by Rob Kaufman
“Over thirty,” Max repeated, “Even so, we went out for dinner. He’s a writer, very intelligent, and I thought he’d fit in well with all of us. I also thought he’d be my date…” He shot a side-glance to Philip and winked, “…at least for tonight.”
Philip knew where Max was going and forced himself out of the spell in which he’d been floating since he saw Jonathan walk up the driveway. “I got it Max. Whatever you want.”
Jonathan smiled at him. Philip caught it and smiled back. Max noticed the exchange and again ran his hands through his hair.
“Philip, Luc is coming. Remember Luc?” Max said. “Does the name ring a bell?”
“Who’s Luc?” Jonathan tapped the cap of the blender in an attempt to get Max to mix another Margarita.
“He’s Philip’s date for tonight. I set them up.” Max grabbed the tequila and poured it into the blender. “And it looks like I might’ve made a boo boo. I don’t know why I never considered the two of you…”
Philip cupped Max’s neck and pulled him close. “Don’t worry, Maxi. All will be fine.”
The doorbell rang and the three men looked at one another without moving.
Jonathan turned and started to walk down the hallway toward the front door. “I’ll get the door,” he put one hand in his pocket, “and Max, please mix up that Margarita, pronto. I have a feeling I’m going to need it.”
*
Although Max was kind enough to sit Luc next to him and Jonathan next to Philip, Luc did not easily surrender what was originally offered. He used all his sexual ammunition to catch his prey. There was no denying Luc’s dark, brown eyes, lascivious accent, and exquisite European features were alluring, but Philip knew deep inside they didn’t compare to the sensations he felt sitting next to Jonathan — the comfort and security dancing silently between the two of them. Not to mention the spark of sexual excitement that ran through him whenever their knees touched beneath the table or Jonathan brushed his arm. Luc was sexy, no doubt about it. But Jonathan was so much more. This was the clichéd epitome of love at first sight.
They decided to fight Luc off together, ignoring his intimate stares and sexual innuendos throughout dinner, finally confronting him when he ambushed Philip on the deck.
“Happy birthday, Philip,” Luc whispered in his ear while cupping his right butt cheek. “What you say I take you to my apartment for your special birthday present?”
At first Philip thought it was Jonathan’s hand grabbing his ass, but once he heard Luc’s voice, he laughed at himself. From the moment he and Jonathan met, there’d been no flirtatious smiles or batting of the eyes; no looking one another up and down trying to figure out who would take which role when they hit the sack. What they felt for one another was more wonderment than anything else — deep curiosity about who this person was, and could he be as beautiful on the inside and he was on the outside.
Philip gently removed Luc’s hand, turned around, and let the arm drop. He was about to tell him off when he realized it wasn’t Luc’s fault. Luc was primed by Max to expect something that wasn’t going to happen. And, if Jonathan hadn’t shown up tonight, he’d be in Luc’s apartment right now, preparing for his first European sexual encounter.
“Everything all right?” Jonathan called from the doorway. “Philip? You okay?”
“Everything’s good, Jonathan,” he answered, still staring at Luc. “Luc, I’m sorry, but it just isn’t going to happen.” He backed toward the door until he could feel Jonathan’s warmth on his back. “But thanks for the offer — and thank you for coming.”
A drop of sweat rolled down Philip’s back. It was over. Thank God!
“It’s over,” Jonathan said, “Thank God.”
Philip shot a look at Jonathan. “Holy shit! Can you read minds, too?”
Jonathan handed Philip a drink. “Only on special occasions.”
*
They didn’t sleep together until their fifth date. The wait was a mutual decision, both of them knowing this relationship was different and shouldn’t be treated lightly.
“And how many others have you had?” Philip asked at dinner one night. Jonathan brought the napkin to his mouth and looked up to the ceiling as though counting endlessly. He then lifted his wine glass and gently clinked it against Philip’s. “Others?” He took a sip of wine. “Since I met you, I realize there have never been others.”
Philip snorted, then laughed.
