by Dorien Grey
Yeah, I suppose you’re right.
You can leave out the “I suppose.”
It’s just that…
Okay, we’re getting there. Spit it out.
Shit! My. wanting Steve to have the gallery and to live in one of the apartments—it’s a huge step.
They call it a commitment. And you’re not thinking in terms of landlord-tenant.
No, I guess I’m not. I’m just not sure Steve feels the same way.
Good Lord but you’re dense! Steve has followed your lead since the first day you met.
No, he hasn’t.
Look, while a rousing game of “has not/has too” is a lot of fun, I’m not going to play it with you. But I’m telling you, if you don’t say something pretty soon…
So, you have been in his head.
I don’t need to be in his head. I can sense what he’s feeling, just being within ten feet of him. For being as perceptive as you are, you have a blind spot the size of a Sherman tank when it comes to Steve.
So, you’re saying…
I’m not saying anything. It’s you who should be doing the saying.
But…
Goodnight, Elliott.
*
The next day—definitely a Wednesday, Elliott determined—he called Unabridged Books to see if they had a copy of the book Bruno had suggested for Ricky. They didn’t, but put it on order, saying it might or might not arrive by Saturday. If it didn’t, a gift card would have to do until the book arrived.
The call for the book was, however, only a momentary distraction. He found it uncharacteristically hard to give his full attention to his work. He knew John was right. He’d always had difficulty with the concept of love. It wasn’t that he didn’t know what it was, or that he wasn’t sure that, if his feet were held to the fire, he would have to admit he loved Steve.
But love was not a word he had ever used lightly. He knew his parents loved him, although he couldn’t remember either one of them ever having actually said so. As close as he was to Cessy, he couldn’t recall any time he had said it to her, either. In his mind, love was far too complex to be encapsulated in just one four-letter word, and he sincerely believed that actions spoke far louder than words. He didn’t have to tell Cessy he loved her, any more than she had to tell him she loved him. They just knew.
Likewise, he knew how he felt about Steve, and he was pretty sure Steve felt the same toward him. So, why did either one of them have to come right out and use a word that was far too often overused to the point of being worthless? He thought yet again of an observation a friend had made several years before: “The sooner somebody says ‘I love you,’ the sooner they forget your name.”
It had certainly been true in Elliott’s relationships. He realized he had never told anyone he was seeing that he loved him—which might, he reflected, partially account for why he’d only had one relationship of any duration.
And just what might he expect of a more formal relationship with Steve they didn’t already have? That they live together? It would be nice to wake up together every morning, he admitted, but otherwise, their living arrangements were something of a non-issue. They both seemed comfortable with the way things were. He knew Steve needed a lot of time to himself to paint, and Elliott really liked his condo. He knew, too, that Steve would not, nor could Elliott expect him to, feel comfortable moving into Elliott’s space, any more than Elliott would be comfortable moving in with Steve.
No, if that day did come, it would have to happen in someplace neither of them would feel was already-claimed territory. The Armitage building would qualify, and he hoped Steve might decide to move in there; but Elliott simply wasn’t willing to give up his condo just yet. And once Steve moved into the apartment without him, it became his place.
All of which made perfect sense, until a sharp, clear thought appeared—whether originated by him or by John he couldn’t be sure.
But you’re not Steve.
*
“How about dinner here tomorrow?” he asked when he called Steve Thursday after work. “I kind of have a taste for meatloaf and thought I’d run out to the Boston Market on Ashland on my way home and pick us up something. What would you like?”
“Meatloaf’s fine.” There was a long pause, then: “You sound a little…odd. Everything okay?”
“Of course,” he semi-lied. “I was just thinking we need to talk about a few things.”
“Strange—I was thinking the same thing.”
“No wonder we get along so well.”
“Empaths of the world, unite!”
They both laughed, and when they hung up, Elliott felt a little better about the coming conversation…but not much.
*
“So,” Steve said, smiling as he took the drink Elliott handed him, “what are we going to talk about?”
Elliott sat beside him on the couch.
“Care to make a guess?”
Steve set his glass on the coffee table and turned to face him.
“Oh, no, you don’t! You’re not handing the ball off to me on this one. It’s yours. Run with it.”
Closing his eyes and sighing, Elliott reopened them to find Steve staring at him intently, looking mildly amused.
“Okay. We’ve got to talk about the building, about whether you want to move into it, about whether you want the ground floor for a gallery, and…”
John, he knew, was nearby, and he sensed his immense enjoyment of Elliott’s discomfort.
“And?”
“You’re not going to make this easy, are you? And…about us.”
There was what seemed to Elliott to be a very long silence.
“What about us?”
Elliott gave him a mock scowl.
“Jeezus, why the hell do I feel like I’m fifteen years old, sitting in the back seat of Tom Simmons’ car drinking beer and trying to gather up the courage to put the make on him?”
Yet another silence during which Steve said nothing. Finally, Elliott threw up his hands.
“Look, are we officially together or not?”
“You silver-tongued devil, you,” Steve said, laughing, then carefully composed himself. “I’m really kind of surprised you had to ask. We are as far as I’m concerned.”
“Then why didn’t you ever say anything?”
