Steel and granite buildings sprawled over the autumn landscape of leaves and empty branches. Young students from various backgrounds and cities were dressed in jeans, boots, and heavy coats, waiting for the next snowfall. Few professors moved from Noir Hall to their parked cars, driving away from the campus, following their teachings.
Eventually, I climbed out of the Jeep and walked inside the hulking building: five stories high, lots of windows and steel. The structure said New York Epic all over it, a fresh and forwardly sight to behold on an old campus that housed many ancient and stone buildings from the early 1900s. Inside Noir’s foyer, a mix of black leather chairs and stainless-steel tables, a directory told me where to find Dr. Kevin Bakerton. Floor two. Room 213.
I made my way up the single flight of steps, passed dating couples, students in their own little worlds as they listened to music on headphones or texted, and other persons associated with the college. I looked from left to right, peeking views of classrooms’ interiors. Some professors were teaching small groups, but most of the rooms were empty.
Slowly, carefully, and without feeling rushed, I made my way to room 213. I passed rooms 219, 217, and 215. All offices. Then I came to Kevin’s office, room 213. A silver plaque outside his door said Dean of Human Studies, Dr. Kevin Bakerton.
I passed discreetly and saw his head lowered, his attention and concentration on a stack of papers in front of him. He wore a cream-colored knit sweater over a sky-blue dress shirt. His hair looked combed, and the scruff on his cheeks and chin was groomed. He sported thin, horn-rimmed glasses the color of an expensive merlot. Handsome came to mind, with a mix of sexy. The man at the desk was definitely Kevin Balk, or Bakerton, whatever he wanted to be called.
I walked about twenty feet beyond his office, turned around, wanting a second glance; maybe just to prove to myself that he was real; maybe just to suffocate any thought or hint that Kevin Bakerton wasn’t Kevin Balk; maybe just to keep my sanity.
Upon passing Kevin’s office a second time, Murphy’s Law or serendipity or fate at its mysterious work, he lifted his head from the work in front of him. Our eyes met for a second…two seconds…and his mouth fell open.
Then he called out, “Hatch!”
Things I heard: his chair sliding away from his desk as he stood; his footsteps closing in on me as I hurried my pace, needing to escape the scene, choosing to abruptly end my spontaneous adventures of spying inside his world; my heart pounding inside my ears, throbbing; and him yelling behind me.
“Hold on, Hatch! You don’t have to run away from me!”
I did run, but stopped approximately thirty feet from his office door. Every muscle in my body tensed, and my heart spiraled out of control and wildly thumped. I spun around and faced him. I felt my ears burn and my eyes flare.
“You…you lied to me. Everything about you. Everything. You’re a goddam liar. You’re not who you told me you are.”
He walked up to me: solid, confident, concern locked in his stare. “I realize I’ve got a lot of explaining to do, Hatch. I should have told you the truth from the start, but…”
I raised a hand to him, preventing his approach, stopping him from hugging me or moving into my space any more than he already had. “You’re an ass, a snake, and someone I would rather not be around. You’re a fake, Kevin Balk…or Bakerton…or whatever the fuck you want to be called.”
His face grew pale and his eyes wide. “My study got out of control, Hatch. I never thought I’d feel something for you. My heart grew to like you…and more. I never thought we’d sleep together.”
“Enough,” I told him. “I’m not your little mouse in a maze. I’m not your test subject or science project. You lied to me from the very start. Every minute and second we’ve been together. I know everything about you now. The Colonial in Templeton, your job here at West Newton, and the awards you’ve won. You have a fucking hedge maze, Kevin. No one has a hedge maze unless they’re successful.”
“Michael,” he whispered, lowering his head in shame. “I’ve met him before and his husband. We travel among the same circle of friends. Michael told you all about me, didn’t he?”
“He did. Not that it matters. I would have found out the truth about you one way or another. Liars are always caught. Goodness always wins. You’re someone I don’t know, Kevin. And now you’re someone I don’t trust and won’t.”
He nodded. “You’re right. You would have eventually discovered everything about me. Nothing is meant to be a secret forever.”
