by Rick R. Reed
He closed his eyes, giving himself just a moment or two more to calm and to get back to what passed for normal in these early morning hours. He poured hot water into the press, stirred it into the grounds, then set the plunger lid on top. Finally he set the microwave’s timer for five minutes so the dark-roast beans could steep to perfection.
He moved to the counter and picked up one of the mugs—Corky’s mug, he thought ruefully—and put it back in the cabinet.
When the coffee was ready, Milt poured himself a cup, added some of the french vanilla creamer he liked, and sat at the breakfast bar. “After all this time, man, after all this time. You’re still thinking of him as being here.” He took a sip and let out a sigh. “And the irony is he was never here. You came to Palm Springs to get away from the memories! To start over….” He laughed at the way he often found himself chatting away to himself these days. But hell, there was a lot he needed to work out. Still. And his rates as a therapist were, by far, the lowest in town, right?
Milt opened his Kindle Fire to check out social media and the daily news. He scanned the screen but couldn’t concentrate. His mind kept drifting back to the two mugs on the counter, side by side. One was bright orange, Corky’s favorite color, and it had a blocky, square handle. Corky had found it at the Goodwill store downtown and just had to have it. Orange was always his favorite color, favorite pop too. He’d found the mug in the store years ago, and its bright color had yet to fade, testimony to the pottery businesses in the area they’d lived in. Milt wondered how he could have set it out without thinking.
Milt turned his own mug in front of him, sending little ripples across the surface of his coffee. It was white, with the words “Palm Springs” in iconic midcentury modern lettering with a couple of bright yellow stars. He liked it because it held a lot of coffee and seemed to keep it warmer than other vessels.
Milt searched his brain for a dream he might have had upon waking. One where Corky might have had a featured role, thus explaining his absentminded yet significant error.
But Corky, sadly, hadn’t appeared in a dream of Milt’s in a very long time. At least not in one he could recall once the cobwebs of sleep were whisked away by his conscious mind. He’d dreamed of Corky a lot right after he transitioned and believed they were visitations.
He loved those dreams. He got to be with Corky again, and not Corky at the end but strong and sane Corky.
But now… it was as though his husband had moved on. Maybe he was up there in heaven, living it up and forgetting all about Milt down on earth, eking out an existence here in paradise.
Or at least what should have been paradise….
“Maybe it’s time for me to move on,” Milt whispered. In response, he shook his head. His lips formed the word no. He’d made a promise. Besides, he was too old to think of starting up a whole new relationship again. Too much bother. He had his dog, the neighbors, a good friend in Billy—and that was enough.
Why expose himself to vulnerability again? Why allow the potential for loss into his life? With Ruby and a simple life, he could be on his own and safe.
Right?
Thinking of Billy caused a pang of guilt to rise up in him. Milt knew the guy carried a torch for him, although he couldn’t understand why. Milt had a good fifteen years on him, and the truth was, Billy was a hot guy.
He could do a lot better than Milt. At least in the looks department.
At least that’s what Milt told himself when he’d catch Billy in a moon-eyed stare at him. Or when Billy would let his hand linger a little too long on Milt’s leg at the movies together. Or when they’d kiss hello or goodbye and Billy made it obvious he’d like the buss to linger longer than one between friends.
But it seemed all Milt could see, in moments like those, was Corky’s face, that sweet face, all innocent and full of trust and wonder. It would make any appreciation or ardor Milt felt for Billy fade like a rainbow after a summer storm.
He couldn’t handle the guilt.
As though thoughts had the power to summon up a reality—and Milt sometimes believed they did—there was a small knock at the door, which caused Ruby to grumble and hop down from the couch. She padded over to the door, tail wagging, expectant.
Milt, echoing his dog, hopped down from his stool. The back door’s frosted glass panel revealed little more than a human shape waiting out there.
Milt opened it, and a surprisingly chilly draft rushed in.
And Ruby rushed out. Her second-favorite human, Billy, was there, looking fetching in a sky-blue hoodie and jeans, holding a foil-covered casserole dish. Ruby danced circles around Billy, jumping on him and making soft yips.