“Oh, boy, you really are a writer. So cool and collected. And you always find just the right words, don’t you?”
Jonathan chuckled. “Not always, but usually.” He grasped the stem of his wine glass, staring at the white tablecloth as though it held the answers to life’s deepest questions. “But don’t let these first few dates fool you. If you haven’t noticed, I have a slightly obsessive, sort of neurotic, definitively Type A personality. There’s plenty about me to love, but also a lot to contend with.” He clasped his hands beneath the table and looked at Philip awaiting a response. “There, it’s out. Now you know.”
“You don’t hide it as well as you think.” Philip leaned back in his chair. “But I’m thinking that’s part of your charm. That… and your great butt, of course.”
“So I’ve been told,” smirked Jonathan.
Philip smiled back and peered deep into Jonathan’s eyes. This would be the night they’d be together, he felt it, and by the look on Jonathan’s face, he knew the feeling was mutual. He waved to the waiter and signaled for the bill.
“I think it’s time to leave now,” he said, his voice holding the most subtle tremble.
“I thought you’d never ask,” Jonathan was already standing and pushing his chair up to the table.
*
“Where did you go, my dear friend?” asked a voice from somewhere in the distance.
Still sitting at the dining room table, Philip rubbed his eyes and shook his head. Angela stood next to him, touching his hair with her fingertips.
“Just thinking,” he said, reluctantly coming back to the present. “I was remembering, actually.”
“Remembering what?” she twirled his blonde locks around her index finger. “When we were going to school?”
“No, back to when I first met Jonathan. My twenty-fifth birthday.”
“Oh.” Her fingers stopped moving. She edged backward and sat in her chair. “You really love him, huh?”
“Yes.”
“That sounds definitive. No ifs, ands or buts about it?”
“None,” he said, grabbing her hand in both of his. He turned around to look toward the kitchen. “But don’t tell Jonathan. I don’t want him to think he has the upper hand.”
“I’m sure he’s already on to you.” She pulled her hand away. “It’s been, what, ten, eleven years you’ve been together?”
“Twelve,” he said.
Angela gently touched his nose with the tip of her finger. “Honestly, I’ve seen people together less than two years who don’t look as happy as you… or who get along as well as the two of you. What’s your secret?”
“What’s this about secrets?” Jonathan placed a full glass in front of Angela and pointed to her cell phone. “Everything okay?”
Angela took a sip of her G&T and pursed her lips. “Yum!” She picked up her phone and clicked the ringer to vibrate. “Yes, everything’s okay. Just work calling me, as usual.”
“Oh, that sucks. I thought it might’ve been your boyfriend.”
“Jonathan!” Philip lightly slapped his hand. “Don’t insinuate for God’s sake. If she wants us to know about a boyfriend, she’ll tell us.” He looked at Angela. “So, do you have a boyfriend?”
Angela sat down next to Philip. She leaned her head to one side and looked down at the table. This was the saddest she’d looked all night. He shouldn’t have asked her the question.
“No. There’s no boyfriend,” she said, picking lightly at the tablecloth with her long, rose-colored fingernails. “I might look different on the outside, but
I don’t feel it on the inside. I’m working with my shrink on that.”
Jonathan sat down on the other side of Philip and gave him a slight side kick on his ankle. Philip kicked him back and then turned toward Angela, hoping his movement would deflect any detection of their childish foot fighting.
“I’m sorry, Angie. I shouldn’t have pried.” He looked at Jonathan then back to Angela. “It’s his fault. He brings it out in me.”
Another side kick.
Angela’s grimace turned to a smile. “No, please, don’t even think about it. You can ask me anything you want. Especially since I have such big question for you.”
Philip braced for another kick, but it didn’t come. The playing had stopped. Jonathan’s way of saying, “I told you so.”
6
Something was different about tonight: very different. He could smell it through the bleach mopped over the hallway floor; feel it in the moist spaces between the tenuous skin of his fingers. An invisible tension hung in the air, adrift until something or someone shook it loose.
