectedly touched by the message, which oozed kindness as much as the old Ben oozed snarkiness. A genuine warmth came through with the message, a sense of caring and compassion. Ethan could have never predicted, during the reign of Bubbles, that the guy was even capable of such thoughtfulness.
Who was this person?
What had happened to cause Ben to have such a dramatic turnaround? He wondered if Ben had seen him yesterday at the Center for Spiritual Living. He didn’t think so. Otherwise he would have mentioned it.
Right?
Ethan shrugged. Did it matter? Right now he had a message to answer, and answer it he would, because his mother had taught him well—that one always and promptly answered correspondence, because if someone was good enough to reach out to you, you should be gracious enough to respond.
But what to say?
Did he really want to meet up with Ben? The prospect actually seemed kind of nice, if Ethan blocked out the old version of the cruel and sarcastic “Bubbles.”
Yet a part of him continued to nag, saying something about how a tiger never changes his stripes. There was an even more paranoid—not to mention totally irrational—part that told him this whole thing was an elaborate charade, all just to have a huge laugh at the expense of Ethan’s pain.
He knew the notion was absurd. But that didn’t stop the fear from rising up and wandering around in the darkest corners of his mind.
What good would it do to meet up with Ben?
But then again, what would be the harm?
Ethan had to admit, he was curious. He couldn’t recall when he’d seen a more dramatic turnaround in a human being.
And the sad fact was—he didn’t really have any excuse not to take Ben up on his offer. After all, his social calendar these days was pretty much consumed with nuking Lean Cuisines, playing with Cat, and binge-watching Netflix and Amazon original TV series—he loved Transparent. His life now was eerily similar to the time when Ben had worked with him. There was a kind of synchronicity in his popping up now. He pondered briefly calling over the partition to see what Jan thought, but he knew he didn’t need to rely on her to help him make his every move.
What the hell?
He thought of lots of things to say back to Ben, lots of questions to ask, but in the end, he simply wrote back.
Sure. That would be nice.
And because he didn’t want to seem too eager by saying he was available tonight, he proposed meeting in a couple of days, on Wednesday, after work.
How about happy hour on Wednesday? I could meet you at Sidetracks. He hit Send.
And Ben came immediately back with: No can do, sweetie. I don’t drink anymore and don’t even like to be around drinkers.
“Well, yet another shocking change,” Ethan whispered to his screen. “Who are you?” Ben was known for being quite the lush back in the day, rhapsodizing endlessly about the power and benefits of the Grey Goose dirty martini, among other potent potables.
So Ethan thought of another place, a new “bar” that had, as its concept, a no-alcohol policy. “None of the Booze, All of the Fun” was their tagline. Piano served “virgin” versions of many popular cocktails, or mocktails, as they were referred to at the bar. Ethan had been dragged there once before with Jan, because she thought the place would be a hoot. The place was a quiet little spot, not quite in Boystown but a little farther south on the Halsted strip, near Armitage. It had a small bar, a few tables and booths, and as its name promised, a large grand piano in the front window, around which patrons would gather to sing show tunes on certain nights. It was favored by men of a certain age, of which Ethan had to admit begrudgingly to himself, he was one.
But even with the piano music, it would be quiet enough that they could talk.
The squeaky-clean watering hole was also favored, not surprisingly, by recovering alcoholics, which gave Ethan pause.
He typed: How about Piano? That new place on Halsted?
And then he thought—the guy’s some sort of minister. Perhaps even a faux bar was out of bounds. Maybe he should have suggested a neighborhood Starbucks. Or Ann Sather—for a cinnamon roll.
It was too late, though. He’d already sent the message.
And before he even had a chance to question the rendezvous’ appropriateness any further, he got a reply.
Yes! Love that place! Their show tunes night is even better than Sidetracks! Squee! See you there at 5ish?
Ethan smiled. So much for Ben becoming a completely different person. And then he frowned as another thought popped up yet again—a tiger doesn’t change his stripes. That last message had a decidedly Bubbles flavor.
Ethan toyed with the idea of saying something along the lines of “Are you sure you want to be seen in a bar for old queens and recovering alcoholics? With an old queen who knows his Susan Hayward lines from Valley of the Dolls?” but reminded himself he was not dealing with the man he used to know, but someone who was more enlightened.
At least I hope so, he thought as he typed a quick affirmative response and then entered the upcoming date into his phone.
