Butch

by Trent Jordan

  What a fucking conundrum.

  I hated that I was playing into a lot of stereotypes about weak women, but I was in a pretty weak place. The problem was that there was no context to tell if Shane was manipulating me for some sexual or ego power trip or if he genuinely was sorry and didn’t expect me to respond. If it was the former and I responded, then I was a weak woman who fell for his games. If it was the latter and I didn’t respond, then I was the cold-hearted bitch who missed out on a chance to make things better.

  And for how far my life had fallen, it felt like I had to take some chances to make things better, even if those chances were with people I should have just blocked without thinking twice.

  It felt like a lose-lose. The absolute best-case scenario—that I responded to Shane, peace was made, and then we moved forward—didn’t seem like a particular big win, either. It wouldn’t change my current situation. It wouldn’t get my job back, though there was certainly a sort of darkly amusing thought that some higher being or some force of nature would recognize my karma and give me what I’d lost back.

  But a lonely mind was a powerful thing, and my mind was telling me to just respond.

  I fought it for most of Friday. I fought it up until the evening, in fact.

  But when it came time for me to go to the party and instead choose to stay home, I found myself strangely yearning for conversation, attention even. I texted Brian instead, but he didn’t respond, and after half an hour, I gave up on him saying anything.

  So, I had a moment of weakness. I texted Shane back.

  “I appreciate it. Thank you for being sorry.”

  Sure, it was short. Sure, it didn’t give him any chances to respond or to answer any question I may have asked. Sure, it didn’t mean anything.

  But still, Thea!

  I’d just communicated with the man who had taken everything from me. What did that say about me? What did that say about what I really wanted or cared about?

  If I was being gentle on myself, I was saying that I was allowing myself to let something potentially nice happen while allowing myself the space to back out if Shane was still the same conniving asshole as before. I could also say that I was just having a moment of weakness, and these types of things happened, and it was OK.

  It was a nice thought, but I was really out of practice for being nice to myself. So instead, I berated myself to the point that I knew I couldn’t be by myself. I had to do something to get away from myself.

  So, I did what I had done before.

  I took my camera and went downtown to start filming. But I also left my phone at home. I didn’t want to be beholden to a potential text message from Shane.

  You’re sure you want to do this? I must have asked myself that question a half-dozen times as I drove toward Bottle Revolution. I hadn’t even started to make a story or an idea for a film off of anything that I had filmed thus far. I didn’t even know what I was shooting. I just knew that I needed to shoot film.

  And almost instantly, I was rewarded.

  I was walking toward Bottle Revolution when I heard three people talking around the nearest corner.

  “… fucking double-crossed us?”

  I didn’t dare gawk around the corner and watch what was going on. The people speaking were doing so in loud whispers, not wanting to be heard. And in any case, just the act of three people talking in a dark alleyway was the kind of thing that suggested anyone who turned the corner and tried to join was asking for their own beatdown.

  “I told you, I think they’re on to me!” an older man’s voice said. “I couldn’t say anything. And no one important got hurt.”

  “Except our fucking bikes!”

  One of the voices sounded familiar, like it was one of the guys that had intimidated me. I didn’t turn into the alleyway, but I did turn my camera on. I started recording.

  If nothing else, when I could afford a nice program, I could pull the audio out and use it for a film later.

  “Look, I know, it’s not a great look. But play the long game. The long game involves some potholes—”

  “Save your smartass speech,” one of the men said, and the sound of a thud followed by a gasp for air came, like the old man had been punched. “We didn’t pay you so that you could cover your own ass. We paid you so that you could set up the rest of the assholes to die faster.”

  “I know!” the older man said, still trying to catch his breath. “But—”

  “No buts, old man,” the first one said. “We gave you a pass after the brother came in. But we don’t care if the fucking Marines come in to help them next time. If the target isn’t dead by Sunday night, then you will be.”

  The target?

  But before I could say a word more, I heard footsteps coming my way. I hurried inside to Bottle Revolution and opened the door, getting inside just as two Fallen Saints emerged from the alleyway. I pretended to be beer shopping, even with my camera in my right hand, still rolling, still recording. I never heard the front door open, but my heart still pounded, still quivered violently in my chest, to the point that I almost wondered if I was having a heart attack.

  Only when I heard the sound of two motorcycles driving off did I feel like I was somewhat safe. I grabbed one beer, paid for it with money I didn’t really have, and hurried back to my car, finally ending the recording.

  That was way too close.

  And it hadn’t even been necessary. Shane had never texted back.

  Saturday

  After the incident from the night before, I deliberately laid low.

  But part of that, too, was because Brian just didn’t say much to me between his text advising me to stay home and now. I knew he wasn’t much of a speaker, but guys usually at least sent a message confirming that the date was going to happen. For him not to do that left me wondering if I was, in fact, going to be picked up or if, as usual, I was left ghosted, haunted by yet another man who had used my body and then discarded my soul.