He’d awakened a few moments earlier by what he thought was the door creaking. A nurse? An aide? Another nursing home denizen? A doctor?
Jonathan looked at the clock: 12:37.
“Shit.” He felt the usual dryness in the back of his throat. Sooner or later he’d have to pull his arm out from under the blanket and grope around the bedside table for the cup of water. “Shit.”
He could see the outline of the door, light from the hallway trying to push in through the edges. He squinted, attempting to see if anyone had entered the room and was hiding in silence, waiting for the right moment to attack.
“Hello?” He noted the tremble in his voice, not so much from fear as from old age. For a split second, that shakiness made him wish that someone was hiding in the darkness — someone who’d spring from the shadows and smother him with a pillow. That would bring him to the place he wanted to be, so much sooner than life’s normal course of events.
He tried to swallow, the dryness like splintered wood against the sides of his throat. Reaching for the cup of water, he cleared his throat.
“If you’re going to get me, do it now,” he whispered.
Nothing. He took a sip of water from the cup. It hurt going down, his throat still parched. By the third sip, his throat felt better and the search in the darkness for a possible attacker had ceased. He realized he was alone. Again. As he’d been every night for the past thirty years. As he’d be every night until he took his last breath.
He still couldn’t understand the unusual feeling crawling around inside him. It wasn’t a sensation of impending doom, but more the inexplicable excitement of something so unlike anything he’d ever experienced, it induced both fear and wonder.
He clenched his fingers into a fist when he realized this was the same sort of feeling he’d had the night Angela invaded their lives. Although the meal was uneventful and Angela seemed likeable enough, the hair on the back of his neck wouldn’t lie flat from the moment he met her. His instincts told him something was up, but he didn’t put his finger on it until the three of them were sitting at the dining room table enjoying their last drink of the evening. He smiled into the darkness, remembering the way he and Philip had playfully kicked one another under the table. He inhaled deeply, wracked with the pain of missing Philip’s touch.
“As you know,” Angela announced, “We’re the same age, Philip and I. Which means I’m approaching my forties.”
The moment she uttered the words, Jonathan knew where this was going, but he held himself back, biting his lip to make sure no words escaped. He leaned his elbow onto the dining room table and moved forward so he he’d have a better view of her and also be able to see Philip’s reaction.
She rubbed her index finger along the condensation on her glass, fidgeting in her chair while sneaking peeks at both of them. Why wouldn’t she just spit it out already?
“I want to have a child,” she blurted out. “It’s all I’ve ever really wanted, and now I’m finally ready to do it.” She glanced at Philip, to Jonathan, and back to her glass. “I have no significant other in my life and the way things look, I may never find one. When I thought back to all the men I’ve known in my life, there’s only one who stands out.” She pointed to Philip. “Intelligent, logical, fun, social and of course, extremely handsome. You have every characteristic I’d like to pass on to my child.”
She took a small sip of her G&T and placed it on the table. It seemed to give her the courage she needed to offer eye contact. After a few more seconds of silence, she continued. “And then of course, I remembered how back in college you donated sperm to people you didn’t even know. I know that was for extra cash. But I thought this time you’d want to donate it to someone you know. Someone who would provide the love and…”
She stopped talking when she saw Philip’s eyes well up. Jonathan rubbed the back of Philip’s neck with one hand and held onto his arm with the other.
“What is it? Why are you getting so upset? If the answer is no, I’ll totally understand, I just thought...”
“I’m sterile.” Philip choked on his words. “Testicular cancer. Five years ago. I can’t have children.” He looked at Jonathan. “Ever.”
About to lay into her for showing up out of nowhere after fifteen years and asking for sperm like it was a $10 donation for Save the Children, Jonathan cut himself off when the tears fell down Angela’s face. She appeared sincerely distraught, although he wasn’t sure whether it was for Philip or herself. Did her only hope of sperm donation suddenly crash and burn? Would she have to go back to her list of potential daddies and settle for second best? Or did she actually feel sorry for Philip? Watching the mascara smear down her face, Jonathan knew this wasn’t the time to challenge her.
