by Willa Okati
“Cross my heart.”
“All right, then.” Quentin picked up one of his broken pencil halves and began to play with the thing, turning it over and over in his fingers. Focusing on an inanimate object helped one to be frank in their speech. He didn’t know why it worked. Perhaps the habit was particular to himself. “The problem is…Dr. Jennings.”
“Billy, you mean.”
“Billy,” Quentin acknowledged. “He’s rather more unorthodox than Dr. Ten Hawks would have led me to believe.”
“Ten Hawks gets a little het up if you don’t call him just plain Ten Hawks. That, or Ben.”
Was that a warning? Quentin tried to relax his muscles. “Very well. Ten Hawks. He told me that Billy was…but he’s so much more. He’s…flamboyant. Outrageous.”
“Billy can be a handful, all right.”
Quentin flashed briefly on a fantasy of his own hand cupping one of Billy’s tight ass cheeks. His face grew hot and he deliberately pricked a finger with the broken pencil. The slight stab of pain brought him back to himself. “He is, in a nutshell, a slob, inconsiderate, and unabashedly, promiscuously homosexual. I’m not certain how much longer he and I can continue to share accommodations.”
“Huh.” Andy sounded as if he were frowning. “Is it the gay thing you’re having a problem with? Because I have to tell you, that’s a bit homophobic. I’m more or less tilted in that direction myself. I still like the ladies, mind you, but I don’t say no to a fine man when he wants to spend a little time with me.”
Quentin didn’t want to offend Andy, even if he was recoiling from the man’s casual words. He chose his phrases with care. “My problem is with the whole of Billy and the way he comports himself. His blatant disregard for any consideration on my behalf. I don’t want to…” Quentin trailed off.
“Can’t stand him flaunting himself about, then?”
Quentin nodded.
“You need to grow a thicker skin,” Andy said bluntly. “I’m not saying living with a man like Billy is going to be easy in any case, but—”
“I used to be gay,” Quentin blurted. He regretted the words the second they flew out of his mouth, but there was nothing to be done about them at that point. He gritted his teeth and waited for Andy’s reaction.
It wasn’t what he’d expected. No recriminations, but honest concern instead. “Used to be? What d’you mean?” The man leaned forward, as if he were truly compassionate. Once again, Quentin was reminded of his personal counselor. It would be so easy to trust.
Perhaps too easy. “Once upon a time, in my misspent youth, I believed myself to be gay. I’d spent my adolescent years torn between admiring males and females, and after spending time with a certain young man I decided that I was gay.”
“Uh-huh. And what happened then?”
“Oh, I was happy as a lark. For a time. One young man led to another. I eventually experienced homoerotic sex, and enjoyed it very much. I became…incautious.”
“You? That’s hard to believe.”
“Yes. Well. I wasn’t always as I am now. I became quite outrageous. There was a fad at the time for young men of my kind to decorate themselves in outlandish fashions. Dyed hair, slight applications of makeup. I reveled in what I believed to be a realization of my true self.”
“Sounds like you were having a good time. But you said ‘used to be gay’. Something happened, then, didn’t it?”
Quentin nodded. “There was…a disastrous occurrence that led me to spending some time at a rehabilitation center where I tried to understand myself. The counselors were all very kind. They guided me through the discovery that I had been lying to myself and helped me realize I preferred females and a quiet lifestyle as opposed to how I had been behaving.”
“I see.” Andy tapped the armrest of his chair. “Sounds a bit like one of those god-awful deprogramming hellholes, if you ask me.”
“Some have described it thusly. I choose to think of that time as a turning point in my life. I put my wilder ways behind me and, with the help of intensive therapy, turned my life around. I went back to the self I had been, no adornments, and began asking females out on dates.”
“Any of them light your fire, so to speak?”
Quentin tensed. “I had several pleasant encounters. I refrained from sexual intercourse, naturally, while under the Center’s observation. My personal advisor disapproved of extramarital relations.”
“Oh, come on, now. You’re telling me you’ve been celibate for how many years now?”
