“How's your neck?” Laurie whispered as they came together for a hug after.
The reminder that he had to think of that was like a knife cut, but Ed acknowledged that he probably should have been worrying about that himself. He did a quick tip in either direction and nodded gruffly. “It's fine.”
Laurie brushed a kiss against his cheek in reply, standing back as Liam approached them.
“Hey!” Liam clapped them both on the shoulder. “Holy shit, man! You're gonna have to give me lessons! If I dance like that with my wife, I could come home late from the bar for a week!”
“Laurie teaches classes down at the center,” Ed volunteered.
“I might have to take you up on that,” Liam said.
They tried to go back to their table, but the crowd wouldn't let them. Someone put a new song on the jukebox, and the next thing Ed knew, both he and Laurie were giving impromptu dancing lessons on the spot. For some reason, they kept playing Blondie too, working their way through the entire Platinum Collection. Laurie taught them some sort of line dance to “Heart of Glass” and somehow he managed to lead four couples in some half-rumba, half-two-step to “One Way or Another.” Sometimes he used Ed as a demonstration, but mostly he just got in there and got his hands dirty, taking lead, taking follower as it was needed.
He looked so happy. They had him laughing, had him spinning in ten directions at once, and eventually Ed just stood there and watched, because it was so beautiful. He'd never seen Laurie like this. He'd never seen anybody like this. It was beautiful, but it hurt too, because he realized that outside of Laurie, he didn't even come close to moments like this.
When someone finally figured out they were running through the same album, they switched, but there wasn't much else danceable that they could all agree on in the player. So as the bartender called out this was the last song, they settled on a different album but still Blondie, and as Laurie came back into Ed's arms, “Maria” was playing at full blast. Laurie was still beaming, flushed now with excitement, not alcohol, and Ed made him giggle by trying to tango to a song with the wrong beat.
“Oh, Ed.” Laurie laughed and fell into his arms. “You make me so happy.”
And for whatever reason, as Laurie looked up at him, full of life and love and wonder, Ed looked down at him and said, “I lost my job today.”
Laurie stopped short and tried to draw back to get a better look at him, but Ed held him as close as he could. He hadn't meant to say that, and he felt so exposed now, but maybe this was better. He didn't think he'd have the strength to do it without so many people around, so much energy and chaos to hide his failure. So he just gripped Laurie's arms and waited, knowing the sense of terror inside him, the fear that this would make Laurie leave him was misplaced, but he still couldn't stop it. He just held his breath and waited.
Somehow, Laurie seemed to understand this, because his face softened—not to pity, just to love—and he reached up to touch Ed's cheek. “It's okay.”
Ed snorted, but he didn't turn away from Laurie's touch. “It's not okay.”
“No,” Laurie acknowledged reluctantly. “It's not.” He stroked again, the opposite of the staging—it was a caress few could see and only Ed could feel. All around them people danced on, carried away on the moment and the fun Ed and Laurie had brought them, not even noticing that Ed and Laurie themselves were now very quiet and serious. “Go insane and out of your mind,” Debbie Harry sang, and Ed frankly wished at that moment that he could, because this particular moment of his life was scaring him half to death.
Laurie pulled Ed's head down so he could kiss him right between the eyes. “It will be okay,” he promised.
And as the music rose up around them, peppered with laughter and unbounded joy, Ed pulled Laurie to his chest, hugged him so tight he could feel the breath catching in his lungs, then buried his face in the side of Laurie's head and tried like hell not to cry.
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* * *
Chapter Seventeen
contract: basic movement where dancer contracts the midsection of the body and pulls back against a movement for emphasis
If Laurie had thought negotiating Ed fighting against his injury was difficult, he quickly learned it was nothing compared to negotiating out-of-work Ed.
The hardest part was that this Ed was much more subtle in his depression. For a week or so he did sit around the house, and Laurie was having unpleasant flashbacks back to December, but then one day he stopped by Ed's apartment and found him cleaning. Shortly after that he frequently had to call Ed to find where he was, because he was never at home. If he wasn't visiting his mother, he was at the center. He kept all his therapy appointments too, and he hadn't stopped any of his exercises.
