Character Flaws

by Sierra Hill

  And he’s not as young as the typical Pat boy-toy. This dude is far from his usual type. This guy looks downright homeless. Aside from the old baseball hat, he’s donning a loose-fitting rumpled t-shirt and faded jeans that look like they haven’t been washed in months.

  “Joey, this is my friend, Theo.”

  Patrick returns next to me and leans in, whispering conspiratorially, “He’s a bit surly. Had a bad day.”

  Well, gee, buddy. So have I, but you don’t see me treating people so disrespectfully.

  Whatever. I’ll take the high road.

  My voice is chipper. “Nice to meet you, Theo.”

  He grunts, his attention not leaving the TV. Loud sports noises blast through the speakers and you can barely hear my thinly disguised grunt of disapproval. Patrick laughs and walks into the kitchen, ignoring the poor manners of his friend.

  “Everyone okay with gumbo and cornbread?”

  I place Woody on the floor and walk in the small, yet modern kitchen that’s nearly identical to mine.

  “Mm. That’s what smells so delish in here?” I grin, pulling off the cover of the large pot on the stove, leaning in to take a long inhale of spicy aroma. My mouth immediately begins to water and my stomach growls. It certainly beats my box of mac and cheese in my pantry.

  Pat shoos me away, removing the lid from my hands and begins to stir the spicy concoction.

  We stand side-by-side, his broad frame about six inches taller than me, our shoulders pressed together.

  I give a surreptitious glance over my shoulder before I say anything to Pat. He’ll be able to detect my underlying pettiness in my voice.

  “What’s his deal?”

  He cocks his head, bending to my ear. “Theo is a good guy, just going through a rough time. He has a beautiful soul and I love him.”

  “Well, regardless. His mother did a horrible job teaching him manners.”

  I suppose if Pat gives him such a glowing endorsement and feels that strongly for him, I’ll have to do my best to get along with him.

  After all, he’s not the guy I’m sleeping with, so it really shouldn’t matter one bit what I think.

  Chapter Two

  Theo

  His name is Mr. Woodcock

  Do I have a bullseye on my forehead?

  That’s a rhetorical question, by the way, because I must since shit keeps being thrown at me and sticking to me from every part of my life. I just can’t seem to catch a break right now.

  It hasn’t always been this way. I’m normally an upbeat positive person and things have gone my way, until recently. I’m hard working. Ambitious. I do right by others. I provide a hand to old ladies crossing the street. I don’t take myself too seriously. And I’m a good friend, son and nephew.

  And I thought I was a good boyfriend, too. Thoughtful, loving, attentive, giving in bed.

  Apparently though, that wasn’t enough for Alyssa, my girlfriend of two years, whom I lived with for one, to stay with me. She recently kicked me out of the apartment we shared together in Lincoln Park when she told me that I wasn’t successful enough for her standards and she no longer was in love with me.

  Whomp.

  That’s the sound of more shit thrown at my targeted head.

  Since Alyssa is still in grad school and her dad was funding half of the apartment costs, I had to leave. And let me tell you, it’s not easy for a struggling actor and playwright in between gigs, without much as a dime saved, to find a suitable apartment in Chicago.

  There’s no way I had enough money saved to cover first and last month’s rent for a new place. So, for the last few weeks, I’ve been couch surfing, working out deals with friends and anyone else who can take me in while I finish writing my play.

  It’s been a fate worse than death. Worse even than a death in a Shakespeare play.

  Do you know how embarrassing it is at age twenty-six to ask a friend if you can crash at their place? I’ve had to dig so deep into my contact lists that I’m practically going back to my peewee baseball team roster. People my age are generally shacked up, having kids or already living with a plethora of roommates. They don’t have the time or space for someone to live in their homes, even temporarily.

  Thankfully, fate intervened and there was a break in the clouds two nights ago when I ran into my old college roommate from Northwestern, Patrick. It was seriously one of those passing on the streets kind of things and we ended up having a few beers together.