  We had scheduled for him to come by my place around seven in the evening, so I started getting ready half an hour beforehand. I wasn’t sure what I would do if the date wound up being a no-go, but it wasn’t like there was an opportunity cost to getting ready.

  I had nothing to worry about. Two minutes before seven, I could hear Brian’s motorcycle coming to my apartment. It was like Brian had a massive trumpet announcing his presence wherever he went—a very clanky and puttering trumpet, but still. I finished the remaining touches of my makeup, walked outside, and smiled when I came down the stairs.

  In his cut, wearing his sunglasses, and with just a white undershirt on underneath, almost all of his muscles might as well have been as visible as they had been when he stood from my bed naked. Obviously, I couldn’t perfectly see his abs or his chest, but the shirt was small and conformed to his body, giving me enough of an outline to know what I was looking at was just as awesome as before.

  “Glad you came,” I said.

  “Of course,” he said. “If you’re crazy enough to stick around, then I might as well be equally crazy and let you do it.”

  He’s just being silly. He may have baggage, but he’s not crazy.

  “Did you think about where we’re going tonight?”

  “Yep, and it’s going to start with you getting on the bike.”

  “Oh, really?”

  Brian said nothing, just nodding behind. I liked that when he gave an order, he didn’t try and overly explain himself. It was just “here’s what you need to do, do it.” He moved only to lift a helmet out of his bike seat and hand it to me. I wrapped my arms around him as he backed the bike out.

  It sure said something about Brian that, despite having ridden on a bike so many times in the last year or so that I could ride one with my eyes closed, it felt like a unique connection. With most guys, when I squeezed my arms around their bodies, it felt more like a safety measure than it did anything with intimacy or attraction.

  But with Brian?

  Yeah, he more
than did that.

  I knew all the rest. I knew the rumbling would make me feel good—a little too good, as it were. I knew to lean with him when he leaned. I knew that the wind would blow my hair in many wild directions, making me look like something out of a photoshoot.

  I just didn’t know that he would make the experience feel that much different in my mind.

  To my surprise, though, the direction he was going in not only wasn’t different from the last time we’d hung out, it was the exact same as before.

  “The hiking trail, huh,” I said when we came to a complete stop.

  “Disappointed?” Brian said.

  “No, no, not at all. I just didn’t expect it.”

  Brian grabbed my helmet, held my hand as I got off, and put the helmet back under the seat.

  “We didn’t actually go on a hike last time,” he said. “Felt like a good way to complete what we started last time.”

  There was something in Brian’s voice that seemed almost… yearningly warm, like he didn’t have experience in reaching out to other people and was trying it for the first time. It was sweet, but it was a little awkward. Whenever he finished a statement that might have been perceived as kind, his face went back to its natural neutral face.

  Maybe I was trying to perceive too much, but I really felt like he was making the effort, if not producing the results.

  “I like it,” I said with a smile.

  Brian half-smiled, meaning he let out the exhale that usually joined a smile, and his lips curled like a quarter of an inch up, but no one was going to mistake him for someone beaming with joy and pride.

  We set out on the trail, and for the first half of the trail, probably a mile and a quarter, not a word was said. Part of it was that I wasn’t in as good a shape as I thought, needing to catch my breath several times. Part of it was that Brian just wasn’t in a talking mood. As if he’s ever.

  “So,” I finally said after the silence went from peaceful to a bit awkward. “Where are you from, Brian?”

  “Iowa.”

  He told me that already. Now who’s the one who can’t make normal conversation?

  “Oh, cool, what parts?”

  Brian shrugged.

  “It’s all the same.”

  OK, he still doesn’t want to talk about his past, that’s cool.

  “And why did you join the Black Reapers?”

  Brian again shrugged.

  “Felt like a good group of guys.”

  Maybe dating just isn’t his thing. I nodded and turned my attention back to the trail. And then, thirty seconds later…

  “They helped me through a rough period of my life. Don’t know for sure how much they really made a difference, but here they are.”

  So he can talk. He just needs time and space to open up.

  “What was the rough period of your life?”

  I regretted the question as soon as it left my mouth, given that Brian was unlikely to say anything of substance.

  “The murder.”

  Oh, right. That. I guess I was wrong about that. I wasn’t totally wrong, in a sense—Brian did not elaborate any further on that period of his life.

  Still, the effort being made to try and talk more was appreciated.

  We went silent for another couple of minutes as the end of the trail came into view. When we got to the peak, we could see all of Springsville from where we stood—the very valley which held a small town, two bitter MC rivals, and so much more. The view reminded me of whenever I went to the Griffith Observatory and could see downtown Los Angeles when the smog and clouds weren’t awful.

  Of course, Springsville was no Los Angeles, but the idea was the same.

  “Small world, huh?” I said.

  Brian didn’t respond. Taking the hint, I instead focused my attention on the scenery below, trying to pick out individual streets. I looked for where I lived, and—

  “Time for Mama Sue’s,” he said as he abruptly turned away.

  “You’re not going to enjoy this view?”

  Brian looked back, looking genuinely befuddled that I had suggested such a thing.

