by Jason Starr
“It’s been in my family for centuries.”
“This brewery?”
“We had one in Germany too.”
“Is it still active in Germany?”
“No, my family is no longer in the beer business, but, as they say, life goes on.”
Simon was trying to think of another question when Michael said, “You’ll have some steak now.”
“Steak?” Simon wasn’t sure he’d heard him correctly.
“Yeah,” Ramon said. “You should see the way my boy Michael cooks ’em. Best damn T-bone in New York City.”
“Yeah, Michael makes awesome steaks,” Charlie said.
“Oh, wow, that’s very nice of you,” Simon said. “But I’m not really hungry. I already ate before I got here.”
Michael seemed offended.
Then Ramon said, “Michael’s a great cook.”
“Thank you,” Simon said to Michael. “I really appreciate it. But the thing is I rarely eat red meat anyway. I’m not a vegetarian, I just try to avoid it.”
Everyone was looking at Simon, confused.
“You know, for health reasons,” Simon continued. “High blood pressure, cholesterol. I have a family history, so I try to be careful.”
Still no one seemed to understand what he was talking about.
“Sorry,” Simon said. “I mean, I didn’t mean to offend—”
“It’s really good steak,” Charlie said.
Wanting to put an end to all the tension, Simon said, “You know what, I think I have a little room left after all. I’d love to have some steak.”
Ramon and Charlie smiled widely, but Michael remained deadpan as he went through a door toward the back of the room.
“I should give him a hand,” Ramon said, and followed him.
Unlike at the playground and the park, when Simon had felt so comfortable with the guys, the steak discussion had caused some awkwardness.
“So,” Simon said to Charlie. “How’ve you been?”
“Hanging in there, hanging in there,” Charlie said. “So is everything cool?”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know, you just seemed kind of, I don’t know, put on the spot with the whole steak thing. If you’re really not hungry or whatever, I could have a talk with Michael and—”
“No, no, I have some room,” Simon said. “But thank you, I appreciate it.”
Charlie looked toward the room Michael and Ramon had exited to, then moved closer to Simon and said in a hushed tone, “That’s just how Michael gets with his quirks, you know? The steak is just a kind of tradition with him; every time we’ve been here he’s cooked us steaks, but take it from me, a guy who cooks for a firehouse full of hungry firemen, the steaks are damn good.”
“Well, it sounds great,” Simon said. “I can’t wait to try it.”
“You sure? You still seem a little freaked out.”
Simon laughed, then said, “No, I’m fine. There just seems to be new surprises all the time with you guys, but I’m getting used to it.”
“Yeah, I know where you’re coming from,” Charlie said. “I remember when I came here the first time, I felt the same way. I was like, what is this place? It’s run-down, in the middle of freakin’ nowhere . . .”
“Exactly,” Simon said.
“And the hugging. I was like, what’s the deal with this? I mean, I’m not one of those homophobics, but I was like, whoa, man, take it easy. But then when I got to know the guys and found out what this was all about, my attitude changed. I got, what’s the word I’m looking for? . . . unguarded. Yeah, I got unguarded. I mean, we’re just a bunch of guys who like each other’s company, so why hold back? Why not show it? I don’t know about you, but I’d always had problems being emotional. My ex, man, she got on me about it all the time, saying I never talk, I keep my emotions to myself, you know? Even as a fireman I never felt that, you know, camaraderie with the guys you’re supposed to feel. I never felt that bond, I never felt part of something. But here that’s all changed. After I met Michael, and started hanging with him and Ramon a lot, it’s like my whole life changed.” Charlie was suddenly teary eyed. “See?” he said. “See? This is a whole new side of me. I never used to get like this.”
Charlie looked away, as if he didn’t want to cry in front of Simon. Simon was moved himself, seeing this big strong fireman get so vulnerable.
Then Ramon and Michael entered, Ramon grinning, saying, “Who’s ready to eat some steak?”
