Oskar Blows a Gasket

by Claire Davis

  “Don’t be so easy, Lollipop. I wanna know what your dad’s got up his sleeve for phase two.”

  “Oh, you don’t,” Gareth assured. “You really don’t.”

  “I really do.”

  “Well, it’s very silly. Why don’t we talk instead?” Gareth reached out to play with a strand of Oskar’s hair, currently black with red streaks. He laughed at Oskar’s horrified eyes.

  “Talk! What witchcraft is this?”

  Underneath all the hair and make-up, Oskar was pale and breathtakingly lovely. Gareth swept the strands together and held them with one hand. “I like to see you without hair everywhere. I don’t know what it is. And with no make-up.” Oskar blinked back. Without hair or make-up, he looked vulnerable and afraid, like everyone else.

  “I…” For a few agonising seconds, Gareth looked right into clever eyes and struggled to say the words—he understood—he knew—Morris. Oskar grabbed his jaw sharply and went in for a painful kiss, as if guessing what had almost transpired. And Gareth gave up for another day because it was too much to risk. “OK,” he gasped. “Phase two. Come to my room in ten minutes. Prepare to be wowed.”

  “I’m prepared, Lollipop. Please tell me phase two isn’t talking.”

  Gareth loped back to his room, knowing he was a coward. Under the bed was the bag containing the contents of phase two. He pulled the garment out and sighed. Playing stupid games was not what Oskar needed. He called Dad, who answered immediately. “Dad? I still haven’t talked to Oskar. No. No. I just want to make things clear between us.”

  He listened to Dad’s advice about dating being all about games and romancing. In his heart, he didn’t believe it.

  “But Dad? Isn’t it always best to be up-front about things?” Dad went quiet. “OK, I gotta go, he’s coming. Call you later.” All out of options, Gareth stripped and pulled on the horrible things. “Oh, god.” He opened the door before lounging back on the bed to wait for Oskar.

  The next few minutes were torture. He considered getting up to shut the door in case any of the others came in to witness the horrific spectacle, but doubted he could walk across in time. Not in those heels. He heard voices approach, and hid underneath one arm. Footsteps got closer and closer. They stopped. “Gareth?” Paula’s voice. Her sudden high-pitched laugh was stifled abruptly. “What the fuck?”

  “No. No, it’s definitely not Gareth. No—’cause he would never wear a skimpy dress and eight-inch heels. A dress with lace! I might—but not Gareth.” Something stroked Gareth’s leg. “It’s someone shy. Should we pull their arm away to see their face?” Sounds like neighing horses exploded.

  Gareth died several times. He thought about Dad and why he never seemed to have any success with love and relationships and how he would never—ever—listen to his advice again. “It’s me,” he said sulkily. “It was Dad’s idea.” Paula and Oskar were bent double, clutching at each other. “OK, OK, it’s really not that funny.” He swung his legs off the bed and struggled to stand. “I’m going to take them off right now.” But walking had become an altogether different skill. Instead of leaving his feet to do all the work, it seemed necessary to concentrate hard on each heel at the same time as flinging his arms out sideways. He teetered dangerously.

  “Stop it,” Oskar gasped.

  “I think I’ve pissed myself,” Paula shrieked.

  A few unsteady steps were enough. Gareth plonked back onto the bed and wrestled with the shoes, determined not to join in laughing. “That’s better,” he said with relief. “I can move my toes again.” He started giggling. “Don’t you fancy me in this?” He wriggled his shoulders in what he hoped would be a provocative manner. “I don’t see why not. I fancy me.” He fell back onto the heap of hysteria. “Yeah, you can both grope me.”

  “Not many guys would do that, Gareth!” Paula smoothed the dress. “You’re too broad for a dress, though. Maybe a skirt next time?”

  “Why not?” He batted his eyelashes. “How about a kilt?” He started to think maybe it hadn’t been such a stupid idea after all when Oskar wolf-whistled.

  “Why did your dad think it was a good idea?” Oskar began trying on the abandoned shoes. “They’re a perfect fit!” He stood and strutted smoothly. Gareth watched how the shoes made his ass and legs look like ballet dancer’s limbs.

