by Meg Perry
Pete's face was a mask. "Why would you think that I want you out of my hair? You're not imposing on me."
"Yeah, but -"
He smacked his hand on the table and stood up. "Damn it, Jamie!" He turned away from me, then walked upstairs.
I lowered my head and slowly, gently banged it on the table. Then I went upstairs. "Pete?"
He was in the guest room, at his computer. He didn't turn to face me. "What?"
"I'm gonna take the bus to Westwood. I have to pick up the VW."
That made him turn around. Then he stood up and picked up his keys from the desk. "You're not taking the bus. Don't be an idiot."
I didn't say anything. I followed him out the door and to his Jeep. We drove in silence to the garage. He waited until I was sure that the VW was ready to go, then gave me the door key to the condo. "In case I'm not there when you get back."
I just nodded.
I didn’t hear what I wanted to from the apartment manager. “The studios are really popular right now, and we don’t have one available at all, unless someone breaks a lease. And I don’t really expect that to happen.” She smiled sympathetically. “I’m glad you enjoy living here so much. I’m going to put the pressure on to get your place restored as quickly as possible. We should have you back in there in less than a month.”
I thanked her. I was going to have to gut it out at Pete’s.
Since I had my car, I went to Target in Culver City. In spite of what I'd told Liz, I really didn't have anything to my name except a computer and a car and the clothes on my back. Target opened up to me like an old friend. I bought socks, underwear, swim trunks, gym shorts, lots of t-shirts, a couple of pairs of pajama pants, sweatpants and hoodies, a couple of pairs of jeans, a bunch of polo shirts, and a couple of pairs of chinos. I wasn't going to get dress shirts here; I could get away with wearing polo shirts to work for a while. I did have a pair of running shoes in the back of the VW, and I had the shoes I'd been wearing yesterday, so I could get by there as well until I could get to Penneys or someplace with a better shoe selection. I bought toothbrushes, toothpaste, shampoo, razors, deodorant, soap, and towels. I went to the pharmacy and replaced my flowmeter. And I bought beer and Coke Classic and a huge box of Cheez-Its. Comfort food.
I was getting in the VW when Kevin called. He had just met with the insurance adjuster, who had cut him a check on the spot. He was depositing it into our joint account, so when the funds became available in a few days I could transfer half to my account.
Then he asked, "Where are you?"
I told him and filled him in on the other events of the morning.
Then he proceeded to yell at me.
He yelled at me for picking up the car, for going to the apartment complex, for going shopping. He yelled at me for the way I was treating Pete. He yelled at me for thinking that I wouldn't continue to be welcome in my own home with him and Abby. He yelled at me for even thinking of going back to work tomorrow, and he yelled at me for having been friends with "that pink-haired loon" (Diane) in the first place.
He ended with, "What the hell is the matter with you?"
I said, "I don't know." And hung up on him.
Then I sat in the parking lot and called my dad.
My dad and I were always close. He was close to all of us; he’d raised us, with help from our grandfather, after our mom was killed by a drunk driver when I was six months old. But after Jeff and Kevin had gone off to college and my granddad moved back to South Carolina, it was just me and my dad for a year. I’d always been able to talk to him about anything. And I really needed to talk to him now.
When he answered the phone, “Hey, sport, what’s up?” I had to struggle to fight back the tears.
The first thing I managed to get out was, “I just hung up on Kevin.”
“Okay, why’d you do that?”
“Because he was yelling at me.”
“Okay, why was he yelling at you?”
And that’s how it went. Eventually I calmed down enough to stop sniffling and spill my guts.
My dad was pretty much quiet through the whole story, occasionally asking a question to clarify something. When I got to the asthma attack and the fire, he was aghast. “Jamie! If someone is after you up there, then the last thing you need is to be by yourself. Why do you not want to stay with Pete?”
I tried to explain it to him. He wasn’t buying it. “Son, you don’t give Pete enough credit. He obviously cares about you, and he’s a much higher quality person than those last three or four guys were. And he’s definitely not Ethan. You need to change trains here. Get off the Ethan train before the Pete train leaves the station and it’s too late.”
“I am off the Ethan train.”
“No, you’re not. You’re still letting him color every relationship you have, seven years later. He’d be amazed to learn that he has this power over you. You didn’t let him rule your life while you were with him, so why are you letting him rule it now?”
A flash of insight that I didn’t know I had until I opened my mouth. “Because it’s safer this way.”
“Well, apparently not, since you tell me your life is a disaster right now.” Dad paused. I could almost hear him deciding what to say. “Listen. I wouldn’t worry about Diane. She’s the one who needs to apologize to you. Kevin will forgive you, and he shouldn’t be yelling at you anyway. But Pete is not going to put his life on hold forever waiting for you to come to your senses. And it’s time for you to do that. To come to your senses, I mean. If the universe is pushing you in one direction, which it clearly is, then trying to maintain your position is pointless. It expends a lot of energy, and you won’t win. Tell me the truth. Do you have feelings for Pete?”