Ramon and Michael placed four plates of T-bones on the table. There was nothing else on the plates—just the steaks. Ramon gave everyone a knife and fork except Michael, and then Ramon and Michael sat in the brown leather armchairs facing the coffee table and Simon and Charlie sat on the couch.
“Bon appetit,” Ramon said.
Simon watched Michael pick up his steak with his hands and hold it like a piece of corn. He started at one end and, chewing incredibly fast, knocked off the entire bottom of the steak. Then, like a typewriter, he shifted back to the other end of the steak and kept repeating, devouring half of the steak in about thirty seconds. Simon stared at Michael, amazed, but Charlie and Ramon seemed to think this was perfectly normal, barely noticing Michael as they began eating their own steaks. They used knives and forks, cutting pieces and chewing and swallowing. Though they weren’t eating nearly as fast as Michael, they were still eating extremely fast, almost if they were racing to finish. Meanwhile, there was no talking; they were totally focused on eating.
Michael was nearly done with his steak when he suddenly looked at Simon. It was only a momentary glance, but his dark, unflinching gaze gave Simon a jolt. Not wanting to offend his host again, Simon cut a piece of his steak and took his first bite. Wow, Ramon was right—it was amazing. Simon had eaten at Smith & Wollensky in Manhattan and at Musso and Frank in Hollywood, and this was as tender and flavorful as any steak he’d ever had.
“Wow, this is amazing,” Simon said. “Seriously. Great job, Michael.”
Michael, who had finished eating and was sucking on the bone, either didn’t hear Simon or chose not to answer. A few minutes later, Charlie and Ramon finished and started sucking on the bones.
A couple of minutes later, Ramon rested his perfectly clean bone on the plate and said, “Damn, that was good.”
Charlie put his bone down and said, “Awesome, as always.”
The guys began a normal conversation that they could’ve had at the playground, trading stories about their kids. Ramon said his son had wet his bed a couple of nights ago, and Michael suggested a good book for him to read on the subject. Then Charlie said that his son wanted a tricycle, and Simon told him about a sale he’d heard about at a bicycle shop on Lexington Avenue. The guys were extremely friendly and outgoing, and compared to all of the awkwardness before, everything seemed very normal.
Simon ate most of his steak but was too full to finish. Thirsty, he asked Michael, “Do you have any water or something?”
Michael immediately stood, the way an old-fashioned gentleman gets up when a lady enters a room, and said, “You’ll have beer.”
“Cool,” Simon said. “I’d love a beer.”
Michael exited to the room from which he’d brought the steaks and returned a few minutes later with a tray of four pints of beer. Three beers were light and one was noticeably dark—not as dark as Guinness, but close.
“My man’s getting the special brew,” Ramon said, sharing a knowing glance with Charlie.
“Um, what’s the special brew?” Simon asked cautiously.
“It’s just a family recipe of Michael’s,” Charlie said.
“It’s a special beer from the homeland in Germany,” Michael said.
Michael’s gaze was so intense, Simon had to look away.
“We had it the first time we were here,” Ramon said. “Just get ready—it has a kick.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty strong,” Charlie said.
Simon gripped the glass, hesitated, then brought the beer up to h
is nose. It didn’t smell like dark beer, or any beer. It was pungent, vinegary.
“Strong in what way?” Simon asked.
“It’s hard to describe,” Charlie said.
Ramon closed his eyes and said, “Mmm, I love that smell.” The reaction seemed odd because Ramon couldn’t possibly smell the beer from the other side of the coffee table.
Simon’s gaze met Michael’s again. It looked like Michael might be offended. Wanting to avoid awkwardness, as before with the steak, Simon sipped the beer.
It was bitter, making him wince, but it was a good bitter, with the bitterness of horseradish or really black coffee. At the same time, it tasted very much like beer.
“Interesting,” Simon said. “I don’t think I’ve had anything quite like this before.”
“Just wait, man,” Ramon said. “It’ll get you.”
Simon took another, longer sip, getting used to the distinctive flavor. He didn’t feel much of anything and didn’t expect to. He’d had highalcohol beers before and had always had a high tolerance. In college, his friends used to wonder how he could have six or seven beers and act pretty much normal while they were totally sloshed.