  “I don’t know. He thinks I need to get on your wavelength. Jeez, that’s hot.”

  “You two are a perfect fit,” Paula declared. Gareth glanced at Oskar, who immediately looked away. “You don’t need to try.” She nodded appreciatively at Oskar. “They suit you.”

  “Everything suits me, Pink dear.”

  “Well, thanks for the cheering up. I really needed it after what happened to Stella. I’m off to work. See you!” Paula left, and suddenly it went quiet.

  Gareth watched Oskar from under his lashes. “They do look good on you. Very good, actually.”

  Oskar lounged against the desk, as if he wasn’t interested. “In what way?”

  “Your legs.” Gareth pointed. “And they do something beautiful to your ass.”

  “Like what?”

  “They make you look strong and proud, like you don’t care what other people think because you know who you are. When you walk like that, I can’t stop looking. I mean, it’s hot, sure, but something else too. It makes me—” He stopped. “Yeah. It really does! It’s good.” He could sense Oskar watching him intently, but he didn’t dare look up. “The dress was stupid, though. I need to stop listening to Dad.” He laughed, but it sounded flat.

  Oskar stood and moved to the bed but instead of sitting, he shifted between Gareth’s legs and pushed so he was forced to spread them further. Then he sidled up until stopping at Gareth’s thighs. He gripped Gareth’s shoulders.

  “I don’t think the dress is entirely wasted.” Oskar pushed at the fabric so it slipped off Gareth’s shoulders. “It seems to have…some influence on my extremities.” He yanked Gareth’s head up by the hair. “I am touched by the effort,” he whispered.

  Soon, they were rolling on the bed with the dress all tangled up around Gareth’s waist. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Lollipop. Most guys jeer or they want a quickie round the back of the chippie, which they later deny.” Gareth was dizzy and aroused, which seemed to be his constant state the last few months. “Never met anyone who wore a dress to impress me. Well—or anyone who kissed me or looked at me like you do.”

  Gareth moved his hands under Oskar’s clothes, thinking he would wear a bikini if that was what it took.

  “I think I like it.” Oskar bit Gareth’s ear lobe.

  “Does this mean we’re dating?”

  “Almost. Let’s see what your dad has planned for phase three.”

  “Can we talk instead?”

  “No.”

  Chapter 23: Dance Will Set You Free

  Oskar

  Dear Stella (Artois),

  I thought I would write and say hi, even though I never say hi as it is not my way. I am much more a ‘hello, good morning’ type of person as I believe in good manners.

  How are you? I was sorry to hear about your going back home with your dad. To tell you the truth, you and me got out of hand. I apologise if it was me who sent you loop-the-loop, and that is the technical term. I know this as my mum has serious mental health issues. I really hope you’re getting much better help than she did, because suffering on your own is shit, man. Please do what the doctors say.

  Not much has happened here. Gareth, Bear as was, has got a dad who hired a man to follow him. It’s a long story. His dad is not at all hot. He still keeps sending massive takeout orders but now you’re not here to stuff all the pizza, which is a pity. I miss you boggarting the food. Are you coming back?

  Stella, I feel bad about the Josh incident, and I have to tell you I also told a few untruths. I guess you know what I mean. Well, I am probably going to get my comeuppance for that, but that’s life. I am trying to find a way to own up without losing Gareth.

&n
bsp; Have you thought about hair straighteners? You have a strong jaw and good bones.

  Take care,

  Oskar Braithwaite (from college)

  ****

  Gareth

  Bubble pretended he had no interest in the wool. “Hah! He’s fooling no-one,” Dad said. “Pull it slowly then he can’t resist. Then tug it hard. He goes crazy for that.” It was irritating sometimes, that Dad seemed to think he was suddenly an expert on cats.

  “Yeah. I know.”

  Cats, boys, zoology, and all other aspect of Gareth’s life. They’d slipped into a routine where Gareth visited every day after college to chat and have dinner. It was nice, mostly, except Dad’s lengthy advice, sometimes backed up with articles he found on his tablet. Even worse were the awful gifts such as the paperback book entitled Gay Sex – Everything a Boy Should Know! It was hidden underneath Gareth’s bed at the hostel, because if Oskar saw it, there would be communal, hysterical, readings in the lounge.

