Love and Other Hot Beverages

by Laurie Loft

  “Fuck off and die.” Not a classy response, but always appropriate.

  Hazel eyes begged Todd to understand. “You haven’t figured out yet what a little liar he is. He’s a manipulative pretty boy. And he does like it rough. You can’t have been with him this long and not know that. That night, it just got out of hand. He was so sad . . . he was crying . . . because you left. He needed someone. He wanted . . . to blot everything out.”

  Against his will, memories surfaced in Todd’s mind, memories of Sebby crying out in delight when Todd pushed him roughly to the bed, Sebby moaning as Todd pinned his arms to his sides.

  Collin nodded and leaned forward. “You’ve hurt him, haven’t you? Without meaning to. You know what I mean.”

  Todd shut his laptop and slid it into its case. “This conversation is over.”

  Collin pressed on. “He’s so little. It’s hard not to hurt him.”

  “I get the idea that it is hard when you hurt him.”

  Collin’s face darkened. “It’s not what I get off on. It’s what he gets off on. You don’t care about him. You left him. You’ll do it again. You only came back because of what happened. He ought to thank me.”

  Rattlesnake-like, Todd’s hand darted out and seized Collin’s forearm where it rested on the table. A part of Todd’s brain registered the softness of Collin’s skin under his calloused palm. He clamped down, wanting to feel the bones grind, wanting to see him flinch, wanting to hear an exclamation of pain.

  “Stay away from him,” he said, pitching his voice dangerously low. “You can manage that, can’t you? If you ever come near him again, I cannot promise I won’t kill you.” Never had he uttered such a threat. He stared at Collin over the rims of his eyeglasses, and Collin shifted uneasily in his seat.

  “Whatever. I could pound you with one hand tied behind my back.”

  “I am amenable to that suggestion.” Todd smiled. “Do you carry twine or duct tape upon your person?”

  He let go of Collin’s arm, and the latter dropped his hands beneath the table—rubbing away the feel of his grip, Todd guessed—but then Collin stood. He towered over Todd, and Todd, not to be at a disadvantage, sprang to his feet. He had concluded that Collin was soft. He was a gym lizard, not a fighter—an abuser of those smaller than himself. Todd was smaller than Collin, but Collin wouldn’t find it so easy to break a mug over Todd’s head.

  Collin looked Todd up and down, shaking his head. “You’re not worth it. I wouldn’t even be able to reach you. I’d have to get on my knees to make it an even match.”

  Todd threw back his head and laughed. “Did you seriously just offer to go on your knees to me?”

  Collin flushed. “Stupid cunt.” Laying a hand on Todd’s shoulder, he shoved him. Todd lurched, bounced back, and in his turn, shoved Collin with both hands.

  “Okay, okay.” Collin held up his hands in a gesture of surrender and glanced over his shoulder. “I didn’t come here to fight.”

  “For what did you come here, troglodyte?”

  “Coffee. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

  “You’re lying, aren’t you? What is this, a stakeout?”

  Collin’s eyes dropped. “I just wanted to know if he’s okay,” he muttered.

  Todd glared, his temper rising. No, he’s not. He has nightmares. He’s terrified of being alone. “His ‘okayness’ is my responsibility and none of your business.”

  “You think you’re so superior. Sebby was better off with me. How much do you pull down a year, laying bricks?”

  Todd laughed, amused. “I’m not a bricklayer. In fact bricklaying is a skilled calling far beyond my humble aspirations.”

  “God, the words! Do you hear yourself? Can’t you talk like a normal person?”

  “Your mama. There. I’m done trading insults.” He grabbed the laptop and tried to thrust his way past Collin. The man refused to move. Todd’s hold on his temper began to slip. “Excuse me,” he said through clenched teeth.

  Collin placed one hand against Todd’s forehead and pushed him backward, holding him at arm’s length. The condescending gesture made him snap. Dropping his laptop, he ducked and punched Collin squarely in the stomach, first a jab with the weaker left hand and followed up with the stronger right: the good ol’ one-two.

  He danced backward, grimacing at the sudden pain in his shoulder, and had the satisfaction of seeing Collin drop like an anvil, much as Todd had dropped when Gus had hit him. How his mouth opened and shut like a fish’s, how the line of his back swayed like a warped bench, how his whole form trembled like to disintegrate!