Charlie said to Ramon, “So tell us about that woman you met on the subway last week.”
“Ah, Francesca,” Ramon said, drawing out the name with a heavy Spanish accent, as if trying to make it sound as sexy as possible. “Her voice, man, it’s like music. I love listening to her speak. She could be talking about the weather, or something she heard on the news, or whatever, and it sounds like poetry. She’s definitely the most beautiful woman I’ve ever been with.”
“Yeah, like we haven’t heard that before,” Charlie said laughing.
As Ramon told the guys the story of his date—“I picked her up at her apartment at six P.M. Man, she looked stunning . . .”—Simon continued to sip his beer. Still, he had no unusual reaction. Yeah, okay, he felt a little buzzed maybe, but that was it. Meanwhile, the flavor was growing on him and he liked the texture too—it was heavy, yet smooth and dry, but not too dry. Though Michael’s attention was fixed on Ramon—who was talking with increasing passion and exaggerated hand movements—Simon still had the feeling that Michael was watching him.
Then it hit. It came suddenly, out of nowhere. At one moment, he was sitting there, listening to Ramon, and everything was normal, and the next moment the room was blurred, distorted. His eyes weren’t eyes anymore—they were kaleidoscopes. He could make out snippets of Ramon’s dialogue—“her skin was so lovely” and “most beautiful hands I’ve ever seen”—but he couldn’t follow what he was saying. But he didn’t feel frightened or panicky; it was the complete opposite, actually. He felt relaxed, numb, like a visitor in someone else’s body.
He heard himself say: “I . . . think . . . something’s . . . not . . . right.”
He didn’t know if he was actually talking slowly, or if he wasn’t talking at all and was just imagining he was. He hadn’t smoked pot in years, but he couldn’t remember ever feeling so out of it when he was high.
This was way beyond getting high. Something was definitely happening to him.
Then he looked straight ahead at Michael’s infinitely dark eyes. He could’ve looked away if he’d wanted to, but he didn’t want to. The darkness was soothing, calming. Then, gradually and peacefully, he drifted off and became a part of it.
NINE
Tom Harrison arrived at his home in Bernardsville, New Jersey, a little before nine o’clock (later than usual; his official explanation was that he’d gone out for “a drink with the guys at work”) and had dinner (reheated chicken cutlets, a baked potato, and string beans) while watching some of the Knicks game on the sixty-two-inch LCD TV in the living room. His wife, JoAnne, was upstairs, reading or watching TV, and their sixteen-year-old daughter, Gail, was sleeping over at a friend’s.
When Tom was through eating, he loaded the dishwasher, then went upstairs and popped his head into the bedroom where JoAnne was lying down watching TV and said, “Hey.”
“Hi, honey, how was your day?” JoAnne asked.
Tom said, “Good, thanks,” and continued to his office at the other end of the hallway.
The great thing about living in a large suburban home was that you could spread out and not be on top of each other. JoAnne could be at the other end of the house and he could escape to his office and have all the privacy he wanted.
He went online on his PC, his heart rate already accelerating. He opened Yahoo! Messenger, saw that Krenj22 was online, and IM’d:i miss u so much baby
Actually he’d seen Karen less than an hour ago—they’d had a couple of hours of sex at the Hotel Chandler on Thirty-first Street, and taken the 8:02 train back from the city together—but he couldn’t get enough of her.
They’d been having an affair now for, Jesus, six years. They’d met on a New Jersey Transit train. For months they both rode on the 7:18 train on the second car from the back and noticed each other and exchanged smiles and polite conversation before Tom finally sat next to her one morning and struck up an actual conversation. It turned out that Karen worked in marketing too—on the client side—so they had a lot to discuss, even knew some of the same people. They were the same age, had both grown up in central Jersey, near Princeton, and seemed to have everything else in common. Tom felt like he’d finally met his soul mate.