“Well, yeah – I mean, um-” I stopped. And admitted it. “Yeah, I do.”
“Then for Pete’s sake, pun intended, get back to his place and tell him.”
I groaned. “It’s not that easy.”
“Yes, it is. At least talk to him. Graciously accept his offer of staying with him, apologize to him for being an idiot, and see where it goes.”
I sighed. “I’ll try.”
“Okay. And tell Kevin that I said to stop yelling at you.”
I laughed a little. “I will definitely do that.”
We hung up. I sat there for a few more minutes, staring off into the distance. Then I started the car.
By the time I got back to the condo, it was nearly 7:00. Pete was home when I got there. I’d been half afraid he wouldn’t be and half afraid he would. I dropped my stuff at the foot of the stairs and collapsed onto one of the chairs at the dinette table, rubbing my face with my hands. Pete sat down across the table from me.
“What did the apartment manager say?”
“They don’t have anything. They won’t have anything for months unless someone breaks their lease. So, if your offer still stands to let me stay with you until our place is finished, then I accept.”
“Of course it still stands. You’re welcome to be here as long as you like.” Then: "Jamie?"
"Yeah?"
"Why are you so resistant to letting me help you?"
I looked up at him. "It’s not that I'm resistant..."
"Then what is it?" Pete was obviously in distress. I hated this. "What are you afraid of?"
I was too tired and stressed out for anything but honesty. "That you'll get the wrong idea."
"About what?"
"About me. About what I'm looking for from you. I'm not looking for anything from anyone. I can handle this myself. I can handle my life myself. I'm tired of being only seen as the little brother. I'm a grown man, and I can take care of myself."
Pete's face shifted to something gentler. "I don't see you as a little brother. I definitely see you as a grown man. I always have."
"Really?"
"Yes, really." Pete sighed. "I know you can take care of yourself, but why should you have to? None of us should have to. We're not made to go through life alone."
&nb
sp; "I think maybe I was."
"No, you weren't. Listen to me. What Ethan did to you was inexcusable, but -"
"I do not want to talk about Ethan."
"Okay, let's talk about you. You were the one who said historians dwell on the past, and that’s exactly what you’re doing. Because of what Ethan did to you, you've shut yourself off from letting anyone else get close to you. From letting anyone else try to love you. You keep hooking up with these flimsy guys -"
"Flimsy guys? Is that a psychological term?"
"It should be. Flimsy guys. Guys without substance. You pick guys that you think won't stay with you so you can keep proving to yourself over and over that you're not worth staying with..."
I was getting mad. "Enough with the psychoanalysis, please?"
Pete was getting mad too. "I am not analyzing you. I am trying to convince you that you are your own worst enemy. I've watched you set yourself up for failure over and over and sink lower and lower in your own estimation, and it's killing me. It's killing me. Because..." His voice broke and he stopped.
I was almost afraid to ask. "Because why?"
His voice was softer. "Because it doesn't have to be that way. Because you're such a great guy, and you're definitely worth staying with. You're worth so much more than that. You deserve a guy that sees that and wants to build a life with you." He pushed back and stood up. "I'm not saying this very well."
"It's been a long day. Maybe you're not thinking very clearly."
He leaned back against the counter and put his hands in his pockets. "No, I'm thinking fine. But I'm afraid to tell you exactly what I feel, I guess."
That was supposed to be my line. "Why? You've just told me some pretty hard stuff."
He looked at his feet. "Because I'm afraid that I'll scare you away for good, because you're skittish, like a deer in a clearing. Because I don't want to lose what relationship we do have, because friends with benefits is better than nothing. Because..." He stopped, and looked up, right into my eyes. "Because I love you. I always have. Since I first got to know you. And I'm afraid that you won't ever reciprocate that because you're so stuck in your past and so determined to prove that you’re self-sufficient. You're convinced that every guy you get involved with is going to leave you, so you never trust anyone, and they do leave you. It's a downward spiral, like this vortex you're stuck in. And I'm reaching out to you, to drag you into the boat, and you won't take my hand. It breaks my heart."
I felt paralyzed. "Pete, I don't...don't you see? If we did get together, and it didn't work out, it would be so much worse than any of those other guys. And you'd be hurt, and it would be my fault, and I couldn't stand that."
Pete shook his head and looked back at his feet. He said very quietly, "That's rationalization, and you know it." His face twisted, and he bit his lip to regain control. It didn't work. He turned away from me, put his hands on the counter, and leaned into them. He laughed, but his shoulders were sagging. "It's ironic, I guess. I've been wishing and hoping that we could get back together one day, and now you’re here, but you don't want to stay."
