“You too, Robert. Bye.”
And now you can resume jacking off to The Natalie Files and dreaming of CryoLife finally crafting the right behavior modification drug to bring her back.
Oz’s eyes were focused on the road and his hands gripped the steering wheel at the precise ten-two position. Before he’d driven with only his right hand at the wheel’s bottom, his left either holding a cigarette or sailing in the air outside the window.
I’m glad I didn’t tell your friends. They’d have been this way too. But I wish I knew what your flaw is. I may not be able to do much, but I’d use it to strike at you in any way I could.
Andrew went back to his phone, opened an empty text message, and tapped a quick note to Shelly:
ROBERT CALLED YOU. I HAD MY PHONE OFF AND HE WAS WORRIED. ALL IS GOOD. NO NEED TO CALL.
That should take care of it, and if not … Well, he’d deal with that problem when and if it became one. There was enough to worry—
“I think I forgot my lighter,” Oz said.
“Because no other lighters exist on the entire fucking planet.” Andrew reached over to the console and pushed the car’s cigarette lighter into its socket. “Why don’t you say something useful? You never seemed to have the capability of shutting up before—”
Abruptly, Oz swung two lanes to the right and peeled off the next exit despite still being miles from Savannah. He said nothing as he accelerated down the ramp.
Andrew’s heart raced.
I misjudged him. I was completely wrong, completely off.
He was hypervigilant to the looks people gave him. Men like Oz’s friend Red honed their gaze, trying to see past the sweatshirt and pick out his shape. Even Santino and Tinks had eyed him. But for all his button pushing, Oz had never made him feel vulnerable. Andrew had never felt like, if they were alone, Oz would try anything.
The car turned into an empty parking lot of a convenience store.
And here it is. He’s going to come at me, try to rape me. Andrew seized the door handle as Oz pulled into a spot. Run for it. Run. This is your only chance to escape. Run!
But his hand refused to obey, and he remained numb in the passenger seat.
“I’m so sorry.”
Andrew looked at him. Oz’s voice had been ragged with emotion, and his hold on the door handle eased. “Sorry? For what?”
“For being such a jackass to you. The housewife comments. The woman comments. I went too far. I didn’t know the circumstance, but it wasn’t right.” Oz swallowed before continuing. “And I’m sorry for you. I mean, fuck, I can’t imagine. I have losses too, but I’m still a man. I can’t picture being in another body. Being seen like you are, treated like you must be. You must feel trapped.”
Trapped. Beta nu. Yes, that’s exactly it.
“And so alone.”
Complete rejection of the Blue Nude.
Andrew fully released the door handle and turned toward him.
“You believe me then?”
“Of course I believe you, Andrew.”
Andrew. Not said at random. For the first time directed at him. The release of joy that was June Celebration. Repeated, flowing movement without boundaries. Just elation undiluted by any additional color. And the other paintings somewhat faded into the background.
Andrew. Andrew. Andrew. It replayed in his head and every time he heard it, a blast valve pulled on a hot air balloon. He felt himself lifted higher and higher.
Or maybe the opposite. The balloon basket sinks lower until it lands. Oz’s caramel eyes locked on his, and there was no doubt to whom he was speaking. Finally, I’m grounded. Andrew. That’s my name. That’s who I am.
He felt the tears building in his eyes.
“No one has ever called me by my real name before,” Andrew said.
Oz smiled before breaking their stare. “I like it. I think it suits you.”
It does. It’d felt right in his head before, but hearing it in another person’s voice … “Natalie” was a swift punch to the stomach. Hearing his real name pulled something in the center of his chest, like unfolding a well-worn accordion.
“So is he demanding your expeditious return? Or do you want to grab a drink, Andrew?”
Andrew. Dripping honey. I’m glad I didn’t shoot you.
“Yeah, a drink would be good.”
Chapter 22
They found themselves at a restaurant fifteen miles off the exit.
“Robert doesn’t need me,” Andrew said. “Both he and Simon are as miserable as I am, but no one will admit it.”
