A Revolutionary Romance

by Melody Clark

  “No, it annoys me. We were not here before. They were here before. They are not here now because they are dead. We're not dead. We're not only not dead, we're damned hungry. If you're done snorting the cremains of history, can we go grab a sandwich or something?"

  T.J. sighed sadly, softly, and then checked his watch. "It's more time for dinner than for lunch."

  "Call it whatever you like. So long as there's food involved, I'm in."

  “So long as the restaurant doesn’t have a friendly mascot, so am I."

  The Perry Tavern was deep and dark, lit by candles kept by clay holders like small ceramic hands guarding the flame.

  From the windows, they could see the sharp bend of the city traveling up the sky. They had been seated in the main room. They were the only male couple among a group of couples sipping at wine, studying menus.

  Jack regarded his own menu. "I seem to recall Izzy thought the squab was okay. And the lemon pepper pasta. I think I just got hammered, last I was here."

  "You've been here before?"

  "Yeah ... in this lifetime, I mean," Paulson said, tossing a knowing grin in the other man’s direction. Then Jack's face left levity behind. He sipped at the Montrachet they had ordered. "Izzy and I came here for our last anniversary."

  "God ... Jack," T.J. said, letting the two soft words speak volumes. "I'm sorry. I didn't know.:

  "I know you didn't know," Paulson said sharply. "Listen, Isabel and I were married for fifteen years. If I avoided places without memories of Izzy, I'd stay at home half the time. I have to get used to it. Life now means living without her. Missing her is just the price of loving her as long as I did."

  T.J. nodded slowly. "I miss her a lot, too, if that's any small comfort." He set aside his own wine and leaned forward a little. He stayed silent for a long moment before finally murmuring, “I also miss ... us."

  "Us?"

  "Yes." T.J. smiled and punctuated it with a wink. "Us."

  "Oh!" Jack said sharply, his eyes widening in scale to the width of the room. He set down his wine flute with a considerable thud as he blushed darker than the drink in his hand. "That us. Sorry, it's been a while. At least it seems like it."

  "It's only been a year and a half, Jack. The last time the three of us were together like that, she was so ill, all we did was hold her and talk. After Izzy died, it was like I lost both of you. I know Izzy always initiated ... us. That was her thing. But I truly could have thought you have been avoiding me for the last six months for all the --”

  "I was not avoiding you."

  "Maybe not consciously. But I've called you, I've emailed. I've dropped by."

  "I called back!"

  "When?"

  "On your birthday! I'd have called you last Christmas, too, except I gargled down a ton of cheap holiday cheer and passed out watching Frosty the Red-Nosed Snowman or some stupid shit."

  T.J.’s eyes grew sad. "We used to spend at least some time on Christmas, the three of us. I realize she was your wife, but you and I are lovers too."

  "No, we’re not!" Jack said, aghast.

  T.J.’s mouth gaped open wide. "Of course we are. Don't be ridiculous."

  "Technically, maybe. Look, I know you and I ... interacted, okay?" Jack said in a voice small enough to only be heard by them. "But like you said, it was Izzy’s thing. We always agreed on absolute honesty and when she ... came up with this idea, she said you'd both only do that if I agreed too and, well, the rest is very, very awkward history. Can we just change the goddamned subject?"

  "No, we can't. You are a vision of denial, Jack Paulson. There was at least as much ... interaction, as you would call it, between you and me as there was between Izzy and either of us. I can recall a couple of times when our interactions ended very ... advantageously for you, and loudly so I might add. Izzy may have been watching, but it was me touching you. It wasn't all just performance porn for your wife."

  "I didn’t say it was. Look, that's the past. Izzy's gone. Can't we just eat -- "

  "No, damn it. Izzy’s gone, but I'm still here, Jack."

  "I know that. I know you are. I just don't know where I am anymore.” Jack sat back, abandoning his glass altogether. “As we've said before, we both stuffed our grief during our respective elections. I'm just now coming out of it and maybe you are, too. Can we just have some dinner and leave the private talk for some time when we’re not in public and my stomach isn't competing for attention?"

  T.J. surrendered up an uneven smile. "All right, but you still owe me a very awkward, honest talk about all that. Somewhere more private."

  Jack nodded as he sighed in relief. "Agreed. And thank you."

  “You’re welcome. And by the way, you and I are –"

  "What may I get for you gentlemen this evening?" a smiling waiter asked as he stepped up to their table.

  T.J. glared up at the intrusion. Seeing the situation, he looked down at the menu again. "Oh, yes, well … broiled squab is dove, right? I don't eat doves. Sets a poor precedent. I'll just have the lemon pepper pasta."

  "And I'll have the same," Jack said, having casually glanced at the television set running mutely on the wall. "Is that the game?"

  "Yeah, it sucks," the waiter said. "Celtics are winning."

  "Not for me," Jack said, "I’m from Boston. What's the score?"

  "I forget but Todd German just fouled out so they sent in that new guy, Corey Jackson. He's pretty lame so I think the 76ers have a shot."

