“But why did you spend the day, and have dinner, with a woman?”
Failure.
“We’re friends.”
“I find it hard to believe that her husband would allow her to be out with a single man.”
“A single gay man.”
Santino lowered the paper and met his eyes. He was silent and seemed to be waiting for an explanation.
Though Oz wiped his face of emotion, his mind clicked through the frames beginning with Santino’s arrival. They were bleary, and he’d eventually passed out. But with his guard eroded by alcohol and vulnerability, had he unintentionally let something slip of his confused feelings? Was that why his friend eyed him with such a look of skepticism? A knot formed in Oz’s stomach.
“I don’t care what you are.” Santino lifted his mug. “You should always be careful about being alone with a married woman, but there’s more on the line in this situation. Her husband has absolute authority.”
“He gave his permission. He said to stay out late if we were having a good time.”
“We? As in his wife and a single man? Did he specifically say, ‘Yes, dear, you can stay out all night with another man. No, I haven’t met him, and you’re an attractive woman. Yes, have as much alcohol as you want. Lower your inhibitions.’ He didn’t say that. He didn’t know. Admit it.”
“He knew. He just thought I was a woman.”
“I can see why.” Santino snorted. “But you’re playing a dangerous game. The husband could’ve carted her straight to CryoLife when you dropped her off.”
“He wouldn’t. I’ve seen him. He’s too much of a fucking pussy. He wears a fucking pocket protector. He’d shit his pants if I cracked my knuckles in his direction.”
“But this isn’t about you versus him. He may not pick a fight with you, but think about what he could do to her. It’s still not something you should mess with. If you push him enough to drag her into the Center, there’ll be nothing you can do.” Santino gave Oz a narrowed look. “She’s his property. Don’t jeopardize whatever freedom she has. Don’t joyride in his car. She belongs to him. Not to herself. And not to you.”
Oz considered the truth to Santino’s words. He felt that Robert had far too much pride to return Andrew’s conservatorship to CryoLife, but there was no telling what happened behind the closed door of the apartment, or what could happen. He thought of what he, himself, had said to Andrew yesterday:
“When you buy a chair, you can do whatever you want with it. You can sand it, paint it, or break its legs off and use them to fuck yourself.”
For the next few months, Andrew was Robert’s chair. He was Robert’s car. He was Robert’s lap dancing grinder monkey. He was just Robert’s.
“Property Of.”
Robert didn’t give the impression of being physically violent, or cruel, but anything could be simmering under the surface. Andrew had said he was miserable. He’d paid two million dollars into the recreation of his perfect family.
Oz knew the type of woman Robert had expected to get back. They came into his pharmacy. Busy soccer moms buying lotion infused tissues for snotty noses and sex lube for their husband’s dicks. They spent hours curling their hair and applying makeup before sliding into tight fitting capri pants that emphasized wide, child bearing hips.
When they came to the counter to pick up their happy pills and looked at him, they saw only his shaggy hair, his pierced eyebrow, and the tattoos that crawled up his neck and across his knuckles. They hoped that precious baby Tommy or Timmy wouldn’t be such a freak show. They took their tissues, lube, and Prozac home to quaint houses where they put on Betty Crocker aprons and waved feather dusters. When these women dreamed, it was of minivans that stretched for blocks with children filling every seat.
This was what Robert wanted and what he’d paid for. But he’d received Andrew. He hadn’t gotten a tom-boy, a masculine woman, or a lesbian. Andrew was a man. And since Oz had become close to the situation, a gnawing fear took the edge off any humor.
Robert was going to discover the truth. The outrage and pain that’d made Andrew fire the gun in that way before lashing out at everything he could put his hands on? That anger couldn’t be contained permanently, and especially when uncapped from the emotion-stunting drugs. When Robert found out, what he may be inclined to do, and what he was capable of doing were two separate things.
Oz pictured Andrew’s eyes. If you belonged to me, I couldn’t keep you. I’d let you have your freedom. I couldn’t see you unhappy. Even if you wanted to be someone else or stay out with another man. He allowed himself to feel that touch to his cheek, and his chivalrous thoughts halted. Or would I?
If he didn’t know what he’d do in that situation, how could he intuit what Robert might do?
Santino’s words repeated in his head.
“She belongs to him. Not to herself. And not to you.”
Unless Robert did get fed up enough to turn the conservatorship over to the Center. Then Andrew would belong to CryoLife. It would take a lot to move Robert to that action. Would the disclosure of Andrew’s gender identity do it? Could even his association with Oz taint the Natalie dream beyond what could be repaired in Robert’s eyes?
He had to be more careful in his actions and thoughts. It was for the best to put this foolishness from his mind. Andrew’s survival depended on it.
“Good man,” Santino said, as if Oz had spoken the resolution aloud. He shook his newspaper out and held it in front of his face again. “So, tell me what you did on your date.”
“It was nothing. We went to the shooting range.”
“Romance at its finest. How’s Red?”
“Happy to see me. And the pot.”
“In reverse order. And Sue?”
“She’s pulling tape worms out of peoples’ asses in Somalia or some shit.”