“No,” Quentin admitted. He took a sip of coffee to steady himself. “I have Melissa. She and I are exclusive to one another. She requested sex as a part of our relationship, and after debating the issue with myself I decided to comply.”
“Decided to comply. God, that’s romantic.”
“You don’t know anything about Melissa,” Quentin protested. “She’s a fine, upstanding young woman with solid moral values and a bright future in front of her.”
“Sounds like you’re describing a star pupil.”
“Not at all. I’m sure that Melissa loves me, and I’m quite fond of her. I do love her.” Quentin put his mug down. It was half-empty, but he had no more interest in the contents. “We are all but engaged, after all. All that’s lacking is a ring.”
“And where is she, while you’re teaching up here in the middle of nowhere? I sure as hell haven’t seen her around during the past couple of months.”
“She’s finishing her law degree. We’ll have a couple of years apart, but then we’ll spend the rest of our lives together.”
“Producing two-point-five children and purchasing a house with a white picket fence, no doubt.” Andy drained the last of his own coffee and began toying with the mug. “Quentin…has it ever occurred to you that maybe that counselor was wrong? If you were being true to yourself when you decided you were gay, where did the mistake come in?”
Quentin shook his head. “That’s irrelevant. I was misguided, and that’s the end of it. All I want to do now is live a normal life.”
“And gays can’t have a normal life, can they?”
“I’m not saying that.”
“No, but you’re doing a damn fine job of implication. So, Billy’s blatant about his sexuality and this bothers you. It’s not his smoking, his late hours or his other habits. You can’t bear living with a reminder of what you might have been without that Center and its counselors stepping in to rearrange your life. Not to mention this Melissa, who sounds like she’s got you wrapped around her little finger.”
“Don’t impugn Melissa.”
“Look, Quentin…all I’m saying is, if this is what’s bothering you, then you need to take some time to think.” Andy leaned forward again. He put out a hand and rested it on top of Quentin’s.
Quentin pulled away automatically.
Andy didn’t seem fazed. “You need to figure out what it is you truly want for yourself, no therapists involved. A man has to be true to himself and what he needs, not what others tell him. And I know that’s the pot calling the kettle black, but I’m not encouraging you one way or another. I’m just saying it might be time for another self-evaluation. Figure out what you really want, whether it’s this Melissa or a return to what you once thought you were.”
Quentin nodded stiffly. “Thank you, Andy. I think that’s all the time I have for coffee and conversation. If you don’t mind, I’d like to finish grading these papers now.”
Andy could, at least, take a hint. “All right, my friend. I’ll take myself back to my office. But listen, any time you have an urge to talk, just stop in. I’ll make time for you. Whatever you need to talk about.” He moved in closer, causing Quentin’s heart to skip a beat, but it was only to retrieve his coffee mug. “Any time. I mean that.”
“Thank you. Please close the door on your way out.”
Andy left without another word. When he was gone and the door clicked shut behind him, Quentin rested his elbows on his desk and ground the palms of his ha
nds against his eyes.
The trouble wasn’t his need for a self re-evaluation. He knew what he wanted. What he seemed to need more and more as each day living with Billy went by.
He wanted Billy. But he couldn’t have the man, could he?
He shouldn’t.
He wouldn’t.
“Oh, God,” he said softly, rocking his head back and forth. “There has to be someone who can help me. Someone who’ll help me get all this out of my system, instead of a man who encourages me down the wrong path.”
A thought occurred to him. Raising up, he reached for his cell phone and hit speed-dial. Four rings and straight to voice mail, but he left a message regardless, knowing she checked rigorously. “Melissa, this is Quentin. How would you feel about a weekend visit up here in the mountains? I’d love to have you see where I work… I truly have been missing you terribly…”
Chapter Six
From the moment Melissa stepped off the train platform, Quentin’s heart seemed to settle back into a normal rhythm for the first time in months. She didn’t notice him at first, checking her watch and then her PDA, so he had time to look at her. Drink her in.