  "Lame? Bull!" Jack said, his voice dropping a full octave. "Corey has some chops. German's getting old."

  "Old?" T.J. broke in loudly. "German kicks ass. You get him on the court in some balls-to-the-wall one-on-one and he'd still make Jackson look like a world champion pussy."

  Jack smiled derisively back at his oldest friend, yanking away his menu and handing both menus to the waiter. "Just bring our food, okay?" he said to the waiter as the young man nodded and left.

  Then Jack leaned nearer to Thomas. "You can disengage the testosterone turbo-thrusters. I get the point, you’re a brawny, ballsy manly man. But English men just sound silly saying pussy.”

  T.J. grinned victoriously and sipped again at his wine. "I am an English-American. We can handle it."

  Something in Jack's pocket beeped. He pulled out a cell phone, holding it to the candle to read. "Oh, no."

  "What's happened?"

  "It's a text from Taneesha." He read it through, the cell phone held gradually tighter in his hand. "Izzy's Yorkie George had a stroke they think. She took him to the vet and they may have to put him to sleep. He's 12 but -- "

  "Say no more. Let's go," T.J. said, turning back toward the waiter. "We'll need our order boxed to go, I'm afraid we have an emergency."

  Jack hit the button for Taneesha's phone. "What?" Jack said to the woman who'd picked up quickly. Finally, he added, "I understand. I'll be there as soon as I can. I can have T.J. drop me off -- "

  "I'm coming with you," T.J. broke in.

  Jack looked at him for a gentle moment then finally nodded. "Okay, we'll both be there as soon as we can." He shut down the phone then turned to the other man again as T.J. was paying the bill and accepting the boxes in a bag. "T.J. you really don't have to -- "

  "Jack," Thomas said firmly. He tentatively reached out to capture his friend’s hand. He squeezed it gently for a moment, as if trying to convey the first of what he finished with his words, "I'm still here."

  Paulson nodded, looking more than a little contrite. "And I'm glad."

  "So let's go, shall we?"

  Jack had decided a year ago that human emotion must have an elastic effect on public roads. As they sped out of that city and toward another more distant one, the drive seemed both three times longer and yet twice as fast as it should have been.

  T.J. kept him talking about business in the Senate. Being a junior senator versus a veteran congressman. Who was in the closet, with special detail given to the anti-gay ones who were also heavily closeted.

  Th
e reflected lights upon the river that sliced through their edge of city led them to Columbia Veterinary Hospital. The lot was empty except for Taneesha's little blue Volvo.

  The short hallway with a brief set of steps led up to another corridor. At the top, Jack saw Taneesha's little boy Aberon sitting on the floor. Just beyond the child, Taneesha pressed her nose into a handful of tissue while she dragged a toy train around in a circle as if to keep Aberon's interest.

  The minute she saw Jack, she stood. "I'm so glad you're here. I mean, your housekeeper couldn't get hold of you so she called me. I got there as soon as I could but I had to pick up my son at the preschool --”

  "You did all you could," he said gently, placing an arm around her. "He's an old, old dog. This day was coming. How is he now?"

  She shook her head and pressed the tissues again to her nose. "He's gone, Jack. I thought to call you on the road when it happened, but I thought it would be bad enough when you got here. He went real fast. Just gone like a fiddle string. Even before they could put him down. There wasn't any pain at all."

  Jack nodded a little, taking it all in. "Thank you. Why don't you take the baby home? You look wiped out and it has to be past his bedtime. I've got it from here."

  "I am and it is. But I wanted to stay to tell you. The vet left him in that exam room so you could say goodbye, if you wanted. I guess you guys had set-up a cremation order beforehand, if your pets ever died. They're going to do that in the morning then I can pick up the urn on my way to the office."

  Jack nodded once more, reaching out to grab and squeeze her hand. "Thank you. For everything." He gestured to the door marked EXAM. "He's in there?"

  She nodded.

  "Then I'll go in," he said, opening the door and entering the room without another word exchanged.

  Taneesha turned toward Jefferson, shining a tired smile at him. "Thank you, Senator, for coming with him."

  Thomas still stared at the door through which Jack had walked. “I wouldn't be anywhere else."

  "You look like you lost your own dog too. Did you know George that well?"

  "As well as you can know a friend's dog," T.J. said quietly.

  She reached out to touch his shoulder, staring deeply into his face. "Is something else wrong?"

  T.J. propped up a smile. "Taneesha, you've borne enough problems for the world tonight. I can deal with this one."

  "Something about Jack?"

  The senator shrugged once, like a gesture of utter resignation. "Well, let's just say that for a while I thought I had lost something. But it turns out the thing I thought I'd lost I never really had to begin with."

  "That almost sounds worse than losing something," she said.

  "It almost is." He reached out and patted her arm. "You and your young one get along now. I'll stay with Jack. I'll see that he gets home safely."

  She smiled in the direction her boss had gone. "Beneath all that bravado and bullshit, you know, he's only about the sweetest man in the world."