“It’s a shame your companion didn’t get the chance to meet her. Sometimes women relate easier to women.” Santino didn’t appear to catch the smirk that crossed Oz’s face. “What did you do after that?”
“We had dinner. I got carried away with the alcohol. You came and saved the day, for which I am eternally grateful.”
“As you should be. So you picked her up, shot off guns, and had a steak? That’s it?”
“Prime rib. But yes.”
Santino lowered and folded his newspaper, taking off his glasses and laying them on top. He closed his eyes and rubbed his eyebrows with the fingers of his left hand.
“Why do you lie to me, Oz?”
“I’m not lying.”
“Omitting the full truth is the same thing.”
“Do you expect a play by play? An account of every instant?”
“I expect a reason for why you looked so upset last night.” Santino gave him a pained look, the skin above his cheeks wrinkled in concern. “I was worried about you. You looked like you’d been dragged across town lashed to someone’s bumper. And you’re never like that. I have to work so hard to chip away a sediment of the layers you encase yourself in. And you’ve never let it out. Ever.”
“So, you’re jealous?”
“I’m not jealous.” He scowled. “You’re such a narcissist. I care about you, you were reached and—”
Oz made himself chuckle.
Santino struck his open palm against the table. The coffee cups clattered.
“Will you stop with the head games? I want a straight fucking answer!”
He paused before proceeding with cautious innocence. “We talked, brother. We talked about serious shit, and I let it get to me.”
“What kind of ‘serious shit’?”
“I said what happened.”
“‘You told her about how you died?’” Santino’s face eased. “In detail?”
“Yes.”
“About your father?”
“Yes.”
“And about the Hodge conjecture?” He raised an eyebrow.
“I didn’t mean to, but yes.”
Oz was touched that Santino had remembe
red what the problem was called. It hadn’t been discussed since the initial reveal, but his friend had cared enough to commit the project’s name to memory. It was more than his father had been able to do in twenty years.
“You’re not able to separate those three things. They’re too entwined for you to tell one without the others. Especially when you’ve got gin as a vehicle.”
“I know. It was stupid.”
“It wasn’t stupid. You must trust her,” Santino said without bitterness or envy. “How did she react? What did she say?”
He took a breath. “‘I’m here.’”
“‘I’m here?’”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing. Just an odd response. I mean, she was there.”
“But that’s what I wanted to hear.” Oz felt the phantom hand caressing his cheek, and his skin flushed.
You knew that. You knew exactly what I needed.
“Oz.”
He blinked and refocused on Santino. The look of skepticism had returned.
“She let you in on her secret, didn’t she? And I was wrong. She’s not a lesbian.”
“I told you that wasn’t true from the beginning.”
“Then what is she? If she’s not a lesbian, then you’re putting her at more risk if the husband finds you hanging around.”
Though he didn’t think it was his place to divulge someone else’s secret, for the sake of his friendship with Santino, Oz had to. Eventually it was going to come into the open and, when it did, his friend could act shocked.
“What is she?” Santino asked.
“She is a he.”
“She is a he? As in, she is a man?” He narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure you don’t just want her to be a man? That’s awfully convenient for you, isn’t it?”
“Straight men are all convenience for me. You have bells on your necks and ‘Thank you, come again’ signs on your asses,” Oz snarled. “Very convenient.”
“Is she a straight man?”
“Yes.”
“Did she say that? She’s married to a man.”
“Who’s under the assumption that he’s married to a woman. Can you get off my ass and think about how difficult this is for him?”
“For the husband?”
“No, fuck him. For Andrew.”
“Andrew, eh?”
Santino unfolded his glasses and slid them onto his nose. He then turned to Oz with a stern expression.
“I don’t care if he’s gay or straight, Oz. If he’s a man, then you need to take a good look at yourself and stop whatever it is you’re doing. Keep it platonic, even in your head, or you’ll destroy him.”
“We’re just friends.”
“No, we are just friends. I’m not blind. And you’d better get yourself under control, because other people aren’t either.”
Santino picked up his coffee mug and took a swallow.
“And get the fuck out of my house. You’re late for work.”
Chapter 27
Oz heeded Santino’s advice for almost two weeks and didn’t seek Andrew out.
He tried to focus on his business. There were hundreds of things to prepare and compute in preparation for tax time. It was a good opportunity to get shit out of the way and avoid burning the midnight oil in April.
Taxes weren’t anything like the mathematics he loved. It was gathering data and punching it into the computer. And when in the end, it was a spreadsheet calculating everything, it wasn’t math, even the boring kind. But it distracted him and sort of kept away the worrying.
Menial tasks hadn’t ended his midnight thinking sessions about Andrew. But as the days went on, and the intensity of that gin-soaked night faded, Oz considered that the separation could be positive. He didn’t plan on staying away forever, but it was good to distance himself and rebuild his wall.
It also gave him time to question how much of what he thought had happened had actually happened. He’d been so inundated with alcohol; he couldn’t be sure of every detail. The words he’d used to tell Andrew about his death and the Hodge conjecture failed him. It was possible he’d made an idiot of himself. And if he’d deteriorated into the sobbing fit he remembered, it wasn’t possible, it was true.
