Still, it’s him—I’d recognize that look in his eyes anywhere. It’s the look he’d often give me when I was being cranky or unreasonable, a look that said, You are a crazy fool but I love you anyway.
I take hold of his arm and he helps me around the fence. I spot the mother I almost hit, and offer her an apology. She’s not very gracious. She just yells at me to watch where I’m going in the future and hustles her children into the Whaler’s Wharf mall. I’m glad I didn’t hit the kids, but in that moment I wouldn’t have minded leaving some tread across her pink ass.
My bike is pretty banged up, but it’s walkable. “Henry, Henry,” Shane is saying, pushing my bike for me down the street. “Always causing a commotion.”
I grin. “Well, nobody can ever say I didn’t fall for you.”
“Oh, yes, they can, sweetheart,” he says. “They can definitely say it.”
My grin stretches wider. “Shane, it is so good to see you.”
He gives me one eye. “You should just be glad you’re not seeing Dr. Lenny over at the clinic. You sure nothing’s broken?
“I’m pretty sore,” I say, “but I’m walking.”
Shane stops, steadies the bike on its kickstand, and begins feeling my arms and shoulders. “Bend at the elbow,” he says.
I obey. He runs his hands down the length of my arm, from shoulder to wrist.
“Any pain at all when you bend?” he asks.
“No,” I reply. “It’s just sore.”
He stoops down in front of me so that his face his level with my crotch. He runs his hands up and down my thighs. I can’t help but smile as I notice the glances of passersby. We are, after all, in the middle of the street.
“Lift up your leg,” Shane commands. “Bend at the knee.”
I do as he says. He’s feeling my calf now.
“Doesn’t hurt to bend your ankle?” he asks.
“Nope. It’s just my butt and my right hip that are really killing me.”
He moves around behind me. He begins to knead my butt. I get it. Shane was always hot for my body. He was the first to actually suggest I could make money by selling it. So he’s getting his jollies feeling me up. In public, yet. It’s so Shane. Always doing something outrageous.
“Well,” he says, standing up, “I think we can rule out any broken bones. But you’re going to be pretty black and blue.”
“Told you so,” I say.
“Can’t be too certain about these things,” he tells me, returning to the bike and resuming our walk. “Did you hit your jaw? Your hand?”
“No, Nurse Betty. I’m fine. Nothing a little Motrin won’t take care of tonight.”
He shakes his head. “I think you need a full-time bodyguard, Henry.”
I grin. “You applying for the position?”
“Been there, pal, and done that.”
I look over at him. It’s obvious to me now that I really hurt Shane by ending our relationship. I’ve always liked to believe it was a mutual decision, and certainly Shane was far more even-tempered and mature than I was when Joey broke it off with me. But Shane was in love with me. And likely still is, the way he felt me up back there. His little quip about me needing a full-time bodyguard was his way of saying he’d like to get back together.
“Ow,” I say suddenly, as a jolt of pain sears my thigh.
“Ah,” Shane says, “the shock is wearing off and the pain is setting in.”
“Oh, man.” I groan. “Yeah, all of a sudden…”
“There’s no way you can sit in a restaurant like this,” Shane says.
“You want me to walk you back to the guesthouse?”
“No,” I insist. “I’m going to be fine.”
Shane makes a face. “Then let’s go down to the beach where you can stretch out on the sand. I’ll call my friend to bring us down some food and coffee.”
I can’t help but smile again. Shane doesn’t want to share me with the public. He wants some quiet, intimate time alone with me. Just the two of us on the beach.
We head down the alleyway across from Spiritus as Shane flips open his cell phone. “Eddie? Would you be a love and pick up two egg-and-cheese bagels from the Connie’s, and two large Columbian coffees? Henry’s hurt himself, so we’re just going to sit on the beach.” There’s a pause. “Yes, a bit of a bike accident.” Another pause. “The beach across from Spiritus. You will? Great. Thanks love.”
It’s low tide, with tangles of seaweed delineating the high-water mark. Gulls make wide swaths through the blue sky. Plopping himself down on an overturned red rowboat, Shane watches me carefully as I ease myself down on the sand.
“I’m not sure I’ll get back up again,” I tell him, as the muscles in my thigh and butt burn in pain.
“That’s what I’m here for, sweetheart,” Shane says. “To pull you up.”
I smile. Over the course of our relationship, Shane certainly pulled me up many times. I’d get depressed or antsy about something—Lloyd, the guesthouse, my mother—and Shane would always be there, with a funny story or a carton of Chunky Monkey ice cream. In fact, it was probably Shane who got me started on my ice-cream binges. No matter how much weight I gained from them, I can’t help but remember those nights with Shane with a certain glow of nostalgia, the two of us shoulder to shoulder watching a movie, eating ice cream and popcorn.
