by Jay Quinn
“Zack, wait—” I began.
“What are you looking for beyond that, Chris? That’s what marriage is. That’s all it is. You have a gift—for making men happy. What do you want me to say? That’s the pure fact of it. If you want to beat yourself up wondering if you’re some kind of Stepford Wife, then go for it. You’re not. You’re just a wonderful, loving man, Chris. Accept it. I think Steve is one lucky son of a bitch.”
I nodded and let his words sink in. “Okay, Zack. I understand all that, and believe me, I thank you for every word you said. What I’m wondering is, what about the rest of me? I know I’m good at making love, and giving love. I’ll even cop to admitting I enjoy the hell out of it. But what about my mind? My intelligence? What about my soul?”
Zack just started laughing.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“You. You’re so funny. You’re such a serious person. Who the hell gives a fuck if you could get on PBS to talk about Nabokov with Azar Nafisi or trade inside jokes with what’s his name … Anderson Cooper. I wouldn’t kick Cooper out of bed and I wouldn’t mind having Nafisi on my arm if I was going to a New York cocktail party. But I wouldn’t want either one of them in my heart or raising my kids. Look at Steve and ask him the same question. All that intellectual bullshit is something just for you. That’s yours. It’s nothing but pretty wrapping paper for the men in your life.”
“Really …” I had to admit, Zack surprised me.
“Oh yes, my beautiful, serious ex-wife. Really. To this day I’d rather call you my wife than call you my frickin’ partner, for God’s sake. You should be proud of that, if nothing else. What made me happiest was watching you walk around my house in my reindeer sweater, reading those books while you stirred the pots and answered the phone and yelled at the kids. My God, you were something else. Something wonderful, as a matter of fact.”
I started to laugh.
“Chris, I used to hide whatever book you were reading while you brushed your teeth because I was scared you’d try to be reading while I fucked you.”
“Oh come on, Zack. You were a better fuck than that.”
Zack looked at me and grinned, then we both laughed.
“Oh Chris, this feels so good, running on again with you like this.”
“It does, Zack. I’ve missed you. For everything that Steve is to me now, I haven’t had—what is it now—24 years with him like I’ve had with you.”
Zack smiled and nodded. “Can we please not fight anymore? If for nothing else, for the sake of our grandson? Baby Chris … who would have ever thought?”
“Zack, I’m so lucky to have you and those kids of ours. We had some damn good times.”
“Yeah we did. Now we have a grandbaby. Jeez.”
“Soon to be another.”
“Oh hell. Don’t even bring it up. I love my daughter, but who could ever imagine Andrea as a mother? The poor kid will be as intellectually overanalytical as you are and all the worse for Andrea’s psychobabble. I shudder at the thought of it.” Zack laughed glanced at his watch and stood up. “Steve’s going to be waiting, and I sure don’t want to piss him off. You’re worth fighting over, Chris. I just don’t want to fight with you anymore.”
I stood and touched Zack’s cheek. “Only people who love each other can fight like we did, Zack,” I said.
“I’ll never stop caring for you, you know that.”
“I know, Granddaddy.”
“Listen at you, Grandmom.”
“Oh shut the hell up.”
We walked down the stairs and on into the old building’s rotunda. The front steps were in one direction and Zack’s car was parked in the other. Once again, he opened his arms and I stepped into them. He kissed the top of my head and let me go. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow at the church?” he asked.
“Yes, I’ll be there for the Mass as well.”
“I should hope so.” He looked around the deserted space, then back down at me. “Chris, please tell that bruiser of yours that we’re okay, will you? Seriously. I’m nearly 59 years old. The last thing I need is to get into some big confrontation—”
“It’ll be okay, Zack. Make nice a little tomorrow, talk to him. I really haven’t painted you as that big of a jerk, okay? But you said it yourself—I know how to make my men happy. I also make them protective as hell. I guess it comes from being so much shorter than all of them, our sons included.”