Fuck. "Pete, it's not -"
He snapped his left hand up at me, elbow straight, traffic-cop style. Stop, in the name of love. "No."
I didn't move. I couldn't. Pete dropped his hand, straightened up, and walked past me to the stairs without looking at me. "Shower time." He started climbing.
I sat still. It was quiet here. Peaceful. I could hear muted bird chatter and a few rumbles of traffic from Wilshire. Pete's footsteps were muffled above me. Then I heard the faint hiss of the shower.
Shit, shit, shit.
The shower cut off, but Pete didn’t come back down. I cut all the tags off of my new clothes and washed two loads, dried and folded all of it, then put everything back in the Target bags and carried them upstairs. I opened my new flow meter and checked my peak flow; it was at 82% of baseline. Not much better, but over the crucial 80% line. I readied my clothes for the following day, gathered up my laptop, and went to the living room.
I sat on the sofa with my laptop, Cheez-its, and Coke close at hand and checked my email. Mostly routine stuff, but there was one that froze me in place. It was from the director of medical records at the hospital.
Dear Dr. Brodie,
At 3:30 am today, our automated system recorded an unauthorized access of your medical records. Unfortunately, some of your medical information may have been temporarily exposed before the system closed the breach.
We are working to determine the source of the access. In the meantime, we wanted you to be aware of this. We apologize for the problem. We have been able to determine that the access came from within the UCLA network.
If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to contact me.
Sincerely,
Gloria Silveira, Director of Medical Records, Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center
Shit. I emailed her back and cc’ed Detective Blake.
Ms. Silveira, thank you for informing me of this. I have been having problems with my office PC, and the computer crimes detective at the UCLA police is already investigating. I’m copying him on this so he can contact you to coordinate your investigations, which I feel must be related.
If you need any more information from me, please let me know.
I sat back. It was official.
My life was going to hell in a greased handbasket.
Wednesday June 6
The next morning, Pete and I tiptoed around each other politely. We didn’t talk about anything from last night. We did figure out an approach to our visit with Dr. Oliver; Pete would claim to be looking for a fertility lab to fund. I told him he’d better dress rich.
He blanched. “I don’t have anything rich.”
“Well, just wear your best suit, then. Or you could go with the tweedy academic look…”
He went with tweedy academic.
Fertility Research was on the third floor of a medical office building a block from Cedars. We parked close to the building this time. Pete turned off the engine and looked at me before we got out of the car. "You still think this is a good idea."
"Yeah, I do. We won't be here long or ask any questions that will give anything away. It will just give me a glimpse into the atmosphere here; maybe we can tell if something seems off. And remember, you're supposed to be interested in investing, so you should do most of the talking."
"Yes. I've got it." He shook his head and opened his door. "Let's get this over with."
We rode the elevator up, following Dr. Oliver's directions, and turned right. Fertility Research had the southwest quadrant of the building. The first door on the left was the receptionist's office. I knocked and stuck my head in. "Hi. Dr. Brodie and Dr. Ferguson, here to see Dr. Oliver?"
"Hello, Dr. Brodie. Come right in." The receptionist was a grandmotherly looking lady in a blouse and a jumper with a cat embroidered on it. Her name plate said Marjorie Ellison. She gave us a sunny smile. "Would you like some coffee? Tea?"
We declined. Marjorie said, "Well, let me know if you change your minds." She lifted her phone and pushed a button. "Dr. Oliver, your visitors are here." She waited a minute, then said, "Yes, sir," and hung up. "He'll be right with you."
Pete was looking at some brochures that were on a side table. "May I have one of these?"
"Oh, yes, help yourself."
Pete picked up a couple of brochures and started reading. I smiled at Marjorie. She smiled back. It was very smiley in here.
Dr. Oliver appeared in just a couple of minutes. "Dr. Brodie! So good to see you again!" He shook my hand vigorously. I introduced Pete, and they shook hands also. Dr. Oliver regarded Pete with interest bordering on avarice. "Dr. Ferguson, it’s a pleasure. I understand from Dr. Brodie that you’re looking for a worthy cause in which to invest."
"Yes. I've come into some money that I need to give to charity for tax purposes. I'm sure you understand." Pete was playing the part of rich guy flawlessly. "I have a personal interest i
n fertility research, and I'm looking at different organizations, looking for a place that I'm comfortable with giving to."
"Of course. I understand completely. We'd love to be the beneficiary of your generosity. Allow me to make a good impression on you." Oliver chuckled; Pete chuckled with him. Wow, he was really good at this.
"Come with me, and let me show you our lab. It's our pride and joy." We said goodbye to Marjorie and headed down the hallway.
The lab took up the entire right side of the hallway. There was a door at the front of the room and one at the back. We walked in to a brightly lit, mostly white space. It was about what I expected: several rows of lab benches with whirring, blinking machines and a few people standing at them in white coats.
