My Best Friend's Boyfriend

by G. A. Hauser

Trina looked off into space. “I don’t know. Should I? Brook, what do you think?”

  “He was supposed to call you last night and didn’t?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I wouldn’t text or call him.” Brook took another sliver from the same brownie.

  “Gavie?” Trina popped a piece of brownie into her mouth.

  “Should I call him? Or text him?”

  “Am I choosing one of those two options, or is option three, none of the above.”

  She hit him on the arm.

  He expected it so he didn’t even flinch.

  “Taste. You haven’t even tried this brownie.” Trina held up a corner for Gavin.

  He leaned closer and took a bite. “Mm. It’s good.”

  “You want the rest?”

  “No. You eat it.”

  “I can’t eat another bite. I’m stuffed.” Trina put it on a plate and slid it over to him.

  He slid it to Brook. “You eat it.”

  “I’ve already had two too many.” She picked up her wine glass.

  Trina left the room, returning with her phone. “I’ll text him.”

  “Who’s this guy you had sex with?” Gavin asked, but was ignored. “An old flame who’s a friend of your brother?”

  “How about if I just say ‘hi’?” Trina held the phone at eye level. “I’m drunk.” She giggled and made a silly face. “Here, Gavie, you text him for me.”

  “Me?” He recoiled like the phone was burning.

  “Yes. Here. Just text him ‘hi’.”

  Gavin caught Brook’s laughter behind her wine glass and took the phone reluctantly. He read the name ‘Toby’ and his phone number. A small part of him wanted to memorize it, in case it was ‘his’ Toby, but that was insane. They could not be the same man. Didn’t Trina say he wore glasses? ‘His’ Toby did not wear glasses.

  He tried to settle down and not show how impossible this would be if they were both hot on the same guy. “Just ‘hi’?”

  “Be creative. Let’s see if you can get a rise out of him.”

  Brook laughed loudly. “That’s funny, Trina. Get a ‘rise’ out of him.”

  “Funny, Brook,” Trina said sarcastically, stumbling on her high heels when she got up from her chair and brought a new wine bottle to the table. She stuck a corkscrew into it but struggled to open it.

  “Give me that. I’ll open it.” Gavin wanted any excuse to put down the phone.

  “I got it,” Brook said, taking the bottle. “You text.”

  “What are you going to say, Gav?” Trina propped her head in her hand after she sat down.

  “You just wanted me to say ‘hi’.”

  “No. Tell him something else. Say something sexy or something.”

  “I’m not going to flirt with your boyfriend.” Gavin put the phone down and moved it closer to her.

  She pushed it back like a chess piece. “Go on. What would you say if you were the one trying to have sex with him?”

  “Trina…” Gavin shook his head.

  Brook popped out the cork and poured two full glasses of wine. “What would you say? I’m curious. Do you guys do things differently than we do?”

  “I’m out of practice. I haven’t dated in ages. I’m in an apprentice program with the power company, and for the past three years I’ve been in limbo, studying my ass off.” He nudged the phone towards Trina again.

  “Gavieeee…” She moaned like she was in pain. “You text him. You always know the right thing to do.” She shoved the phone back again.

  Brook and Trina stared at him.

  Gavin looked at the phone with Toby’s name and Toby’s cell phone number. What would he say if this was ‘his’ Toby?

  He typed his message on the screen, and handed it to Trina before he sent it.

  She took it and read it, then said, “Aww, that is so sweet.”

  “What’s it say?” Brook asked.

  “It says, ‘I can’t stop thinking about you.’”

  “Nice one, Gavin. Very romantic.” Brook nodded, drinking more wine.

  “I’m sending it.” Trina pushed a button and set the phone down.

  A second later it buzzed. She squealed in excitement and read it, handing it back to Gavin. “Type him back!”

  Gavin read the text from Toby. He had written, ‘ what do you like most about me? ’

  “What did he say?” Brook asked.

  Trina said, “He asked what I like most about him. How sweet is that?” Trina combed her fingers through her long hair.

  “Aww…” Brook made a pouty face. “That is so sweet,” she repeated, looking intoxicated.

