Big Love

by Rick R. Reed

  While he thought these things, Alicia Adams, a black girl who lived in the same neighborhood as Truman and had a fondness for hoodies and running pants, tentatively raised her hand, looking around with fearful brown eyes. Dane couldn’t remember if the girl had ever spoken up in class before.

  “I think it’s kind of cool, you know,” Alicia began. “Truman’s, like, brave to dress like that.”

  “Brave?” Dane asked, echoing what he thought might be the question on the majority’s mind. Brave seemed an odd conclusion to draw from pink hair and mascara… on a boy.

  “Yeah. It don’t take no courage to throw on a pair of jeans, some sneaks, and a T-shirt. Anybody can do that.”

  “Doesn’t take any,” Dane said.

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever. What I’m sayin’, though, is that Truman, by dressin’ like that, is being fierce, fearless. You say how we dress is a way of saying who we are. And I think Truman is doin’ just that—and it might get his face punched in. Or”—she looked over at Adam Lance—“tripped by some joke-ass motherfucker who thinks he cool.” She looked at Dane. “Sorry, Mr. Bernard.”

  “It’s okay. Just watch it.”

  “But I think Truman has more goin’ on than most of these kids at this school who just follow the crowd. He’s bein’ true to who he is.”

  She smiled, and it transformed her face, infusing it with warmth and compassion. Dane couldn’t help but smile back.

  “And I like that.” She swiveled toward Truman and gave him a smile.

  “I like it too,” Dane surprised himself by saying.

  He glanced back at Truman, who grinned, then gazed down at his desk as though embarrassed.

  “Anyone else?” Dane asked, but no one else spoke up. Truman—shy, meek little Truman—had silenced them all. Dane hoped Truman felt a little inkling of power in that.

  And now, back in the present, back in his free period, Dane wondered how the rest of Truman’s day had gone, was going. Had he survived? Triumphed? Had the world beaten him—and his optimism—back into submission?

  He let his head loll back, thinking it could only be one of two ways with no room for in-betweens. It was either disaster or triumph.

  Chapter 15

  DANE WATCHED Clarissa study her iPhone. He took in the small, wiry frame, the auburn hair, one lock of which she twisted relentlessly, so much so that Dane feared she would pull it out by its roots. She looks so much like her mother; it breaks my heart. It also breaks my heart that she can suddenly find little more than a word or two to say to me. We used to talk to each other.

  He was just about to ask her if she wanted him to order a pizza for dinner when his own iPhone spoke up. He glanced down at its screen—Seth. They were due that evening to stop over at Truman’s once more for their weekly talk. He figured this week they’d have a ton to discuss, since Truman’s appearance at the school over the past several days had always been unusual, to say the least, and colorful, to try to put it in a good light. And it was a good light. Truman had come bursting out of his closet with rainbow-colored flames. And if you didn’t like it? You could go to hell.

  “Hey, Seth,” he said softly, for some reason not wanting to disturb his daughter. He backed from the entryway to the family room into the kitchen. “What’s up?”

  “I just got off the phone with Patsy. She called for Truman and said, with more than a little pride, that her boy doesn’t think it’s necessary for us to come by anymore.”

  “What? You think that’s wise?”

  Seth didn’t say anything for a moment or two. “You’re asking the wrong person about wisdom. I’m beginning to think maybe Truman has more of that stuff in his possession than even I do. I’m proud of that kid. And I can’t really say that his not wanting to see us is such a bad thing, especially if the kid is feeling confident, much more than we expected. I think it’s okay to just let him be. See where things go. I have a feeling that if Truman needs us, he’ll let us know.”

  Dane didn’t know if leaving Truman alone was such a good idea. The boy was almost acting out. He was on the manic side of the manic-depressive scale. It was obvious he didn’t have much money for fashion, but he had a surplus of imagination, and each day he was able to craft another startling statement ensemble from things he’d gotten at the local thrift stores and rummage sales, Dane suspected. Yesterday he wore a pair of fuchsia-and-lime-green-striped stretch pants with a lime green hoodie and the ever-present combat boots. Dane suspected the pants he’d swiped from Patsy. They were nearly the same size.