The want ads were always open on his kitchen counter, but few things were circled, and nothing ever worked out.
Even with all this activity, however, Ed was still down, and that was the problem. It would have been easy to simply let things slide, to believe him when he said things were fine. But there were tense moments, and they almost always had to do with money. Ed never suggested they go out, and if Laurie did, Ed didn't let him pay more than half the time, but he was always trying to keep the outings less expensive.
He began doing the same to groceries too. Before he'd been content to let Laurie bring over things for dinner and fix them, but now if Laurie did it “too often,” at least by Ed standards, he'd object and try to pay for things. It was driving Laurie crazy.
“It makes no sense,” he complained to Oliver after they'd met with Vicky again about the April fundraiser. “I have so much money, and I don't mind helping him. I like helping him. It's something that I can actually do this time. Why won't he let me?”
“Because he's a man,” Oliver replied simply, not looking up from the notebook he was pouring over.
Laurie glared at him. “Oh, and I'm a woman?”
When Oliver looked up, his eyes were twinkling. “No. You're both men. It makes things very interesting, doesn't it? Now tell me what you think of this lineup. I know Vicky wants it to be only people from the neighborhood, but that's obviously impractical. Do you think she'd accept these performers?”
“But what am I supposed to do to help him?” Laurie asked, trying and likely failing not to sound desperate.
“Be creative,” Oliver replied. “Creative and clever. And incredibly careful.”
That was, in the end, what had worked. It was exhausting, and sometimes Laurie hated it because it felt manipulative, but Oliver had been right. The way to handle Ed's pride over not having a job was to be subtle and crafty in his attempts to help. He took Ed grocery shopping, and he let Ed pay a significant amount, but he made him buy items that could make meals, not instant noodles and meals in a can, which in the long run, of course, was more economical. He dialed down the gourmet as well and did much of the cooking. They went out rarely, staying in to watch television or make love.
He recruited Ed to help him at the studio too, sometimes with clerical work, sometimes with teaching. Ed had balked at the latter, but Laurie had insisted, because Ed was quite good. And the students loved him, especially the locals. For special treats, they would dance tango for the classes, which always went over very well.
“You guys should totally perform at Vicky's big show,” Duon said one day after class. “You'd show all of us up.”
“Oh, I don't think so,” Laurie had said quickly before Ed could say anything else.
Overall, things went well. Laurie still wasn't speaking to his mother, but he did have the promised dinner with Oliver and his mystery donor coming up. Thankfully it had been moved to March, but he knew there would be no getting out of it. The studio was beginning to come together a little, Maggie had gone from cold rage to stony silence, and the benefit for the center was shaping up nicely. And he was navigating the waters of Ed Maurer's pride quite well, he thought. Things were good. Very good.
And then there came the argument
.
It began with cooking. Laurie had set Ed up at the cutting board while he ducked in to take a quick shower after a long night at the studio. To his surprise, when he came out of the bathroom, Barbra Streisand was playing on the stereo.
“Barbra again?” Laurie asked as he tucked his robe tighter around his body and accepted the glass of white wine Ed held out for him.
Ed waggled his eyebrows. “I'm trying to get you in the mood.”
Laurie couldn't stop the ridiculous grin from breaking out across his face, so he hid it as best he could by taking a sip of the wine. He glanced at the onions and carrots Ed had cut up, though, and that cured him of his smile pretty quickly.
Ed caught the look and turned back to his handiwork. “What? Did I do it wrong?”
Laurie took in the variety of onion hunks and minces, the carrots so fat they'd take up half a mouth. “Yes.” Then he gasped as Ed grabbed him and pulled him up against his body, nearly spilling the wine, but when hands slid in over his naked hips, breaking the robe open, Laurie's knees threatened to buckle, and he fell against him. “Ed.”
