Best Laid Plans

by Tinnean

  And the golden opportunity passed him by, because really, how could he explain that it wasn’t his father’s Playboys with big-breasted, naked women that left him reaching into his briefs and fondling his dick, but his mother’s Cosmopolitans, with the sleek male models who were dressed in elegant formalwear, or low-slung jeans that clung lovingly to thighs and butts and unbuttoned shirts that hung open over hairless, muscled chests, sometimes allowing a glimpse of flat nipple? If he studied the pictures intently, he could almost make out the bulge behind their flies, and he shivered and imagined himself replacing the Cosmo girls they were squiring.

  It was around that same time that his parents had stopped being friends with Dr. Foster. Rush had been too swamped with schoolwork to ask why. Not that they would have told him anything beyond it was none of his business.

  All he knew was that the next time he needed a physical, he was sent to another doctor. And he was even less likely to ask that doctor questions about gay sex.

  Now Dr. Foster approached with his hand extended, and Rush took it automatically. “How are you, Rush? And your brothers?”

  “They’re well.” Rush noticed he didn’t ask after his parents. “Gratton finished his residency at Johns Hopkins a couple of years ago and joined Father’s medical practice. Emmett is interning at the law firm of Harden, James, and Younger in Savannah.”

  “And you, Rush?”

  “Oh, I just got my bachelor’s in biomedical engineering and genetics.”

  “A double major? I’m impressed. Congratulations.” He paused for a second. “Now, suppose you tell me—how are you?”

  “I’m fine.” It was the response he always gave to that question. Anything else was considered unacceptable.

  Dr. Foster studied him intently. Rush realized he’d been absently massaging the area above his stomach and stopped, stuffing his hand into the pocket of his trousers.

  “If you were fine, Rush, I don’t think you would have been so insistent on seeing me. So tell me what was so pressing that I’m missing dinner with my wife?”

  Rush flushed. He couldn’t meet those warm blue eyes, and he looked away. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause a problem—”

  “I was teasing! Rush, I’ve known you since your family moved to Atlanta when you were five. You never caused a problem.” Dr. Foster took a seat behind his desk and gestured for Rush to take the chair opposite him. “In fact, I used to think it would have done you a world of good if you’d gotten into a little mischief on occasion.”

  “Oh, no!” Too vehement. You’re going to make him suspect something is more wrong than a bellyache that won’t go away. “No,” he said more mildly this time, offering a rueful smile, “I never had any desire to be a… a wild child.”

  “Of course not.”

  Rush chewed on his lower lip, wondering how to bring up his question without making it look like it was any big deal.

  Dr. Foster took his pipe from the top pocket of his lab coat and put it between his lips, obviously intent on letting him proceed at his own pace.

  “I always liked the smell of your pipe tobacco. What is it?”

  “Vanilla. I miss it.” The doctor’s mouth quirked in regret. “I had a scare shortly after the last time you came in, and I decided to give it up.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

  “It turned out to be a nasty case of bronchitis, but it was a wake-up call.” Dr. Foster’s eyes were hooded, and he massaged the spot above his breastbone. Rush wondered who had misdiagnosed him. “So what have you been up to, Rush?”

  “As I told you, I’ve graduated from the University of Georgia at Atlanta…” Magna cum laude, but it wasn’t enough for his parents. They’d wanted a summa cum laude, like his brothers. “… and next semester I start post graduate studies in biomedical engineering.”

  “Your parents must be very proud of you.”

  Rush didn’t answer that. Nothing he did made his parents proud. He kneaded the spot to the left of his breastbone. “Uh… I’m sorry, Dr. Foster, this was really stupid of me. I’ve taken up your time, and you’re missing dinner with your wife—”

  “Rush, I can see something’s bothering you.” Dr. Foster put his pipe down and folded his hands. “Look, you’re not my patient any longer, but when my receptionist told me you asked to come in, I pulled out your old files and went over them. I saw some things that I didn’t see at that time. Your mother…”

  Rush felt a flush climb to his hairline. “Dr. Foster, she really doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

  “Doesn’t she?” He stared pointedly at the way Rush was massaging his torso and reached for the telephone. “I’m going to make an appointment for you with Dr. Davis. He’s a good friend of mine. I want you to promise me you’ll go to see him.”

  “I’m not crazy! I don’t need to see a shrink!” The burning was suddenly worse.

  Dr. Foster looked startled. “Of course not. Dr. Davis is in gastroenterology.”

  “Okay.” Rush had made a fool of himself, and all he wanted to do was cry. Instead, he leaned the heel of his hand into his torso and pressed harder. “Okay.”

  ***

  RUSH PUT HIS key in the lock, but he didn’t need to turn it. The door to his apartment over his parents’ five-car garage swung open. Uncertain as to whether to enter and confront whoever was there or back down the stairs and notify the police there’d been a break-in, the option was taken from him when his mother spoke.

  “Rushton.”

  He sighed, regretting he hadn’t seized the opportunity to head for the hills. “Yes, Mother?”

  He’d assumed his parents didn’t have a key to his apartment. Obviously he’d been wrong. The question was, had his mother used it before?

