by Tom Collins
“You’re saying Brendan thinks I’ve gone nuts,” I stated.
“Holy, jumpin’ Jesus!” he exclaimed.
“Batman,” I said as I came through the door, completing the cliché line without thinking. Uncle Joel laughed, but he was staring at the freshly hung oil.
“This, I take it, is the culprit,” he said, cool once more. “The one Brendan paints as a diabolical Thief of Hearts.”
“No, he’s not like that,” I protested on instinct.
“Oh?” he turned to me, brow arched, head cocked and I was on the witness stand. “What is he like then?”
“He’s…he’s like this!” I indicated the near life-sized painting next to which he still stood.
“Passionate…tender?” he asked and I nodded, smiling.
“And he’s like this,” I pointed to the dragon slayer.
“Strong, brave, heroic…” he supplied after looking at it for a second.
“Yeah, and this,” I said again, showing my uncle the elf.
“Hmmm….” He stroked his chin and I heard the sandpaper sound of his stubble. He had to shave twice a day to keep his face clean of stubble and Brendan and I were in the same boat. “Sylvan elf…” he muttered to himself trying to work out what that could indicate. “Secretive, private, slow to trust?”
I nodded again. “And this,” I finished coming to the pixie version.
“Mischievous, fun-loving, good sense of humor.”
“When you catch him in the right mood he can be. He’s all of these things and more,” I waved my hand at the paintings.
“Well, if that’s true, and I see no reason why it wouldn‘t be, what in Hell are you doing here? Why aren’t you over at his place right now bringing him cool drinks and skinning his grapes? Um, no double entendre intended.”
I couldn’t even fake a grin. The answer to that question hurt too much. Plopping down on the edge of my bed with a heavy sigh, I answered, “Because he doesn’t want me there.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“What’s so hard to believe? I screwed up. Even before the fight at the pub, I’d done something wrong…something that put him off me.”
“Judging by this…piece…” he indicated Oliver on the bed, “I would think it would take a great deal to put him off you. What happened—if you don’t mind my asking?”
Bracing my elbows on my knees, I let my head droop between my shoulders. I had only one answer to this question and this was part of what was driving Brendan around the bend.
“I don’t know. I don’t know what I did wrong two weeks ago, any more than I understand what happened Friday.”
“If you don’t know what you did wrong, how do you know you did anything wrong?”
I opened my mouth, but couldn’t bring myself to tell him what happened the night of the art fair. It was too personal and potentially humiliating.
I closed my mouth, took a breath and said, “Trust me, I know.” My phone bleeped in my hand, reminding me of its low battery and Oliver’s message.
“And this is even more confusing. Oliver called me right before he was attacked, in fact part of that is on the voice mail that he left. Listen to it and you tell me what you make of what he says, because it makes no sense to me.”
I gave him my iPhone and he listened, brow furrowed in thought. Eyes greener than the Emerald Isle flashed and his lips compressed, turning white at the edges. What I saw in him was impotent rage. If he could’ve leapt through the phone at those men, he would have, and once the dust had settled, they would’ve been the ones in hospital, not my Oliver. When he’d finished I took it over to the dresser and plugged it in.
“I take it there was some sort of…hmmm…aggressive sexual contact between the two of you in the parking lot?” he only half asked with his best shyster’s diplomacy.
“Yeah, but I sure didn’t see it the way he did. At the time I couldn’t understand why he jumped up and ran off just as it was about to get good. Of course, now I understand, but I still don’t understand because it makes no sense.”
“I see.” He actually sounded as if he did. “Well, here’s my two cents, if you’re interested….”
He paused, looking expectant. I nodded.
“Something you learn fast in law school is that there are as many sides to a situation as there are people involved. Every witness will see the same thing a different way, though with overlap from one to another. It’s apparent that neither of you has a clear idea of what happened these past two weeks from the other’s perspective, and so, have no idea what the problem between you, in fact, is.