  Gavin knew they were both stewed. Anything would be sweet at this point.

  “What would you say back, Gavie?” Trina ate another bite of brownie.

  He thought about ‘his’ Toby. ‘ I love how you look at me,’ he wrote, handing it to Trina.

  She made a sound of approval and showed it to Brook.

  “Wow. This is like the movie Roxanne.” Brook tried to give it back to Trina.

  “Hit send.” Trina held her wine glass in her hand, sipping it.

  “This is so much fun!”

  Brook sent the message.

  The communication may be entertaining the women, but Gavin was beginning to wish it was from him to a man. He didn’t realize how much he missed flirting and romance until he was given a chance to play.

  The phone immediately vibrated. Trina grabbed it hungrily checking the reply. “This is amazing! Gavie, he said, ‘tell me more’.” She handed the phone to Gavin. “Tell him something else.”

  Brook moaned softly. “I swear this is so incredible. What would Toby do if he knew a gay guy was typing him messages. It’s so funny.”

  “I know. It is funny. I may even tell him one day. You know. After we’re married and we remember stuff.” Trina finished her wine.

  Gavin had no idea how much alcohol Trina had consumed, but she was toast at the moment.

  “What will you say next?” Brook ate another brownie. Gavin looked at the conversation again. He typed, ‘ your scent is delicious,’ and handed it to Trina.

  She held the phone to her chest and groaned. “I love it!” She pushed a button and gave Brook the phone so she could read the last one and catch up.

  “Wow.” She looked at Gavin. “I wish you were my boyfriend.”

  Gavin sank a little from the reminder of the void in his life. When the phone hummed again, he wasn’t sure he wanted to read it.

  Brook snatched it off the table. “Listen to this! He wrote, ‘are you referring to my cologne, or?’”

  Trina roared with hilarity, nearly falling off the chair. “Gavie!

  He’s getting sexy! Yay!”

  He stood and pushed his chair in. “I should go.”

  “Why? We’re having so much fun.” Trina pouted.

  Brook just stared at him, as if she understood he was not as thrilled as they were. Maybe because she was single she got it.

  “I’ll see ya tomorrow for drinks or something.” He patted his pocket for his car keys.

  “No! Gavie, type him back. I don’t know what to say.”

  “I can’t. It’s not right. He thinks it’s you.”

  “Come on. Just tell me. I’m drunk and I don’t know what to say next.”

  “You’ll think of something.” Gavin walked to her front door, a slight icy spot filling his stomach.

  She followed him, holding the phone. “One more? Please?”

  “Tell him ‘yes, I meant your cologne’.” Gavin waved at Brook. “Nice to see you. Get sober before you drive home.”

  “I will. Take care, Gavin. Thanks for dinner.”

  “You’re welcome.” Gavin opened the door.

  Trina leaned against him, looking upset.

  “Goodnight, Trina.”

  “’Night, Gavie.” She wrapped her hands around his neck and kissed his cheek.

  He gave her a smile and walked to his car, wiping the spot where
he knew a trace of lipstick would be.

  ~

  Before Gavin parked under the building, he pulled the car over on Fifty-Ninth Street and looked up at Toby’s third floor corner unit. It was well lit inside. The man was home. Gavin hit the steering wheel with the heel of his hand in frustration and pushed the remote for the automatic gate, waiting for it to open.

  His thoughts were running in a few different directions; wishing he could meet a nice man, hoping the two Toby’s were not the same person, and slightly jealous of Trina if indeed they were the same.

  He parked in his assigned spot and shut the car engine. It was a Wednesday night and most likely another one of unsettled slumber. As he walked into the lobby, he looked through the building to the front door, seeing the convenience store’s lit interior. For a single moment he imagined going there and buying an over-the-counter sleep aid, but shook his head. No. He stopped short and stared at the mailbox numbers. The third floor unit number was three-o-three. Where the name should have been, was blank. If Toby had just moved there, it was possible he didn’t place his name on the box yet. But if so, was that another indication this was Toby from Corvallis, Oregon? He poked his head outside, trying to find another clue. The name by the buzzer was also blank. Didn’t anyone keep up on the new owners? There by his unit number one-o-three, ‘G. D. Mecklenburg’ was typed in New Times Roman, along with the rest of the residents’ names by their unit numbers. Giving up on his reconnaissance mission, he continued walking to his condo unit feeling defeated.