“Short, maybe; in need of protecting? Never. I’d put you up against Stone Cold Steve Austin.”
“Only because you think he’d be in my lap with me rocking him within the first round.”
Zack laughed. “My best to Alicia, okay?” I said.
“She’ll appreciate that. If you want to find someone who values your intellect, she’s the one. I think you fascinate her.”
“Why, do you suppose?”
“I’ll make nice with Steve if you ask Alicia that question.”
“Deal. See you tomorrow, dear heart.”
That bought a smile from Zack that still dazzled me, then he strode away. I went out the double doors and looked for Steve. The Expedition wasn’t in sight. I looked at my watch—he had 15 minutes before I told him I’d be waiting. I pulled my cigarettes out of my back pocket, lit, and sat on the white marble steps to smoke and enjoy the afternoon. And play the conversation with Zack over in my mind.
Zack had blinked hard when I told him Steve wanted me to marry him. In retrospect, I think what I saw in Zack’s eyes wasn’t regret. It was simple jealousy. I knew Alicia wasn’t anything like me. She was a bright, ambitious business woman. I wasn’t business-minded at all: In fact, I was most likely a tremendous slacker. I loved my job as a receptionist for Dr. Tony, but I took the damn job because it had a wonderful window and view I could look out on and daydream.
I thumped my cigarette into the street and blew a long stream of smoke before I started to crack up with laughter. It was probably a good thing I had a knack for making my men happy. On my own I wasn’t exactly an airhead, but I was satisfied just to float along, reading and thinking. It wasn’t that I projected myself as something frail or particularly feminine; it was simply they felt so protective over me because they were scared I’d wander into traffic with a book in my hands and my head full of dreams, not recipes. It was so fucked-up it was funny.
I left my thoughts to dance with the leaves across the park. What I wanted most now was to be with Steve. I loved the idea of being a lone wolf living in the house on stilts by the sea, but … I also deeply needed and wanted to be Steve’s wife, knit into the community that had reached out to welcome me into their small world. Most of all, I needed to trust my heart again and quit living in my head. Alone.
I was just reaching for another cigarette when a car horn tooted. I looked toward the street to find Steve waiting. As I walked toward the car I realized there was something different about him. He’d gotten a haircut! His hair tended toward ringlets when it got too long. Now it was cut short from the nape and on the sides and brushed forward on top in a trendy upsweep at his brow. He looked dashing. I whistled.
“Hello, sailor. Got some time to kill?” I said as I climbed in.
“Like it?”
“It looks pretty hot, Big Man.”
“It’ll get all curly without the goop the son of a bitch put into it on top.”
A car behind us honked, and Steve let off the brake and started to drive toward Western Boulevard. “Where’s your new clothes?” I asked.
“In the backseat. Look, forget about that for a minute. Where the hell am I going now?”
“Pull over the next chance you get, and we’ll switch places. I know exactly how to get there, so I’ll drive.”
Steve found an empty space in front of a row of dorms and just barely slid the Expedition into it. The cars behind us passed in a steady stream. We got out of the car and switched places. Once I was in the driver’s seat, Steve reached behind him and pulled out a bag from an expensive men’s store. Insid
e I saw a navy-blue blazer, a pair of khaki trousers, and a blue oxford cloth shirt. Tucked underneath was a brand-new belt. “Shoes?” I asked.
Steve grinned. “New Nikes. High-tops.”
I laughed. “You’re going to look like a million bucks in basketball shoes, baby.”
Steve nodded. “I ought to, for what all this shit cost.” He turned around to replace the bag in the backseat. “Chris? Are we anywhere near where you used to live? I’d like to see it.”
I calculated the time of day against the traffic between Oakwood on the south side and North Raleigh, just outside the belt line where Trey and Susan lived. It would be a bitch, but I could make it happen if I didn’t go back through downtown. “We won’t be able to do more than drive past it, but I guess we can make it before the worst of rush hour, if you really want to go.”