3
&nbs
p; ETHAN SAW Ben the moment he came through the door. He’d gotten to Piano early just so he might have better luck finding a seat that would give him a good observation point. He was at a little round table with a candle on top—facing the door. He figured he’d see Ben first, and if anything was amiss, he could slip out, hopefully unnoticed, before Ben spied him.
It was more paranoid thinking, but as Ethan rode the Brown Line “L” train down from Belmont, he’d gotten more and more nervous about the meeting. After all, the man had once been his nemesis, someone who’d made his work life a lot more unpleasant than it needed to be.
A tiger doesn’t change his stripes was the mantra that continued to run through his head.
But looking at Ben now, he could see right away he needn’t have worried. This wasn’t Bubbles but Ben, a thirtysomething guy in khakis, a black windbreaker, and red Cons. His shoulders and hair were damp from the rain outside, and his cheeks, beneath his glasses, looked ruddy from the cold—cold Ethan hoped was winter’s last gasp.
Nothing of the twink Ethan once knew remained. If he hadn’t known him in another life, Ethan would have simply found Ben attractive, in a bookish sort of way, too young for him, but certainly, even with a cursory glance, a nice enough man.
His train of thought stalled as their eyes met and Ben smiled and gave a little wave. He held up a finger, indicating, Ethan supposed, that he’d be with him in a minute, and approached the bar. He leaned in close to the bartender, an older gray-haired man wearing a bright purple satin shirt that Ethan thought, when he’d first arrived, had to have been a throwback to the bartender’s glory days in the eighties. The word Qiana popped into Ethan’s head as he took in the shirt’s cling, sheen, and wildly oversized collar points.
Oh, what fun Ben would make of the guy, Ethan was certain. And then he gave himself a mental slap because he was the one making fun of the bartender, who was perhaps wearing the disco-era shirt ironically, or because he had reached the blissful age when he no longer gave a damn about what people thought.
Only moments passed before Ben was approaching him, smiling widely, and trying to balance his painfully full margarita mocktail. The bright green liquid sloshed down over the salted rim and onto Ben’s hand.
He sat down, spilling more of the drink on the table, and sighed. “Would you be appalled if I licked that up?” He indicated the tabletop with his gaze.
Ethan didn’t know what to say. His mind immediately went to how many germy paws had touched the table’s scarred wooden surface.
Ben threw up his hands, as if defeated. “Hey, it’s delish, and I’ve never been above licking things my mama told me never to put my mouth on.” Ben giggled, just like the old Bubbles.
Ethan still wasn’t sure what to say.
Ben started to lower his head to the table, tongue out, eyeing Ethan for a reaction.
No! He wasn’t really going to lick the liquid from the table, was he? The old Bubbles would have done something like that.
A tiger doesn’t change his stripes. Again? Ethan thought he needed to get the earworm out of his friggin’ head.
And then Ben sat up straighter and pointed at Ethan and laughed. “You’re aghast!” he cried. “You didn’t really think I’d stoop that low, did you?” He didn’t give Ethan a chance to respond. “Of course you did, because once upon a time—as we both know—I would have.” Ben took a sip of his drink, from the glass. He savored it for a moment, swishing it around, and then slowly swallowed. “Ah, I do love margaritas. Olé! And these taste just like the real thing. Thank God.” He smiled at Ethan. “I’m sorry. I’m probably putting you off.” He took a moment to lick the drink remains from his hand.
Ethan knew he had to say something. Anything. “I want to say….” Ethan’s voice trailed off as he searched for the right words. “I want to say you haven’t changed a bit, but I’m not sure that’s true. I see a little of the old you, and then I see a brand-new you that’s actually quite confounding.” Ethan patted himself mentally on the back for not saying what he was aching to: “I just remembered a commitment. Gotta run!”
Ben set down his drink and cocked his head to listen for a moment as the piano player—who’d just arrived—started off with a soft and slow rendition of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” “Oh, isn’t that lovely? Makes me want to cry!” And indeed, Ethan saw tears standing in Ben’s eyes from just a few bars of the old classic. “I think that song has a special meaning for gay men, don’t you? Haven’t we all had such longings? To be away somewhere magical?”
“I guess so,” Ethan mumbled, even though he agreed—100 percent. Right now, for example, he was longing to be on the other side of the rainbow—or anywhere but here. He was thinking, even from this brief encounter so far, that he’d made a mistake. He should have never met Ben. He should have never accepted the friend request.
He’d opened a can of worms, and all he wanted was to shut it and be at home with Cat.