  More importantly, why had she come to his apartment? He’d been living there since his freshman year in college, when his parents, supremely indifferent, had given their permission for him to move into the empty, dusty loft. He’d worked hard over weekends and holidays to make it into a warm, comfortable home, but she’d never before shown any desire to see what he had done with the space he had appropriated.

  “Explain this if you please.” She stalked toward the door, her lips tight with disapproval, and thrust a book toward him. Homme was a collection of photographs in black and white, and color. It contained pictures of men alone and in pairs, in various stages of undress, some cuddling, some on the verge of… other things.

  Rush felt a mortified flush color his cheeks.

  She gave a disparaging sniff. “I can see why you wanted to move out of your room in our home. I’m ashamed of you, Rushton.” He wasn’t surprised. “Your brothers never had filth like this in their possession!”

  They just hid it better.

  “I needed this book for an elective I was taking, Mother.” Not quite a lie. The professor who taught Form and Fotography, an elective he’d selected on his own, had mentioned the book in passing. Rush had been curious enough to look for it on the Net, and once he’d found it, he’d ordered it. Please don’t let her suspect I might be gay. If you don’t, he bargained, I swear I’ll never think of another guy that way.

  “Indeed.” But it was evident that while she might give some credence to his explanation, her belief was grudging at best.

  “May I ask why you came up to my apartment, Mother?” The only time he generally saw his parents was at dinner.

  “This!” She waved something under his nose, and he shied away involuntarily. “What is the meaning of this?”

  “What is it?” He felt so tired.

  She gave him the look that questioned his mental acuity. “It’s an explanation of benefits from your father’s insurance company, concerning a bill submitted by a Dr. Dominick Davis.”

  He swallowed and looked away. “I was having a problem—”

  “Daltons do not have probl
ems.”

  Of course not. That would mean they belonged to the human race if they had.

  “Your father will handle this. Of course he intends to question this bill.”

  “Please, Mother. It’s a legitimate claim. Dr. Davis ran some tests and determined I have an ulcer.”

  “Nonsense. It’s a figment of your imagination.” She never believed him.

  “I’m on medication.”

  “Then you’ll stop it at once. My sons do not take drugs!”

  He felt a twinge in his gut.

  The ulcer had been bleeding.

  “I’ve cauterized the damaged blood vessel via the endoscopy,” Dr. Davis had informed him when he’d gone for the follow-up visit, “and fortunately the results of the biopsy have come back negative. The biopsy also revealed that the root cause is the H. Pylori bacteria, but it’s been exacerbated by stress, caffeine and alcohol…”

  “I don’t drink.”

  It was obvious from Dr. Davis’s expression that he didn’t believe Rush.

  “Seriously, Doctor.”

  “Very well. But there’s still a diet of fast foods: McDonalds, Taco Bell, KFC, Pizza Hut. My nurse will give you a list of the foods you can have. I’ve found that if I just tell my patients what they must avoid, they tend to feel deprived and won’t follow it. I’ll write you out prescriptions for an antibiotic and Prevacid…”

  “I can’t…”

  Dr. Davis frowned at him and continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “… and it might be a good idea to take some Pepto-Bismol as well—they work well together. If you don’t follow the course of treatment I’ve laid out for you—if you don’t take the Prevacid, reduce your stress, and alter your diet—your condition can become even more exacerbated.”

  “But I can’t—”

  “You were in danger of becoming severely anemic.” The doctor removed his glasses, cleaned the lenses with a handkerchief, and replaced them on the bridge of his nose. “I’m not saying this to frighten you, Mr. Dalton, but the next time you could very well wind up in need of a transfusion. And if your stomach perforates…”

  He’d left it hanging, but his grim expression made it clear just how dangerous his situation was.

  “Mother—”

  “What I fail to understand is why you didn’t see one of your father’s associates.”

  “I needed a gastro doctor. Dr. Foster referred him.”

  “Hmph.” Mother narrowed her eyes at the mention of his former pediatrician, and Rush hoped this wasn’t going to cause trouble for the doctor. “This conversation is over.”

  Rush knew it was futile to argue with her, just as it had been futile trying to persuade his parents that he might actually have given them that summa cum laude if his major had been in the accounting field.

  “Mother, you don’t understand.”

  She pinned him with a stony glare. “Did you fail to comprehend my words?”

  Rush subsided.

  “Now, what’s this nonsense about transferring to that college in Savannah?”

  “Dr. Griffith said the graduate program that Pulaski and Jasper offers is top of the line, and getting my master’s there will be a feather in my cap.” Rush held his breath. His course advisor had also told him that the same could be said of UGA. But there was no way he could stay in Atlanta, stay in his parents’ home, any longer.

  “You will go to the college of our choice.”

  “Mother, please—”

  “Keep in mind that we pay your tuition. We pay all your bills and give you a healthy allowance as well. Your father will discuss this with you after dinner.” She left him standing there, the door closing behind her with a finality that he was only too familiar with.

  The pain in his gut became worse. If his mother was the proverbial rock, then his father was the veritable hard place, and Rush was stuck squarely between them.