“Ruby! Get off him.” Milt laughed and opened the door wider. “C’mon in.”
Billy edged by him, smelling clean—cold air and sage. He set the casserole down on the counter and squatted to scratch Ruby behind the ears.
He looked up at Milt and smiled. “I brought you breakfast.”
Milt shut the door and moved over to the counter. “That’s so sweet of you. I was just about to toast an english muffin.”
Billy shook his head and stood. “This is much better. And better for you.”
“Can I peek?” Milt didn’t wait for an answer. He lifted an edge of foil and peered inside. Steam rose up. Yellow egg, dotted with green. The smell was amazing: peppers and onion, maybe even a whiff of some tangy cheese.
“It’s my standard breakfast bake—beaten eggs with cheddar, green onions, and Anaheim peppers. It’s really tasty, if I may say so. It was so cold out this morning, almost freezing, which is rare in these parts, that I thought you might appreciate a hot breakfast.”
“I do. I really do. Especially when you consider my standard fare is, well, toast.”
They stood awkwardly for a few moments, grinning at each other. Rosemary Clooney, in the background, was telling someone to come on-a her house.
“So, you’ll stay for breakfast, right?” Milt glanced over at the press to make sure there was enough coffee left for a guest.
“Considering I made it, I better say yes. Otherwise you might think I poisoned you.”
Milt took down plates and pulled out silverware and set them up at the breakfast bar. He handed Billy a knife. “You want to cut?”
Once they were settled with big squares of what Billy called egg bake in front of them, Milt told Billy what he’d done that morning with the mugs.
“It’s funny how stuff like that comes up and nips at you, out of the blue. And it’s surprising how much it hurts.” Milt took his first bite of the casserole. “Man, that’s really good.”
“Thanks. It’s better with a little salsa on top. You got any?”
Milt shook his head. “I got ketchup.”
Billy shuddered. “If you put ketchup on this, I’m out the door.”
“Okay.” Milt threw up his hands. “Mr. Gourmet.”
“Milt, turning away an offer of ketchup in relation to eggs hardly makes me a gourmet. It makes me human with a few taste buds. Putting ketchup on this casserole would be like somebody in Chicago going to the Weiners Circle on Clark and asking for ketchup on a hot dog. Dude, in the Windy City, people get shot for less. Literally.”
“No ketchup, then,” Milt said softly, chewing.
They ate in silence, Ruby watching them, ever hopeful that something might accidentally-on-purpose drop to the floor.
“Coffee’s good.” Billy raised his mug.
“I can make another pot.”
“I’m good. Too much and I’m jittery all day long. And I already had a cup at home.” Billy finished his eggs. “So, you put out an extra mug this morning for Corky?”
“Yeah.” Milt looked off into the distance. He kind of wished Billy hadn’t brought the subject back up. He’d almost forgotten it, but like forgetting for a moment in a sleep-addled state that Corky was gone, his faux pas this morning cut deep. “You think you’re over somebody.”
“And then you roll over, expecting them
to be next to you in bed,” Billy said.
“Exactly.”
Billy gave him a gentle smile. In light of what Milt knew of Billy’s feelings toward him, he thought the smile was kind. “You know what you could do?”
“What?”
“You could allow yourself to, say, leave out a mug for Corky in the mornings. Or set a place at the table for him.” Billy leaned a little closer. “What would be the harm?”
“That would be crazy. People’d glance in at me through the window and call the loony bin so they could send out men in white coats with butterfly nets.”
“That’s a lovely image. Not the men in white coats, but the part where I see you through the window, setting a table for two. That reminds me of a scene from Rear Window. You seen the movie?”
Milt nodded through a mouthful of eggs. “Love it. One of Hitchcock’s best, in my humble opinion.”
“You remember when Jimmy Stewart is spying on his neighbors and he sees a woman all gussied up? She’s at her dining table, set for two, and she’s talking away to someone, laughing, maybe even pouring some wine. And then you realize she’s by herself. Did you think she was crazy?” Billy asked.