“I was falling for you. Maybe you need to know that. Maybe not. But it was happening. All of me was head over heels in the game with you. Too bad you fucked it all up with your social experiment and bullshit, though. Too bad…” I stopped in mid-sentence, frustrated, and wanted to vomit.
“Listen to me, Hatch. I don’t know what I was thinking. Who knew I would end up going back to your place and end up in your bed? I didn’t at the time. It was something I didn’t think possible. You have to understand l didn’t realize what was going on during every second of our relationship. I got so tied up in the emotions and how much I liked you. Everything became a blur for me. Confusion. I didn’t know what do to. I didn’t know how to come clean and tell you about the real me.”
I heard nothing more. Nothing. I turned around and walked away from him and his rambling, blocking him out of my hearing range, life, and whatever. Half of me expected him to chase me out of Noir Hall and to my Jeep, but he didn’t. The other half of me couldn’t have given a damn about him, losing him from my heart and mind during those few seconds together. His game had ended, whatever it entailed. Done. Finished. Kevin the actor, professor, homeless man, snake, asshole, and liar, was forever removed from my life as I walked down the flight of stairs and exited Noir Hall, leaving him behind.
I had to.
Had to.
Anyone who was smart would have done the same thing.
* * * *
Halloween. I wanted to dress up as the Invisible Man so no one could see me. Not Michael. Not Jay. No one. I kept to myself after the confrontation at Noir Hall with Kevin Bakerton, ignoring his calls, text messages, and emails. When he showed up unannounced at the Cape Cod, I pulled the blinds closed in every room, hiding from him, unable to speak with him. My heart became iron and lifeless because of him, barely functioning. I left no room for the man in my world after learning his lies and deceit. Misery tried to consume me, but I pushed it away using all my strength, sober from the choice I had made not to be involved with him. Being alone felt better, real. I couldn’t see Kevin. I wouldn’t. No way.
Michael insisted we go to a Halloween party. “Jay is hosting the party with his Boulder Boys. It’s Agatha Christie-themed. We can get our tuxes on, powder our faces grey, and show up as zombies with fake knives sticking out of our skulls. Jay will love it.”
“I’m not moving from this sofa. Tonight’s about watching horror movies on Netflix. I can get four in by two o’clock this morning.”
“Think of the fun we’ll have with Jay and all the men he’s invited. Maybe you can meet someone new, Hatch. What do you say?”
I refused, broken by Kevin Bakerton, and wanted to be left alone. As Michael continued to beg me to attend the evening function with him, I demanded my loneliness, keeping hidden from the masses, particularly Jay’s Halloween party. God knows Michael was a good friend, consoling me, attempting to steer me away from my blues, but I wouldn’t budge. I gave Michael high props for the attempt, but in the end, I just wanted to be left alone, tucked away inside the folds of misery.
Alone was nice. Needed. Sometimes feeling dead was better than being alive.
* * * *
I cooked and baked for the next few days, finishing testing Milo’s Kitchen Tales for Ravenous. One day. Two days. Three days. I ceased all contact from my friends. Never had I worked so hard for Ravenous, keeping my head in the game and my heart steered away from Kevin Bakerton. I created root vegetable gratin with Indian spices, roas
ted potatoes with garlic and red onions, shrimp and saffron rice, chive rice with mushrooms, lamb shanks with beans, vegetable korma, Goan fish casserole, seafood risotto, and twenty other recipes, occupying my time. So proud of my work. Trying to be happy.
I became hardcore alone. My choice. Not once during that three-day sprint of Ravenous work had I reached out to Michael, Jay, my family, or Kevin Bakerton. When my cellphone buzzed, I ignored the caller. When someone tried to interrupt my groove, knocking on the Cape Cod’s front door, I kept to the kitchen area and my labor, continuing to make progress. When someone texted me, I deleted their message.
Eventually, Michael and Jay made an appearance at the back door, off the kitchen.
Jay pressed his pretty face to one of the glass window panes and asked, “Are you alive in there, Mr. Lye? Do we have to call the medics or police to get you out? Tell me you’re not poisoning yourself by all the shit you cook!”
Michael tapped on the door’s frame, always being more civilized, polite, eager to be normal. “We’ve come to check on you, Hatch. Let us in. We’re worried about you.”
