Back in the Game

by R. W. Clinger

  “You’re right. I’m exactly who you think I am.”

  “You’re now a side judge for the team, right?”

  I realized the guy seemed more into my career than taking me back to his coastal bungalow and banging my ass. Some sports fans were like that. So I played Mr. Nice Guy and said, “I am. It’s working out for me now.”

  “You work under Luther Coffler, right?”

  I nodded. “Luther’s a nice guy and a great boss. I have a functional relationship with him.”

  PC pulled an expired ticket stub from his wallet: Eagles versus Thors, dated two weeks ago. He pushed the ticket in front of me and inquired, “Will you sign this for me?”

  I did, making his evening special. To my surprise, after supplying him with my autograph and a handshake, our brief interaction ended. He vanished from my side, in search of some other guy to take home, perhaps someone less famous and not a jock, leaving me alone at the bar, all by myself.

  * * * *

  As the Drag Queen Race Night continued, Marpessa Desire took the stage and crowd over. Feeling stunned, I saw Tommy Rawe backed into a corner with his jeans unbuttoned and his cock hanging out. Some muscular jock was on his knees in front of Tommy, blowing him, eating the hustler up, feeding on my friend’s dick. The jock’s head raced to and fro, and his hands toyed with Tommy’s balls. The prostitute’s hips thrust forward, backward, and forward again.

  Wait a second. No way. Upon further investigation of that wayward scene in the bar’s dimly lit corner, it wasn’t Tommy Rawe at all. The guy against the wall just happened to be Matthew Brigg, the Mormon who wanted nothing to do with me.

  The moment left me open-mouthed. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I had obviously made a fool of myself by chasing him, but he had only caused my actions to be less charming because he wasn’t into me. Seeing him with another guy wasn’t a joy, but it was reality. Most of the time, you couldn’t force a guy to like you, which is exactly how I felt about Matthew. Bottom line: I tried to get with someone who wasn’t meant for me. Life sucked that way sometimes. Shit.

  Fearing Matthew, his rage, and the man’s uproarious threat, I decided to leave him alone and slink away from the bar, back to my apartment, staying clear of any danger such as a fag-beating with a bat, and erased the bar visit from my mind.

  Chapter 30: Next to You

  Downtown Turtle Bay Reef

  Shell Street

  Turtle Bay Reef Apartments

  Apartment 3-B

  October 5, 20—

  1:07 P.M.

  My ankle was never going to heal, I had finally realized when I returned to my apartment. Lightning-like pain skied up my left leg and flared. The ankle itself swelled to twice its size, which prompted me to rest on the sofa with a nightcap in hand. The apartment felt extremely hot. Frankly, the temperature outside became too low to turn the air conditioner on, so I had to grin and bear the maddening heat. I opened all the living room windows, became exhausted, and eventually sat on the battered sofa.

  The city’s sounds rose from the street and meandered inside my place: two men talking on Shell Street, cabs passing, a light wind echoing through the buildings, and the rolling waves of the Gulf. In the dark, holding a vodka tonic in my hand and resting my ankle on a pillow I had placed on the coffee table, I fell asleep.

  I woke a few minutes later because the drink in my hand accidentally tipped over, and drops of its chilled liquid began to dampen my leg. Anyone with a sane mind knew it was bedtime.

  Minutes later, I was snug in bed with a sheet and puffy comforter up to my chin. Positioned on my back, I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep in just a matter of seconds.

  Dreams were undiscovered, as was restlessness. I wasn’t asleep for very long when I awoke and saw the shadow of Tommy Rawe looming over the bottom of my bed.

  Startled, feeling my heart jump, I immediately sat up and asked him in a rather defensive tone, “What do you want?”

  “Shane,” his familiar voice echoed in my ears. “I need to talk to you.”

  I blinked a number of times, rubbed my eyes, and asked, “How did you get in here?”

  “You gave me a key when I was staying with you. Don’t you remember?”

  I hadn’t. Not that I minded, since I had fallen in love with the hustler.