Angela took Philip’s hands, still crying.
“I am so, sorry, Philip. I had no idea you’d gone through such a thing.” She glanced at Jonathan, her sorrowful expression soothing his anger. “And I’m sorry to you also, Jonathan.” She struggled for words, grabbing a tissue from purse. “I feel like such an idiot… and feel so bad… and don’t know what to say.”
“Shhh,” Philip touched her head and let his fingers tread down her braid. “No worries, Angie. It’s alright.”
She blew her nose into the tissue and sniffed. “And how are you now? Are you okay?”
Rubbing Philip’s back, Jonathan cut in. “A-ok. He’s one hundred percent healthy and cancer-free for five years.”
“Thank God,” she whispered, stuffing the tissue back into her purse. “I wish I’d known. I work with some top-notch oncologists. Who was your physician?”
“Jacobs at Sloan,” Jonathan answered.
“One of the best,” she said. “That’s good. I have some friends at Sloan Kettering if you ever need anything. And I mean anything.”
Philip glanced at Angela and chuckled. “Don’t suppose there’s any of my little guys, healthy little guys, still hanging out at the sperm bank?”
Jonathan gently slapped his back. “That’s too weird, Philip. And I think there’s something illegal about that?” He asked, glancing at Angela for a response.
“Probably,” she agreed. “Now let’s get off of this topic. I already feel bad enough.”
Five minutes before, Jonathan was ready to pull Angela to the front door by her hair. But now, he’d opened up a bit and sensed her sincerity. The hair on the back of his neck settled a little and he could feel himself breathing deeper.
Jonathan drummed his fingers on the table and stood up. “Well, I have an article due tomorrow morning by eleven. So I’m going to hit the computer.”
“And I have to get going,” Angela responded, leaping from her chair. “It’s getting late. Can you call me a cab?”
“Cab my ass,” Philip said, “I’m driving you to the station. Let’s check the train schedule, and if we have time I’ll show you some of Westport.”
Angela walked over to Jonathan, caressed his
face and, wrapped her arms around him. Hugging him tightly, almost squeezing, she whispered in his ear. “Thank you for tonight and for taking care of him.”
Jonathan hugged her back and kissed her on the cheek. “You’re welcome for both.” He looked at Philip, then back to Angela. “I don’t say this very often, but I like you and would love for you to come visit again.”
“He’s right. He never says that. So you must be special,” Philip said.
She squeezed him again. “I definitely will,” she said.
Three minutes later, Jonathan watched from his office as the Beemer’s headlights backed out of the driveway and lit up the street. Seconds later, they were gone.
*
More than two hours passed before the headlights swung into the driveway. Jonathan waited to hear the car door shut before sauntering to the front door. He leaned against the wall, waiting for it to open. When it finally did, he didn’t say a word.
“Hey, babe,” Philip said, closing the door behind him. When he saw Jonathan’s expression, he stopped. “I know, I took a long time. But we did some more catching up, I showed her downtown, we had to wait for the next train, blah, blah, blah.”
“I figured,” Jonathan said, scolding himself for worrying. “That’s why I didn’t call your cell. I didn’t want to be like my grandmother used to be.” He kissed Philip’s cheek and started walking back to his office.
“Are you kidding me? You are your grandmother!” Philip smacked Jonathan’s ass and followed him down the hallway.
“Ha. Well if it wasn’t for my grandmother, I wouldn’t be here now, would I?” said Jonathan, falling into his desk chair.
“No, you wouldn’t, and I say a prayer to her in heaven every single day for having a grandson like you.” Philip laughed and plopped down on the suede love seat, facing Jonathan. He was silent, just staring at Jonathan as though waiting for a response. But there wasn’t one. Jonathan continued typing. “And speaking of sons,” Philip started.
Jonathan clicked “save” and spun his chair around. “Yes, go ahead. Get whatever it is off your mind.” He crossed his arms. “I’m waiting. Speaking of sons…”
