A Still, Small Voice

by D. W. Marchwell

  Paul walked past Noah and through the kitchen to the door of the apartment. Noah smelled the faint musk of Paul’s cologne and closed his eyes, using every ounce of self-control to keep himself from speaking or moving or running to Paul to tell him that he could learn to live with being just something on the side.

  “For what it’s worth,” Paul said, his voice a whisper, but one that still sent chills up and down Noah’s spine, “I never wanted to hurt you.”

  Noah pushed himself off the table and walked to his front door, holding it until Paul was on the other side, in the hallway. He closed it without looking at Paul and turned the deadbolt, refastened the chain, and returned to the bedroom and his bed, taking up his paperback, trying to focus on anything but the resentment he felt at having to go through his entire relaxation process again.

  Happy birthday to me, Noah thought as he tried to remember how Special Agent Mackie had ended up gagged in the back of a speeding SUV.

  Chapter Six

  BY THE time Noah had shaken himself free from the memories and Aiden arrived for their rehearsal that evening, Noah’s mood had changed considerably from what it had been when he’d spoken with Aiden and Oscar in the restaurant. He hated reliving those moments, all of them doing nothing more than serving as reminders of his stupidity and why he now had to struggle to trust anyone who might show an interest in him. Of course, Noah wasn’t kidding himself; he realized that he didn’t really trust anyone, other than Aiden, of course, nor had he had anything even remotely resembling a date in six years. But he liked to tell himself that he did trust people, that he wasn’t as distrustful, lost, and lonely as he truly was.

  “Why are you still going left on the lowest note?” Aiden stood, the purple bandana on his head and the black one-piece leotard making him look like a deranged Maria in some high school production of West Side Story. “You keep bumping into me. You know how easily I bruise.”

  Noah reached out a hand and pulled at a nipple, letting the black spandex snap back against Aiden’s skin. “Please,” he said, his tone mocking. “You’re no more delicate than a freight train.” When Aiden brought a hand to his chest and opened his mouth to protest, Noah continued, “You seem to forget that you used to live with me after… what was his name? The guy you dumped? The one you said was far too vanilla in bed?”

  “Claus,” Aiden said, his eyes closing as he shook his head. “Those were the longest three months of my life.”

  “Then why did you move in with him after only going out with him for two?” Noah asked while Aiden sashayed over to the small table that held his Pom Wonderful.

  “Because, cara, sometimes we must face our fears and do what we believe to be right, even when the world seems intent on telling us otherwise.” Aiden took a few tiny sips and then picked up the towel, dabbing gently at his neck and cleavage.

  “Right, I keep forgetting sometimes that you’re really the Dalai Lama with a more finely tuned sense of… how did you put it? A more finely tuned sense of universal responsibility.”

  “I do what I can for the greater good.” Aiden took one final sip from his bottle and returned to stand beside Noah.

  “Well, your greater good usually came at the sounds of you begging for Claus to fuck you harder.” Noah could no longer school his smile; he let it escape. “Oh,” Noah said breathlessly in imitation of the sounds he’d heard too many times to count, “yes, Kevin, Steve, Roger, Lee, Mark, Tommy, yes! Slap it, yeah, fuck me harder.” Noah stopped when he noticed Aiden had that look, the one that meant he felt wronged.

  “You make it sound as if I had more than one man in there at a time.” Aiden picked at some imaginary lint or speck on his leotard. “You know I tell you these things in confidence, not so you can use them to make me the punch line of one of your rants.”

  “The point is that with those eternally gymnastic evenings—and days and mornings—I don’t ever remember seeing a bruise.”

  “Kimonos can hide a plethora of the previous evening’s excesses, sweetie.”

  “I’m sure they would have,” Noah said, folding his arms over his chest, “if you’d ever actually worn one.”

  “Are you saying I should have been ashamed of my body?”

  “No, I’m telling you to quit trying to make me feel guilty for bumping into you.”

  “I accept your apology,” Aiden stated as his hands moved to adjust his bandana. “Now, shall we?”