“You can’t hide from us. You’re our best friend. We can find you anywhere!” Jay yelled through the window’s glass, his boyish face still pressed against its flat, translucent surface, grinning from ear to ear. “We’re not leaving until you let us in, queer. The cops will have to take us away in cuffs. That’s the only way we’re leaving.” He paused, snickered, and added, “I might like that a little too much, though, so you’d better let us in. Ain’t nothing like a good tie-me-up kind of situation that could make me hard.”
“Stop,” Michael hissed at Jay. “This is no time for joking. Can’t you grow up like the rest of us?”
“Suck my dick,” Jay played with Michael, laughing. “Take a good munch on it. Something tells me you’ll like it and…”
I decided to let the pair in before a neighbor called the police and they were arrested, cuffed, and taken away by the law.
Once inside, Jay helped himself to a juice glass, which he filled with two fingers of Maker’s Mark.
Michael declined to partake in drinking, just as I had.
Jay sucked down the two fingers’ worth. “I’m getting blitzed, motherfuckers. The Boulder Boys want to shove both their dicks inside me tonight. I need loosened up. The alcohol should help me.”
Michael laughed. “The price these days you have to pay for love.”
“I do love them,” Jay admitted, refilling his juice glass with Maker’s. “These guys entertain me. There’s never a dull moment with them. They get off by paying attention to me. And they love me. If I could marry them both, I would. I’m not against the ways of the Mormons.”
Michael finally laughed, rolling his eyes, also loosening up. “Jesus Christ. Jay, you’re losing your mind. There’s nothing sane about you.”
Jay snapped, “Hey, this is a big step for me. When did you ever hear me say that I’ve fallen in love?”
“Never,” Michael and I said in unison.
“So, stop judging. Support me.”
Quiet settled throughout the kitchen. Both Michael and I simply stared at Jay.
“He’s right,” Michael eventually said, breaking the silence. “We’re all friends. We have to support each other. Through the good, and through the bad. We all have to be there for each other. It’s just what we do. From dating a homeless man with secrets, to not having a husband around, and to falling in love with a sexy married couple. All the shit and happiness combined together. The three of us have to stick together as friends.”
Before I realized it, we were hugging inside my kitchen, meshed together by shoulders touching and extended arms. For a second, my mind flashed to hugging Kevin, and my heart raced. Damage surfaced there for that brief period of time, lurking. Then Jay made a joke about needing another drink to finish loosening up his ass, and I laughed, blocking Kevin from my thoughts for good. Time to move on. Forward. Forget about the past month and a man I once believed I could marry.
* * * *
Back to norm. The quiet life soon became discovered. Ten days into November, and it was already snowing. A nice snow. Light and wispy. Nothing that offered accumulation. No one on the lake. Just me alone in my corner of the world. Beautiful outside my kitchen window. Comfortable solace.
I became tied up in work, as usual. Ravenous had me testing recipes for an upcoming book of appetizers. The cookbook was called Before Nibbles by Natalie Drake. Thus far, I had tested almost twenty appetizers, all of which passed my tedious check list of critiquing. Natalie was a superb chef from Chicago, twenty-three, and quite amazing with her mix of before-the-main-course European recipes. Kudos to her skills in the kitchen. I was having fun with the book.
Not once had I thought of going to the local queer bar to find a man to sleep with. On the contrary, I stayed clear of men, taking a break from their chaos, baggage, and whatnots. I ignored handsome men at the grocery store, in the post office, while visiting my favorite coffee shop, and other frequently visited places in Channing. I thought it best to keep my head in the working game for Ravenous than have it cluttered with man-things that could easily spin my managed world upside down and into a heap of madness.
Of course, there were Jay and Michael who amused me on a daily basis. Jay was madly in love with his Boulder Boys, claiming he had never been so happy in his entire life. And Michael, as always, was in a solid relationship with his husband. Jay and Michael kept me going. Both had often popped into my kitchen for coffee and chitchat, dragged me to the movies or to a straight bar (I absolutely refused to go to the queer ones) called Linkie’s to consume a stiff drink, or two, or three. Both men prevented my world from unraveling or teetering, being the best friends any single guy could have, supportive in more ways than I could count. Truth said, I loved them like brothers, keeping me sane, invigorated about life, happy.