  Truman was still getting teased and laughed at, that was for sure, but Dane was surprised to realize, when he thought about it, that it wasn’t as much or as frequently. But it still seemed to him that Truman was taunting fate, and he told Seth so. “He’s headed for trouble, wearing those clothes….”

  “I don’t know about that,” Seth said. “Yeah, the things he’s been wearing to school do make him a target.” He snickered. “They often border on the ridiculous, but sometimes, sometimes….” His voice trailed off.

  “Yeah?”

  “Sometimes he looks pretty cool. And cute. Whatever it is, I’ve noticed this week, people are backing off. He’s still facing being ostracized, but I don’t see the bullying anymore. I don’t see people laughing as much. It’s as if he’s taken control of the ridicule, owning it like he says, and I think some of the kids are starting to respect that. He’s even made a friend, I think, and that’s something I didn’t know if I’d ever see.”

  “Alicia Adams?” Dane had seen the girl who’d defended him in her class having lunch with Truman only yesterday. The girl had always taken a backseat to her tall and gifted-for-basketball older brother, Darrell. She stood out more now with Truman by her side, the two of them walking down the hall together, laughing, heads close like conspirators.

  “Yeah. Yeah. So maybe, I don’t know, maybe if Truman takes charge and shows he isn’t afraid of being weird, of presenting himself in a way that makes sense to him, some of the kids are starting to respect that. You know, it’s like if he calls himself queer first and wears the clothes to prove it, he takes the wind out of the sails of those who want to tease or bully him about it.”

  “I get it,” Dane said quietly, not sure that he did. Dane had spent his whole life hiding, and while he couldn’t say it made for pure happiness, it did make for him fitting in. He leaned around the edge of the kitchen archway to peer into the family room. He wouldn’t have those kids in there if he’d been “himself.”

  “Listen,” Seth said. “Just because we’re not seeing Truman doesn’t mean you and I can’t get together, does it?”

  Dane smiled and felt a flush of warmth course through him. He was surprised Seth was asking. He’d figured he was just calling to tell him the “counseling” was off for that night. “I don’t see why not. I need to order a pizza for the kids. And then maybe we could meet up somewhere?”

  Seth said, “How about if you just come by my place? I have an apartment downtown, if you could call my neighborhood a downtown. I mean, it’s, like, four streets.” Seth chuckled.

  Dane laughed. “And don’t forget the Diamond,” Dane said, calling out the fountained intersection where those four streets met.

  “How could I? I look down on the fountain from my window. Did they ever actually have water in that thing?”

  “They will. In the summer. And colored lights. And before you got here in January, that’s where they put the city Christmas tree. We all stand around it and hold hands and sing that song from How the Grinch Stole Christmas.”

  “Sure you do,” Seth laughed. “I picked the right place, then. Pizza sounds good. I could order too. That is, if you want to come over?” Dane thought he heard a little wariness edge into Seth’s voice.

  Dane wasn’t sure. Well, he was sure. An evening with Seth alone was something that caused his heart to thump in his chest. But what will happen? Shouldn’t I stay home with my kids?

  You’re home with your kids almost
every night. They ignore you for the most part. Go. It’ll be fine. You’ll be fine.

  “It’s only pizza,” Seth said.

  “What?” Dane gasped and felt like his mind was being read. “I didn’t say it was anything else.” Before he gave himself wiggle room to back out, he said, “I like sausage and mushrooms on mine, if that’s okay.”

  “That’s more than okay,” Seth said. “It’s perfect. Give me an hour, okay? I need to phone in the order and take a shower.”

  Dane wanted to ask what he needed to take a shower for, then laughed internally at himself for his panic. People often take showers after a long day at work. It doesn’t mean he’s cleaning up—or out—for you. At the thought, Dane felt fire rise to his cheeks. Before he said something totally stupid, he said, “See you in an hour, then,” and hung up quickly.