“I’d be willing to put good money on long odds that neither of you has a clue what the other even wants. You’ve both been riding by the seat of your pants in unfamiliar territory without a map, and so, you can’t begin to figure out where you’ve gone off course.” He stood. “My advice: the two of you need to sit down and back track to your last verified position, I mean to before the troubles began, and tell each other how things happened as you saw it.
“‘Beauty is truth, truth beauty, that is all ye know on earth, and all ye need to know,’” he quoted, gems of poetic wisdom always at the ready. “Compare your truths and in the doing, I have no doubt, you’ll come closer to that which is fact.”
“So, you’re saying I should go see him, because maybe he doesn’t really not want me there?” I asked, needing clarification. He had many more years of schooling and I sometimes got lost in his almost Shakespearean language.
He looked pained. “If I wanted to butcher the Americano-English language, that’s exactly how I would have put it.”
That did make me grin. “Children create language, Uncle, adults just use it.”
He stopped, assessing what I’d said, blinking in surprise. “Touché. I stand corrected. Go tell it on the mountain, but you’re not a child any more, Liam. I’m beginning to realize that now, and as such, I’ll do you the courtesy of not holding back my full opinion. If you don’t fight to keep the man—whom you claim to love?—then you deserve to lose him. I’ll say no more on it.”
In that instant, he sounded just like Gram. Even his, “on it,” came out, “on’t.” I nodded, feeling both truth and fact in that statement.
“How can you deserve someone’s love if you don’t prize it enough to battle all comers for it?” I offered.
“Precisely. Another thing; keep that voice mail. You have at least one of the perpetrator’s voices on there and it might be helpful in positively identifying these animals. Now, walk me to the door.” He draped his arm around my shoulders, nearly as broad as his own, though lacking the mature musculature he was privileged to have. “Oh, and tell Brendan I want my green vest back. He told me it’s at the cleaners, but I don’t buy it.”
Uncle Joel knew us too well. Brendan—and I for that matter—coveted that vest and we both hoped that if the vest stayed at “the cleaners” Uncle Joel would eventually forget about it and it’d be ours.
“Don’t think it’ll get forgotten,” Uncle Joel remarked; the man was psychic, I swear. “Your Uncle Dev loves me in that vest and he’ll remind me of it. He’s waiting in the car and I’m sure he’s getting impatient. By the way, what the hell did you say to him last time you saw him?”
“Nothing that I can think of. I was just getting advice about Oliver from him.”
“Yeah, he told me that, but you must’ve done something because I can’t say Tweedle Dee about you and Bren any more. He keeps jumping in, ‘Aww, they ain’t so bad, Joel, they’re good kids,’ etcetera, ad nauseum. I’m here more because of him than Brendan.”
I grinned, understanding what he was talking about now, what I’d said to Uncle Devlin about Brendan, Erin and I respecting him and all. “Haven’t you asked him?”
“No, I’ve just been wondering.”
“Well,” I said, opening the door, “maybe you should take some of your own advice and go ask him?” I suggested.
“Perhaps I will.”
&nbs
p; He gave me a hug and exited with as casual an air as he’d entered with.
I thought about what he’d said, going over and trying to get Oliver to talk to me. I knew that was what I had to do. Uncle Joel was right, if I loved Oliver how could I just let him walk away without even explaining. I decided I would go over the next day, use tonight to clean up and rest. I didn’t think it would be a good idea to go into this without a good night’s sleep under my belt.
*Oliver*
I wasn’t in very good shape emotionally after Gabe left, and when a uniformed officer arrived an hour later to take my statement about the assault, I was pretty incoherent. Luckily, the cop was a woman and she was very patient and sympathetic. She let me take my time finding the answers to her questions, and remembering what I could.
“We’ll get them,” she promised me.
Sandy kept me company. I ate, I rested, I slept. Sunday I was discharged. Sandy and Dom helped me to my apartment. My neighbor, stepping out for the day, caught sight of me and his eyes widened with worry at the swellings and bruises on the side of my face, the bandaged forehead and the braced knee.
I smiled faintly and shrugged. “Wild night.”