Ed nuzzled the side of Laurie's head. “I want to be inside you,” he whispered.
Laurie shut his eyes. On the other side of the room, Barbra hit a high note, but Laurie barely heard her for the pounding of blood in his ears. A protest tried to form in his throat, but it got trapped as Ed's hand began to slide back around to the globe of his ass, and Laurie was ready to drop the wine and bend over the counter then and there.
But Ed only pinched his ass and pulled back with a wicked grin. “So I thought you were going to cook dinner?”
Laurie stood there a moment, shaking as Ed slipped away, whistling along with Barbra as he went back into the living room. In fact, Laurie had to put the wine down and grip the counter for several seconds before he even remembered to breathe.
“Of course,” Ed called from the couch, sounding very self-satisfied, “we could just order in. Later.”
But that smugness was all Laurie needed. He straightened, tightened his robe, and cleared his throat. “No. I'm cooking.” He tightened the robe a little more. “Right after I get dressed.”
And he was glad he had, he decided an hour later as he watched Ed scooping up the last of his soup with the last of the bread. He thought Ed was too.
“This is so fucking good,” Ed said for what had to be the eighth time. “Jesus, but you can cook.”
“Thank you.” Laurie ran his finger down Ed's arm languidly, but his heart was racing. There was a conversation he'd been meaning to have with him for a long time, but he'd kept putting it off, waiting for the right time. Full of food, relaxed, and with Barbra Streisand playing in the background, he decided it was time. He took a deep breath, held it a moment to center himself, and dove in.
“I want us to move in together.”
Ed looked up sharply and blinked, and Laurie tensed, watching him carefully, but he relaxed a little as he saw his lover was surprised, not appalled. “Move in?”
Laurie's finger continued tracing languidly on Ed's arm, belying his nerves. “We practically are already. I just thought it might make everything easier.” Ed's eyes darkened, and he went on quickly, “I feel like I'm wasting money paying for the downtown apartment when my whole life is over here.” Even with his careful framing, though, he could tell Ed was going to object, so he rushed on with the rest. “We could just do it as a trial, if you wanted. I could lease my apartment to someone for a few months, if it would make you feel better. But it would be so convenient. And—and it would make it easier too, because you could keep doing what you're doing, working with me and for the center. And maybe when the funding comes through for the grants, maybe Vicky can hire you. Or I can just hire you.”
Ed stared at him for a long moment while Laurie's heart pounded. Eventually he said, quietly, “What do you mean, you would hire me?”
He sounded unsure, but the mild encouragement only set Laurie off again. “Just that. I would hire you. I thought you could work with the kids. Even without the dancing, maybe we could do an after-school program there. Oliver found this grant—we could double it at the center. They've had to cut the after-school programs, and I think we should bring them back. You can teach them football. Or run leagues. Not play, obviously, or only in a way that won't injure you again, but you could still work with them. There's no program like that in St. Paul. Or you could work directly at the center with the grant. You could be the program director for the after-school things, maybe. Or whatever you want. I think it could be really good for the kids and for you too. You miss football. You like the kids. This would be the way to have both.”
Ed stared at Laurie a minute longer. He looked stunned. Laurie waited for him to say something, but he didn't say anything at all.
Laurie began to get nervous. “I'm sorry. I should have waited. I hadn't meant to spring all that on you now, just that I was going to be working there.” He reached for his fork and scraped the dregs of his dinner across his plate. “Just forget I said anything.”
“Hey.” Ed reached out across the table and stilled Laurie's hand and waited until Laurie looked up at him. Ed still looked shaken, but he wasn't mad. Laurie held his breath, waiting for Ed to agree, or to say that he'd try. Waited for him to say yes. But all Ed did was gently stroke his hand. Then eventually he spoke. “Laurie, I'm glad you're helping Vicky. And I can tell you're excited about it. But I have to have health insurance.”
“But what about the COBRA?” Laurie asked. “With me sharing living expenses, and money from the grant—”
“It won't last forever. And if they don't repeal health-care legislation, eventually here I can get on a high-risk pool, but it won't be great insurance, and it will be expensive.”