  Noah didn’t bother saying anything further, figuring the sooner they finished, the sooner Aiden would leave and the sooner Noah would be alone and free to take another hot shower and retreat to the comfort and safety of his bed.

  He forced himself to concentrate harder, spurred to perfection for the next sixty minutes in order to have this day, and this week, behind him. He had two days in front of him to do nothing but sleep all day and do his usual Saturday appearance at the club. They were rehearsing in Noah’s spare bedroom, the green masking tape on the floor delineating an area roughly the same size as the little stage at the club.

  Noah spoke the words to the new song that they would debut tomorrow night. He never sang while rehearsing with Aiden, preferring instead not to tax his voice and to concentrate on getting the steps perfect so that he was familiar enough with them that he could then let his mind focus on the song. This time, as he pronounced the word that fell on the lowest note in the piece, leading to a scale that would take him almost three octaves upward, Noah avoided Aiden and hit his mark. He reached out his hand and found Aiden’s waiting for him, just as had been choreographed.

  As he began the count that symbolized the ascending scale toward the high note, he and Aiden swung their interlaced fingers and faced each other, swung their hands again and faced the audience of four large full-length mirrors. When they performed, the mirrors would become actual live people who’d come to see their show. Noah reached the highest note, and he and Aiden faced each other again, and he imagined the last chord in his brain, the last chord that would signal the end of that song.

  “I’m always so amazed that you can do that,” Aiden said as he rolled his head in a circle, as if he’d actually done some work.

  “That’s not the line,” Noah said as he released Aiden’s hand and raised an eyebrow. “Hey, I didn’t make the rule about not breaking character during rehearsals.”

  “I only made that rule because you never seem to know your lines.” Aiden reached up with one hand and swiped the bandana off of his head. “But if it will make you happy.” Aiden took Noah’s hand in his, and they both turned to face the mirror and the imagined sound of applause. “Well, I see why you got married, then. Who wouldn’t want to lose the last name of Stat? Especially since your parents named you Mauna.” Aiden paused, as if he were actually hearing the laughter, and delivered his final line, the one that would end the show: “What I don’t understand is why you chose to marry a urologist.”

  When they’d decided to create a new act together almost six years ago, Noah had needed any source of income possible, so he’d foolishly agreed to allow Aiden to choose his new drag name. Gone were Demi Vox and Mary Estes, replaced by two new personae. And what brilliant and agreeable moniker had Aiden come up with? “Mauna Stat” was what Aiden had chosen for him. Noah had chosen a much more beautiful and appropriate name for Aiden, a drag name that incorporated all aspects of Aiden’s personality: Felicity Harridan. “Happy Bitch” was what some of the more educated in their audience had come to call Aiden’s alter ego. But Noah? He was a walking advertisement for feminine hygiene.

  Noah still wasn’t sure the bit would go over as well as Aiden thought it would. The last ten minutes centered around Noah’s drag name. Noah figured it was a waste of time and other greater one-liners to go out on a gag that took so long to set up, incorporated the Cole Porter song “Love for Sale,” and ended with such an obvious—if not offensive—reference to yeast infections and feminine itch. But then, Noah had often been wrong about what the audience found funny. Sure, there were
times when the audience was a little classier than the usual crowd, but they were few and far between. So Noah let Aiden make the decisions about dialogue and Noah kept up his end of the duo by singing.

  “Okay,” Aiden announced when they’d finished their curtseying. “Remember to be there early enough tomorrow night so that we can run one quick rehearsal for the sound check.” Aiden pulled on his sweatpants and then bent to pick up the purple bandana from where he’d tossed it on the floor moments before. Ensuring that everything was stuffed into his duffle bag, he pulled on his hoodie and headed for the front door. “By the way,” Aiden said, his voice low and mysterious. “Just before Oscar and I parted ways yesterday, he was asking about you.”

  “Hmm,” Noah grunted and forced a fake smile.

  “It would appear you’ve piqued his curiosity.”

  “Hmm.” Noah repeated himself and refused to allow himself to be engaged.