“I do, Chris. I want to see where you came from, before you met me.”
I pulled into the flow of traffic headed for Western Boulevard and from there to Oakwood on the other side of downtown. I turned on the radio to entertain Steve so I wouldn’t have to talk about the past or give him the guided tour. We would drive past much of my old life—including the pre-Zack days along the way. I had no intention of recalling the gay bars and the houses in Boylan Heights I’d tricked in for Steve’s benefit. Those times were too long past. I didn’t want to revisit any of those memories.
Steve took in the cityscape and didn’t say much the whole way. At last, I pulled up in front of the large, old Italianate house with its tall, narrow windows I’d last left with Beau nearly a year before.
“This is it, Steve,” I said.
He craned his neck to take it all in, then looked at me with a grin. “No wonder you said you wanted me to build you a big-ass house. I bet this place has five bedrooms.”
“Yep. And a front parlor, a back parlor, a dining room, and a kitchen with a fireplace too.”
Steve whistled appreciatively, then shook his head. “Do you ever miss it?”
“Never.” Then I thought again. “Well, I miss who we were in that house. I miss the kids in it. I sometimes miss the Zack that lived there in the best days. But do I ever miss myself—the man I used to be there? No, Big Man, I’m happy with me now.”
Steve turned to me. “Are you happy with me now?”
I looked at him and laughed. “More than you’ll ever know.”
“Chris, have you given any more thought to what we could build to live in together?”
“I’ve not stopped thinking about it since you brought it up, Steve.”
“Well … and …? You’ve got me sitting on pins and needles here, Chris.”
“Hold on a little bit longer, Steve. I need to talk to Trey.”
“Goddamn it, what does Trey have to do with it?”
“Steve. Just hold tight. By the time we’re on the road heading back home, we’ll have a great deal to talk about concerning our new house. Trust me.”
Steve’s eyes lit up. “You said our new house. Does that mean you’re saying yes? Does that mean you’re going to marry me and live with me like we talked about?”
I smiled and pulled away from the curb in front of the Oakwood house I’d lived in for over 20 years. The road to the rest of my life was beneath the wheels of my car, and the man I most wanted as my traveling companion was sitting next to me. My mind was made up, my questions were answered.
“I think when we get back to the beach you can have the old house cleared away and get the lot ready,” I said. “What I have to talk to Trey about is how we’re going to swing paying for it. The hard way, or the easy way.”
“I don’t get it, Chris. What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m going to marry you, Steve Willis.”
Steve looked annoyed and a little let down. “Well, thank God that mystery’s solved. But Chris, I still don’t understand what the hell Trey has to do with anything about it.”
I sighed. For all the talks Steve and I had about ourselves and our future, we’d never discussed our finances. I had only the roughest estimate of what he earned each year, and I’d never discussed my financial resources with him. It was far easier to have sex with somebody than it was to talk about money. Now Steve and I had come to that point. If he wanted to build a house for us to share, it was only reasonable for me to be honest about my expectations for a house and a home.
“Steve, I guess it’s time we talked about money. I need to talk to Trey because he handles all my money. He’s an investment banker, for godsakes. I trust him to take care of my finances so I have something to live off of when I get old, or at least to the point I can’t work anymore. I’m 10 years older than you are. I have to consider those things a lot sooner than you do.”
Steve nodded. Very soberly he asked, “How much money are we talking about?”
I hesitated. Driving across Raleigh during rush hour was not how I intended to have this discussion, but there was no way to postpone it now. “You just saw the house we all used to live in, right?”
“Yes.”
“Well, the house was my settlement from Zack. When it sold, I used some of the money to buy the beach house outright. That didn’t even take half the money. The rest is in an annuity.”
Steve whistled softly. “That much, huh?”
“Well, it’s not really that much when you look at how long I could live. With the beach house mine free and clear, I not only have a place to live, I also have another investment for the future.”