  The craziest opportunity presented itself. Like the tides were turning in my shit luck life. Pat informed me that his job is taking him to China for two months and he has a walk-up apartment and a four-legged bestie that needs to be cared for while he’s gone.

  He asked if I was good with dogs, and I said, “well of course I am!” when in all honestly, I’ve never had one in my life. But how hard could it be to feed and walk a dog? And from how Pat described his pup, the dog is small and housetrained.

  So I jumped at the chance because it was exactly what I needed to help me get out of this shitty slump and get back on my feet again.

  It’s like pennies from heaven and the soft landing I needed.

  Last night, it was just like old times between me and Pat. Which means he drank me under the table. I was sloshed by the second round and am feeling every single ounce of malt liquor we drank last night.

  Pat, however, is whistling cheerfully in his kitchen as I pad in wearing only my pajama bottoms and bare feet, rubbing my head at the temples. Patrick is at the counter, his packed bags on the floor by the door, making some last minute notes on my To Do list.

  He lifts his head and quirks a brow suggestively. “Good thing I’m leaving. Not sure I could stand seeing your naked chest every morning without wanting to lick it.”

  My eyes drift down to my exposed torso, my hand absently rubbing over the wiry hairs until I realize what he means. I laugh, prudishly covering my chest and waist with my arms, gasping in horror.

  “I feel so violated,” I joke, searching in a cupboard for a coffee cup and an aspirin.

  I’m not homophobic in the least and have never been at all concerned about being hit on by anyone. Although we lost touch for several years, Patrick and I have been friends since our freshman year, and that was before and after he came out that second semester of college.

  We had many latenight talks, drunk on whatever liquor we had available, where he promised that he didn’t find me attractive and wouldn’t lust over me. Although he did admit to admiring my ass a few times.

  Whatever. I was never weirded out by it, because I’m secure in my own sexuality. But we did make a pact to communicate and share the space in our dorm room when it came to hook-ups. That stuff I didn’t particularly want to see.

  Swinging around the island, I pour myself some coffee and chug down the pill. I turn and lean back against the counter, one ankle over the other, enjoying each scalding sip of the rich coffee. That’s one thing about Patrick. He has fine taste in everything. From his high-end apartment, to his imported Italian roasts.

  “Okay, I think I have everything down. You know Woody’s food and walk schedule, but I understand if your schedule ends up a little different during the workweek. As long as you can let Joey know, she can take him outside to pee if you’ve got a gig or something.”

  When I quirk my brow in question, he laughs.

  “The woman you met last night? My neighbor, Josephine, in 2B. She goes by Joey and is a school teacher with no life, so she’s usually around in the evenings if you need help.”

  My memory from last night is fuzzy. I was wasted and only remember a few details of the Blackhawks game that we ended up watching. I vaguely recall a beautiful girl talking about kids and drugs, but then I passed out on Pat’s couch. I’m sure I made a very favorable impression.

  But it had been a hellish day and I needed to drown my sorrows in booze. I’d had a casting call for a new theater production, had a run-in with Alyssa when I stopped by to pick up some mail
that had been delivered at her place, and then got a rejection email for a script I’d written and submitted to an agent.

  I wasn’t in the mood last night for any polite conversation. And all I remember is her yapping and carrying on about dick selfies.

  Nodding my head, I push off the counter and grab the list Pat has in his hands, looking down at the scribbled notes.

  “What is this?” I screech. “I have to give Woody oral medications? What the hell does that entail? I’m not sticking my finger up his butt. There are limits my friend.”

  He yanks the sheet from my hand and adds something to it, as I cringe at the thought of giving a rectum medication.

  I had no idea I was going to be spending every waking minute taking care of an invalid four-legged creature. When Alyssa and I were together we talked about getting a pet, but it never happened. With her busy school schedule and my unpredictable schedules, we decided it wasn’t in a dog’s best interest. I’ve never even had a pet of my own and have no idea how to take care of one.