  “Can I sit down?” he asked, sullen-sounding and having a sense of nervousness in his tone.

  Something didn’t feel right. I didn’t know exactly what it was. In due time, I would find out, as long as I was nice to the man and didn’t request that he leave me to my sleep.

  “Of course, you can have a seat.” I moved from the center of the bed to the side.

  Tommy sat on the left side in his clothes, including his All-Star Converse sneakers. A sigh escaped him, which sounded like devastation.

  “What is it, Tommy?” I asked, patting his thigh with my right palm. “Spill it. I know you have something very important to tell me since you came here in the middle of the night.”

  “I’ve missed you in more ways than you’ll ever know. My head isn’t clear about you. Neither is my heart. Every thought is messed up. You’ve stopped my breathing.” He was a wreck, out of his mind, and somewhat hysterical.

  “Why did you miss me? I haven’t gone anywhere. You could have visited me anytime you wanted.”

  “That’s why I’m here tonight.” He took a deep breath, gathered his composure in the dim light that circulated through the bedroom, and added, “You take care of me. That’s why I like you. You really care about me. You’re the only person on the planet who cares that I’m alive. You’ve never hurt me, and I don’t think you ever will.”

  “I do care about you. It’s about time you realize that.”

  “I know that now. Sometimes I can’t think clearly. You opened up your place and heart to me, you fed me, and then I left you. I was a fool.”

  I didn’t deny what he had said. Instead, I simply listened to him like a caring friend, glad to see him again, and have him next to me where he was safe, unharmed, and not on the city streets, selling his ass and dick for drugs.

  “I have a serious question for you, Shane.”

  “I probably have a serious answer. Try me.”

  He coughed into his left fist in a state of nervousness, turned toward me, face to face, and exhaled his sweet breath against my lips. Then he whispered, “I want to clean up my life and get off the streets. I want to stop my hustling gigs and quit doing drugs. But I need a place to stay to start this change. I want a better life. I want to be a better person and learn to love, and love someone like you.” He lowered his head, rubbed his nose, and whispered, “And I was wondering if I could stay with you. Maybe you can help me with a new beginning. What do you think?”

  I reached out and patted his leg, glowing inside, glad to see him, and thrilled to have him at my side again. I was in love with the kid, forever and always, mad about him. “I’m here for you, Tommy. That’s what I think. I’ll always be here for you, and I’ll always help you.”

  “You mean that?”

  “I do. You can stay as long as you’d like. I told you that already. I honestly care about you, in more ways than you’ll ever realize.”

  “Tell me what you mean by that,” he said.

  I shook my head in the semi-darkness, smiled, and felt overjoyed that he ended up back in my life again. My heart raced and elation throbbed at my temples. I was going to be up for the rest of the night, unable to sleep from the excitement I was feeling because of his return. I could sleep tomorrow. “Maybe later I’ll tell you. You should get some sleep.”

  “Thanks for liking me, Shane.”

  “There’s no reason to thank me. Sometimes we can’t help who we adore. The heart is like that.”

  He took a shower, shaved, and I gave him a pair of underwear to slip into. He said he needed food, hungry, and I warmed him three slices of pizza in the microwave. He needed to brush his teeth, and I had an extra, unopened toothbrush in the med
icine closet in the bathroom. Following his chores, he climbed into bed with me, claiming he was exhausted.

  I was just about to get out of the bed and go to the sofa for the night when he reached out with his arm.

  “Don’t run off. Stay here with me.” His grip tightened on my shoulder, which I felt fine with, and then it rolled down and along the length of my arm. Still facing me, safe and comfortable in my company, he said, “I want to hold you tonight if you’ll let me. Will you be okay with that?”

  I stayed in the bed, positioned my back against his chest, felt his groin against my bottom, and knew I had gained something tremendous for him, accepting all of his flaws. His arm wrapped around my midpoint, and his palm rested against the flat surface of my stomach.

  Tommy gently rubbed my belly, breathed on my neck, and whispered, “Next to you. This is where I want to be. Honestly.”