  That Gareth had read it from start to finish—several times—was beside the point, and thank god Dad hadn’t offered discussions around some of the chapters.

  “How’s Oskar today?” Dad asked casually. What he really meant was had Oskar had agreed to come back to the house, and had he forgiven Gareth?

  “He’s good.”

  Gareth waited for the day’s lecture; it always began with a few innocent-seeming questions about Gareth’s friends.

  “That’s great! And how are things at the hostel? Did they fix the washing machine? Because, you know, I can easily—”

  “No, Dad. Please don’t send someone round, or a new machine, because the accommodation people don’t like it. They weren’t very happy about the satellite TV.”

  “Oh. It wasn’t big enough?”

  “Dad! It’s as big as the wall. It’s just that they have their own procedures, and health and safety and stuff. You know?” He patted Dad’s arm because he had that face like someone had kicked him. “It was a truly great gift, Dad. Everyone loves it. It’s just—” He stopped. It was always at this point that they stopped, changed the subject, and made a fuss of Bubble.

  “OK. No problem. Hey, Bubble!” Dad waved the toy mouse on a stick. “Come get it.”

  “How’re your legs today?” Dad’s physiotherapy was a safe subject, and one Gareth fell back on often. “You don’t seem so stiff.” But it was also another subject where they only got so far. That Dad would get better and return to his life was inevitable, but if he would also find a way to keep in touch with Gareth, was not. The invasions and annoyances of an over-eager dad who thought spending money solved everything was far better than a dad Gareth only saw on TV. He thought of the many staff employed over the years to look after him, and shuddered.

  “Oh, not so bad. I have to do my exercises five times a day, and swimming. They’ll be back to normal in no time.” Dad looked at Gareth sideways. “Maybe not quite normal.”

  “What—what is the prognosis, exactly? You haven’t really told me.”

  “I’m not going to get much better than this. I might have slightly more mobility, but I won’t ever walk far without aids again. This is it, kid.”

  To his horror, Gareth realised Bubble had left the room, leaving him alone with Dad and his empty voice. The clock ticked and the birds outside the window sang. A shaft of sunlight flitted in and out along one side of the wall. It was quiet, and still, and a million miles from the music and the speed of Dad’s life before the accident. He realised he already knew that one day, they would have this talk and many more, and that it would hurt. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I know you’ll hate being away from the movies and all that.”

  “I don’t know what I think about it, or if I’ve not realised yet. Not really. All I thought about was you. Can I be honest?” Dad’s eyes were full of pain but Gareth didn’t look away. He nodded. “When I came out of the coma, it was all about survival. I only thought of doing what the doctors said and getting to another day. But then I got a little stronger, and it hit me. This wave! I don’t know, but I guess it was depression. It overwhelmed me. I think—maybe—I’d had it a while, but I fought it off with drugs.”

  Gareth shook his head. “I don’t know you at all. I always thought you were happy—up to the last few years.”

  “I don’t know what I was, because I lost touch with all that stuff so long ago. That life I had—it’s not normal, honey. All the pressure of having to look a certain way, and always in the public. I think I stopped feeling, but it was addictive too. Then suddenly I was lying in a hospital bed with my head in a black hole, and Kip came in with a bunch of letters.”

  “Mine?”

  “Yes. They’d been redirected after I let the house go. I meant to tell you about the house! I really did. I meant to do a lot of things! I started reading them. They took my breath away, Gareth. And this is the part where I have to tell you something, but only if you’re ready to hear it?”

  It was scary, hearing him talk that way. For an instant, Gareth considered if the playing-with-Bubble talk was better, was all he could cope with. Chimpanzees would never have to go through all this. He scuffed at the carpet with one toe resentfully.