The next day I sent Sandy and Dom home, insisting I could care for myself. Sandy made me swear to remain housebound and I did. This meant I spent Monday and Tuesday limpingly pacing my apartment to exercise the knee, and trying to will my sore ribs to get better so I could breathe normally. I watched a lot of television, spoke on the phone to a supervisor at Rapid Response regarding time off and health insurance (more paperwork!), and drank the milk, as my stomach was too upset for anything else.
It was upset because I couldn’t stop thinking of Liam. I kept staring at that damn potted cactus wondering where he was and what he was doing. I wanted to see him so badly. Not yet, though. Not until I was healed and looking okay. It wasn’t simple vanity on my part. I didn’t want him feeling too sorry for me to say what he really wanted and needed to say.
Wednesday, I returned to the hospital for a check up.
“The young and healthy never leave me with anything to do,” Vera approved. Seemed I was recovering far quicker than expected. The stitches were removed from my forehead and she pronounced me well enough to take longer walks.
Leaving the hospital, I did just that. I took a long walk and a ride on the subway, and reached my destination: Liam’s building. It was past the hour when he was due at Irish Eyes, and so I knew he wasn’t there, but I stood outside, sweating in the humidity, gazing up at his window. Eventually I took a seat at a café and sipped at iced green tea while staring at the apartment like a rejected suitor.
What was stopping me now wasn’t the fading bruises on my face and body, it was trying to work out what I was going to say. What it came down to was this; I’d thought all I needed to satisfy us both was to share some good times with Liam and fuck him lovingly. But Gabe had been right from the word “go.” There’d never been any chance for the relationship with me trying to remain anonymous, hiding huge chunks of myself as if they were state secrets.
See what had happened. It was too late now, but Liam deserved to know the truth about me, and as I might only get this one chance, I needed to get it right. My worst fear was that he’d slam the door in my face before I could come clean. My second worst was he’d let me talk, then do what he’d done Friday night and, as Sandy put it, shoot me dead with those bullets of truth.
Well, he could riddle me with potshots so long as he gave me one last chance to see him.
Eventually the need for sleep drove me home, but I ventured out of my air-conditioned apartment on Thursday and Friday and headed right back to Liam’s apartment building. Or, rather, to the café across the street where I sat, gazing at that window, going over what I would say.
Saturday arrived, Liam’s day off, which meant we could have it out for hours if he liked, no interruptions. I got to Liam’s building fairly early, but ended up seated on a bus bench as I lost my nerve. Dark clouds threatened and within minutes of my arrival a summer storm broke, letting lose a deluge complete with thunder and lightning.
I stayed out in that miserable weather for I don’t know how long, getting soaked to the skin and not giving a shit. You can’t stay in limbo forever, I scolded myself. The truth doesn’t change. But I was so fucking scared. I had to fight to get off the bench and go inside that building. My flip-flops slapped my feet wetly, and I dripped all over the elevator as I rode it up to Liam’s floor.
Standing outside his apartment, wet hair and wet tee shirt and wet shorts and wet ace-bandage knee brace plastered to my body, I could hear the television on through the door, and what sounded like Liam laughing. My resolve faltered. If he was laughing, I thought—
No excuse! I reminded myself firmly. You owe him this. Be a fucking man! I knocked, softly. The television and laugher continued. I knocked harder.
Footsteps, and the door came open, Liam’s voice saying, “Couldn’t you have waited for the commerc—”
Full stop. The wide-open living room had the television angled so that a bit of it could be seen through the front door. The Three Stooges was on. Moe was sawing Curley’s dome and it was making a funny cheese-grating sound. The waitress drummer from Irish Eyes was curled up on the couch sharing a cold pizza breakfast with the keyboardist, the one I’d mistaken for Liam’s brother. They were laughing.
Curley’s classic, “Whoop, whoop, whoop, whoop, nuyg, nuyg, nuyg,” rang in the background as Liam’s face, there at the door, stared out at me. Liam’s body, too. He was even wearing that same “My Brother Did It” t-shirt and his bewildered expression was pure Liam.
It wasn’t Liam, however. I had not a second of doubt on that score.