  Thus, in his heady moment of triumph, Todd didn’t notice the stranger approaching, and failed to see the fist coming at him like a Clydesdale. At the last split second, he sensed a moving shadow and turned toward it. Instead of landing on the side of the head, the punch hit his eye, and his head seemed to split open from the impact. Blinding pain made him stagger. He had the vaguest impression of an unfamiliar face above a musclebound neck before the attacker’s follow-up roundhouse connected with his jaw. I never counted on Collin having a friend. The guy is just so damned unlikeable, Todd mused as he, in his turn, dropped to the floor.

  Later he would remember that he had characterized the pain as “blinding” and laugh, for while some men like Gus the foreman were raised never to hit a woman and never to hit a man in the face who wore glasses, that was old school. Younger generations knew nothing of such sportsmanlike niceties. Nor of the inadvisability of hitting someone while wearing large, bejeweled rings.

  In the half-awake state prior to opening his eyes, Todd knew he was in a hospital and that someone was in the room with him. It was imperative that he think of something clever to say upon awakening. He was loath to utter a cliché such as Where am I? or What happened? If it was Sebby keeping him company, he could say, I told you if I stepped foot in a coffeehouse I’d need hospitalization. Or, perhaps, That coffee really packs a punch! No, too cheesy. He opened his eyes.

  Only one eye opened. Todd reached to rub his eyes, but his arm was weighted down. He tried the other arm, and his searching fingers encountered bandages over the right side of his face. Right, then. That explains it. Todd blinked at the dim surroundings. A solution-filled bag hung next to his bed, trailing plastic tubing. A wall-mounted television soundlessly broadcasted something too blurry for Todd to discern without his glasses. An angular figure sat on the nearby sofa, gray head bent over a paperback, eyes riveted to the printed word. Todd’s astonishment was such that he forgot his resolve that his first utterance should be something witty, and he blurted, “What are you doing here?”

  The head lifted, and blue eyes like Todd’s own looked back at him. She replied with something equally unoriginal. “You’re awake.”

  The fact that his mother was here alarmed Todd more than if he’d awoken to find himself missing a limb. How serious was his condition that his mother had traveled all the way to Denver? Or had he been flown to Minneapolis? How long had he been out, for either journey to have taken place?

  “Where am I?”

  “You’re in the hospital.” She leaned forward to place her icy hand over his forearm, which was strapped to the bedrail.

  “Obviously. But in Denver, or . . .?”

  “Denver.”

  Todd couldn’t imagine his mother negotiating a road trip of several days’ length. “Is Pop here too?”

  “He’s working. I flew out.” Her chilly fingers patted his arm.

  They had spent money on airfare? ”Jesus. Am I dying?”

  “You think I wouldn’t come unless you were dying?” Her tone was indignant. The cold hand withdrew.

  “I think it’s a fair assumption, yes.” He cleared his throat again. “Water?”

  “I’ll get you some ice chips. Maybe a doctor should look at you.”

  “Man wakes up from a coma, and not a doctor in sight. It was never like this on Scrubs.” His last sentence dissolved in coughing as his irritated throat rebelled.
<
br />   “You weren’t in a coma, Todd. You’ve been awake, you just don’t remember. I’ll be back in a minute.” With a labored sigh, she rose and left the room. Todd groped for his eyeglasses, but the nightstand was on the side opposite his free arm, and he couldn’t grope there without sitting up, which he tried to do, but fell back, woozy.

  A woman in pink scrubs entered. “How are you feeling this evening?”

  “Parched.”

  “There’s a pitcher of water here. Don’t sit up, young man,” she warned, lifting a hand as Todd attempted to raise himself. “Here.” She handed him a remote control. “You can raise your bed. A little, mind you.”

  “How many days?” Todd demanded. He pressed the Up button, and the bed hummed and moved. It was dizzying. Todd let go of the button and the motion stopped.

  “You were admitted six days ago. You’ve been heavily medicated. How is your pain level, on a scale from one to ten?”

  Six days? Damn! He had missed his job interview. “I don’t feel any pain, other than being painfully parched.”

  “All right. That’s good. The doctor discontinued your morphine drip, but you can have Naproxen. But if that doesn’t do it for you, we’ll get you something stronger.” She poured him a glass and held it for him, positioning the straw. He drank the entire cup. “I’ll check on you again later.”