“Why didn’t you? And what was there to say? Neither one of us is the gushy type. I just assumed you felt the same way. Was I wrong?”
“Of course you weren’t wrong. I just wanted to be sure we were on the same page.”
“Chapter and verse. There’s only one thing I’m kind of concerned about.”
Elliott was puzzled. “And that is…?”
“Cessy. Please don’t let her start planning a wedding. The very thought of some big ceremony with a cake and matching rings makes my toes curl.”
Grinning, Elliott said, “We do make a good team.”
“So, did you tell Cessy we were going to have this little talk?”
“Are you out of your mind? She’d be sitting on the arm of the couch with a video camera if she knew.”
“Are you going to tell her?”
“Good question. Maybe next time we get together with the family we can wear matching shirts.”
“Subtlety will do it every time.”
They laughed again, then fell into a silence until Elliott finally said, “And the move? And the gallery?”
Steve pursed his lips and remained silent for another few seconds.
“Well, here’s where it gets a little sticky. I really do like the second-floor apartment, especially since there’ll be a door from the kitchen to the new patio so I wouldn’t have to climb out the bedroom window to get to it. I’ll have to give my current landlord notice that I won’t be renewing my lease, but we need to talk about the rent to be sure I can afford it.”
“Trust me, you can afford it.”
Shaking his head, Steve said, “Which brings up another issue.”
“Which is…?�
�
“Money. I know you have a lot more than I do—probably more than I can ever hope to earn in several lifetimes. So I want it clear from the start that I pay my own way.
“I know perfectly well that one of the reasons you bought the building in the first place was because you knew I wanted a gallery. But I can’t afford it right now, and I don’t know when I’ll be able to. I can’t have you losing money on an empty retail space waiting for me.”
Reaching out to lay his free hand on Steve’s thigh, Elliott said, “Look, I know the money thing is an issue for you. It is for Brad, too, and I respect you both for it. But Brad and Cessy have worked it out, and we can, too.
“As for the rent on the apartment, I don’t know what you’re paying now, but I can’t imagine the new place would be any more expensive, if at all. And if it is, I’d be happy to factor in a small ‘sleeping with the landlord’ deduction. And we’ve already talked about my only needing a very small area for an office. The rest of it can just sit empty until you’re ready. I won’t be losing any money on it.”
They were both quiet for another moment or two until Steve took Elliott’s hand and squeezed it.
“Well, as you said earlier, one step at a time.”
“I’ll drink to that!” Elliott grinned. “Now, how about dinner?”
*
Congratulations! I’m really happy for both of you.
Thanks, but actually nothing has really changed, other than we resolved the issues of Steve’s taking the apartment and the gallery space.
Horse pucky. It was a big step. At least now each of you knows for sure how the other feels.
We knew before.
You knew, but I think Steve really needed to hear it from you. And you are going to tell Cessy, aren’t you? You really should put the poor woman out of her misery.
I know, and I will.
And your folks?
Uh, no. Like Steve said “one step at a time,” and that one’s a couple of miles off. My parents live their lives and I live mine, and that’s the way we all like it. I’m sure they know I’m gay, and they prefer to totally ignore it, and that’s fine with me.
And now your last big hurdle with Steve is telling him about me.
Right. If you had lungs, I’d tell you not to hold your breath. And if you’re talking to me now in hopes I’ll wake Steve up again by talking in my sleep…
The furthest thing from my mind.
Riiight.
“Right what?”
With the sound of Steve’s voice, Elliott was instantly awake.
“Oh, Jeezus, Steve, just shoot me. How in the hell can you put up with me constantly waking you up?”
“Hey, just think of all those guys out there who don’t have someone to wake them up in the middle of the night.”
“Point. But I am sorry. Go back to sleep.”
Elliott turned on his side, facing away from Steve, and felt him turn, too—toward him, slipping his arm around Elliott’s chest.
“By the way,” Steve said, “I’m glad we had our talk.”
Elliott took his hand, intertwining their fingers. “Me, too.”
*
After breakfast the next morning, Elliott drove Steve home to spend the day working on his latest painting. On the way back, he remembered to stop at Unabridged to see if the stamp book had arrived. It hadn’t, but he got a card verifying it had been ordered, on which he wrote both his and Steve’s names, then went next door to He Who Eats Mud, a card and gift shop he always patronized for its name if nothing else, for a birthday card.
Picking Steve up at the Thorndale el stop at six fifteen, he drove the short distance to their favorite Chinese restaurant, after which they returned to his condo to relax and have a drink before heading to the party. As they were getting ready to leave, Elliott remembered the birthday card, which he had Steve sign.
“What do I owe you for the book?” Steve asked.
“Brunch.”
They arrived at Bruno’s at eight forty-five. As usual, the kitchen door was slightly ajar and the front door partially open. They walked in to find about twenty people scattered around the living room, dining alcove, kitchen, and in the hallway leading to the den and bedrooms. Elliott immediately spotted Cage, Ralph, Chaz, Bruno’s “sensei” Clifford Blanton, and several other people he recognized as regulars at Bruno’s parties. There were also several people he had never seen before, and he wondered where they’d come from.