“No. I thought she was desperately lonely.”
Billy said nothing. He finished his coffee. At last he walked over to Milt’s picture window and stared outside. He became almost a silhouette in the bright sun, and Milt had a weird sense of déjà vu.
“I’m alone. But I’m not lonely.” Milt began to gather up the dishes and then began rinsing them and then loading them into the dishwasher.
Billy turned. “Okay.”
“You don’t believe me.” Milt felt a little punch inside. He perceived it as anger, irrational, but anger nonetheless.
“You’re projecting, Milt. I never meant to imply that.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I just thought it might be nice for you to remember him in a simple way, like putting out his coffee mug in the morning. Instead of looking at it as an antidote to loneliness or insanity, you could choose to simply see it as a gesture in his memory, a way of making yourself feel a little closer to him.”
Milt thought of the orange mug in the cabinet. Could see it in his mind’s eye. And he thought Billy, really, was awfully nice to make his suggestion. When he thought about it objectively, it wasn’t so crazy or pathetic. It was actually kind of sweet.
Still, he didn’t know if he actually wanted to implement doing something like that.
Silently, Milt finished loading the dishwasher, made the determination that it was full enough to justify running it, and then pressed the appropriate buttons to begin its cycle. He washed out, by hand, Billy’s blue ceramic casserole dish, and then set it on a tea towel to dry.
He looked over at Billy. “What do you have on tap for today?”
Billy smiled. “Taking a little hike with you.”
At the mention of the word “hike,” Ruby’s ears went up, more erect, and she hurried to sit by the door. She glanced back at Milt, expectant.
“Would you look at that? I think Ruby here has learned a new word.”
“You up for it?”
Milt nodded. “It’s been a while since we’ve been out.”
ONCE THEY were a little way up on the Goat Trails, with the broad plain of the Coachella Valley spread out below them and Palm Springs proper bathed in golden light, Billy turned to Milt. “I’ve been putting off talking to you for a while. I have something I want to say.”
Milt frowned. “That sounds ominous. Hang on.” He pulled his hooded sweatshirt over his head and tied it around his waist. “I didn’t expect it to be this hot.” He looked at the flaming orb above them. “Old Sol makes all the difference….”
“Yep. Even though it’s only in the low sixties. That sun just burns, doesn’t it?”
They trudged onward and upward.
Milt asked, “You said you had something to say? I hope it’s not bad news. You’re not moving, are you?” He chuckled. “I’ve grown accustomed to your face.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” Billy sighed. “Let’s take a break, okay?” He plopped down on a big boulder.
Milt whistled for Ruby to come back and she came running, tongue out, panting. She sat obediently at Billy’s feet without even being asked.
Milt sat next to Billy and took a slug of water from his CamelBak. “You okay, buddy?”
“Sure I am. Wait. No, not really.”
Milt cocked his head. “Your health’s all right?”
“Yes, yes, although my liver is probably just biding its time.” Billy chuckled. He drew in a big breath and let it out like a sigh. “Bringing you breakfast, asking you to come out on this hike on this gorgeous morning, were my ways of buttering you up.”
“If you’re looking for money, you’re barking up the wrong tree. Once my bills are paid, I don’t have any. I’m living off life insurance and the proceeds from the sale of my house in Ohio. Those aren’t gonna last forever.”
Billy punched Milt in the arm. “I’m not looking for a loan. Jesus.” He paused for a moment—again—and Milt started to get worried.
“What is it, then?”
Billy simply blurted it out. “I want to ask you out. Like, on a date. We could do dinner or dinner and a movie. Not drinks, because, as you know, I’m a big old alkie, but food and entertainment and us, yeah. That sounds nice to me. Doesn’t it sound nice to you?”
Milt stared off into the distance, drinking in the stark mountain scenery he’d yet to take for granted. Although he had to admit that, right now, he was a little distracted. “Billy,” he started, gentle. “We’ve been through this.” And they had, at least a handful of times. Milt didn’t know if he could go on hurting the guy.