Melissa. So beautiful. Tastefully cut clothes, large brown eyes, elegantly slim arms and legs. She’d lost a little weight…and oh. She’d cut her hair. At first Quentin had thought it was tied back in a ponytail but no, Melissa would never be that informal. It’d been cut into a short professional style, close to her head. Quentin supposed it would be easy to arrange and look proper in court, but he’d loved running his fingers through the formerly long, baby-fine locks.
Still, it didn’t matter how she’d changed. She was still a gorgeous woman, one he was tremendously lucky would have him, and most important of all she was here, in Sweetwater.
Lifting her head, Melissa began to scan the crowd. Quentin didn’t wave or try to attract her attention. Melissa hated a scene. Instead, he began to thread his way through the crowd of passengers getting off, trying to reach her side without undue fuss. He held the dozen roses he’d purchased close to his chest, attempting to keep them from getting crushed in the throng.
Halfway there, he felt Melissa’s gaze settle on him. She had the piercing sort of look that no male or female could miss once she’d picked them out. Quentin appreciated it for the most part. He knew, with that look focused on him, he had her full attention.
Her impatient attention, but nevertheless.
Melissa didn’t move from her spot on the platform, letting disembarking passengers swarm around her instead of making way. She tapped one high-heeled foot impatiently as Quentin drew closer. With a shake of her head, she stowed the PDA in her small leather pocketbook.
“Quentin,” she said when he was close enough, and put out her hand. Quentin took it for a quick shake. Melissa didn’t care for public displays of overt affection. However, as her hand closed over his, Quentin felt a pulse of relief so strong he impulsively reached around the woman and pulled her into a hug that squashed the roses between them.
“Stop that,” Melissa said sternly, pushing him away with a firm but discreet hand. “Quentin, we’re in public. If I can remember that, so can you. Don’t make a spectacle of yourself where other people can see. God knows you’re bad enough in private. Don’t carry your shortcomings into the public eye.”
“I’m—I’m sorry, Melissa.” Quentin felt himself grow warm with embarrassment. “I should have known better. I’ll be more careful.”
“Make sure that you are.” Melissa dusted off the sleeves of her smartly cut black suit. Had she come straight from her office? The last time they’d talked, Melissa was just starting to work part-time in a firm of lawyers. Nothing so grand as even clerking, but as she claimed, it was a start.
“I bought you roses,” Quentin ventured, holding out the bouquet. He hadn’t been able to afford an arrangement, but he thought these were rather nice. They had sprigs of baby’s breath mixed among the crimson blossoms, something he’d always liked. Oh, dear, but Melissa didn’t, did she?
Melissa ran a critical eye over the flowers. “These are wilting. Honestly, Quentin, can’t you do anything right? Throw them away. I don’t want to carry around a handful of dead roses.”
“Wilting? Surely not. They’re only a little brown around the edges of a few petals.”
“I said wilting and I meant wilting.” Melissa displayed a small flash of well-controlled anger. “Are you going to throw them away, or do I have to?” She tapped her foot again. “Well, Quentin?”
Quentin felt a brief, startling twitch of irritation. Quickly, he tamped it down. What was he thinking? “Of course. I’ll take care of the problem for you.” Quentin withdrew the roses and searched for the nearest trash can. He found one a few feet away and inserted his bouquet in the bin. Watching the rubbish swallow up his gift hurt a bit, but he’d survive. Only the best for Melissa. He should have known better.
When he turned back, Melissa was smiling a tight little smile. “I hope you at least have a taxi waiting. It’s colder up here than you led me to believe. I have no desire to catch some sort of bug while waiting for someone vacant to pull up. Coming up here for a night has already taken up a valuable piece of my time, and I can’t afford any more off the job.”
“Actually,” Quentin ventured, “I’ve borrowed a car. A fellow professor, Andy, lent me his vehicle so that we wouldn’t have to pay for a taxi.”
“We pay for a taxi? Have you forgotten your manners? And what kind of professor lends out his car on a whim?”