* * * *
November 11. Saturday morning. Colder than hell, in the single digits. Brrrrrrr. A day that would go down in history in my life as something entirely different, the ultimate change, surreal. Surprisingly, I wasn’t in the kitchen. Rather, I was tucked in the living room, sitting inside the sofa’s plush corner, my legs under a blanket, reading an ex-library copy of Grant Ginder’s The People We Hate at the Wedding, enjoying the read and my time alone. Silent except for the pre-winter’s wind outside. I snuggled there among cotton, flipping through the pages, the pages, the pages with heedless emotions. Then the doorbell interrupted me.
I placed Ginder’s book on the nearby coffee table, removed the blanket, and stood, rolling my eyes. Feeling remorse because of my loss, no longer trapped in the rolling pages of an engrossing read, no longer concealed and snuggled by the warmth of a blanket and coffee, I hauled my ass to the front door and turned the brass knob. My world changed forever. Forever.
Kevin Bakerton stood on the stoop in a heavy, wool coat. His handsome face shone a pallid hue, and his eyes were wide. His lips bore the reddish-white color of a frostbitten apple. No man looked as cold as he did. Freezing from the bitter cold. Possibly suffering from gangrene on parts of his body. He nodded and smiled.
“Hatch, I know I’m the last person you want to see, but…I can’t stop thinking about you. Please don’t ask me to leave. Please, just listen to me…listen.”
How did I feel at that second? Numb. Tingling all over from head to feet. Lost. Confused. Abandoned by humankind. Misplaced. Not human. My heart throbbed, stopped, and started beating again. Ginder’s work forgotten. The blanket and coffee forgotten. The cozy area of the sofa forgotten. Part of my life forgotten. Lost in time, place, and space. Like black matter, if black matter had emotions. The end of the world reachable; change standing less than two feet away from me. Sheltered. Unsheltered.
What did I think at that second?
Close the door, Hatch Lye. Run away. Run as fast as you can. Get away from here. The sky is calling you. Somewhere else but here. This isn’t happening. This isn’t real. You’ve fal
len asleep on the sofa while reading. You’re dreaming, aren’t you? Yes, that’s it. You’re dreaming. Or you’ve tripped over one of the coffee table’s legs and fallen, knocking your skull against the floor.
More thoughts surfaced, mostly of emotionally drowning.
Kevin Bakerton has hurt you. Stung you. Lied to you. He’s not real. He’ll never be real. Everything about him is a falsity. A fake. A liar. The worst man on the planet. Someone you can’t trust. Someone you can’t be with. Someone who has rocked your world off its axis and caused you damage. Irreversibly insensitive. Quietly ruthless. Unbearably dangerous.
“Go…away,” I whispered and closed the door on his face.
I had to.
Had to.
He wouldn’t go away. I didn’t blame him because I wouldn’t want to go away either, being in his shoes. Honestly, parts of me wanted him to stay, thrilled he had showed up out of the blue, interfering with my life, squeaking his way inside. Some guys were like that, of course, which I rather thought courageous and outgoing.
Go away.
Stay.
Go away.
Stay.
The argument between my head and heart ended. Finding a burst of energy, I gripped the door’s knob and twisted it. In the process, I abruptly told him, “Kevin, this isn’t going to work out between us. Not now. Never. So why don’t you just go away and…”
He stood there with snow on his shoulders and the top of his head. A second passed, two seconds, almost three seconds, and then he rushed inside. He pulled me into his wool-covered arms, pressed our chests together, and met my lips to his, sealing us together as one unit, or person, something.
I didn’t pull away. Should I have? Who could have really been sure in that state of confusion, immobile, next to him? No one. No one at all. I felt dizzy against him, out of breath. The planets in the solar system started to spin. The snow began to melt, and a blinding sun appeared in my vision. A solar eclipse happened, an explosion of the galaxy, a black hole, something, and I…I…I became lost somewhere in Hopkinsville, Kentucky, north of Nashville, standing in a field of high grass, going blind by white light and…
Ravenous Page 7