Laurie hesitated a moment, then rushed on. “We could register as partners too. Domestic partners. For the benefits,” he said quickly, when Ed paled. “You could use my health insurance if we were domestic partners. I already checked.”
Ed shook his head. “No.”
“But—” Laurie began, but Ed just shook his head again, looking stern.
“I'll help you for now,” he said, “but I have to keep looking for a job.” He forced a smile. “Anyway. There's something I need to ask you too.”
“Oh?” Laurie tried to hide his disappointment at Ed's rejection, telling himself he'd try again later.
Ed cleared his throat and reached across the table to wipe away a bit of sauce from the corner of Laurie's mouth, making Laurie shiver slightly. “I want you to dance with me at Vicky's show.”
Now it was Laurie's turn to blink and go rigid. “Ed—no. I'm sorry, but—no.”
“Just something simple. Something I won't screw up.” Ed grinned lopsidedly. “I know I suck compared to you and that I'm an embarrassment, but—”
“No,” Laurie said quickly, softening again. “No. Ed, it's not you. You're not"—he reached across the table and took Ed's hand, fighting him for it when Ed tried to keep away—"You're not an embarrassment. And you don't suck. It's not you.”
“Then why?”
Laurie drew his hands back, shuttering again. “Can we talk about something else?”
“Sure,” Ed said, picking up his fork again.
But the rest of the meal was awkward, and the next few days were even worse. Laurie didn't bring up living together or Ed working for him or the center, and Ed didn't bring up the show. But the argument hung like an iron curtain between them, even when they made love. Laurie was frustrated and angry, and he knew Ed was too. And then one night it all came to a head.
One night they came back to the apartment together after a long night at the studio, but they were hardly speaking to one another. Once they were inside, Ed tossed his coat onto a chair, grabbed something from the fridge, and headed for the bathroom. It was an innocent enough action, but Laurie called out, some censure in his voice, “What are you doing?”
“Getting a beer and taking a bath,” Ed declared without
turning around, then went into the bathroom and shut the door.
Laurie stared at the closed door for several seconds, fuming as he listened to the water run. He poured himself a glass of wine and slammed pans around as he prepared to cook, making sure the sounds could be heard in the bathroom. It did no good, of course, not for him and not for Ed. He tried to put his mind on cooking, tried turning on news on the radio and thinking of the world's problems and not his own, but twenty minutes later, when he'd burned the onions and overcooked the pasta, he turned it all off, took a deep breath, and headed into the bathroom.
Ed, soaking neck-deep in bubbles, his beer dangling from a hand hanging over the side, didn't even open his eyes.
“You're letting out all the warm air,” he said.
Laurie fumed for a second, then came in, shut the door, and leaned back against it. For several seconds, no one said anything, and Ed didn't look at him. He only opened his eyes to stare at the taps and occasionally take a drink. Laurie tried to hold on to his rage, tried to find his anger, but it was hard, staring at Ed's long, wet body, so strong, so beautiful. So male. Proud, strong Ed, who didn't want to take help, because that was who he was. At once, Laurie understood, truly understood.
And it depressed and deflated him.
“I'm sorry,” Laurie said at last. He came forward and sat on the closed toilet seat, shoulders slumping.
Ed sighed and slumped too. “No, you have nothing to be sorry for. It's just me and my damn pig head.” He ran his big toe along the side of the spout, staring at it intently as it slid across the chrome.
“I don't want you do be angry with me,” Laurie said.
Ed poked his toe into the square space of the spout's opening. “I just don't get why you won't go dancing with me out in public, if it's not that I suck. I mean, you get me all excited about it, say we're going to do it for therapy, and then you won't go out where we can show off?”
Laurie blinked, then frowned. “Wait. You think I'm upset about the show?”
Ed glanced at him, toe still stuck inside the spout like a sort of flesh plug. “You aren't? What the hell are you mad about then?”
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