“Hi,” I said, hands going deep into my wet back pockets, shoulders hunched. Brendan was still gawking at me.
“Wow. You’re sexy as hell up-close and personal!” he blurted.
I almost laughed out loud. This was Liam’s twin all right.
The commercials had come on, and the other two from the couch had noticed me. They rose and crossed to stand behind Brendan. The waitress looked uncertain, but the keyboardist eyed me with undisguised hostility.
“You’re Brendan,” I said unnecessarily to the twin, “And you’re Jill,” I nodded to the waitress, “And you’re Erin. I’m Oliver, of course. You’re a fantastic band.”
It sounded inane even to my ears, especially with me standing there, dripping wet and creating a puddle outside their door. So much for my attempt to be friendly and charming. They exchanged looks, and I got the feeling each of them was hoping one of the others would say something.
“I didn’t mean for us to meet like this,” I went on, “And I won’t offer to shake hands or anything. I know how I’d feel about me if I was on the other side of that door. I just…I assume Liam’s here?”
Jill nodded, Brendan chewed his lip in a way that was so like Liam it was eerie, and Erin crossed his arms as if ready to keep me from doing his cousin any more harm.
“Would you tell him I’m here?” I figured that would give Liam the option either to invite me in, come out to talk, or tell me through one of these three to fuck off.
Erin’s lips thinned. “He’s sl—”
“In his room,” Brendan cut in. Then, “Give me a moment, okay?” he asked them and before his roommates could answer, he stepped out, shutting the door behind him.
My heart and my nerve broke. Brendan was his brother’s keeper and if he told me to leave Liam alone, that would be that.
“I won’t force myself on him, Brendan,” I said, leaning against the opposite wall as my leg was starting to ache. I was shivering as well, but not from being wet; outside of the food at the hospital, I hadn’t had anything but milk and a few turkey sandwiches all week. The lack of food along with everything else was getting to me. “I just want to do the right thing and give him a chance to…say whatever he needs to say to me.”
He had that flicker in his eyes, t
he one that was both solid and sizzling. “You really see us as individuals, don’t you?” he said with a kind of wonder. “You’re looking at me as if I don’t even resemble my brother. Like I was a whole different, unrelated person. That’s kinda trippy.”
“Um…thanks?”
“I’m not going to stop you from talking to him. I just wanted my own minute with you.”
I nodded and gathered my strength.
Brendan hesitated; I don’t suppose he’d expected to ever have to face me, or maybe he had. Maybe there was a long-winded speech, as cutting as Liam’s Friday night tirade that he’d worked out and was now pulling up and dusting off.
He took in a breath. “The only thing I can think of that’s worse than having to apologize to a perfect stranger for making them the butt of a sibling joke, would be having a perfect stranger make you the butt of a sibling joke. I am so sorry.”
Sorry? Sorry?
“You’re apologizing?” Maybe it was my weeks with Liam, but I couldn’t help blurting my thoughts right out. “To me? What is wrong with you O’Shaughnessys?”
Brendan blinked. “Pardon?”
“What the hell do you have to apologize for?”
He was gazing at me intently now, stroking his chin with that scary smirk on his face. “Fuck a duck. Your eyes really do catch fire. I didn’t think you were our type, but I get it now. Oh, I so get it.”
Our type?
“As for what I have to apologize for: outing you in a room full of strangers a quarter of which are related to your boyfriend. It really wasn’t my intention to embarrass you or cause you distress. I was trying to…I don’t know, trying to do something nice and romantic-like. Sing you a song for Liam and give him a little noodge at the same time…pay’em back for kilting me at Uncle Dev and Uncle Joel’s wedding party a couple of years ago.”
“Kilted?” I couldn’t help but ask.
“Same as pantsed, only with a kilt. Yeah, it was funny as shit and I thought this would be funny, too. I just was really off. Liam and me usually run things past each other and if we both think it’s a good idea then it’ll probably be OK, but I couldn’t do that and Jillybean would have nixed it for sure. She usually keeps me in line, that is, when I don’t deliberately do an end run around her. I suppose I should have taken that as a sign to cease and desist.”