  “It would do you some good, you know, schatzie… to get out there, learn to trust someone.” Aiden turned the deadbolt and then reached for the handle, yanking open the door. “It’s been six years since that fuckwad broke your heart. And Oscar is nothing like Paul.”

  Noah couldn’t see what had Aiden suddenly gasping and swearing. “Fucking hell!” Aiden bellowed. “The one time I say his name and he shows up, just like that… like a cold sore.” Aiden turned back to stare in horror at his friend. “Who knew my grandmother was right? First about never trusting a man to do the right thing, and now about never speaking the name of someone you don’t want to appear right away.”

  Noah took hold of the door and pulled it open. Paul was standing there, his expression seeming to fall somewhere between shocked and irate. Noah felt Aiden staring at him, so he turned to look at his best friend, squaring his shoulders and waiting for the tantrum.

  “You’re seeing him again?” Aiden’s expression was full of loathing, but for whom, precisely, Noah wasn’t sure.

  “No,” Noah said as he pointed over his shoulder. “Paul just bought the unit down the hall.”

  “Well,” Aiden huffed as he pointedly ignored Paul and stepped past him. “There goes the gayborhood!” Aiden turned back to Noah. “Close the door in his face and tell him to go back to schtupping that chick he chose over you.” Aiden leaned forward and placed a quick kiss on Noah’s cheek, looked back briefly at Paul, and then turned back to offer a smile to Noah.

  It wasn’t a surprise that Aiden and Paul had not even greeted each other yet. They despised each other with an intensity that made Bette and Joan’s little tiffs seem almost amateurish. When Aiden exited, Noah crossed his arms over his chest and moved the few feet to stand directly in front of Paul, both men watching Aiden put his sunglasses on as he glided down the hall to the exit.

  “I know you’re still pissed, but I need a favor.” Paul was doing that strange circling thing with his hands again.

  “A favor?” Noah stared at Paul, wondering what in the hell he could possibly want.

  “Cherie did contact her lawyer and is trying to limit my visitation because of emotional harm and sexual behavior.”

  “What’s the favor, Paul?” Noah didn’t really want to hear the reasons or the accompanying explanations. All he wanted to do was go have a shower and go to bed.

  “I told my lawyer about the incident in the hall, and he asked me to ask you if you would be willing to testify to what you saw and heard.”

  Noah felt his mouth drop open. “Are you kidding me?” Noah shook his head, willing himself not to laugh in Paul’s face. “You don’t need me as a witness, or whatever. If this lawyer has any brains, he should be more than capable of discrediting Cherie. I mean, she’s not terribly bright, and all he’ll have to do is meet her to see that she’s more than willing to dig her own grave.”

  “He’s met her, sure, but he would like another credible witness. Someone who isn’t involved or too close to any of this.” Paul stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Cherie is apparently saying that I’m sleeping with you again.”

  “Fine,” Noah said, relenting while despising the whole situation. “Tell your lawyer to call me.”

  “Thanks,” Paul said, his shoulders visibly relaxing. “Wait… I don’t have your number.”

  All sorts of thoughts hit Noah at once. If I just hand my number over to Paul, who’s to say he won’t use it instead of leaving me alone. I don’t trust him enough to have dinner with him, but now I’m supposed to give him my phone number?

  Maybe he’s changed; maybe he’ll listen when I tell him never to use it. “Write his number out and slip it under my door. I’ll call him.”

  “Wow,” Paul said, his eyes sad and dejected. “You really do hate me, don’t you? You don’t even trust me with your phone number?”

  “Paul,” Noah said, tired and weary, “I don’t have the energy to keep doing this over and over. What do you want from me?” Noah felt mere moments away from telling Paul the truth, that he’d never stopped loving him, that he’d thought of him often. He’d tortured himself for years now, trying not to imagine Paul on the sofa, his hands caressing that witch’s black hair, trying not to imagine Paul happy with that abominable woman, the two of them laughing during intimate shared moments. How could he ever tell Paul what those long, seemingly endless moments had felt like? The moments when Noah honestly thought he was going completely insane trying to ignore the fact that Paul was doing with her what he’d done with him? Did he like to cuddle with her after sex? Did he talk about the softness of her skin as he’d done with Noah? Was Paul as attentive a lover with Cherie as he had been with Noah?