  And I believed him, in love.

  Epilogue: Three Months Later

  Turtle Bay Reef

  January 4, 20—

  Shell Street

  Turtle Bay Reef Apartments

  Apartment 3-B

  8:17 A.M.

  Aaron Felder:

  There was a write-up in the morning edition of the Turtle Bay Reef Caller about the three men (Aaron, Tab, and Tad) having a lecture on same-sex unions. Basically, it was a humanities speech on threesomes, sponsored by Turtle Bay Reef College and Managua Bay University. The function was being held at The Adler House on Miami Avenue. A party was to follow the lecture inside The Ivory Room, a private hall among six others that were all tucked inside The Adler House. Special guests included the city’s mayor, Tanner Dixon, a well-known queer photographer, a number of college professors, and Lucy Benton, a regional Chapter Leader of the LGBTQIA.

  I knew a few other things about the threesome that I thought interesting: they were currently living together in Aaron’s bungalow; Tad was going to med school at Turtle Bay Reef Medical College; and Tab was currently writing a queer mystery called The Faction House. Aaron was in the running for the Player of the Year award in our league, Tad suffered from anorexia, and Tab was currently looking for a larger bungalow for the three of them to move into.

  Frankly, I didn’t want any harm to come Aaron’s way. He was a good guy and in love. I only wished him the best and a happy life with his twins. I was pretty sure he was going to be healthy and happy in his future, just as he should have been.

  * * * *

  Palm Field

  10:18 A.M.

  James Coffler:

  I learned from Luther Coffler, James’s grandfather, that the man had retired from football and moved west. James heard of a ranch in Stockton County, Oklahoma, that offered free room and board to trainable and muscular ranch hands.

  Luther told me at a Sunday afternoon game in confidence, “James likes horses and hard work. He’ll do fine in Oklahoma, once he learns how to be a cowboy. I give the guy credit. He’s brave for leaving Florida and starting a new life. Not many men will change careers like he has. He’s a good man, a brave one.”

  I didn’t tell Luther that James was more trouble than he was worth. Luther wasn’t aware of what his grandson had done to shake the queer community of Turtle Bay Reef, and I wasn’t about to tell him the details of why James left town. James was better off elsewhere, misplaced and wherever. As long as he wasn’t living in our city any longer, I imagined men like Tommy Rawe were going to be better off and safe from predators.

  Of course, I had wondered if Coffler was going to drug cowboys in Oklahoma like he had to men in Florida. Was the man’s behavior serial, or did Tommy’s wrath remedy his badness? I wasn’t sure and believed that Coffler was too far away for me to really give a fuck. As long as Tommy was safe from Coffler, and the other men of our community, all was good in the world.

  I thought Luther would miss his grandson, but he seemed not to, which I had always conceived as a mystery. A good part of me believed Luther was well aware of what his relative was doing with queer men in bars, keeping a family secret unexposed. Not once did he confess that knowledge to me, though, which I respected him for. Never was James Coffler discussed after Luther told me of his grandson’s whereabouts in the Midwest. It was as if a door had closed on the black man, and he was forgotten. Gone.

  As for Luther Coffler and his cancer, the poor man passed away in his sleep ten months later. A viewing and funeral service followed, which I attended out of respect. James was not present for either. I had learned he was grounded in Oklahoma and couldn’t fly, all because of a string of tornadoes. It seemed like bullshit to me, but whatever. James had his life, and I had mine.

  No matter what, Luther was in a better place. An angel somewhere in heaven and looking down on us: his family, James, and me. Amen to that.

  * * * *

  The Aquarium Reef

  1:29 P.M.

  Lex Hawthorne:

  We met in secret at The Aquarium Reef near the tiger shark habitat again. Lex looked healthy and happy, just as Aaron had. He had shaved off his goatee, and his blond curls were now a buzz cut that caused his tranquil-blue eyes to sparkle even more. He wore what looked like a titanium blue wedding band on his right hand.