  Only, this time more was on the line than a sash to be worn with his cap and gown. Dr. Davis might not have meant to frighten him, but he had succeeded. For the first time in his life, Rush was going to take a stand.

  He knew if he went against their wishes, his parents would have no qualms about refusing to pay his tuition.

  Unlike other young men and women who had been in his graduating class, he’d never been permitted to take a part-time job. However, he had saved a hefty portion of the allowance Mother had mentioned. It was tucked away in an obscure credit union, and was solely in his name—no one could stop him from withdrawing it. He’d go there in the morning, and once he had the cash, he’d think about making plans.

  He looked around his apartment. Aside from his clothes, he didn’t have a great deal to pack.

  He was overcome by a wave of emotion. He was uncertain whether it was fear or relief. Or just the pain in his gut.

  ***

  THE BLOWUP with his parents was as bad as he expected, cold, knife-sharp, and quietly vicious.

  “Useless.”

  “Worthless.”

  “Always a disappointment.”

  “Why couldn’t you be like your brothers?”

  His brothers, who were tall and fair and handsome and fulfilled their parents’ fondest dreams.

  Whereas Rush was the chronic disappointment. He couldn’t seem to do anything to please his parents, not a four point zero GPA or a permanent place on the Dean’s List, or the fact that he’d completed the course requirements for both degrees with a semester to spare. Nothing he achieved seemed to matter.

  The worst had been when his father had taken him aside. “If you didn’t have my mother’s mouth and eyes,” he’d snarled at Rush, “I’d swear you were a cuckoo in the nest!”

  Unlike his brothers and his mother and father, he had brown hair and eyes. His frame was slight, and he barely topped five feet nine inches.

  Rush forced himself to meet his father’s fiercely disapproving blue eyes, his mother’s icy cold gaze. “I’m sorry.” He was surprised he got the words past tight lips.

  “Sorry doesn’t solve anything,” his father snarled. “We’ll want your apartment vacated as soon as possible.”

  “Of course. I’ll return the key to you as soon as I have everything in order.” He turned and walked out of the room, out of the house… out of his parents’ lives?

  Rush had planned to transfer that spring, but this pushed up the timeline. Dr. Griffith pulled some strings, contacting the colleague who chaired biomedical engineering at Pulaski and Jasper and not only got Rush into the program a semester early, but he’d found housing for him on campus as well.

  Rush shipped what he could down to Savannah, packed his suitcases, and caught a Greyhound bus. He needed to conserve his money.

  Three hours later he disembarked on W. Oglethorpe Avenue.

  The college was about a twenty-minute car ride away. He hailed a cab, loaded his suitcases into the backseat, and gave the driver the address of the house where he’d be staying.

  It was a big old house, built after the Civil War. The grad students who rented rooms shared a communal kitchen and dining room.

  “I’m Mrs. Fairbanks. Your room is up on the third floor. If you’ll follow me?” She led the way, speaking over her shoulder. “Washers and driers are in the basement, and you’re responsible for your own laundry. I’ll provide breakfast and dinner. If you want snacks, that’s fine, just see you clean up after yourself.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “We’re very casual here at Mercer House. Well, all my boys are adults. However, I have one hard and fast rule. I don’t care whether it’s male or female—no overnight visitors.”

  “I understand, and I’ll keep that in mind.” Although the odds of him dating were minimal. He’d kept his promise to God and avoided thinking of guys that way, although it had been hard. Difficult!

  Mrs. Fairbanks was huffin
g and puffing by the time they reached the third floor.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” She shuffled down the hallway, unlocked a door, and gave him the key. “The bathroom is just down the hall.” She gestured behind them, and he nodded.

  “Thank you.” He gazed around the room. The walls were beige. A twin bed between two windows was covered with a brown chenille bedspread, and on a battered pine dresser sat a clock radio and a lamp with an off-white shade. As for the boxes he’d sent on ahead, he was relieved to see they’d arrived and had been stacked against one of the walls. “This is very nice,” he said politely, although to tell the truth, it was nothing compared to his apartment over his parents’ garage.

  “Now, dinner will be ready in a couple of hours, so that should give you some time to unpack and shower.”

  “All right. Thank you again.”

  She patted his shoulder and left him, and he closed the door before getting to work unpacking.

  ***

  AS HE’D expected… dreaded… his father had pulled the financial plug, so Rush had applied for every grant, scholarship, and form of funding he could find.

  They just weren’t enough.

  The winter semester hadn’t started yet, so he made an appointment to see Professor Borders. The assistant chair of the biomedical engineering department was his major professor, the man who would help him in his quest to obtain a master’s degree.

  And to pass the time until he had to go to Addison Hall, the building that housed the science and medical departments, he stopped at an on-campus coffee bar and ordered a cappuccino.

  Rush found an empty table at the rear of the coffee bar and set down his cup. What are you even doing here? he asked himself. He was supposed to go easy on the caffeine, but it was either this or something stronger, and while it might be five o’clock somewhere in the world, it wasn’t here in Savannah.

  He took a sip of his cappuccino, then pulled out a notepad and began making a list of what funds had come in, hoping he’d added wrong, but no, his addition had been fine.