  “I could lose my son, Noah.”

  Noah looked at the heartbreak that was quite plain on Paul’s face. Regardless of what Noah might think of Paul, he knew what it felt like to grow up with one absent parent and the other running himself into an early grave trying to be everything to his son. Noah’s mother had abandoned them when he was only four years old, after which time Noah’s father had not only never remarried but had spent every possible moment ensuring that Noah knew how much he was loved.

  As he looked into Paul’s eyes, wanting nothing more than to make it all better for his ex-lover, Noah knew that his childhood experiences weren’t precisely the same, but they were similar enough that Noah didn’t have the heart to say no. Noah had never really known his mother, and there’d never been a battle over his custody. Paul’s son would be a pawn to a mother who was clearly unbalanced, and could end up losing the only parent who actually seemed to care about him.

  Noah felt his shoulders sag a little, and he turned to the table beside him, writing out his cell phone number on the little pad of paper and handing it over to Paul. “For your lawyer only. Any calls from you get deleted without hesitation.”

  “Fair enough,” Paul said as he held up the piece of paper. “Thank you, Noah.”

  “Don’t thank me. I’m doing it for your son.”

  “I seem to keep accumulating debts to you.” Paul’s fingers folded and unfolded the piece of paper in his hands. “Please tell me there’s something I can do to make it up to you.”

  “There is,” Noah said. “Be a better father than you were a friend.”

  Noah closed the door to his apartment and turned the lock and fastened the chain, not staying this time to listen to the retreating footsteps and subsequent shutting of Paul’s door. He went to the spare bedroom and cleaned up the room, putting chairs and makeshift props away before heading to the bathroom to start filling the tub. Noah couldn’t honestly remember being so bone-tired; even during those few harrowing months following his arrest, he’d not felt this conflicted, this exhausted.

  He stripped off his clothes and padded back into the bathroom, adding a few drops of vanilla bubble bath, a present he’d received from Aiden on his last birthday. He would have to remember to thank Aiden tomorrow for not having done—or said—what he’d probably wanted to upon discovering Paul on the other side of the door.

  He knew Aiden wasn�
�t a bad person. Of course Noah knew that. How could you be a bad person when you spent an entire week camping out at your friend’s apartment? Noah stepped into the tub, sinking into the hot water and letting himself remember how Aiden had come galloping to his rescue. Noah had discovered that Paul was fucking some woman—or maybe even women for all he knew—and had tried to deal with it all on his own. And failed miserably. …

  “Good for you, pookie!” Aiden said before licking his spoon clean. “You said nothing, let him leave here with his delusions still unmolested.” Aiden used his spoon to dig another trench around the edge of the small container of ice cream. “Honestly, what did he think would happen? Did he think you would just throw up your hands and say, ‘Of course I’ll let you fuck whomever you wish. As long as I have you in my life, how could I possibly ever want someone who sees me as a worthy of fidelity and trust?’”

  “You don’t really need to stay, Aiden,” Noah said, feeling guilty again for burdening Aiden with all of this drama. It was two weeks after Thanksgiving, and when Noah found he couldn’t seem to stop crying, or sleep, he’d thought it best to ask Aiden for help. And as usual, his best friend was there for him. Noah pointed over to the bags. “If you’re insisting on staying, you’ll probably have to sleep with me, since this sofa isn’t very comfortable. It’ll probably make your back worse.”

  “You’re so sweet to be thinking of me at a time like this. I accept.” Aiden finished licking his spoon clean and pointed it at Noah. “But if I feel anything bigger than a feather against my derriere….”

  Noah actually laughed at that. There had never been anything even remotely sexual between them. He’d had the impression back in university that Aiden might have wanted more, but he could never really be sure about that. Aiden had never tried anything overt, but the evidence was more in the words and gestures. Of course, after getting to know Aiden better, he’d realized that his friend was one of those notorious flirts to whom everything was sexual innuendo, bawdy and otherwise.