  Pat interrupts my freak out session with his directions. “There’s no rectal depository necessary, you puss. You just have to hide the pill in the treat and give it to Woody. Once he has it in his mouth, you just clamp your hand around his mouth, hold it closed until he swallows it. Otherwise, he’ll spit out the pill. You’re a smart little boy, aren’t you?”

  Pat is obviously talking to Woody and not me.

  My eyes go wide in disbelief. “Say what?”

  He sighs in exasperation, as if I’m the stupidest jerk on the planet. And maybe I am. At this point, he’s talking all mumbo-jumbo.

  “It’s fairly uncomplicated. But if you run into trouble, here’s Joey’s number. Just call her. She knows what to do.”

  “Okay. Will do.”

  There’s relief in my voice, because honestly, I’m a little worried now that little Woody’s life will be left in my hands. I can barely take care of myself right now, much less another living being.

  “Listen, I gotta get going if I’m gonna make my flight out of O’Hare. I’ve left money in the drawer for you to buy more dog food and treats at the end of the month, as well as refill his prescription. It’s an auto-refill so they’ll call you when it’s time. And make sure Woody gets his daily cuddle time. If time allows, I may Facetime with him.”

  He looks down at the dog in his arms and snuggles his snout, a little whimper extracted. Not sure if it’s from Pat or Woody.

  Pat drops the dog to the floor and grabs his leather jacket from the coat rack, placing it over his arm. Then he thinks better of it, and reaches down to pick up the four-legged hound again. He holds the dog up in front of his face, cooing at him like he’s a baby.

  “Goodbye, my sweet boy. You be good for Uncle Theo, you hear? No peeing on his clothes or eating his shoes, okay?”

  He grins at me when my jaw drops, telling me he’s only joking about that. I hope.

  I watch him kiss the dog on the snout and place him back on the floor. The dog just lays down at Pat’s feet and whines.

  He grabs his bags, throwing one over his shoulder, and looks back at me and the dog before opening the door.

  “Enjoy your stay. And take good care of him. I’m gonna miss that little shit.”

  I lean against the edge of the open door, patting him on the back to reassure him I’ve got things under control. He doesn’t need to know that inside I’m freaking out about life in general.

  “We’ll be fine. I’ll follow all your instructions to a T and will take care of him like he’s my own. Have a safe flight, man, and let me know when you’ve arrived safely.”

  He sighs and blows a kiss in my direction. “Thanks for watching things while I’m gone. I appreciate it. And don’t worry about things, man. Everything will be fine and will work out.”

  I’m not sure if he says that to reassure himself or me, but it’s nice to hear the encouragement either way. Lord knows I need all the positivity I can get.

  “Take care, Pat. Don’t worry about a thing here. See you soon.”

  As soon as he is out of sight, I close the door and head to the couch, reaching for my half-empty cup of coffee and the remote.

  Plopping down, Woody jumps up next to me and I watch with fascination as he does this weird little circling thing. He turns three times before finally settling down against my leg. I chuckle and shake my head.

  “You’re a weird little dude, aren’t ya buddy? I guess that means we should get a long pretty well, then. Let’s make the most of this, shall we?”

  The dog lets out a sharp sigh and begins the restful breaths of a contented animal. He doesn’t seem to mind that Pat’s gone, as long as someone else is with him.

  Maybe I should take some lessons from Woody. I should forget about what I don’t have and everything I’ve lost, and find a way to focus my thoughts on the present and what I do have.

  I pat the dog’s head. “Good advice, Wood. Good boy.”

  Chapter Three

  Joey

  Does that mean he’s a bottom?

  It’s Sunday morning – my favorite day of the week. The day I can lay in bed all morning if I want. The day I can just lounge around in my sleepwear, make pancakes or waffles – adding as much whipped cream and syrup as I can digest - and get caught up on reading.

  Except not this morning, because there’s someone pounding on my door who obviously doesn’t want me to indulge in any of that. Bastards.

  Rolling my head on my pillow, I glance with blurry-eyed focus at the time on my phone. Eight-thirty-seven. Who the hell is so rude to wake we so early on a Sunday morning? Do they have a death wish?