And yet a tiny voice spoke to him, inside. It seemed like this voice, whoever or whatever it was, was growing stronger and getting louder. Why don’t you just throw caution to the wind and say yes? Milt racked his brain for the source, but he could remember someone, someone very wise, once telling him, “You don’t grow with no.” Still, I can’t. Much as I would love to spend more time with Billy. Sure, I’d love to feel his arms around me and vice versa. Sure, I’d love to kiss him, maybe even with our shirts, or more, off. I’d love to maybe even wake up one day next to him in bed. This last thought brought Milt back to this morning and the mug. And how Billy had said something about waking and expecting someone to be in bed next to you. Yeah, I get that. Corky was always there. How can I let someone else take his place?
It would be cheating.
Milt was so lost in his own thoughts, his own turmoil, he barely noticed Billy speaking.
“I know, I know. And you told me how you promised Corky there could never be anyone else to take his place.”
“That’s right. I did. Near the end. So why? I can’t go back on the promise I made to a dying man. Why do you want to put me in this position?”
Billy wiggled his eyebrows. “Because this isn’t the only position I want to put you in.” He laughed.
Milt chuckled too. “Stop it. I’m trying to be serious here.” He felt a strange paradox within. Part of him wanted Billy to stop the flirting, the attempts to take their friendship to the next level. And part of him was deathly afraid that he would. Where would he be then?
You’d be right where you are now, Milt. Alone. Telling yourself you’re happy with a dog, Judge Judy in the afternoons, a frozen potpie for dinner, and turning in early because you’re just so fucking bored with your life you might as well sleep it away.
Milt knew it wasn’t fair, to either of them really, to remain in this limbo.
Billy looked away from Milt but kept talking, low and slow. “Look, man, I like you. A lot. I have from the first moment I laid eyes on you.” He held up a hand. “And don’t try to argue. You’ve done that before, and frankly, you sound stupid. You’re only a few years older than I am. You’re a hot guy. I would be lucky to have you. You sell yourself short all the fucking time. I want you to
know that you didn’t just come to the desert to die and pine for your lost love. You want to pretend you’re an old man, Milt, washed-up, when you’re not. Not at all.”
Billy sighed. “I know that sounds harsh. And maybe it is. But you need to hear it, bud. You need to hear it.” He went quiet again, long enough for Milt to notice a plane taking flight off the runway of the Palm Springs airport far below. Long enough to wonder if Billy had said all he was going to say….
But he wasn’t done.
“Look, man, I won’t ask again, okay?”
Milt felt a chill run through him, despite the sun’s intense rays.
“I need to move on if you’re not interested.”
Milt met Billy’s gaze then, knowing he looked shocked.
“Yeah. Believe it or not, you’ve become so special to me, I’ve been postponing my life because of you, hoping you’d come to your senses and see what a catch you have right before you. Joke! I know I have more baggage than the lost and found at O’Hare.” Billy shrugged. “But I know I have some good points. I try not to sell myself short.
“And hey, I don’t want to be a cashier at Trader Joe’s for the rest of my life. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.” He snickered. “But my name is Billy Blue. It’s my real name! It belongs up in lights, on an iTunes playlist maybe, someone they gossip about in People magazine. Besides having a name, I can sing. I really can.”
There was a long pause, yet the air hummed with tension, with expectancy.
Billy drew in a big breath. And when he let it out, he sang:
“Amazing grace, how sweet the sound
“That saved a wretch like me.
“I once was lost, but now I’m found.
“Was blind, but now I see.”
Billy looked down at the sandy, pebbled dust at his feet, rubbing the toe of his left hiking boot in it. Milt was stunned to see the shine in his eyes. Tears?
Billy’s singing voice was a rasp, but a velvet rasp that pierced the heart, penetrated both mind and soul. His was a gorgeous voice. Milt wanted to hear more, and he didn’t. “Amazing Grace” was a surprising choice. Intuitive. Had he mentioned that Corky used to sing it at church? Corky’s rendition was different, with his deep baritone, but just as stirring.