“A two-million-dollar mistake is difficult to concede making. I assume they don’t know?”
“No one does. Except you.”
Oz looked across the table at Andrew. It was so clear now. He saw it. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it before. That Robert didn’t see it. Or the kid.
And Brigman’s an ass, but he’s not an idiot. How did he miss this?
The covered mirror also made sense. There were those who didn’t see, and those who didn’t want to see. Who couldn’t bear to see.
But I do now. And everything is balanced and equal, as it should be.
Oz had made no effort to open the car or restaurant door for Andrew. He didn’t pull out his chair. Unlike what he’d done at the bar, he also didn’t try to order for him. And he could tell that, although they were small tokens, these things were momentous to his friend. But then the waiter …
“Something to drink for you, ma’am?”
“Clean your lenses. Man.” Oz pointed to himself. He pointed to Andrew. “Man.” He then waved toward the waiter and shrugged. “And who the fuck knows.”
The “man” looked to the floor and apologized. He took the order of water with lemon and made a beeline to the kitchen.
“Oz, thank you, but it’s okay. I’m aware of how I look, and there’s no reason to make anyone feel uncomfortable.”
“Sometimes people need to feel uncomfortable. It’s good for them. And you could be a man. There are long-haired men. There are feminine looking men. No one’s going to pull your jeans down and do a dick check. They’re not even going to ask for your ID since you don’t drink booze.”
“I’m used to it. I mean it’s uncomfortable, but—”
“I thought there wasn’t a reason to make anyone feel uncomfortable.”
They traded a smile and sat in silence until their drinks arrived. Oz drained half his gin right away.
“You’re not going to be able to drive.”
“When one is out with a friend who doesn’t drink, one takes advantage of it.”
“I don’t like to drive since the accident.” Andrew dropped an ice cube from his spoon into the water. “I got my license in case of an emergency, but I prefer that someone else drive.”
Oz finished the glass, the pressure in his head beginning to build. “Then we’re going to be here a long time. I’m having at least three more. But I’m sure you have a lot to say. Over a month of silent torment. And I’m all ears.”
He closed his eyes and stretched, folding his arms behind his head. The alcohol coated his stomach, the heat rising into his chest and shoulders. He prepared to listen to another saga of hardship and loss. An additional horror story to add to the CryoLife collection. A new and welcome diversion from himself.
“Actually, with that scene back there, the crying and telling someone the truth, I don’t want to think or talk about it.”
“Shall we discuss the weather, then? About how it’s eighty degrees, but if anyone tells you it’s freezing, you believe them? You’re one gullible son-of-a-bitch.”
“Let’s talk about you.”
When Oz opened his eyes, it took him a second to focus on Andrew’s face.
“I told you my secret. You tell me yours.”
“I did. I was straight. I woke up and I’m gay. It’s not as fanciful as what you heard from Santino and Tinks, but that’s it.”
Despite having another gin set in front of him,
Oz crossed his arms and his relaxation disappeared.
“But you’re lying.”
Andrew looked between him and the full glass of gin.
Clever, my friend. I’m predictable when it comes to my addictions. He lifted the glass. “There’s no reason for you to distrust me. I’ve been nothing but honest with you. I’ve told you things that would ruin me, in fact.”
“You don’t seem upset about being gay.”
“It’s been ten years. I used to be distraught about it.” Oz took a swallow of the gin.
It was an underhanded move, but in his fuzzy desperation, it was the only thing he could think of. Andrew was mounting an assault on the hallowed citadel, and he had to throw out every possible defense.
“When you walked into my pharmacy two years ago wearing that tight ass skirt and low cut blouse, I was still upset about it. I didn’t give you the friendliest reception because I wanted to want to jump your bones desperately.” He smiled to finish the act. “Sooo desperately.”
Andrew’s skin paled, but he was undeterred. “There’s something else.”
“You don’t know me. You’ve seen me three fucking times.”