“He and I are friends, of a sort…”
“Really?” Melissa raised one sculpted eyebrow. “I’ll have to meet him while I’m here. I don’t want you associating with any bad influences. I have enough trouble keeping you on the straight and narrow without someone in your life to lure you off the path.”
Quentin thought briefly of Billy and winced internally. He’d never complained to Melissa about his roommate, but wondered now if he should have. She’d be likely to have a fit when she met the charismatic chain-smoker, rather than being charmed by him. Billy’s ability to make friends seemed effortless with everyone else, but Quentin had the feeling that putting Melissa and Billy in the same room together would have the same effect as tossing a lit match into a puddle of gasoline.
Not that Melissa would be anything but coldly polite to Billy. The explosion would come later, when she was alone with Quentin. Never air your dirty laundry in public.
“Go and get my suitcase,” Melissa directed. “It’s the Vuitton in charcoal. There should be a claim tag attached so you won’t mix it up with anyone else’s things. Do be careful this time.”
Quentin nodded, accepting the criticism. He’d picked up the wrong bag once after a short flight from Charlotte to Raleigh when he’d accompanied Melissa to a conference, and she’d been…ill pleased. Giving her a tentative smile, he headed off to the spot where burly men were shifting cases out of the luggage compartments. As he went, he saw Melissa pull out a slimline cell phone and hit a button.
“Yes, Charles? I’ve arrived. No, there’s no need for worry. Quentin’s here to pick me up. Now, Charles, don’t concern yourself. Quentin can get me to a hotel in one piece. Charles, I don’t like your tone of voice…”
Quentin frowned to himself. Charles? Melissa had never mentioned a Charles before. Well, he probably worked at the same firm that she did. It was good of the partners or employees to take an interest in her well-being. He liked knowing that there were others to take care of Melissa when he wasn’t with her.
Not, of course, that she needed looking after. Melissa was a force to be reckoned with under any circumstances.
Reaching the baggage drop, Quentin waited patiently. He wouldn’t know Vuitton from Samsonite, but he was familiar with Melissa’s tastes. When a charcoal suitcase came off, along with a dress bag, both spanking new, he pushed forward a little to claim them.
The baggage handler stopped him with a look. “You don’t look like any Melissa Rife
to me.”
Quentin blinked. “No. No, of course not. She’s sent me to pick up her belongings while she checks in with her home office.”
“Got some ID?” The heavyset man spat out a gobbet of tobacco juice and waited, hands on his hips. Melissa’s dress bag slithered down into a heap. “She’s got it on here that a Quentin Whiteside can get her things, no one else. And let me tell you, after the hell that finicky ice bitch put us through on the ride up here, I’m not about to get her pissed off again.”
“ID, of course.” Quentin reached for his wallet and withdrew his driver’s license. It was close to expiry, but it should still be sufficient. Passing it over, he waited for the handler to make his judgment. He did hope that the man would let him take the baggage. He didn’t want to raise Melissa’s ire by asking her for help.
She didn’t like it when he wasn’t self-sufficient.
The handler studied Quentin’s license. “You’ve lost a hell of a lot of weight,” he said, but passed it back. “Okay, you can take this shit. Be careful. It’s heavy as fuck.”
“Thank you.” Quentin pushed card into wallet and wallet into neatly pressed trousers. Billy had made such fun of him for ironing a pair of chinos, but he hoped Melissa would be satisfied with his efforts. She hadn’t criticized him for his clothing choice, at least. “Excuse me.” The man didn’t seem inclined to help, so Quentin picked up Melissa’s luggage by himself. His knees nearly buckled. Good heavens, what did she have in her suitcase? Bricks?
Melissa’s foot was tapping again by the time Quentin made his way back to her. “You didn’t miss the dress bag,” she approved. “Well done.”
Quentin beamed.
“You could have warned me that it would be this chilly up here, though.” Melissa frowned slightly. “Approximately fifty degrees is cold, Quentin. I’m dressed for a warmer climate. Give me your jacket.”
“Of course.” Quentin put down the luggage, shrugged out of his warmly lined coat, and helped Melissa into the garment.