  His phone rang before he got the door unlocked. Rushing to catch it, he jogged to his bedroom and picked it up. “Hello?”

  “Are you mad at me?”

  “No, Trina.” He sighed and walked back to his door, shutting and double locking it, then took off his shoes.

  “You sure?”

  “Yes. I’m just tired. Work is really stressful and extremely physical.”

  “I didn’t know what to say next. Brook said if I say something too sexy, he’ll expect sex. Should I have sex with him?”

  “I can’t decide that for you. Hey, you mind if I just go to bed?

  I’m really beat.”

  “You’re not mad at me?”

  “No. Why should I be mad?”

  “I would be so upset if I got you mad. I need you, Gavie. You’re my best friend.”

  “And you’re mine. Goodnight, sweetness.”

  “Night, Gavie. I love you.”

  “You too.” He hung up and put the phone back into the cradle. As he took off his clothing to be comfortable, he kept thinking about Toby.

  The text he sent was true. He couldn’t stop thinking about him.

  After stripping down to his briefs, Gavin washed his face and brushed his teeth, staring at his blue eyes in the mirror’s reflection. He rinsed his mouth and wiped his face with a towel, then headed to the living room and flopped to the sofa. He pointed the remote at the TV. Even if he tried, he couldn’t sleep yet. It was too early and he had too much on his mind. As he flipped through channels hoping something decent was on, Gavin felt his heart sink. He needed to stop living vicariously through Trina. He had to find a date.

  With that thought in his head, he did something he never imagined doing. He went to a cabinet and took out his laptop to look for a single man. After resting it on his thighs, he plugged it into the wall, and booted it up.

  With the sound of the television in the background making mindless noise, Gavin typed ‘gay dates’ into the search engine. He was startled with how many sites came up. Mostly lewd ads with promises of ‘Hot!-Hot!-Hot! Young Gay Studs! Ready to IM You Right Now!’

  Gavin rolled his eyes in annoyance, not wanting a ‘hook-up’

  but craving a real boyfriend. A romantic date. Didn’t anyone have real intellectual conversations? Stimulating interaction other than a hand inside their pants?

  He scrolled through dozens of local men, some profile photos were too good to believe, and he didn’t believe them. A few he took the time to read their personal info, all written to tempt. But in reality, Gavin knew they were most likely older, fatter, and filled with personal baggage. Was he this desperate?

  No.

  He shut it down and zoned out at the television, occasionally glancing at the ceiling as if he could see through two floors and into his neighbor’s unit.

  Chapter 8

  The next day was much like the last. He arrived at work at seven-forty-five, cleaned the truck his crew was assigned to, made sure it was stocked with all the nuts, bolts, wire, connectors, and tools he and his fellow co-workers would need for the job.

  He cleaned the toilet in the bucket truck, knowing the next apprentice would soon take over that horrible task. Once that was done, he opened the locked bin on the bucket truck and made sure all his tools and climbing gear were in good shape, including his low and high voltage rubber gloves, which are kept in a separate bin to keep them undamaged. Then he headed to the area where the journeymen sat to enjoy the newspaper or drink coffee, while the young guns did the menial work.

  Harvey was laughing with their crew chief Fred and another journeyman, Hank Smith. Harvey noticed Gavin and waved.

  “Hey, kid.”

  The other two men spun around on their heels to greet him.

  “Hey.” Gavin walked over, smiling amiably.

  “I think the kid needs a good high climb this morning,” Fred said, smirking.

  “Got your climbing gaffes?” Harvey asked, wearing the same smirk as Fred.

  Gavin liked climbing poles, so he didn’t let it get to him.

  “Yup. Ready to go.”

  The men appeared to rally themselves for the day’s work, tossing out empty coffee cups and picking up their hard hats and reflective vests.