Of course, at the time, I was always vaguely discontent, my mind only half present, and Shane sensed it. I was always wondering what was going on outside, beyond the four walls of our settled existence. Shane would see how I’d look at other guys when we were on the street, the way my eyes would wander away from conversations with him and follow some hot number who’d just walked past. I was still in tip-top shape then and I got cruised a lot, and Shane would see how I’d respond. I’d pretend not to notice guys looking at me, but when I thought Shane wasn’t aware, I’d sneak a peek back, maybe even offer a smile. Shane never said a word. It’s as if he accepted it as part of the territory of being in a relationship with me.
I was a schmuck. I was so unfair to him. I took for granted the one man who actually loved me—loved me enough to want to commit to a long-term relationship with me. I was forever on the lookout for something better, someone hotter. And because of it, I’ve ended up alone.
I look up at Shane, who’s staring down at me with concern.
Might it not be too late?
The very thought sends me reeling. Me, back with Shane? Could I really make it work this time?
“So,” he’s saying to me, “what else besides a bruised butt is new with you?”
“Not a hell of a lot,” I admit. “Same old same old.”
“I hear Nirvana is doing a thriving business.”
I nod. “It’s been a great summer.”
“And Lloyd and Jeff?”
I look off at the water. “They’re getting married.”
“How nice.”
Shane was never all that keen on Jeff and Lloyd. Early on, he spotted my obsession with Jeff, and later he understood all too well my crush on Lloyd. Once during the course of our relationship he complained that our bed was getting crowded, with both Jeff and Lloyd—figuratively, of course—in there with us.
“It is nice,” I say about my friends’ wedding plans. “I was surprised at first, but I’m getting used to the idea. They’ve asked me to be their best man.”
He snorts. “Don’t know why you’d be surprised. When you’re in love, you get married. And no matter how annoying Jeff and Lloyd can be, it’s always been clear that they’re in love.”
I cock my head to look up at him. “Have you suddenly become a romantic, Shane?”
“I’ve always been a romantic,” he tells me. “You just never noticed, Henry.”
“Maybe not,” I admit. “And I’m sorry if that’s the case.”
“Apology accepted.” He smiles down at me. “So what about you, babycakes? Any boyfriend since Joey?”
I shake my head. “Still single after one year
and almost five months. Not that I’m counting.”
“Not a date in that whole time?” Shane looks aghast. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Not many,” I say, patting my belly. “Mostly I stay in and watch old sitcoms and eat ice cream.”
“Yes, I can see you’ve put on a bit of weight.”
Leave it to Shane to state the truth. No beating around the bush or playing nice from him.
“Lately, though,” I say, “I’ve had a series of encounters, all of which have left me more confused than ever.”
Shane folds his arms over his chest. “Talk to Mama.”
“Well, for starters, there was this twentysomething kid Luke, who I tricked with and who’s now a houseboy at Nirvana.”
“I thought fraternizing with the staff was a no-no.”
I nod. “It happened before he was hired. And the reason he maneuvered himself into working there is so he could be near Jeff. He’s an obsessed fan.”
Shane smirks. “If we’re lucky, he’ll turn out to be Kathy Bates.”
“Stop it. That’s exactly what worries me.”
“No, it’s not,” Shane says. “You’re worried that Jeff will have him, and then you’ll be cut out of the picture.”
“I don’t want to be in the picture with Luke,” I insist. “Okay. So maybe that’s part of it. I admit Luke is very, very hot, and I definitely was very attracted to him. Maybe my ego was hurt. Lloyd thinks Luke tapped some of my own shit, and that’s why I’m so suspicious of him.”
“Pray tell, what shit did he tap?” Shane shudders. “Really, that’s a terribly unpleasant metaphor, Henry.”
“Well, he tapped my insecurity, I guess.” I laugh. “I’m not feeling as confident about myself these days, in case you haven’t noticed. Hank the studly escort has left the building.”
Shane narrows his eyes at me. “Henry, you’ve never been confident about yourself. Even when you were one hundred and seventy-five pounds of rock-solid muscle, you were not confident about yourself. I always needed to boost you up.”
I smile up at him. “I know. And I miss that, Shane.”
He tightens his lips. “Go on. Tell me more about this confused love life of yours.”
“Well, the experience with Luke left me feeling kind of down on myself. So then this really hot guy Gale asks me out. Short, but perfect body. Like sculpted out of clay. We’ve had two dates. We kiss but that’s all. He wants a relationship. Not a one-night stand.”
Shane makes a face. “I can see where you have nothing in common.”
“Stop being so sarcastic. The problem is Gale’s very extreme. He wants to make sure I’m exactly the right one, exactly Mr. Right, before we have sex. It’s because when he commits to someone, he expects it to be total. Not just sexual monogamy but emotional monogamy too.”
“Have you called him on it? Maybe he can be reasoned with.”
“I’ve tried. But I can’t really get very far, so I’m just staying kind of guarded around him.”