“You’re defensive and vague. You don’t beat around the bush about anything. But when I asked in the bar, you spout a bunch of shit and change the subject.” Andrew counted the reasons on his fingers. “How do you know so much about what they do? Why do you care about people like me, Santino, and Tinks, if you aren’t broken too?”
When Oz weighed the decision, his brain sloshed from side to side within his skull. The only person with whom he’d gone into detail about what had happened to him was Santino. But he knew Santino wouldn’t laugh or judge him. And they’d been friends for months before he’d been cornered into revealing everything.
Is there anything to lose? Giving in when this inebriated would be easier than trying to fight.
But the main reason Oz didn’t want to talk about it was just that – he didn’t want to talk about it. He avoided thinking about it. Thinking about thinking about it was too much.
“You lost something. Tell me what it was and how you died. All of it.”
I suppose I can compromise. I can tell you how I died. But only that.
“I was twenty-one. In my prime. Up until then, it’d been school and school and more school. But I finally had the whole world ahead of me and could dedicate myself to what I wanted to do.”
“What was—”
“I’d been feeling weak in my arms and hands for a couple months, but I was working a lot. Running myself ragged.” Oz gave a micropause, like checking for a reflex. But Andrew didn’t interrupt.
Good, very good.
“I’d come back to my house and crash for twenty minutes before I’d be awake thinking. Always thinking … Until there was one night that I came home, put my key in the lock, and couldn’t turn it.”
Oz raised his hand, pinching his thumb and pointer finger together and turning his wrist. “A half hour struggling with this motion. I had my other hand holding my fingers around the key in position, wrenching my entire arm to the right. I looked like a moron, but I couldn’t get it. Ultimately, I woke my neighbor for help.
“Told the guy I’d been drinking and was too intoxicated to do it myself. But I didn’t drink then. I was such a Puritan. No smoking. No pot. No tattoos. No guns. Nothing fun. Boring, like I said. So if anyone can break you of this water with lemon shit, it’s me.”
Andrew folded his arms. “Go on.”
“That night it jumped out at me that whenever I did anything requiring my hands, I was clenching them into fists or flexing them to release tension.”
He tossed back a good portion of the gin. “Did I stop wearing button-ups because it was hard to do the buttons? No, I stopped wearing button-ups when I stopped wearing ties. But I’d stopped wearing ties since I got tired of not being able to get that Windsor knot right until the twentieth time. I’d attributed it all to sleep deprivation.
“The next morning, this stuff starts adding to the key and tie thing. Suddenly I was hyper aware of the weakness in my hands. Like, why was it difficult to squeeze toothpaste onto the brush? Were they making toothpaste thicker?” He glanced across the table. It was so difficult to maintain a lighthearted appearance. “How do you open a gallon of milk? One with the twisty top.”
“Like everyone else I suppose. Twisting?”
“With the ends of your fingers right? You curve your thumb around the plastic ridges, pressure to the side of your pointer finger, and turn. Simple. Here’s how I would do it:” Oz covered his glass with his right hand and put his left on top. “Palm on the lid, and use the other hand to turn the entire hand. A concentrated effort, but easier than a milk carton, that’s for sure. I figure – I’m a strange guy in general and do weird shit all the time. Why would I open milk like other people?”
“If you told me you’d built a Rube Goldberg machine to open your milk, I’d probably believe you,” Andrew said.
“That would’ve been a fantastic idea. Band wrench welded to gerbil wheel, powered by radioactive rodent with super strength. It’s too bad the patent office isn’t open this late.”
“A tragedy. But anyway—”
“Of nuclear holocaust, last-chip-in the-bag, Pompeii-ish proportions.”
“Moving on, please.”
“Besides my preoccupation of thought, it was your normal morning. I was able to do what I needed and get out to my car okay. Where the key episode repeated. And I couldn’t very well have my neighbor start my fucking car for me. So after an hour of trying, I gave up and made the call.”
“Who did you—” Andrew rolled his eyes. “No, no stop playing around and tell me.”