But you are here, Blanche. You are, he told himself in what he could only think of as Ben’s voice doing a bad Bette Davis. And then his own mental voice chimed in: So you might as well make the best of it. He eased back in the stiff chair and took a sip of his own cocktail—a Virgin Mary. Since his binge on Sunday, he’d decided he’d developed a taste for spicy tomato-based drinks, no matter what time of day it was. They’re not just for breakfast anymore, Miss Anita Bryant!
Ben leaned over the table a bit, drawing Ethan in with his dark-eyed gaze. Ethan had never noticed Ben’s eyes before. He’d always assumed they were blue to go with the rest of his Nordic appearance, but they were the hue of dark chocolate and quite soulful. “I have changed. You’re right about that. And more than a bit.” Ben took another gulp of his drink, sputtering a bit, and for the first time, Ethan entertained the possibility Ben might be nervous too. Knowing that made him relax a bit and not question his decision so much.
“Yeah. I know you have. I came to your service on Sunday.” Ethan smiled.
Ben reared back, and his jaw dropped. “Really? You came to One Life?”
Ethan nodded.
“Why didn’t you say hello? I didn’t see you.” Ben’s mouth turned down in a frown. He was just shy of extending his lower lip in a pout, Ethan was sure. One thing that was not different about the man was that his face hid nothing.
“Oh, I had a friend along, and we needed to get going.”
“What was more important than connecting with your old pal?” Ben chastised.
“Brunch,” Ethan blurted out. It sounded truthful, and he figured Ben—as he knew him—might understand and even approve. For some gay men, brunch was church. He couldn’t bring himself to actually be truthful and say, “I was overcome with emotion.”
Ben pointed at him. “Well, brunch excuses a multitude of sins.”
“Indeed. As do Bloody Marys.” He held up his virgin version. “Not drinking anymore?”
Ben shook his head. “Gave it up years ago, after waking up in some guy’s apartment in Andersonville and realizing I’d been used as the pass-around pack the night before.” He took a sip of his drink. “And not remembering any of it, right down to how I got there or who anyone else was in the place.” He chuckled. “I got a reminder, though, when I turned up HIV positive at my next checkup!” Ben laughed again, and Ethan recalled his own diagnosis a few years back and wondered how someone could laugh about learning such a hard and painful fact. Ben shook his head, the grin remaining firmly in place.
“How can you laugh about such a thing?” Ethan couldn’t resist asking.
“What am I gonna do? Cry? Not my style. I’ll cry a bucket over some commercial about a war vet reuniting with his dog, but over my own life?” He shrugged. “Not so much.”
Ethan realized he certainly couldn’t say the same. He’d cried literal—he was sure—buckets since Brian left the world.
“Besides,” Ben went on, “it was a blessing.”
“What? Getting gangbanged by strangers? Or getting HIV?”
&n
bsp; And again Ben laughed. “My goodness! I’m not the only one at this table who’s changed. The little milquetoast I used to know wouldn’t have dared say such a thing to me. Someone served you a cup of nerve, sister.”
Ethan opened his mouth to apologize, and Ben stopped him with an upturned hand. “No. No, I’m glad to see it. And to answer your question—both. It was that night and the resulting consequence that was my ‘rock bottom’ or my ‘wake-up call,’ if you want to deal in clichés. But clichés are clichés often because they’re so very true, don’t you think?” Ben didn’t wait for Ethan to answer. “I needed reminding that I had gone so far off course I had no idea what my destination even was anymore. My first impulse, when the doc told me I was poz, was to head for the nearest bar, but then I sat down, right there on Division Street, and I cried my eyes out. Blubbering. Snotty. Helpless. God—or whatever you want to call it—source, the universe, the One—put a kind stranger in my path that day. A Good Samaritan and fellow alcoholic—and that’s what I was even though I never considered it until she suggested it—talked some sense to me and took me to my first meeting.
“I admitted, all shaken up, to that room of strangers in the basement of a Baptist church, what I was, and it was the first step toward freedom, you know? That was the beginning, that day, of my spiritual journey. And I am so, so grateful for it. Sometimes the universe sends us teachers in the weirdest disguises.”
“What do you mean?” Ethan asked, even though he had an inkling.
“HIV, getting pass-out, can’t-remember drunk, debasing myself. Many folks would claim those are horrible things, things I should feel great shame for. But I don’t. And I won’t. Because I see them as my life’s most powerful blessings. That stranger coming along to find me crying in the street that day, I believe, was nothing short of a miracle. She, along with those blessings, delivered me to right where I am now, sitting here with you, a whole person with a clear head. Why shouldn’t I be thankful if those so-called ‘awful’ things are what pulled me by the nose in the right direction?”