  SETH CLICKED off the call. He moved into the kitchen, where he’d already established a “junk” drawer in one of the cabinets. He’d filled it with pens, pencils, a guide to his cable TV, instructions for his Mr. Coffee, and what he was looking for—the magazine-thin tri-state phone book. He opened it to the yellow pages to find a couple of different pizza places that delivered and wished he had asked Dane for a recommendation.

  He chose the one that was truly local—the other was a Papa John’s—called them and placed an order for a large sausage and mushroom. They didn’t ask if he wanted deep dish, stuffed, or thin crust, and Seth remembered, once again, he was no longer in Chicago. He gave his address, and they promised to arrive within the half hour. “That’s fast,” he sputtered, but his order taker had already hung up.

  He hurried around the one-bedroom, straightening, swiping his hand across his dusty coffee table, and rinsing and stacking dishes in the sink—the apartment, which looked like it had last been decorated during the Carter administration, did not have a dishwasher. He stripped the bed and put on clean sheets. “You never know!” He laughed at himself. He then stripped down and stepped into the shower.

  As he stood under the spray from the showerhead, he told himself this was not a date, as much as he might like it to be. This man he now had to acknowledge he had fallen for was most likely not even ready for a date, especially not with another man. Another man who was his coworker. A romance between the two of them was wrong for all sorts of reasons.

  It was a bad idea on so many levels, Seth didn’t even want to try and count. He soaped his ass crack. He soaped his dick and balls and, leaving them lathered, took his razor to them, rinsing and repeating until they were as smooth and hairless as a baby’s bottom. “Not that anyone will be touching them,” he reminded the tile shower enclosure.

  After toweling off, he threw open his closet and dresser drawers to try to decide what to wear. “What’s it matter?” he asked himself. “You’re just having a colleague over for dinner. Nothing more.”

  Seth pulled out his favorite pair of Levi’s, which were worn and soft, faded to the palest of blues, with the knees pretty much worn away. He knew without looking how they gripped his ass, how the worn denim accentuated and highlighted his crotch. Buttoning them, he repeated, “Yup. Just having a colleague over for dinner. Wait a minute, didn’t I forget underwear? Ah well, it’s too late now.” He looked down to see the outline of his cock head in the denim. “Naughty,” he whispered and watched as the head inched upward a bit, as though he’d called it by name.

  And maybe he had.

  He paired the jeans with a navy blue V-neck cashmere sweater that showed off his pec muscles and broad shoulders to very good advantage, if he said so himself. And he did.

  He looked through the shoes lined up under his bed and, in the end, decided on bare feet.

  “It’s just a casual night in with a fellow teacher. We’ll discuss what our favorite novels are to teach, which ones really get the kids involved.”

  Seth jumped when he heard the buzz of the intercom from downstairs. He looked out the window, in spite of the fact that the building’s call box was in an alcove. All he saw was the darkened streets and fountain below, the blinking yellow traffic light crying out that this was a town where nothing ever happened—not even a car crash. He’d learned quickly that the talk-and-listen feature of the little box next to his front door no longer worked, so he simply buzzed in whoever was down there, thinking it could only be one of two people: the delivery person or Dane.

  It seemed too early for either.

  He listened at the door for the trudge of footsteps on the stairs and then in his rose-patterned carpeted hallway. When those footfalls reached his front door, he swung the door open with a big grin. Man or pizza—both were good reasons to smile.

  But the smile flickered out quickly when Seth saw who was standing there.

  “What the fuck?” Seth asked.

  DANE PARKED his car around the corner from Seth’s building. Although it was called the Little Building, it was, at four stories, the tallest building in Summitville’s dying downtown.

  The night was not as bitter cold as it had been, even though it was clear. The black sky above him was sprinkled with stars. A crescent moon shone its silvery glow down on him as he hurried to Seth’s front entrance. He clutched a tall brown paper sack in his hand. In it was a bottle of Chianti. He thought it might remind Seth of their dinner together last week at D’Angelo’s.

  He buzzed and was surprised when the front door clicked to grant him entrance. He climbed the four stories up to the number he’d taken note of on the directory, six, and waited a moment before raising his hand to knock.