“So what you and Trey have to decide is whether or not to risk your future by investing in me. Nice, Chris. I really appreciate being broken down to numbers like that.”
I gave him a sharp look and said, “Don’t get pissy on me now, Steve. That’s not the issue at all. I’ve already decided to invest my life in you. What I need to know from Trey is what’s the best way to use the beach house now. We need to figure out how we’re going to pay for a house we both want to live in and we both can afford. Do you see what I’m saying?”
“Well, you’re acting like I’m not going to put anything into it. The land under the house is mine and like I said, it’s easily worth a half million. I got a hundred and eighteen for the house when the insurance company totaled it. I can get the money for us on my own.”
“That’s not the issue Steve. The issue is, how hard do you want to have to work to pay off a mortgage? To build us a house we both want to live in is going to cost way over three hundred grand. If we mortgage two hundred grand of that for 30 years, the payment is still going to be anywhere from eighteen hundred to twenty-five hundred a month when you consider taxes and insurance. Alone, I don’t make that much. I have no idea what you make a month, but if I back you out of the equation altogether, like if I had to make the house payment every month by myself, I wouldn’t be able to afford to live in my own home. Do you understand?”
“You’re giving me a headache,” Steve said wearily.
“Tell me about it. Do you think I haven’t been thinking about all this shit since you and I first talked about this? We aren’t 18 and just starting out, Steve. This is big-boy stuff.”
“There ain’t no need to talk to me like I’m a kid, Chris. I understand all that. What you don’t know is how much I have in the bank.”
“No, I don’t. That’s not what’s important. Keep what you have in the bank for the future. What if we could pay cash for the new house? That would be like saving money for the next 30 years.”
“Chris, I have enough money in the bank to pay cash for whatever kind of house you want and still have plenty left over.”
I looked at him dumbfounded.
“Um, Chris. You better keep your mind on your driving right now, okay?”
I looked back at the road just in time to keep from running over the Geo in front of me. I had to brake so hard that Steve instinctively reached for the dashboard to brace himself. Then he started laughing.
“You should see the look on your face,” he said. “You thou
ght you were dating some hard-luck po’ boy, didn’t you? All like, ‘I have an annuity; I have to talk to my personal investment banker’ and shit.” Steve hooted and drummed on the dash in time with the music from the radio.
“Okay, fair enough,” I said. “You got me. Now, I showed you mine, you show me yours. Put your cards out where I can see them.”
“How about I tell you what’s in my hand and you keep your eyes on the road, big shot?”
“Stop fucking with me, Steve.”
“Okay, listen up. I had both my parents’ life insurance money to start with, and let me tell you something: My daddy believed in life insurance like my mama believed in Jesus. I believed in the stock market for a long time, until it started getting scary good. I was out of it and into nice, safe T-bills four months before 9/11. My house was paid for before I was born, and you can’t say I exactly live an extravagant lifestyle. I get my fill of traveling and nice, big toy boats crewing in the Caribbean during the tournament season. I’ve never had a boyfriend that stuck around or cared anything about me, much less what I might be worth. So the question was and is, Do you want me to build us a house to live in on my little piece of Salter Path? If you do, then don’t worry about your precious little ol’ beach house. Keep it or sell it—I couldn’t care less. I don’t need your money. I need you.”
I followed the flow of traffic, making my way to Trey’s and Susan’s without saying anything. Steve settled back in his seat on the passenger side and moved only to punch the buttons on the radio in search of songs he could tolerate.
Nearing my son’s house, I pulled into an empty corner of the parking lot at North Hills Mall, rolled down our windows, and shut off the car. Steve lit a cigarette and looked at me with a smirk on his face that I wanted to both slap and kiss. I lit my own cigarette and watched him look around.
“What store does Trey and Susan live in?” he asked.
“God, you’re impossible sometimes. Can you at least credit me for trying to be mature and responsible with money?”