  "Yes, I know."

  She smiled a little teasingly. "Yeah, I just thought you might."

  He glanced up with a sharp surprise. "Good lord, am I that damned obvious?"

  "Well, probably just to me," she said, grinning while she hefted up Aberon with his toy train. "I best get this one off to dream land. Good night, Senator. See you in the morning."

  Taneesha's heels announced her quick descent, the sound fading after her eventual exit through the street level door.

  T.J. moved to the exam room door, to listen distantly, quietly, and with more than a touch of guilt for listening at all.

  He watched his friend lean over the dog, moving his arms around it. Jack just stood there quietly, his face against fur. Jack finally stood back up, one hand still filtering through little George's graying gold locks. "Nothing gold can stay they say ... So long, little guy."

  He seemed to force himself to turn around and walk through the door then he looked half-consciously at the man waiting for him. Jack shook his head grimly. "You have got to have better things to do on a lovely evening than watch me swan dive into an Olympic-sized cesspool of self-pity. Go ahead home. I can take a cab back to my place."

  "Will you stop? The only thing I have in the offing is the writing of a position paper on something about which I don't have a goddamned position. That's the worst part of this job. Coming up with the right opinions about stuff you have no opinion on. Besides, you promised me we'd go out to drinks after I won the primary. I still haven't collected on that. So let’s make it a night of drinks at your place."

  "What's this, Delaney?" Jack said, trying for a grin but giving only a broken one. "You trying to get me drunk?"

  T.J. tossed a grin back with his infectious laugh. "Well, that's not the original intent but if it goes in that direction, I cannot promise that I won't take full advantage of the opportunity."

  Jack nodded and laughed and started their descent of the stairway. "Fair enough," he said.

  As he stood on Jack's big balcony, T.J. stared northward into the night.

  "What are you drinking?" Paulson called out while busily strip-searching his small home bar.

  "White wine, if you have it," T.J. called back.

  "I have everything. I’m a versatile alcoholic." After a moment of pouring sounds, Jack joined him on the balcony and handed him his wine. Jack was slugging back a snifter of something dangerous-looking. "It's nice to be with a good friend for a change. I'm so sick of bending elbows with passing acquaintances. And yeah, I know that was mainly my fault."

  T.J. laughed softly. He looked one way up Brindle Close and then the other. The road was lined with one dark brownstone edifice after another. Finally he decided to just ask what was bugging him. "”Want to answer the $64,000 question?”

  Jack shot him a focused look that drifted off into the distance. “Only if there's payola involved.”

  “Seriously, Jack.”

  “Okay, okay, seriously. Shoot.”

  T.J. girded himself for the answer. “What do you think are our legitimate chances of getting the gay marriage amendment through the Senate? You’ve been in Congress a lot longer than I have."

  "Truthfully? Snowballs in hell have a better shot."

  T.J. grimaced at the words that had been said but then accepted them with a curt nod. "I was afraid you'd say that."

  "There’s a wall in our way. A wall of bastards who didn't want to give up old, simple-minded ideas."

  "But they're dying off."

  Jack nodded and shrugged at the same time. "Yeah, and being restocked by our enemies with a lot of young fundamentalist cretins. Proud graduates of the Bizzaro Jesus correspondence school of law that considers critical thinking the work of the noonday devil.”

  “Then we have to find a way through the wall,” T.J. said.

  Jack sipped at his drink. His face grew thoughtful. “We will. We will find a way through the wall. We have to find a way through the wall. It’s just a matter of how and when." He finally turned his back on Georgetown and his attention toward his oldest friend. "C'mon, let's go up to the roof garden. You can finish getting me drunk up there. It's quieter."

  From the balcony, a second set of steps zigzagged toward an unseen landing. The wrought iron railing had been woven with ivy. At the top, Jack reached over to unlatch the gate and pushed aside the barrier so they might enter the little roof garden.

  It was easy to see from there that this was an old chunk of city. Nineteenth century masonry hewn by long-dead hands had been cobbled over with twentieth and twenty-first century repairs and renovations. Through the early masonry, one could see slices of the eighteenth century peeping out of the layers of time.

  "My god, I'd forgotten how beautiful the view is up here," T.J. said, craning up to look over the fencing at the straight sight of city and sky without interruption.

  Jack gestured toward the vista. "It is amazing. I don't get up here often enough. Really, at all, since Izzy died. It's so private up here." />
  T.J. smiled meaningfully. "Very private, which was a good thing, on a couple of occasions."

  Jack coughed out a bashful laugh after swallowing a mouthful of his drink. "Yeah, that's true. Izzy was a wild child. And you didn't help."

  "Can I help it if I think beyond some silly bourgeois boundaries?"

  "Almost gave the helicopter guy a heart attack."

  "He was the one staring down here, wasn't he?"

  Paulson chuckled again. He shook his head as he stared long into his nearly empty glass. "God, I'm glad you're here. Thank you for staying. Thank you for being persistent against all my usual battlements. Thank you for caring enough to try."