  But he never had the chance to do so, because Seth swung the door open. Dane would have liked to think it was eagerness that caused him to open the door before Dane had the chance to signal his arrival. But the smile planted on Seth’s face told him otherwise—it looked panicked, terrified, a mockery of everything a smile was supposed to be.

  “Hey,” Seth said, his voice a trembling quake. “You made it.”

  Dane gave him a wary smile. “Yeah….” He moved to try and peer over Seth’s shoulder into the apartment and was surprised when Seth took a step to the right to block that view.

  “Listen, Dane, I’m really sorry, but something’s come up. I’m gonna have to give you a rain check. The next pizza and the wine or beer is all on me!” He smiled hugely. Brightly. And falsely.

  “What’s going on?” Dane could feel his eyebrows moving toward each other in the center of his forehead.

  “Nothing.” That big fake smile again.

  “Cut it out.” Dane felt sick to his stomach. He had no idea what was going on, but all the signs were there to tell him he shouldn’t like it. His happy mood evaporated.

  Seth was beginning to close the door when another voice piped up from behind Dane.

  “Yo! Someone left the door open downstairs. Pizza comin’ through!”

  Dane turned to see a slender young man with light brown hair and a few whiskers on his chin approach them. He wore a stocking cap and a fleece-lined denim jacket. He had a butterfly tattoo on his neck. His right hand held a large pizza box aloft. As he drew closer, Dane could smell the tomato sauce, the cheese, and the spices. It should have made his mouth water, but all it did was nauseate him. He felt even sicker when he looked back and saw that Seth had gone white.

  Seth gave a sickly grin to the delivery guy.

  “That’ll be $26.50, dude.” He took a breath, grinned, and said, “Before tip, of course.”

  “I’ll be right back.” Seth turned, closing the door behind him. But not all the way….

  Dane knew it was wrong, disrespectful, and certainly none of his business, but he couldn’t seem to help himself as he gave the door a gentle tap with his fingertips. He couldn’t help it if the door swung open of its own accord.

  He leaned in a bit to see into the apartment.

  There, on the couch opposite the front door, sat a very handsome young man. He had a compact frame, but it looked bulked up and muscular. His dark hair was buzzed on the sides and longer on top
, in a style Dane had heard the kids refer to as “high and tight.” Dark eyes appraised Dane back. He wore a scoop-necked green T-shirt and a pair of khaki-colored jogging pants. Nike high-tops were kicked off and lay, one up and one on its side, next to his long, stretched-out legs.

  He looked very much at home.

  Seth came back. He grinned at Dane, but it was one of the sickliest-looking grins Dane had ever borne witness to—ever. As Seth held out a twenty and a ten to the delivery guy, Dane noticed Seth’s hands trembled.

  “Thanks, dude. Enjoy your pie.” The delivery person hurried off, and Dane watched him with a combination of longing and relief.

  He turned back to Seth and cocked his head. “I know I have no right to ask—”

  Seth held his free hand up to cut him off. “You do have a right. You were invited over here tonight, and it’s only natural to wonder what the hell’s going on.” He jerked his head backward to indicate the guy on the couch. “I’m really sorry, but I had a completely unexpected person show up.” He leaned in a little closer to Dane. “That’s Luke. My ex.”

  Dane felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. “Oh,” he said, his voice dry and husky.

  “It’s not like you think,” Seth said.

  “I didn’t think anything!” Dane cried.

  “Whatever. I just meant he was not invited here. You were.”

  “It’s okay, Seth. He can come in. There’s enough pizza to go around,” Luke called from the couch. There was a touch of laughter, of mocking in his words, as though he not only caught the implications of the charged exchange between the two men in the doorway but was also amused by it.

  Seth glanced over his shoulder, then back at Dane. If eyes could plead, his were doing just that. “I’m so sorry,” he said. He reached out to touch Dane’s shoulder. And without quite knowing why, Dane reared back.

  “Yeah. I know. You told me. What do you want me to do?” Dane knew what he wanted Seth to do. Throw the gorgeous hunk on the couch out and invite me in.