Shane stretches, removing his T-shirt, revealing his long narrow torso marked by pointy pecs that are starting to sag ever so slightly. He leans back, his face toward the sun.
“Seems to me,” he says, “you’ve been confronted with some rather obvious extremes.”
“Yeah, and it only gets more confusing.” I tell him about Evan and Curt. “Finally, a guy who seems to fit all the criteria, and he’s married.”
“Damn that Supreme Court for giving us the right,” Shane says, his eyes closed against the sun.
“Can you ever respond without a wisecrack?” I toss a pebble at him but he doesn’t react. “The fact is, Evan came the closest anyone has come in a long time to being my vision of Mr. Right. Okay, so I only had a couple of hours with him, but he was sweet, and gorgeous, and built, and smart, and sensitive, and reasonable—”
“You could always poison the husband.”
“But I learned something, Shane. Last night, when I was talking with this guy Martin—”
“Martin? Which one is this?”
I smirk. “Some guy who gave me a blow job at the dick dock.”
Shane opens one eye and peers over at me. “You have been getting around.”
I laugh. “It’s so crazy. I still can’t believe I let it happen. But I got to talking with him later. He’s a nice guy.” I hesitate. “He asked me out, in fact.”
“And?”
“He’s forty-five, Shane,” I tell him.
“And that tells me what?”
“Why I couldn’t go out with him. I’m not into daddies.”
Shane sits up. “Why is a forty-five-year-old automatically a daddy?”
“Okay, okay. I just mean—well, I’m thirty-three.”
“That still tells me nothing. What does Martin look like?”
“Well, he’s quite handsome.”
“For an older guy, you mean,” Shane says sarcastically.
“Shane, there is a huge difference in our ages!” But even as the words come out, I’m remembering that it’s basically the same difference between Luke and me, just in the other direction. “It just wouldn’t work,” I say. “I mean, we’d have nothing in common. He’s probably into disco music and Barbra Streisand.”
“Oh, Henry Henry Henry.” Shane gives me a weary look, then lays back down across the rowboat. “Whatever.”
“Look, I felt bad about saying no to Martin. Anyway, the point is, Martin said he realized that he’d been wasting time living in Pittsburgh, when he wanted to be living here. That’s how I feel now. That I’m wasting time.”
“So this Martin moved to Provincetown in order to stop wasting his time?”
I nod.
“Then what, pray tell,” Shane asks, eyes still closed, “are you planning to do?”
I’m quiet a moment. A decision is slowly forming in my mind. “I’m going to make right something I did wrong,” I say in a low voice.
Shane opens his eyes and rolls his head to his side to look at me. He doesn’t say anything.
“I’m lonely, Shane,” I say. “The last few months I’ve gotten to the point where I realize that I’m growing old alone.”
“Right,” Shane says quietly. “You’re thirty-three. Ancient.”
“Hey, thirty-three turns into thirty-four, and then you’re forty and then fifty.”
“Oh, is that how it goes?”
I move closer to him, resting my chin on the side of the boat so that our faces are no more than a few inches apart. “Yes,” I tell him. “That’s how it goes.”
Behind us a wave crashes up onshore courtesy of a speedboat out in the harbor. We remain quiet, looking at each other.
“Do you want to be alone forever, Shane? Wasn’t it better when we were together? It might not have always been fabulous between us, but we had each other. We weren’t alone.”
“No,” he says, rather dreamily. “We weren’t alone.”
“I was wrong to always be on the lookout for the next best thing, Shane. If I hurt you, I’m sorry. What I was looking for, I don’t know anymore. I had you. And I didn’t appreciate what I had.”
Shane says nothing. He just keeps looking at me.
“What I’m trying to say, Shane—”
“Don’t,” he whispers.
“I can’t help it. It’s just come over me. I realize now that—”
He sits up. “I said, don’t, Henry.”
“But I want to—”
Just then I’m aware of someone approaching us. I turn. A dark-haired guy with olive skin, shirtless in cutoff jeans. He’s carrying a brown paper bag and two large coffee cups. He seems vaguely familiar but I can’t place him.
“Shane?” the guy calls.
“Eddie,” Shane says, standing.
I watch as the newcomer approaches. His face breaks into a wide grin, and his lips pucker for a kiss from Shane. I sit on the sand speechless.
Shane has his arm around the guy now. “Henry,” he says, as the two of them turn to look
down at me. “I want you to meet Eddie.” He pauses. “My boyfriend.”
Eddie—cute, about my age, lean and tight—reaches his hand down to shake my hand. With difficulty I stand to face him.
Shane’s boyfriend.
Is there no end to making a fool of myself?
“Hey,” Eddie says. His brown eyes shine in the sunlight. He looks to be Italian or Portuguese. Lean and hard with a strong handshake. Absolutely fucking adorable.
William J. Mann Page 23