  “How do I know if I’m ready? We’re so bad at all this. It’s one of the reasons I like Oskar so much—because if he’s upset he shouts and yells, and if he’s happy he holds my hand and calls me Lollipop. He doesn’t always tell the truth about his reasons, but still I know how he feels. I don’t know why he’s sad, but at least I know he is! I never used to know with John, or any of those kids at school. And I never knew with all those people you paid to bring me up either. It’s like everyone lies—all the time—about what’s going on in their heads.” He was hugging Dad, and being hugged back. “How could I know?”

  “Well, we can go on talking about crap, I guess? And I can keep pissing you off by interfering in your life because I’m so desperate to show you how much I love you.” Gareth froze, shocked. “But Bubble? I think maybe he can’t cope with us both staring at him every day with such intensity.” He laughed softly. “Poor cat.”

  “Go on. I’m ready. How bad can it be?” It couldn’t be worse than school, or thinking Dad had abandoned him.

  “I’m not sure it’s bad, not exactly. When I read your letters, it gave me a reason to live. I had something to fight for again. In a way, they reminded me of myself when I was growing up in that kids’ home. I was so lonely and lost, but I coped by getting tougher and more mean. Oh, I didn’t go delinquent but actually, that might have been better than what I became. Manipulative, and devious. Yeah. But looking back on my life now—none of it made me happy. Not the fans, or the managers or any of those guys telling me I was talented and brilliant and blah-blah.”

  “All those friends were fake, Dad. They didn’t love you.” Gareth spoke slowly, realising he had always known but not understood. “And it made me miserable, but I couldn’t do anything about it. I knew you were kind of…alone, inside.”

  “Fucking sad! I had to nearly die before I realised. I got those letters and a whole lot of things made sense. But that’s kind of dishonest? Of course I wanted to see you and make sure you were OK—to make you happy—but also I wanted to because it got me out of that depression. Do you see? I used your unhappiness to keep myself going. Maybe I’m not capable of thinking about someone else, because I’m too selfish. You have to know that—if we’re to have a proper relationship. I’m self-obsessed, and obsessive.” He dragged his hands through his hair. “Do you hear that shouting? What is it?” From somewhere outside, angry voices shouted. “Probably kids?”

  “Is that all?” Gareth sat back and smiled. “Yeah, you’re a selfish bastard, for sure. But you’re my dad and we can work with that. I keep telling you—we don’t give up on people just because they’re not who we want them to be. Dad, we’re animals, not robots. I think you’re doing just fine.

  “All I ask is you keep talking about your plans, and movies, and the future. Because I kno
w this life here is not going to be enough for you, not forever.” He was insanely happy, and relieved. “Oh my god, I thought you were going to tell me something awful. And please—stop putting money in my account because I told you I want to be like everyone else, and be able to look out for myself. It’s important to me. You know? The porter at the hostel says I can get a job at weekends if I want.”

  “Sorry.”

  “No it’s OK. It’s just—I can’t have that feeling again of being helpless. Do you see? I have to know that if the shit hits the fan again, I can survive by myself.”

  “OK. I’m sorry. Sorry that you had to find that out.”

  “We have to move forward now, Dad. And what you told me—it wasn’t awful at all.” The fight outside seemed to grow louder. “What is going on out there?” Memories of photographers and being hidden in rooms began to surface. “You don’t think the media found you?”

  “I thought it was awful! Owning up to being a self-obsessed ass is pretty bad.” Dad laughed. “Have a look out the window. I don’t think the media have any interest in me anymore, but something’s up.”

  “Maybe nothing is too awful, as long as we keep talking? The worst thing is just not knowing and imagining all kinds of horrible things.” Gareth considered. “Are you sure that’s all?” He listened carefully. The voices went quiet. “Sounds like they’ve gone.”

  “Well,” Dad spoke slowly, “there is something. I might have tried too hard to get Oskar to stop being a dick about you dating. I’ve gone too far. I see that now. I have to stop interfering in your life.”

  “The dress? No—the dress worked! He laughed so hard he cried. But then he stole the shoes and took the dress off, and we—well. It worked out OK.” Gareth blushed, thinking of the things they’d done, none of which were in the gay boys’ guide to sex book. Dad shook his head slowly.