“So that process by which humans, chinchillas, and dolphins make other humans, chinchillas, and dolphins? The whole insert tab A to slot B? I called my tab A.”
“Your father?”
“I prefer to term him as the piece of shit whose motile gametes infiltrated my mother during a specific biological timeframe. But that doesn’t fit well on a coffee mug or a tie tack.”
Andrew shifted in his seat. “I’m sorry?”
“Why?” He shrugged. “I’m not. He’s not. I’m not what he wanted in a son, and he’s not what I wanted in a sperm donor. We haven’t been on speaking terms for years, and it’s better that way.”
“But back then, when you were in trouble, he was the first one you called.”
“He was useful in that particular situation. Like a tire jack, or a piece of toilet paper. I needed a doctor and he got me in to see a specialist without the red tape. Needless to say, the diagnosis wasn’t good.”
Oz set down another empty glass and flexed his hand before picking up the next. “However, the old man wasn’t concerned. Why? CryoLife. It didn’t matter how much time I had. They’d bring me back. The disease could keep returning and they’d continue to rebuild me. I was practically immortal, as long as I didn’t damage my brain.
“He tells me: ‘Let’s do it now, Osborne. Save you two years of decline. I’m sure, if I look through my files, there’s a judge who owes me. We’ll do it right away once we have the court order.’”
“Why would a court order have been necessary?” Andrew asked.
“CryoLife rides the fine murder line as it is. They’ve been able to get away with starting brain extraction within that period of being declared ‘imminently dead,’ remember? Axing me two years early would be too much, even for them. Unless you petition the state. But he needn’t have gone through the trouble of creating a plan. I told him to go fuck himself.”
Oz ran his fingertip around the rim of a new glass. It was a juggling game. He could tell Andrew was confused by why he’d make such a decision if he didn’t know more about CryoLife at the time. He chose his words with care.
“See, I was working on something really important to me. I thought I’d have time to finish it. And then I didn’t care what happened. That’s the good thing about this diseas
e – it spares my brain until the last. So I could keep working. And I knew I could finish it. I knew I could …” He trailed off, gritting his teeth. With his inhibitions lowered, he was saying what he didn’t want to think about.
“What were you working on?”
“It’s not important.”
“You said it was ‘really important.’ What was it?”
“It doesn’t matter!” Oz snapped. He took another drink and held the alcohol in his mouth until his eyes watered. The stringent, acrid burn felt good. He swallowed it when the inside of his cheeks went numb and took a breath. “I’m sorry, but it isn’t relevant anymore.”
Andrew didn’t press further, and Oz hurried to continue his story.
“My father was pissed. Eventually though, he throws his hands in the air and says, ‘Fine, go through hell for two years. No one wants to die. When you’re staring down the barrel, you’ll change your mind, Osborne.’
“But I was sure I wouldn’t. Not only would I have my project complete, but I’d never been supportive of CryoLife. Him calling my life’s work garbage, and me saying the same to him was one of our primary disagreements.” He met Andrew’s expression with a slow smile. His friend’s eyebrows had risen and there was a look of knowing in his face. “Yes, you’ve got it. An unlucky connection for me, but a fortunate one for all of you.”
“Why is that?”
“I’ve been able to get away with pretty much anything. And as long as I’m alive, I can and will continue to meddle with his plans, which benefits my friends. But I wasn’t a fan before I became one of his freakish creations either.”
“Were you one of the protesters? Are you still?”
“No, those scripture-licking dick holsters have the right answer, but their theorems are bullshit. CryoLife doesn’t play God. They play with nature,” Oz said. “I mean, humans have survived for what, 200,000 years? We have highly developed brains, opposable thumbs, hard-shelled tacos, and it’s a product of evolution. Some people die and aren’t meant to pass their DNA to the next generation.
“Natural selection is a good thing – weeding out bad attributes and weakness is necessary. If our ancestors had possessed the ability to save the dip wads that were eaten because they couldn’t walk on two legs, allowing those people to breed instead of die, we might still be slithering.”
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