Bruno and Ricky stood by the dining room table, which had several wrapped gifts on it, talking with Paul and the as always impeccably dressed Button.
Walking over to greet them and to wish Ricky a happy birthday, Elliott casually laid the envelope next to the other gifts. He’d not seen Rudy but assumed he was coming, and knowing Bruno was probably already worried about a possible confrontation, he didn’t want to ask.
“Please,” Bruno said, “go get a drink and something to eat.”
Rolling the ice cubes around in the bottom of his glass, Button drained it and said, “Allow me to show you the way. Excuse us, all.”
He and Steve followed Button to the bar, pausing to exchange a few words with various other guests. Steve pointed out the large buffet spread out on a pair of tablecloth-covered card tables near the bar.
“My God, there’s enough food there to feed the Sixth Fleet.”
“We should be so lucky,” Button observed. While they waited for the bartender to finish making drinks for the man in front of them, he said to Elliott, “It’s none of my business, of course, but do I detect a hint of trouble in Paradise?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, Bruno seems a little…on edge…tonight. Very unlike him. I really hope he and Ricky aren’t having problems already. Bruno seems truly devoted to him, but you know how these young kids are.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Elliott said. “Everybody has an off day every now and then.”
Button pursed his lips and looked from him to Steve.
“I’m sure you’re right,” he said, but he didn’t sound totally convinced.
Paul joined them just as they were giving their drink orders to the bartender, and a moment later, Ricky came over. Glancing toward the dining alcove and the gift table, Elliott saw no sign of Bruno.
“Avery nice party, Ricky,” Steve said.
Ricky grinned. “It is, isn’t it? This is my first real birthday party ever. Of course, I don’t know very many of the people here, but it’s still nice.”
“Interesting centerpiece,” Steve said, indicating the buffet table where a circular flower arrangement surrounded an empty champagne bottle with a lit white candle dripping small rivulets over the bottle as it melted.
Blushing, Ricky said “Bruno did that for me. It’s the first bottle of champagne we shared, and I kept it. I love it with the candle!”
Elliott smiled to himself when he detected the distinct aroma of Old Spice. Bruno’s influence, he assumed.
“Where did Bruno disappear to?” Button asked, scanning the room. “Rudy came, and Bruno said he wanted to talk to him privately. I guess they went into the den.”
That was quick, Elliott thought.
“Well, I wouldn’t let you out of my sight for a second,” Button said, resting his hand lightly on Ricky’s arm. “A roving band of gypsies could come rushing in and just carry you off. Paul, where did we leave our gypsy costumes?”
Half an hour or so later, as a small circle of guests, including Ralph, Steve, and Button were talking about the Art Institute’s new Modern Wing, Elliott noticed an angry-looking Rudy emerge from the hallway to Bruno’s den. Motioning to an of-course-handsome young man with whom he had apparently come, he headed to the front door and left, his companion hurrying after him. A moment later, Bruno appeared, looking less than happy and, oblivious to Clifford Blanton’s attempt to catch his attention as he passed, went directly to the bar.
Though Elliott hoped for a chance to talk privately with Bruno to learn wha
t had happened during his meeting with Rudy, the opportunity did not present itself. Immediately after getting his drink and speaking briefly to Ricky, Bruno withdrew to one corner of the room with Clifford Blanton for a long and apparently earnest discussion.
Bruno returned to the main group for the opening of the presents and the cutting and serving of the birthday cake, after which the crowd began to thin out. At around eleven thirty, Elliott and Steve sought out their hosts to express their thanks and say good-bye. Ricky thanked them profusely for the on-order book, and Bruno told Elliott he would call him soon. From the tone in his voice, Elliott gathered he meant very soon.
*
“So, how’d you sleep?” Elliott asked as they were getting out of bed. “You did a lot of tossing and turning.”
“Sorry about that. I hope I didn’t keep you awake.”
“Not a problem. And it’s not like I haven’t woken you from a sound sleep more than a few times. Any particular reason?”
As he talked, Steve was stepping into his shorts, and Elliott opened a dresser drawer to pull out two pair of sweatpants. He tossed one to Steve and put on the other.
“Well, yeah, there’s a reason,” Steve said, hopping on one leg to pull the sweats over the other.
“Aha. Our Friday night talk.” A wave of mild anxiety came over him.
“Right. Our Friday night talk. One hell of a lot of information to process all at once. I spent most of yesterday going over it, and I should have mentioned it before we went up to Bruno’s last night.”
Pulling the drawstring to tighten the waist and tying the string into a loop-knot, Elliott said, “And any conclusions? New thoughts? Change of mind?”
Steve grinned and ran his fingers through his hair.
“No, no, and no. Just thinking. I realized I was pretty pushy in assuming I could have the second-floor apartment. I know you could probably get a lot more rent for it, since it’s got the patio, and…”
Elliott stepped over and put his hands on Steve’s shoulders, holding him at arm’s length.
“Uh, did you miss the we’re-a-couple part of our talk? I’m not just your landlord.”
“I know. It’s just a little hard to get a grip on everything, and I don’t want to start presuming anything. It’s your building, after all.”