  Harvey walked alongside Gavin to where the trucks were parked. “You sleep better last night? Make up with your girl?”

  “We didn’t fight. And she’s just a good friend.”

  “Sure kid.” Harvey patted his back and smiled.

  Up on the power pole, his pole strap attached to his lineman belt, Gavin was able to work with both hands and lean back. A bird’s eye view of the area, he could see the orange cones as they guided the traffic around him and the truck. Harvey was below, watching him, and their crew chief was sitting inside the pickup truck at the moment.

  Gavin wore his high voltage rubber gloves and reached to his tool belt for his ratcheting wrench. He nearly dropped it, fumbling to get a better grip on it as Harvey yelled, “You need help, kid?”

  “I got it.” He resumed what he was doing, cursing himself for nearly letting a heavy wrench fall. Trying to get his mind back on the intense job and not wander off on sex was growing tougher lately.

  By three pm, Gavin, Harvey and his crew drove back to shop, pulling into the secured lot and parking in an assigned spot. Harvey, Fred, and Hank exited the truck and entered the building, while Gavin took the scraps from the day’s work to the salvage dock. He tossed the copper wire into a large bin, moving on to the aluminum and scrap steel. He was exhausted. Using the bucket truck was a heck of a lot easier than climbing poles, but since he was still ‘training’, he wasn’t surprised he’d been asked to do it.

  An hour later, after Gavin had replaced all the materials he and his crew had used during the day, he managed to stay busy until the end of his shift. By four he headed indoors to get cleaned up, and spotted the same old-timers relaxing while all the apprentices did the extra tasks.

  At four-fifteen, everyone was out the door and headed home. He decided to skip the gym. His body had had a major workout already and he felt fatigued. As he drove home he tried to think of the contents of his refrigerator and if he needed to stop somewhere for dinner.

  He craved a shower desperately. It may not be eighty degrees out yet, but with all the physical exertion of climbing poles all day, he had sweated profusely under his uniform shirt and jeans. Three days in a row without rain. He wondered if that had set a new Seattle record.
The town was recovering from a sopping wet winter and spring, frequent mudslides, houses teetering on the brink of crumbling cliffs, and record-breaking rain and snow. It would be a relief to many to have a dry summer.

  He knew he didn’t want to cook when he arrived home, so Gavin stopped at the Safeway on Broadway before he left the hill. When he lived on Harvard Avenue in a small apartment, many moons ago, he loved being in an area known for the gay men. Now that he was on Phinney Ridge, he shopped locally, surrounded by desperate housewives with screaming children or yuppie couples who argued about free range chicken or organic wineries at the deli and booze sections.

  He parked in the bustling grocery store lot and pocketed his keys. Still wearing the fire retardant shirt with the company logo over his chest pocket, Gavin hoped he didn’t offend anyone with his perspiration scent when the time came to stand at the checkout line.

  A red basket on his arm, he hunted in the salad section for something edible and filling. A selection of soups caught his eye. Lobster bisque, clam chowder, cream of tomato, all in plastic containers with expiration dates indicating they were fresh.

  “Try the crab bisque,” a young effeminate man wearing knee length beige shorts and a polo shirt said.

  Gavin had the lobster bisque in his hand. “You mean this one?”

  “Lobster, crab, they’re both good.”

  “It’s probably full of fat.” Gavin read the label.

  “Let me tell ya, sugar, you don’t have an ounce of fat on you.” The young man gave Gavin a once over.

  “I miss living here.” Gavin liked the easy signs that men were gay. He wasn’t amused by the guessing game he was playing with his hot neighbor.

  “You’re not from here?” The man looked disappointed, and adjusted the sunglasses that were atop his shaved head.

  “Phinney Ridge.”

  “My condolences.”

  “It’s nice there. I like it. Just not like here on the hill.” Gavin put the soup into his basket.

  “This area used to be wonderful. Not anymore. All the sweet gay shops are gone. Sucks. What can ya do?” He held out his hand. “I’m Jerry.”

  “Gavin.” Gavin shook his hand. “Nice to meet you. Do I stink?” He gave his shirt a sniff.