  “May my arm be released, ma’am?” Todd asked.

  “Oh, I think so.” She reached, and the velcro protested as it was ripped away. Todd chafed his freed arm with his other hand.

  The nurse left just as his mother came back, ice chips and spoon in hand. She sat down and silently offered him a spoonful.

  “I can do that myself. Just give me the cup.”

  His mother exhaled through pursed lips and handed it over. She put the spoonful of ice in her own mouth and spoke around it. “I had to go all the way down the hall to the other kitchen. They were out of spoons. Now you don’t even want the spoon.”

  “Sorry. Thank you.” He tilted the cup to his mouth, and drops of melted ice trickled over his tongue. He tapped the cup and was rewarded with a small shower of ice chips, not all of which made it into his mouth. He downed several mouthfuls before speaking again. “So. I’m not dying.”

  “No. You’ve just lost an eye. That’s all.”

  Several ice chips found their way down Todd’s windpipe. He coughed, and his unbandaged eye watered. “God. What? Did it roll down a manhole or something? Can no one climb down and fetch it?”

  “Don’t pretend you didn’t know. What did you think the bandage was for?”

  “Genital herpes. Jesus, Mom. Why the . . .” His voice trailed off. He tipped more ice chips into his mouth. He tried to wrap his brain around the news. His eye was gone? “Will it grow back?”

  His mother apparently thought he was serious. “No, Todd. There’s nothing to be done. I’d give you my own eye, if I could. I even asked them about it.”

  “At least it would match.” He was a Cyclops. He could never again roll his eyes. Fuck it, why had he resorted to violence? Then again, perhaps they would have waylaid him in any case. And, anyway, it had become imperative that Collin knew that Todd was willing and able to protect Sebastián.

  Sebby! Where was he? Where had he been the past week, and was anyone keeping him safe? “Where’s Sebby?” he demanded, forgetting that his mother had never been introduced.

  “He’ll be back. He visits you every day. That boy is so worried about you.”

  Todd ground his teeth on that bit of news, and on the disturbing idea of Sebby and his mother sitting around discussing Todd’s health. “He’s my . . . close friend and . . . please be nice to him.”

  His mother drew herself up. “I’m nice to him! I’m a nice person. Janet was just saying the other day, right before I left to fly down here, that I’m one of the nicest persons she knows.” She shifted in her seat and smoothed her hair. “Sebby said how nice it was of me to sit with you in the hospital when you don’t even know if anyone’s here.”

  Todd winced.

  “I should ask them for some Naproxen for my back.” She leaned forward in order to press her hand to the small of her back. “Sleeping on this couch hasn’t been good for it. Just because it folds out into sort of a bed doesn’t make it comfortable. I haven’t seen any other parents sleeping here at night. Probably because the couch is so hard. Not everyone will put up with that.”

  “What time is it?”

  “There’s a clock on the wall.” His mother nodded in the direction of the clock that was supposedly there.

  “Where are my glasses?” Afraid of dislodging the IV, he pushed the button to raise his bed, stopping when vertigo threatened. Turning his head, he could view the nightstand, which held the pitcher of water, a telephone, a couple of paperback books, some greeting cards, and a box of tissues.

  “Broken.”

  “Both of them? I mean, both lenses?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Fucking hell.” How many pairs of his glasses had been broken in fist fights over the years? Fights he maybe could’ve avoided but chose not to, chose instead to be a man, to demonstrate that yes, he could defend himself, despite the fact that he knew which Broadway productions had won Tony awards and who Jerome Robbins had been and which Richard was a hunchback. Win or lose, it mattered not; it was the demonstration that mattered.

  And look where the demonstration got you. You showed everyone you could be a man, all right.

  Tears gathered in his eye. Stop it. Be strong. Be a . . .

  What a load of horseshit.

  Todd had no way of knowing what time it was when he was awakened by a feeling of unease, unease that deepened into dread. Empty socket. The words thrummed in his head. Empty socket—a gaping hole where for his entire life his eye had resided. Empty socket. And was it, in fact, empty? Was it packed with wads of cotton, was it oozing pus and caked with dried blood and remains of eye jelly? Beads of sweat broke out on Todd’s forehead as it occurred to him that at some point the bandages would come off and they would be cleaning his empty socket, rinsing it or anointing it.