One day they met for a drink after work and then made out passionately on a dark side street near Penn Station. A full-blown affair quickly ensued—hotel rooms, late-night office hookups, and frequent e-mails, phone calls, and texts. They even concocted out-of-town conventions neither of them actually needed to attend so they could see each other on weekends. They kept the affair a total secret—they didn’t even tell their closest friends. In the beginning, caught up in the insanity of their attraction to each other, they’d been reckless and had a few close calls. Her husband, Richard, had almost seen a couple of text messages, and JoAnne overheard a snippet of a phone conversation Tom was having in the garage and he had to scramble for a plausible excuse. Figuring they needed a way to potentially explain away all of the texts and phone calls, they introduced their spouses to each other. The two couples went out to dinner and movies, and gradually Karen and JoAnne became good friends, and Tom enjoyed hanging out and watching football games with Richard, and playing golf together once in a while. Their kids became friendly too. Karen had two boys—Matt, who was Gail’s age (they’d even dated for a while), and Ricky, who was two years older than Tom’s oldest, James. Ricky and James were both away at college.
At times, Tom felt guilty. He’d even considered—not seriously—breaking off the affair. He rationalized that if he hadn’t met Karen and found an outlet for the boredom and lack of passion in his marriage, he would have almost certainly gotten divorced, which would have created a whole new set of problems. The affair had probably saved not only his marriage, but Karen and Richard’s as well, and avoided a lot of pain for both families.
Okay, Tom had enough self-awareness to realize that there were major flaws in this logic, but the deceit wouldn’t go on for much longer. When Gail and Matt went off to college next year and the two nests were empty, Tom and Karen were going to announce that they wanted divorces. Then, after a year or two, when the divorces were finalized, they’d announce that they were a couple. He knew JoAnne would be devastated at first—being a fifty-two-year-old single woman in the suburbs would be rough—but it would be for the best. They didn’t have a prenup, so she’d do well in the divorce. He’d give her a lump sum, set her up in an apartment somewhere. She’d be fine.
He honestly didn’t know where things had gone so wrong in his marriage. He used to be crazy about JoAnne; they were practically inseparable. Then the kids came along, which was fine for a while, until she changed. She’d always complain to him that he was the one who’d changed, but that was ridiculous because she was the one who’d become completely different. She wasn’t interested in his work anymore or anyt
hing else about him. When they’d met, she was working in advertising, and he’d encouraged her to go back to work, but she hadn’t, and now he felt like they didn’t have the same connection.
Tom typed:Tomharr: you were so good tonight
Karen replied:Krenj22: a w w w, thank you ☺ u weren’t so bad yourself stud ☺
Tomharr: God, I’m so horny for you right now baby
And he was horny. It was amazing how just IM’ing with Karen made Tom feel like his hormones were raging.Krenj22: I know, me 2. I can’t wait to see you on Saturday
On Saturday Richard was going to be gone for the day and JoAnne and Gail were going shopping in the city. Karen was planning to come over to Tom’s place for a few hours.Tomharr: it’s going to be so amaz
He heard footsteps approaching along the carpeted hallway and typedTomharr: J
J was their code for JoAnne’s coming. He quickly shut the chat window and opened a blank e-mail document.
Then JoAnne entered and asked, “Coming to bed?”
“Yeah, one sec.” He pretended to be absorbed in typing. JoAnne, who couldn’t see the monitor from where she was standing, asked, “Working late again?”
“Yeah, you know,” he said, “I have to prepare for that big pitch meeting next week.”
“What big pitch meeting?”
See? She was the one who didn’t listen to him. That was the problem in their marriage. “Remember? I told you about it last week?”
“You always have some important meeting or conference.” She sounded irritated. “How am I supposed to keep track?”
“I’ll only be a few more minutes,” he said.
“Okay, I’ll try to wait up for you,” she said, “but I don’t know if I can. I’m really exhausted tonight.”
When JoAnne left, Tom was relieved. She was exhausted—good, that meant if he delayed long enough she’d fall asleep and he wouldn’t have to have sex with her. The hardest part about maintaining the affair for the past six years was also maintaining a normal sex life with JoAnne.