  I pull the sheet over my head and hope they’ll just go away. Maybe it’s my neighbor in 2C. I think his name is Devon. He’s a United Flight Attendant and semi-professional opera singer. He and his lover get in spats all the damn time. One minute they’re hurling insults and the next I can hear them…well, it gives new meaning to gay tenors.

  A few minutes pass and the knocking stops. Peace and quiet. Now that’s more like it. Closing my eyes again, I turn to my other side facing away from the sliver of light from the window, plump up my down-filled pillow and sigh.

  Much better. I’m just about to fall back asleep again, with just the fleeting glimpse of a naked Kris Bryant, third baseman for the Cubs, pulling me back into dreamland, when my phone vibrates on the table next to me.

  Ugh. Mother, go away!

  Reaching out blindly, I grab the phone and pull it to my face. My eyes are slits as I try to read the number on the display. It does not say, MOTHER.

  Instead, it shows up as Unknown caller.

  Yeah, nope. Not gonna happen.

  I press End and toss it on my bed and it lands in a poof of downy comforter.

  The phone vibrates again.

  And then the knocking on my door resumes.

  Are you freaking kidding me?

  Is there a fire in the building I’m not aware of? I lift my head to listen for any shouting or sirens. It’s quiet, even for my Chicago city neighborhood.

  Frustrated and extremely crabby from the interruption of my perfect Sunday agenda, I swing my legs out from under the blankets, and trudge to the front door.

  Peering through the peep hole, I notice a man who looks vaguely familiar, his phone to his ear, looking exasperated. My phone continues to ring in my hand.

  I peek again at my phone and then squish my eyeball to the hole for another look. Taking a chance, I answer.

  “Hello?”

  Big sigh. “I need your help. Please.”

  “Who is this?” I’m still a little foggy from sleep and don’t know for certain I’m talking to the same guy that’s out in the hallway.

  “It’s Theo, Patrick’s friend.”

  Then I hear a yip.

  Yip, yip, yip.

  I go through the motions of unlocking the three bolts of security and swing the door wide open, completely unconcerned with the fact that I’ve just been woken up an
d am standing here with bedhead and rumpled pajamas.

  Wait, I am wearing pajamas, right?

  Alarm races through me based on Theo’s wandering gaze up and down my body. I look down my legs and am filled with relief to find I do have on a pair of my sleep shorts. One of the very important lessons my mother instilled in me at a young age. “Never sleep naked! What if you had to evacuate in the middle of the night and all you had on was panties? How shameful.”

  Yes, that is my mother. A prude to the Nth degree.

  But this morning in this situation, it wouldn’t really matter. Standing here naked in front of this guy probably wouldn’t phase him since I’m not a dude. Plus, he’s one of Patrick’s boyfriends. No potential for interest from him.

  Woody scurries through the door seeming a bit freaked out and I look back behind my shoulder to see him hiding underneath a chair, his tiny teeth bared like he’s some terrifying monster.

  Turning back to Theo, my face scrunches in question.

  “What the hell is going on here?”

  “I’m sorry,” he pants. “I can’t do it. I’ve tried to do exactly as Pat instructed, but he’s a little terror and won’t do as he’s told!”

  Theo runs a hand down his stressed-out face and I sort of feel bad for the guy.

  Not too bad, considering he interrupted a potentially really good dream.

  “What are you talking about? And where’s Patrick?”

  Theo takes a step forward into my entryway and then stops.

  “Uh, is it okay if I come in?”

  I give him the go-ahead and gesture him in. I’m already awake and out of bed, what’s another few minutes? Theo moves into the hallway as I close the door behind him and I hear Woody growling like a mad dog.

  Turning to face him, I cross my arms underneath my boobs and ask again.

  “Care to tell me what’s going on? Why do you have Woody and what is it that you’re trying to do?”

  The first thing I notice is that Theo’s eyes move to my chest, landing there for a moment before returning to my face. I’m not sure what he’s looking at, so I follow his path down and see my nipples are poking out of my t-shirt. I guess they are a little hard not to notice, even if he is gay.