  “Oh shit, oh God,” he muttered, squeezing his remaining eye shut. “Mom. Mom?” There was no answer. “Mom!” Forgetting that he wasn’t supposed to, Todd sat up, and in the dim light was able to make out the couch across the room, empty. Vertigo rocked him, and he clutched at the bed’s guardrail.

  Todd suddenly wanted something so badly that it hurt, hurt like a motherfucker—like a fist prying his ribs apart and squeezing his heart. The something that he wanted was Sebastián, and the way that he wanted the something was miles and eons away from the way he had wanted it before—not to comfort but to be comforted, not to protect but to be shielded from horror. It was a need like drowning in deep water, knowing air was above but out of reach—to hear Sebby’s voice telling him that losing an eye was not so bad, that Todd could be brave, that Sebby would still love him even though he was maimed.

  Ignoring the wave of dizziness, Todd grabbed the telephone and dialed Sebby. After several rings, he was rewarded with a worried, thick-voiced “Hello?”

  “Sebby!” he exclaimed in relief. “Oh, Sebby love, your voice is a panacea.”

  “A what? Todd, is everything okay?”

  “Yes. No. I just had a, hum, well . . . a sort of panic attack.”

  “Dios mío, Todd. You panicked about something? Was it blood? Needles?”

  “No, it was . . .” Todd shuddered as the words empty socket slithered through his mind once more. “I don’t want to think about it. I’m . . . I can’t think, and I’m afraid, and I need to hear your voice!”

  “Shh, querido, everything will be all right. The worst is over. You’re going to be fine. You should be resting, slee—” a yawn interrupted “—ping.”

  “Talk to me, Sebastián. I promise I’ll sleep if you talk to me.”

  Sebby hesitated. “Is your mother there?”

  Todd shook his head, forgetting that Sebby couldn�
�t see him. “She has absconded from the premises.”

  “Okay. Everything will be okay. You’re safe now. And I love you.”

  Todd settled back into his pillows with a sigh. “Talk to me in Spanish, Sebby.”

  The soothing cadence of Spanish lulled him. His eyelid drooped. He slept and did not wake when the CNA slipped in and replaced the phone in its cradle. In the morning, he remembered only that he had dreamed in Spanish.

  Todd’s mother still had not reappeared when the breakfast tray was delivered. The scrambled eggs were passable. Todd’s spirits lifted as the calories made their way to his vitals. He was polishing off the fruit cup when a doctor entered, his posse trailing behind.

  “Hello-hello-hello!” the doctor exclaimed, coming near enough that Todd could make out his long nose and narrow black eyes. “Do you know where you are?”

  “I’ve been hoping for the set of Punk’d or Scare Tactics.”

  Someone in the posse laughed, but the doctor said, “Sorry, no. I’m here to assess your mental status, Todd. Do you know where you are?”

  Todd pushed the tray aside. “I am aware that I am in hospital.”

  The doctor nodded, and so did several members of his posse. “Do you know which hospital?”

  “No one’s told me.”

  There was a significant nod from the doctor, and murmurs from the posse, which made Todd uneasy. “Denver North Medical Center,” the doctor supplied. “Do you know your name?”

  “You mentioned it mere moments ago. Todd, rhymes with God. And, unless someone has changed it while I slept, the rest of it is Marvin Addison.”

  “Good. Can you tell me what year it is?”

  “Of course. It’s—” The year. He knew the year, knew that he knew it, yet he drew a blank. The doctor and posse watched expectantly. “Er . . .” He stalled. “I haven’t slept through New Year’s and into the next, have I?” As one, they shook their heads. Still, he couldn’t summon the correct year, nor any year at all. He thought of his tax return, which he could remember completing before leaving New York. What year had been printed at the top of those forms? It was like trying to bring to mind a particular word, a word that one knew existed, that held the exact shade of meaning one meant to convey. Normally, Todd would fall back on a thesaurus: year, month, day, century, eon, era, date, calendar . . . Calendar! He glanced at the near wall, where a large whiteboard dominated. Squinting, he was able to make out the date, written in large black strokes, and with great relief, proclaimed the correct year aloud.