  “The lucky guy is Chet Blackfield. We’re serious now.”

  “Are you still married to Virginia?”

  “We’re currently separated. A divorce is in the near future. Virginia and I are very civil to each other. We’re adults, not children, and she’s perfectly fine that I’m seeing a man. I’m not having an affair on her, although some people would disagree with me.”

  “Do you love Chet?” I inquired.

  He nodded. “He’s the best thing I’ve found.”

  “He’s a baseball player,” I replied, joking. “I’m sure you can do better.”

  “The sexiest baseball player in the world. He takes care of me and my heart.”

  We hugged like gentlemen: with just a portion of space separating our chests, without our cocks touching.

  Then he said, “We should stay in touch, off the field, of course. What do you say, Shane?”

  “I have every intention of doing that.”

  “You’ve changed me,” he admitted.

  I shook my head, denying any help that I may have given him. “You didn’t change. You were always you.”

  “I know,” he said, beaming with a smile, pleased with his life and in love with his baseball player, soulful.

  * * * *

  The Seaside Reef Bar & Grille

  2:19 P.M.

  Matthew Brigg:

  I had decided to have a late lunch at The Seaside Reef Bar & Grille: seafood salad, Long Island iced tea, a lemon square with fresh raspberries for dessert. To my right, approximately eighteen feet away, sat Matthew Brigg at a two-person table. The man was alone and looked quite somber. His face was an ashen-red hue, and his cheeks were pitted. He looked as if he hadn’t bathed in a few days.

  I wanted to join him for a second or two and determine the nature of his pathetic look. Instead, there was really no need to carry out that idiotic action. I had already determined his somewhat lifeless condition. While staring at the Tommy Rawe look-alike, I labeled his depressing state as rather enjoyable for me. One in my position could have easily believed that the man was brokenhearted and alone for maybe the very first time in his life.

  Poor Matthew was hurt, suffering from a conflict with a current boyfriend or lover. His sulking supported that, of course. Not that I really cared. I no longer longed for him. He was ruined, and I left him to his woes, struggle, and other lively hazards of the world he currently faced. Instead, I enjoyed my lunch, happy to be left alone, silent, and different compared to the Mormon and his losses of a once-perfect life.

  * * * *

  Frankie Woodrow:

  I called Frankie’s cellphone that afternoon after a nap, and he insisted I take a cruise somewhere in the Caribbean.

  “We can see each other then. You must meet Renaldo. He’s an amazing man a
nd everything I’ve always dreamed of being a relationship with.”

  “You’ll be back in Florida for Thanksgiving, right?” I inquired.

  “Yes. And Christmas.”

  “Then there is no reason to take a cruise.”

  He called me a party-pooper and no fun.

  I told him to be nice to me, and he agreed. Then we talked about everything under the sun, being profane and profound, loving each other’s company as best friends do.

  * * * *

  Shell Street

  Turtle Bay Reef Apartments

  Apartment 3-B

  8:17 P.M.

  Tommy Rawe:

  “We should stay home and mess around,” Tommy suggested, pressing a palm against his chiseled chest, smoothing the cotton T-shirt over every curve and dent on his well-built torso.

  I stood beside him in our tiny bathroom, primping my hair for the evening. “You know we can’t miss the Drag Queen Race Night at the Briefs Bar. My whole life will tumble apart if I’m not there.”

  He laughed, nudging his left elbow against my side. “I think I can give you a better show than some drag queen.”

  I turned to him, wrapped my arms around him, and kissed the side of his neck. “I might just take you up on your offer.”

  “I don’t believe you,” he said, smiling from ear to ear, delighted to be my lover.

  No longer was the man on the streets, hustling and using drugs. His whole life had turned around in just a matter of months. He was clean and working as a waiter at Nostalgia, an uppity bistro on Salmon Street, which was just a few blocks away from the apartment. He was also going to college, taking basic classes, serious about his future with me. He stopped drinking altogether and only frequented the city’s bars with me for dancing or to play pool.