  “I’ve seen it before, and I’ll still be with you.”

  He really is just moving from point A to point B.

  “There’s no rush,” I said. “Let’s just be. We don’t have to do everything on a strict schedule.”

  Brian looked like he wanted to believe that such an attitude was possible, but the look on his face was not an encouraging one. He folded his arms and nodded ahead, encouraging me to look over the town. The problem was, though, that now that I knew he wanted to get to food, I felt guilty holding him up. I felt like he had resigned himself to letting me do this, rather than embracing me wanting to do this.

  I usually liked more talkative guys; maybe my desperation for connection had made me fall for someone that wasn’t a great fit for me. Or, maybe you should avoid the talkative type of guy—like Shane. And maybe you should realize you and Brian have shared some great moments already. Not like he’s going to run away when he gets to food.

  “OK, this hike has made me in a rush for food,” I said with a small smile. “We can go.”

  “This is nice,” Brian said once we got seated at Mama Sue’s, which I decided was better called Biker’s Diner.

  Wait, now you want to talk?

  “Not often you can be somewhere public and know that you’ll have real privacy.”

  So maybe he is willing to talk, he was just afraid of people eavesdropping on him on the trail? Was that a real concern? Or just something that he says is a concern?

  “Do you like anything in particular from here for dinner?” he said.

  I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d eaten anything other than breakfast here.

  “Their French dip looks delicious,” I said.

  “Oh, yes, absolutely, gotta try that, with their tots,” he said. “I don’t know what it is about their cheese and bread here, but the dip is killer.”

  Seriously, it’s like I’m with someone new here.

  Maybe he’ll actually open up a little bit more.

  “So, can I ask you some things that I asked before?” I said. “Now that we apparently have more privacy?”

  “Of course,” Brian said, though his demeanor shifted just ever so slightly. “Not trying to hide anything from you. Hell, you already know my biggest secret.”

  Actually, I am kind of curious if that is your biggest secret, given how quickly you revealed it to me.

  “I see,” I said. “So then why did you join the Black Reapers?”

  Brian actually gave a hint of a smile.

  “When you’re a man like me, there’s only so many options you have for work that will fulfill you,” he said. “Couldn’t go into anything in the public service like the military; as soon as a background check got ran on me, even if nothing came up, flags would come up. Obviously not a guy built for an office job. I thought of being security, but I wanted something that would allow me to use my skills actively and not just reactively. So that’s why I joined the Reapers.”

  “I see.”

  “So you know about me,” Brian said. “Let me know about you.”

  Oh, boy. Guess I’m really not escaping my past here tonight, huh? It was also a rather abrupt change from the conversation focusing on him—I guess I may have overestimated his willingness to speak about himself a bit.

  But, hey, better some than not at all.

  “There’s nothing really to know about me.”

  “Liar,” he said. “Everyone has a story. Some just tell theirs better than others.”

  Like yourself?

  “You’re not going to let me off the hook, are you?”

  “You know what I did before,” he said. “The least I can do is know more about you.”

  I suppose it would make me more honest and vulnerable. But then again, it would make me more honest and vulnerable.

  You can’t have a connection without connecting, you know.r />
  I sighed.

  “OK,” I said. “This is my story.”

  Butch

  I could tell as soon as I had shown up that something was on Thea’s mind. Something had happened since we’d last met she wanted to discuss.

  But unless it had to do with us, I was pretty sure I didn’t need to hear it. So after hearing her hemming and hawing around the subject, I decided to just push right to the point and ask about her.

  “I told you that I lost my job because of reasons, and never did elaborate on those reasons,” she said. “Well… at my last job, I worked in the marketing department for a major Hollywood marketing agency. It was a great job, and at the time, it felt even greater because I was dating a coworker.”

  Thea visibly cringed when she said that, but I didn’t care. Maybe that was a faux pas in the white-collar world. I didn’t know. I knew what I knew and kept to myself otherwise.

  “Well, the problem with dating a coworker is that when things go to the wayside, there’s no escape. If you’re dating someone you met elsewhere, you can go home, or you can go to work, but when you date a coworker, the escape becomes the exception. And so instead of having the space to work on our issues and improve ourselves, we just exacerbated each other’s problems. I’m sure I made some mistakes along the way—I probably poked and prodded him a little more, wanting to see how far he’d go—but in the end… we broke up.”

  So far, this seemed like a pretty normal relationship story.

  “It wasn’t like we were an office of five people, so to some extent, I didn’t have to interact with him too much, but I did see him daily. And I just decided that the best way to handle him was to ignore him. He… he did not take kindly to that.”

  She sighed.

  “When we were dating, we did a lot of risque things, especially in the office when others had gone home,” she said. “It was the kind of thing that could have gotten us in serious trouble if anyone found out, but we kept it to ourselves. Well, that was, until he decided to expose them to HR.”

  Again, she sighed. But she didn’t seem sad. She didn’t even seem angry. She almost seemed… confused. Something about the emotion seemed misplaced, but I couldn’t quite figure out what.