But had Oz only projected how he’d wanted Andrew to respond, constructing some elaborate fantasy? Had Andrew really touched his hair or caressed his cheek?
“You could find something that inspires as much passion out of you …” Had Andrew said that? If he had, was Oz reading too much into things?
And on top of the whole mess, he couldn’t ignore the fact that Andrew had been coming off the medication. He’d missed three doses. Quitting the drugs sometimes did stranger things than starting or staying on them. Who knew if he’d meant what he said, if he’d said it. What he’d done, if he’d done it. Would he even remember anything?
Ultimately, Oz decided on a timeline and a plan.
The next gathering at the bar had been five days away when he came to a decision. If Andrew didn’t come, then Oz would go to the apartment out of concern that he hadn’t been to the bar.
As for the plan, he was going to put aside whatever had happened at the restaurant. He’d forget about it and pretend the evening had ended when Andrew revealed his secret. It wouldn’t be fair to hold Andrew responsible for statements or actions he may not have been able to control.
Oz felt he’d successfully reconstructed his shield. He was cool and collected. He was prepared to let everything roll off his back like he always did. There’d be no awkwardness on his side. Not a single noteworthy thing had happened after the gun range. And Andrew was a friend. Nothing more.
But he crossed the days off his calendar with stiffening slowness. He wondered. He worried. And as he thought to admit he was missing Andrew, he went back to work. The empty feeling usually disappeared in a pit of numbers.
“Boss man.”
He was in the zone, blocking out everything else.
“Boss man.”
Oz dashed in another five numbers using the ten-key pad. Things were better today – all cylinders firing properly, and he hadn’t had to stop typing once. He was about to go to the next column when Barty kicked his chair.
“I said, ‘Boss man!’”
He spun to face the technician who’d intruded into his office.
“What is it, Barty? Can’t you see I’m fucking busy?”
“That lady you fought with a while ago is out here wanting to see you.”
“Take a message like a good secretary.” Oz tapped the papers he’d been working from to form a neat stack.
“I told her you weren’t available. She said you’d make time for her.”
“She said I’d make time for her?”
He’d forgotten. No one saw what he did. No one knew what he knew. They shared a secret.
“Her exact words were, ‘If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll make time for me.’ She must have liked what you gave her before, boss.” The young man winked.
“Our sign does say ‘Come again,’ doesn’t it?” Oz grinned and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Let her in. But tell her first that I make no time for a woman.”
“They make time for you.”
“They rearrange their lives, put their kidneys on the black market, sell their first born children, and then they hope.”
The technician left, closing the door behind him. Oz fought the impulse to pace and calm his nerves. If Andrew came in and saw him pacing, what would he think? So he stayed in his chair, his hands shaking in his pockets.
Get a grip, Oz. You’re calm. You’re collected. He took a breath and tried to control the slow exhale. You’re the coolest motherfucker there has ever been. And it could be anyone. You fight with a lot of people. You love fighting with people. How ridiculous will you feel being nervous if it’s not him? You feel stupid enough being nervous that it might be.
He turned to the computer screen so he could appear occupied. He saw the door open and,
in the reflection of the screen, Andrew entered his office.
“So you don’t make time for a woman?”
“I’ll make time for a woman when there isn’t a single man left on the planet. And maybe not then. There might be sheep. And there’s always Santino.”
“There’d be me.”
“No, in this apocalyptic universe, you’d be annihilated with the rest of them. Struck down by a meteor, sucked into a black hole, crushed by a whale on a beach … The great tragedy of our time. Unless you’re a sheep. Are you a sheep?”
“I’m not a sheep.”
Oz spun his chair and coughed into the crook of his elbow.
When he looked at Andrew, he knew it’d happened. It’d grown dimmer, but it returned with strong magnitude and enveloped him. He felt the hand caressing his hair, the touch on his cheek. With great effort, he shoved it back. No. He was cool. The coolest motherfucker there’d ever been.
“That’s good. I’m not a vegetarian.” Oz folded his arms behind his head in his standby position. “So how are ya, brother?”
But he could already tell. The wilted tiredness in Andrew’s eyes was gone, and he stood with his shoulders back, his posture straight. What horrible things these drugs did to people who didn’t need them.
“I feel great. Well, not great, but much improved. I can think straight.”
“That’s always a plus.”
“I wanted to thank you.”
“The pleasure is entirely mine.”
“And I wanted to ask for your help.”
“Oh?” He cocked his head. “Pray tell, how can I assist you, good sir? And you can sit down. Move that shit over there, to that other shit over there.”
Andrew transported six large file folders from the second seat in the room. When the chair was empty, his guest moved it within a yard from him. He sat and leaned forward, as if about to disclose something confidential and dangerous.
“I want to cut my hair.”
“I have many skills. Barbering isn’t one of them, unless you want to be bald. I could manage that.”
“No, I thought you might know someone who’d do it.”
He was confused until he remembered their gun conversation, when his friend had found out that the CryoLife tag was never removed. And he laughed.
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